Haiku (Irregular): Birth Pangs

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Birth pangs
It cannot be stopped —
spring comes

Copyright Francis 2021

Thought for the Day – 23 December – What Jesus Wants From Us — AnaStpaul (Reblog)

Thought for the Day – 23 December – Meditations with Antonio Cardinal Bacci (1881-1971) What Jesus Wants From Us “Let us contemplate Jesus lying on a rough pallet of straw in the manger.When we see Him looking at us, let us ask ourselves what it is that He requires of us.In fact, He wants many […]

Thought for the Day – 23 December – What Jesus Wants From Us — AnaStpaul

Alone

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Alone —
this solitude pounds deafeningly
between my ears.
After the forgotten slap
inducing that first
sharp intake of air,
to my first memory
of a Dresden widow beaming down
into the four walls of my pram,
just what kind of oblivion did I inhabit;
how does it differ from the misery
gripping me now?

In this realm it is the sentence
of every soul to be alone,
even as flesh touches flesh,
reaching the heights of ecstasy
of mortal love.
Soon it is over
and the wails return,
cursing the passion which ensnared
this fractal of spirit
in a world of its own.

Copyright Francis 2020

I Believe (for Advent)

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As the song relates
in my happy-ever-after moments:
I believed in the Israelite.

What a circuitous, tortuous route
this mind has been dragged through,
chained to the runaway horse

called magic, or deception,
along with most of the world,
sore and buffeted

through cyclone and fire,
the machinations of men.
I take on board

the doubts and conjecture —
did such and such ever exist;
yet I have studied the shroud

and the napkin of truth — to me
science and the Spirit are one.
So this year as Advent moves

relentlessly on to that crystallization,
when Sol’s southern tropic is reached,
with the death of the sun,

the incarnation of the Son
and the Word,
switching northward towards Light and hope,

I feel my soul and sinews ignite.
This time, more than any other time,
I believe in the Israelite.

Copyright Francis 2020

earthweal weekly challenge — advent

Death or birth—choose — Jane Dougherty Writes (Reblog)

The message of the Oracle today was unexpected. I would say she has en election on her mind. Bald as death in the eggspilling dark honey into the light mist-paleare those bitter words (not truth)driven by ambition and greed. You would deny the music of the moonthe singing of the starsclaim the sky rains stonesand […]

Death or birth—choose — Jane Dougherty Writes

Poem: ‘Delivery’

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You see the old lady over there?
The one in the blue mask
heading for the church.
She delivered me, though
no, she’s got no idea who I am.
I see her quite often
alone having coffee,
a bagel and jam.
Many times
I’ve thought of saying hi,
but what do I say?
“You may not know me
but you brought me into this world.”
So I guess I’ll leave her again,
to struggle with handbag and stick
towards her cleansing nave,
while I wrestle with my faith

Copyright Francis Barker 2020

Poem: Your Kiss

English: A young girl kisses a baby on the cheek.
English: A young girl kisses a baby on the cheek. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)I was unaware

 

I was unaware

of your kiss at first, on forehead

and cheek, maybe even on

my foot – you know, when babies’

feet are cute and pristine, before life

gets too serious and rinds the soul?

Then later, and with equal ignorance, I

noticed your lips, though they’d always

been there. Now the way you walked

and talked

and brushed your hair – suddenly

you were magic! A vision! My lips

against yours, the most natural

avenue in life and love. Then

all too soon, you gave me air

kisses at weddings

and christenings

and funerals, the social graces

that count, their passion sucked

out by convention. And right now

I’m all too aware of

your kiss, on my forehead,

my cheek once more, though you stay

clear of my foot. You realise

that I am slowly leaving, retreating

into soft make-beliefs

of self, sheaths which soothe

the cool airs of emptiness

 

poem © copyright David F. Barker 2013