Kiss

    

When Lynne saw the lizard floating

in her mother-in-law’s swimming pool,
she jumped in. And when it wasn’t
breathing, its body limp as a baby
drunk on milk, she laid it on her palm
and pressed one fingertip to its silky breast
with just about the force you need
to test the ripeness of a peach, only quicker,
a brisk little push with a bit of spring in it.
Then she knelt, dripping wet in her Doc Martens
and camo T-shirt with the neck ripped out,
and bent her face to the lizard’s face,
her big plush lips to the small stiff jaw
that she’d pried apart with her opposable thumb,
and she blew a tiny puff into the lizard’s lungs.
The sun glared against the turquoise water.
What did it matter if she saved one lizard?
One lizard more or less in the world?
But she bestowed the kiss of life,
again and again, until
the lizard’s wrinkled lids peeled back,
its muscles roused its own first breath
and she set it on the hot cement
where it rested a moment
before darting off.

-- Ellen Bass (1947- ), American poet, editor, and author

St. Kevin and the Blackbird

And then there was St Kevin and the blackbird.
The saint is kneeling, arms stretched out, inside
His cell, but the cell is narrow, so

One turned-up palm is out the window, stiff
As a crossbeam, when a blackbird lands
And lays in it and settles down to nest.

Kevin feels the warm eggs, the small breast, the tucked
Neat head and claws and, finding himself linked
Into the network of eternal life,

Is moved to pity: now he must hold his hand
Like a branch out in the sun and rain for weeks
Until the young are hatched and fledged and flown.

*

And since the whole thing’s imagined anyhow,
Imagine being Kevin. Which is he?
Self-forgetful or in agony all the time

From the neck on out down through his hurting forearms?
Are his fingers sleeping? Does he still feel his knees?
Or has the shut-eyed blank of underearth

Crept up through him? Is there distance in his head?
Alone and mirrored clear in love’s deep river,
‘To labour and not to seek reward,’ he prays,

A prayer his body makes entirely
For he has forgotten self, forgotten bird
And on the riverbank forgotten the river’s name.

--Seamus Heaney (1939-2013), Irish poet, professor, winner of the 1995 Novel prize in Literature.

St. Kevin of Glendalough's feast day is June 3.

Seamus Heaney reads the poem and explicates it below:

On the Jericho Road

 

Luke 10:25-37

 

 

On the Jericho road his luck ran out.
The air above the beaten track shimmered
and hissed like a snake. One sandal
lay in the center of the road, vanquished—the thieves
had left that, but all else was gone. 
Its forsaken foot curled up into the lip of the ditch,
disembodied. The man laid there,
arms flung wide, like a fledgling who had
fallen to earth; astonishment curtained 
his inert mouth. He floated
in a sea of dust, blood
pooling in tracks from his wounds. A buzzard
clasped a crag, sensing promise.

 

Perhaps the road would bring a savior.

Face toward Jerusalem, the priest 
placed each foot delicately after the other, and then
drew the drape of his robe
across his face at the sight, blanched,
and muttered charms to ward off evil
as he moved to the other side, eyes averted. 
A prayer of thanks rose skyward,
congratulating himself for his own righteousness,
to preserve him from such a fate. So too
the Son of Levi--he clasped his ewer by the handle,
suspicion of ambush and 
contempt seizing his heart like a fist,
edging away on his holy business.

A buzz of flies eddied in his wake.
The buzzard snorted humorlessly 
and shrugged. 
Not long now.

There was no one to see, they thought—
but behind the blue veil of sky
the stars blinked 
and spun in protest.

The sun mounted higher.
A Samaritan approached, 
fresh from shunning by the priest and Levite,
who’d made him walk around them.
But at the sandal he slowed, his donkey
shaking her head, skittish at tang and echo of violence
in her nostrils and ears, at the glare
that glowed off sunburned flesh. 
Her master crouched beside
the discarded sack of a man, 
leaking like a burst wineskin. 
He could still walk away.

 

                                    “Cursed be
the one who leads the blind
on the road astray, or distorts
the justice and mercy owed a stranger,”
the Samaritan murmured.
The donkey breathed the amens.

A trumpet blare of mercy
echoed in his soul’s chamber; the 
walls of the Samaritan’s heart lay in rubble.

With gentle hands he shifted the donkey’s load until
he found wine and oil,
anointing the wounds 
and cooling the stranger’s brow.

Like a mother, tenderly he drew 
the fevered body to his chest, arms beneath 
neck and knee, and raised his neighbor
from ditch to donkey delicately,
claiming the stranger as his brother, 
whose heartbeat was an obligation, whose face
so closely resembled his own,
and only the buzzard turned a baleful eye,
a grudging witness.

--This was first published at Episcopal Journal's Speaking to the Soul on August 4, 2022.

 

The Divine Image

To Mercy Pity Peace and Love
All Pray in the distress,
And to those virtues of delight
Return their thankfulness.

For Mercy Pity Peace and Love
Is God our father dear,
and Mercy Pity Peace and Love
Is Man his child and care.

For Mercy has a human heart,
Pity, a human face,
And Love, the human form divine,
And Peace, the human dress.

Then every man of every clime
That prays in his distress,
Prays to the human form divine,
Love Mercy Pity Peace.

And all must love the human form
In heathen, turk or jew.
Where Mercy Love & Pity dwell
There God is dwelling too.


--William Blake (1757-1827), Romantic-era mystic, poet, and artist

If I Can Stop One Heart From Breaking

 

If I can stop one heart from breaking,
I shall not live in vain;
If I can ease one life the aching,
Or cool one pain,
Or help one fainting robin
Unto his nest again,
I shall not live in vain.

