Catholic Exchange » Poetry

A meditation on aging parents

James Hamilton — Thu, 10 Apr 2008 00:00:00 +0000

This fact I hold up before me -
we are all flowers of the field.
What once was strong, enduring
must one day pass away.

Time brings little deaths,
minor infirmities,
adding up, year on year.
Have I not felt it?

Creations of a moment:
growing, blooming, fruiting, falling.
But I find this surprise in myself -
Why does it not cause despair?

It should! My sum total
adds only to that treasured by others:
Where the railing, bitter
against perceived injustice?

But, my heart has been given
to One who makes sense.
I hope, beyond time,
that one day, all will be made new!

Anew, and no longer awry.
With wrong burned out
in purgation, with evil
washed away in Blood.

And only goodness and worth,
glory and dignity remaining,
such as we have allowed,
created by our assent.

Come quickly, no time to lose!
Each day a new opportunity
for treasure stored up for ever,
where rust and moth are not.

Unspeakable gift made possible
by unspeakable sacrifice
of the only One who could make it:
Glory in despite of darkness.

Though the fruit has fallen,
and the leaves are turning,
all that is of worth
is recorded, to be played again some day,

where halleluias ring harmonies
in beauty and sweetness,
in sunshine on leaves,
in smiles on fair faces.

Made possible by Love.
And our love, made freely,
only adding to the harmony:
The Glorious Symphony of All That Has Being!

The Eloquence of Your Love

J. L. Seguin — Thu, 03 Apr 2008 00:00:00 +0000

The eloquence of your blood, Lord Jesus,
Cries out far better than does Abel's bloods,
For in thy pure light the Father sees us,
His promises blossom, His mercy buds.

For your love alone is love submissive,
So for you alone may I live my life,
For you alone Lord give me life to live,
And you alone art perfect sacrifice.

The Father listens to your holy plea.
He ever trusts in Thy blameless ethos,
For you make your speech, Lord, so blamelessly,
With Mary, O Virgin Theotokos!

You alone with God may be called our Mother,
(Eve was unable as Cain killed his brother).

His Spirit Burns within Me

J. L. Seguin — Thu, 20 Mar 2008 00:00:00 +0000

I had a vision of the moon, beautiful and sublime:
Beautiful in that it is so near,
Sublime in that it is so far.
It could have fit neatly on my tongue.
But I was afraid:
It would have burnt through my head.
It glides swiftly North through fixed and immutable clouds,
Yet ever stays before my eyes.
Each immutable cloud passes out of sight as we sail along.
I felt the wind that it struggled against in my soul.
My ears heard deafening silence as it persevered and strove,
Sometimes being illuminated by the clouds,
Sometimes hidden, but always coming through in the end.
Finally it comes to rest when it had conquered all.
Finally I wake up and close shut my eyes.

I no longer feel the cold cement beneath my head.
His Spirit burns within me.

The Antidote

Pavel Chichikov — Thu, 06 Mar 2008 00:00:00 +0000

Open the hatch inside my heart,
From there remove the painful dart
That works where I am most distressed,
Remove it from my wounded chest

To your living heart convey
The dart and lift the door away,
Place the weapon so it drip
The toxin from the point of it

It is your gift to neutralize
The poison of which sadness dies,
Then replace the dart in me,
It will not seep so morbidly

The weapon in the heart of me
Of unforgotten memory,
But keep the dart a while before
The health of you my heart restores

Canvas

Thu, 28 Feb 2008 00:00:00 +0000

Make my heart, O Lord,
A ready canvas to receive
Needlework pricking,
But ne'er making my pallor bleed.

Let my heart, O Lord,
Be ready, pure, patiently true,
To undergo the needle work,
Making me like you.

Remove the twisted,
Clustered stitches of my callow heart,
Replace these with colorful threads,
Woven in your art.

Your dexterous touch is all my soul
Needs to become rich tapestry.
Your gentle hands e'er mend longing,
Crooked stitches with your breath
Of Beauty.

