A Short Panegyric

Now that the vegetarian nightmare is over and we are back to
our diet of meat and deep in the sway of our dark and beauty-
ful habits and able to speak with calm of having survived, let
the breeze of the future touch and retouch our large and hun-
gering bodies. Let us march to market to embrace the butcher
and put the year of the carrot, the month of the onion behind
us, let us worship the roast or the stew that takes its place once
again at the sacred center of the dining room table.

 

Mark Strand, Almost Invisible (Alfred A. Knopf, 2o12) 

Holding the Light

Gather up whatever is 
glittering in the gutter,
whatever has tumbled 
in the waves or fallen 
in flames out of the sky,

for it’s not only our
hearts that are broken, 
but the heart
of the world as well.
Stitch it back together. 

Make a place where
the day speaks to the night
and the earth speaks to the sky.
Whether we created God
or God created us

it all comes down to this:
In our imperfect world
we are meant to repair
and stitch together 
what beauty there is, stitch it 

with compassion and wire. 
See how everything 
we have made gathers 
the light inside itself
and overflows? A blessing.

 

Stuart Kestenbaum, Only Now (Deerbrook Editions, 2013)

For Those Who Have to Travel Far

If you could see the journey whole

you might never undertake it;

might never dare the first step

that propels you

from the place you have known

toward the place you know not.

 

Call it one of the mercies of the road:

that we see it only by stages

as it opens before us,

as it comes into our keeping

step by single step.

 

There is nothing for it but to go

and by our going take the vows

the pilgrim takes:

    to be faithful to the next step;

    to rely on more than the map;

    to heed the signposts of intuition and dream;

    to follow the star that only you will recognize;

    to keep an open eye for the wonders that

    attend the path;

    to press on beyond distractions

      beyond fatigue

      beyond what would tempt you from the way.

 

There are vows that only you will know;

the secret promises for your particular path

and the new ones you will need to make

when the road is revealed by turns

you could not have foreseen.

 

Keep them, break them, make them again:

each promise becomes part of the path;

each choice creates the road

that will take you to the place

where at last you will kneel to offer the gift

most needed— the gift that only you can give—

before turning to go home by another way.

 

Jan Richardson, lakeviewunited.ca January 2, 2019

Epiphany Blessing

This poem is based on the traditional Epiphany chalk house blessing, used widely throughout the world though less known in the United States. Here is how it works. Using any piece of chalk, mark above the house entrance 20 + C + M + B + 23. The letters have two meanings. First, they are the initials of the three Wise Men – Caspar, Melchior, and Balthazar – who came to visit Jesus in his first home. They also abbreviate the Latin phrase Christus, mansionem benedicat: “May Christ bless the house.”

The “+” signs represent the cross, and the “20” at the beginning and the “23” at the end mark the current year.

Taken together, the inscription is a request for Christ to bless the homes so marked and that he stay with those in the house throughout the year.

 

Epiphany Blessing

Think of the year as a house: door flung wide in welcome,

threshold swept and waiting, a graced spaciousness

opening and offering itself to you.

 

Let it be blessed in every room.

Let it be hallowed in every corner.

Let every nook be a refuge

and every object set to holy use.

 

Let it be here that safety will rest.

Let it be here that health will make its home.

Let it be here that peace will show its face.

Let it be here that love will find its way.

 

Here let the weary come

let the aching come

let the lost come

let the sorrowing come.

Here let them find their rest

and let them find their soothing

and let them find their place

and let them find their delight.

 

And may it be in this house of a year

that the seasons will spin in beauty,

and may it be in these turning days

that time will spiral with joy.

And may it be that its rooms will fill

with ordinary grace

and light spill from every window

to welcome the stranger home.

 

Jan Richardson, lakeviewunited.ca January 2, 2019

New Year Poem

Let us step outside for a moment
As the sun breaks through clouds
And shines on wet new fallen snow,
And breathe the new air.
So much has died that had to die this year.

We are dying away from things.
It is a necessity—we have to do it
Or we shall be buried under the magazines,
The too many clothes, the too much food.
We have dragged it all around
Like dung beetles
Who drag piles of dung
Behind them on which to feed,
In which to lay their eggs.

Let us step outside for a moment
Among ocean, clouds, a white field,
Islands floating in the distance.
They have always been there.
But we have not been there.

We are going to drive slowly
And see the small poor farms,
The lovely shapes of leafless trees
Their shadows blue on the snow.
We are going to learn the sharp edge
Of perception after a day’s fast.

There is nothing to fear.
About this revolution…
Though it will change our minds.
Aggression, violence, machismo
Are fading from us
Like old photographs
Faintly ridiculous
(Did a man actually step like a goose
To instill fear?
Does a boy have to kill
To become a man?)

Already there are signs.
Young people plant gardens.
Fathers change their babies’ diapers
And are learning to cook.

Let us step outside for a moment.
It is all there
Only we have been slow to arrive
At a way of seeing it.
Unless the gentle inherit the earth
There will be no earth.

                                                                             

May Sarton, Collected Poems (Norton, 1993)

Haiku for a New Year

      New Year's Day

reading another how-to book

      with broken glasses.

Jane Reichhold

The new year arrived

      in utter simplicity

and a deep blue sky.

Issa

fireworks 

salute new year

dogs howl.

Norman Crocker

      New Year's Day --

everything is in blossom!

      I feel about average.

Issa

      New Year's morning:

the ducks on the pond

      quack and quack.

Issa

      Year after year

on the monkey's face

      a monkey's face.

Basho

A new calendar

my unlived days

already numbered.

Jane Reichhold

 

The Work of Christmas

When the song of the angels is stilled,
When the star in the sky is gone,
When the kings and the princes are home,
When the shepherds are back with their flocks,
The work of Christmas begins:
To find the lost,
To heal the broken,
To feed the hungry,
To release the prisoner,
To rebuild the nations,
To bring peace among brothers,
To make music in the heart.

 

Howard Thurman, The Mood of Christmas and Other Celebrations (Friends United Press, 1985)