 

-- Emily Dickinson (1830-1886), American poet

Penguins

They were sighted off the Dover coast,
drifting in towards the port;
their boat, a snapped-off block of ice,
melting slowly in the warmth. 

By the docks, a crowd had formed itself
and congealed into a mob.
Placards were thrust. A chant began.
GO BACK TO WHERE YOU’RE FROM! 

‘Don’t fall for it – they’re not displaced,’
declared a spokesman for the right.
‘They’re only here to take our jobs.
It’s as clear as black and white.’ 

‘Tragic,’ said the Home Secretary,
as she tried to hide her smirk.
‘We’d let them stay but here’s the rub –
they lack the paperwork.’ 

‘They’ll undermine our way of life,’
said a warning post on Twitter.
‘They stink of fish.’ ‘They’ll rape your wife.’
‘They got bombs beneath their flippers.’ 

“BUT WE HAVE NO HOME CLAIMS PENGUIN”,
The Sun had printed in disgust.
‘And whose fault’s THAT - except THEIR OWN?
What’s that to do with US?’ 

The ice had now completely gone.
The penguins battled through the foam,
swimming, swimming, from land to land,
searching for a home.


--Brian Bilston, pseudonymous "Poet Laureate of Twitter," posted online today.

Maundy Thursday

Kneeling on Boston Common it’s the foot
Naked, resting in my lap with clean towel,
Socks, warm water waiting, that tells me
This is what happens after a cold winter
Of deep snow when you’re homeless in
Dirty socks and cracked shoes that don’t fit:
This foot, bloody, swollen, toes deformed,
I wash gently, first one, then the other, and
Never have I felt so close to Jesus, his feet,
Bare, pierced, bloodied, nailed to the wooden
Cross.

-- Sarah Rossiter, from the Christian Century, April 8, 2011

Prayer: Casting Off Our Indifference

Almighty One,

you have crafted and tended the galaxies in their glory
and the wren in her spry industry:
we praise your wondrous works--
the tapestry of life, visible and unseen,
that supports us throughout the day.

Inspire us, O God,
to defend the weary and the oppressed,
the poor and the refugee,
in obedience to your law of love and righteousness.

As we confess the things we have left undone,
let us consider our own indifference to suffering,
our justification for inflicting pain on others
for our own comfort
or to assuage our own fears,
and let us turn from the darkness of cruelty and greed
to the light of love and empathy.

For by your grace we live and move and have our being,
O Creator and Lover of Our Souls:
may we seek to do your will
in the name of healing and restoration,
for the sake of this world You have made
and charged us to tend and preserve in peace.

Pour out your reconciling power, O Holy One,
on all who cry out to You,
and place your hand of protection
over all those for whom we pray.

Amen.

a man who had fallen among thieves

a man who had fallen among thieves 
lay by the roadside on his back
dressed in fifteenthrate ideas
wearing a round jeer for a hat

fate per a somewhat more than less
emancipated evening
had in return for consciousness
endowed him with a changeless grin

whereon a dozen staunch and leal
citizens did graze at pause
then fired by hypercivic zeal
sought newer pastures or because

swaddled with a frozen brook
of pinkest vomit out of eyes
which noticed nobody he looked
as if he did not care to rise

one hand did nothing on the vest
its wideflung friend clenched weakly dirt
while the mute trouserfly confessed
a button solemnly inert.

Brushing from whom the stiffened puke
i put him all into my arms
and staggered banged with terror through
a million billion trillion stars.

--e. e. cummings (1894-1962), American poet, painter, and playwright



Scriptural Reference: Luke 10:25-37 (Proper 10C)

Image: Vincent Van Gogh, The Good Samaritan

The Weight of the World

You wanna take it off
It’s the weight of the world
You want to set it free
Just for today
Can’t always be the one
To heal everything
And the weight of the world
Was never yours to keep

You can spend so many days
Trying to make the darkness go away
But it’s the weight of the world
It’s the curse of the worldly ways
Can’t keep it inside
So go on just let it out
It’s the weight of the world
If you ever had a doubt

You wanna take it off
‘Cause it makes your body hurt
It’s the weight of the world
It was never really yours
Can’t keep it inside
Oh, you know you gotta set it free
‘Cause the weight of the world
Was never yours to keep

No, it don't belong to you,
It was never yours to keep,
It's the weight of the world,
And you've gotta set it free

--Kat Goldman, sung by Dar Williams

In honor of the 11 dead and the wounded at the Anti-Semitic  mass murder at Tree of Life Synagogue in Pittsburgh, PA, on October 27, 2018.

How Humble is God?

How humble is God?

God is the tree in the forest that

allows itself to die and will not defend itself in front of those

with the ax, not wanting to cause them

shame.

And God is the earth that will allow itself to

be deformed by man's hands, but He cries; yes, God cries,

but only in front of His closest ones.

And a beautiful animal is being beaten to death,

but nothing can make God break his silence

to the masses

and say,

"Stop, please stop, why are you doing this

to Me?"

How humble is God?

Kabir wept

when I

knew.

-- Kabir (ca 1440-1518), Indian poet and mystic, from Love Poems from God: Twelve Sacred Voices from the East and West, Daniel Ladinsky, ed.

Prayer of Compassion

O God, enlarge within us

the sense of fellowship with all living things,

our brothers the animals

to whom thou gavest the earth

as their home in common with us.

We remember with shame

that in the past

we have exercized the high dominion of man

with ruthless cruelty

so that the voice of the earth,

which should have gone up to thee in song,

has been a groan of travail.

May we realize that they live

not for us alone

but for themselves

and for thee,

and that they love

the sweetness of life.

--St. Basil the Great (330-379), one of the "Cappadocian fathers," bishop, theologian, and father of Eastern monasticism, from Celtic Nature Prayers, Vol. 1

Costa Rican monkey