Tuesday, March 26, 2024

Every green soul

Every green soul                                                                                 
 
Deeply buried, this seed in the soil,
so hard, so small, so self-contained.
 
If it’s ever known moisture, ever known
light and greenness, they are far from it now,
 
merely rumors in the dark. 
Yet it hears above, every now and then,
 
what seems like the whisper of distant rain;
imagines, perhaps, a descending warmth; 
 
senses the season’s change.
But it’s difficult to keep its faith and heart
 
while essentially ignorant of its own potential,
the elements inherent within 
 
and the outward forces, prearranged and aligned,
inexorably pulling it up to the groundbreaking –
 
there to flower in the quiet warmth, the light;
to know at last the storybook ending – 
 
the fragrance, savor and sight
of the fruit it was ever destined to bear.
 
O child of God, in your Father’s garden surely
there is a place prepared for every green soul.


(drawing by Rich Panico)



Friday, March 22, 2024

Clay Pigeon

Clay pigeon                                                                                       
 
Forty years wandering the desert.
I thought I was getting somewhere.
 
I was just pacing the length of my cell.
Dropping to my knees, I made it a prayer cell.
 
Later, I began to listen instead of ask.
I know now why the clay pigeon sings –
 
in anticipation (once the blood is drained)
of becoming the broken and singing dust (o Francis!)
 
though the natural wont of dust
is to settle quietly at the Beloved’s feet.
 
I sing this verse at His request and only
to the One Who gave it to me (I sing my best)
 
while He sees to its being further given away
to whomever’s heart He wishes its melody to touch.
 
O child of God, become quiet as dust
to hear Meher’s heart-rending song of silence.




Tuesday, March 19, 2024

The Incomparable

The Incomparable                                                                                     
 
It doesn’t quite hit the mark (say the Mystics)
to consider God’s creation as perfect.
 
It’s more like God’s creation is nonpareil
a flowing, holy phenomenon appearing momentarily
 
through the aperture of individual consciousness. 
The butterfly is not yesterday’s caterpillar.
 
Ashes are not last night’s fire.  In the poet’s duality,
the Incomparable might be likened to a bird
 
on a limb admiring the play of light
upon its brightly-colored plumage.
 
O child of God, when will this self-enchantment end
and that mighty, imaginary bird take flight?




Saturday, March 16, 2024

His business

His business                                                                                       
 
You might feel your pouch is empty –
nothing to give anyone of any value
 
but what others receive from you
is a happenstance beyond your decision or control.
 
Perhaps, your emptiness is the gift; your absence;
your rebuff; perhaps, your need, your cry for help.
 
Who gets what from whom is Baba’s business;
as is what your gift consists of
 
and the precise moment you will forevermore wise up.
Your disappointments, discouragement and gloom –
 
His business, too – as is every detail on your long,
rough journey from ignorance to Knowledge.
 
O child of God, everything
is a gift from the Giver.