A shared life

A shared life

The island in the zygote -
floating miniscule and fragile,

island in the womb -
so vulnerable, so vulnerable.

The island in my head -- so insubstantial,
so subjective; inside my skin -- so mortal;

the island in my chest -- so isolated, so lonely.
White dab of sand in the middle

of a dark blue sea until the Ocean Itself
leaves footprints along the shore.

Accustom yourself, its pattern reads,
to a shared life.  And for years now,

my island has been shrinking
under the determined elements of truth --

wild winds, brutal storms, the heavy seas.
When every place you trust,

the footprints read, underfoot is gone;
everything you thought solid proven flimsy,

the truth will swim into view --
truth to drown in; truth vast as the Ocean

encircling your sad
and dwindling little island.

O child of God, every man is an island
until reclaimed by the Ocean of Love.

(Image by Rich Panico)

Wrens and sparrows

Wrens and sparrows                                                                       

I write my poetry on a crust of bread

I found in the bottom of my pouch,

dropping crumbs along the path

for the wrens and sparrows.

I won’t be coming back

this way and no one will follow

into this particular plot of trees.

The woods are deep.  I’ll write

as long as the light holds out.

God illumines the path

only one step at a time

and my own torch has been thrown down.

It’s like a crust of bread –

the moon above the horizon.

My mortal existence is a crust of bread.

This poem is dedicated

to the wrens and sparrows.

I wish I had more to give.

O child of God, venture where there is blitheness    

in dissolution; unalloyed bliss in obliteration.

(from Spoken For - drawing by Rich Panico)

The heart's sovereignty

The heart’s sovereignty                                                               

Mary of Bethany broke the alabaster box

and with spikenard anointed Jesus,

some of His disciples grumbling at the expense

but, Jesus said, She hath wrought a good work.

O child, an imperfection of character

is the desire to be perfect

and a detriment to the path of surrender. 

To covet virtue is a sin – for covetousness is a sin.

Desire, instead, to be obedient and humble.

Non-attachment is the back road to perfection.

Desire for perfection leads through a labyrinth

of pride, shame and self-involvement

while acceptance of imperfection

constitutes a stirring turn toward surrender.

O lover, spill innocently, like Mary,

the precious oil; anoint the head of Jesus

and be marked forever as a lover

and loyal subject of the heart’s holy sovereignty.

Enter the desert

Enter the desert                                                                               

Enter the desert a wanderer,

uncharted among the dunes,

under the stars; shaped by pressures

only hinted at, half-guessed,

gestured toward; suitable to your nature,

without respite, witness or glamour –

to be a lover is to go it alone.

Swaying upon the bridge, the temptress sings;

the sculptor at the monolith, hewing away.

Caught up in a terrible game of words,

the poet grapples for whatever

endurable term might bare

a slice of the loneliness

that constitutes a human heart.

Hewing away at it alone –

that’s what we are

and the truth of that

is the truth of God

to be elaborated upon,

the one and only Truth – God alone exists. 

O child of God, brave the lonely perils;

seek the truth of the One and Only.