In Thanks for a Kind Word

James Hamilton — Thu, 21 Feb 2008 00:00:00 +0000

If all our friends were in one place,
Gathered in eternal space,
Hearts remembered one by one,
Hope realised, joy become

The substrate of immortal grace…
I would have one special face
Treasured always, with a gladness
Untarnished by all wordly sadness:

Yours indeed, my special friend,
For consolations that put an end
To introverted trouble and pain,
And made me sigh and smile again.

A “Healthy” Valentine’s Day Poem

J. L. Seguin — Fri, 15 Feb 2008 00:00:00 +0000

There was a saint–his name was Valentine–
Pope Gelasius sainted him with this laud:
"His name is justly reverenced among men,
But his good acts are only known by God."

Now if this is the case with Valentine,
Lost though honorable, unknown yet still true,
Then it must not be quite so out of line,

For me to express how I admire you.

Valentine's love was "healthy, strong; worthwhile"
(The Latin term "valens" denotes as much).
Upon this "able" fellow God did smile,
And upon you, also, I think ‘tis such.

So with this sonnet, I wanted to say,
My dear "worthwhiles"… Happy Valentine's Day!

Not As You Are

Pavel Chichikov — Fri, 08 Feb 2008 00:00:00 +0000

What regret can you have? I have given you life -
Take the sharp end from a thorn and the edge from the knife,
The ache from the leg and the back, and never old age,
And from the enjoyment of sin remove me the wage,
Let me devour the surplus without any work,
Let every error of choice be an innocent quirk

I have given you life to enjoy all the beauty I make -
Let me use up what I have and undo the mistake,
Let me have health in abundance without any pain,
And if I abuse it permit me to have it again,
Let me have privilege, rank without any duty
Let me loot, pocket and steal without calling it booty

Let me throw craps for a living, come seven eleven,
Let me take chances and gamble my way into heaven,
Let me be good if good is the way to get in,
But if there's no heaven there's nothing as pleasing as sin,
Let me live, Master, this life, and live it forever,
Not as you are little piglet, and so I say ‘never'!

Not as you are little pig, as you grunt at the trough,
A windfall of apples I gave you, desist and be off!

The Flesh of Earth…

Pavel Chichikov — Thu, 31 Jan 2008 00:00:00 +0000

The flesh of Earth was sick today
And did not rise from sleep,
Summer forests drained to gray,
The oceans black and deep

Sleepers did not wake from dreams
Nor flowerings unfold,
Desiccated lay the streams,
Blood and flesh were cold

Who will raise my corpse to life
And cover me with skin?
Who is the surgeon with a knife
That cuts existence in?

Unless one comes to cure the ill
There is no life to come,
To make the streams and oceans fill
With His viaticum

The River Jordon

James Pride — Thu, 24 Jan 2008 00:00:00 +0000

Wind whispers upon my skin and draws me
Back to cold Midwestern, winter nights
Snow flakes falling soft on quiet branches
Only stillness broke the silence

To prefer the freezing calm of mountain air
And mute thunder to warm ocean water
Sighing on the shore would seem strange
Yet preference lies frozen there

The cold that numbs the body, sobering mind
And soul for contemplation with angels
Takes me further out than ocean tide
No longer can I see the shore

Better still the river that connects the two
Releasing power from the ice in trickles
Small and clean of mountain source and spring
Subtly do they build the torrent

In such a river, God as man stepped his heal
Fulfilling words that crushed the poisoned head
Replacing slithering snakes with winding waters
Washing sins and death away.

To my surprise and even my dismay
The Jordan turns against its wave
The priest pours the water in the wine
With force upon my pride—God a slave.

[This is a poem written by the brother of CE's poetry editor about the Theophany, the baptism of Christ and the manifestation of the Holy Trinity to the world. James Pride is an active member of St. Ignatios Melkite Greek Catholic Church in Augusta, Georgia and an awesome friend and brother.]