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POETRY
An Awakening
The whole creation has been groaning as in the pains
of childbirth. -- Romans 8:22
This is how it was, at
daybreak, beneath an unforgettable August sky, forget-me-not blue,
creased with thin, curved cloud -- curved and bone white, like the ribs
of Adam stretched wide across flesh of sky; Ribbed cirrus
clouds expanding, wind exhaling morning -- itself breathing, and
for a moment, not I.
-- Patricia Rose Pflaumer North Weymouth, Mass.
The Divine Parakeet
(6th Sunday of Easter)
When I was A little one Maybe 8 or so And heard
that Jesus Gave us a Paraclete As a gift I knew it was Really
called Parakeet And I wanted one Mostly green
Then when I
advanced To the certainty Of 12 and learned The fun of misbehaving
The Parakeet Became the Spirit-dove My mother Fervently prayed
Would surround me And protect others From me
But when I became
an adult In years at least The dove transformed into A mother and
father God Who held me and Sent the Son To walk along side
me
But as my years Limp toward autumn The gravity Of the
Spirit-dove Begins to shrink again To a size More visible Like a
smaller version Like a Parakeet And Ill have one Mostly
green I think.
-- Fr. Michael J. Kennedy Cedar Creek, Minn.
Reflection on Mark 10:13-16
Lazy Sunday afternoon, folding laundry, children
scattered about the house, reading, playing.
Door bell ringing
-- neighbor informing me her huskies have just mauled our cat.
Running, finding, carrying, calling for help -- the cat dying in front of
all four girls while Im talking on the phone with the vet. Two
hours of wailing, holding -- learning a first hard lesson in how
suddenly life comes pouncing, blindsiding, wrenching hearts with
loss.
Writing letters of farewell, burning letters of memory into a
crosspiece, circling a gravesite in the woods, holding hands, the
girls praying for their Princess, I praying that my princesses
will be safe in this husky world.
Returning from the woods,
holding hands, Elisabeth, all of 4, saying unbelievably: Dad --
lets go forgive the dogs that killed our cat.
-- Kevin Anderson Monclova, Ohio
Lauds: The New Song
Sing a new song to the Lord.
Let everything That
breathes praise the Lord. Psalm 150
Of course you have heard it all before, the printed
praises in the choir book flung out across monastic chancels, the dull
muster of tired pieties warmed over from the thousand years of song, the
high milismatic rhetoric of Lauds rousing snow and sleet, sparrow and eagle
to shout our inattentive adoration, the same yesterday, today and
tomorrow. All our Sinais are valleys, all our Canas are snacks, as we
crank out the predictable, the expected, the pre-cooked, pre-packaged
Glory to God.
But you know our hearts from afar, you know our
stutterings, and our stumblings. We would not exchange one day in your
courts for a thousand elsewhere.
-- Fr. Kilian McDonnell Collegeville, Minn.
Poems should be limited to about 50 lines and preferably typed.
Please send poems to NCR POETRY, 115 E. Armour Blvd., Kansas City MO
64111-1203. Or via e-mail to poetry@natcath.org or fax (816)
968-2280. Please include your street address, city, state, zip and daytime
telephone number. NCR offers a small payment for poems we publish, so
please include your Social Security number.
National Catholic Reporter, October 22,
1999
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