Hymns and poetry, mostly liturgical.
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Let him kiss me with the kiss of his mouth, he whom I must love but for himself, for whom I leave the north, east, west, and south to seek him ever more within myself. Let the world have all itself—it is enough for me, this chapel floor to kneel upon. Such is the ground of ecstasy, of love, of nights of joy too soon dispelled by dawn. For there the barren stones with orchards bloom, and…
Bless the cheaters; bless the scammers; bless the frauds down on their luck. Bless the thieves and all flim-flammers: We’re just trying to make a buck. Bless the con-men and the takers: Give and gladly we’ll receive. Bless the blusterers and fakers: Grant us, maybe, a reprieve. We are charlatans and shysters taking you for all you’re worth, wise as serpents.
But the woman came and did Jesus homage, saying, "Lord, help me."
As man is born of woman and then is laid in earth, so Christ in Mary’s womb then lay waiting for his birth. The rhythm of her breathing, the music of her pulse: He heard the waters seething and felt her pacing lulls. The passage of her body like falling from the stars, it took from him her heartbeat to lay him in her arms, and yet from thence he left her. Our God’s far-reaching Word, of comfort so…
“O God, come to my aid; O Lord, make haste,” so Cassian insisted we should pray: The oft-chewed syllables have lost their taste, a muted cry in morning’s washed-out gray as, elbows on my knees, I hang my head and seek the strength for getting out of bed. O God, what can I tell you?
“The people asked Martha for help, and she went after the dragon.
Meanwhile the boat, already a few miles offshore,
A plastic Jesus glowing in the night, a gift from Sister—God, what was her name?— not white as light, but shining all the same a pallid green, and gentle more than bright, long-lost, I’m sure, a trinket never blest and thrown away with other plastic trash for tidiness and godliness must clash: A landfill holds it now with all the rest. I did not feel my bedroom in the dark was Tabor, did not hear…
For he received honor and glory from God the Father
To one to whom the world is dark, O dove, descend. The shadows where he sits are stark— does darkness end? O, wound us with your piercing spark, and wounding, mend. Come forth on silent feathers, dove; drop down as rain. Turn graves to furrows—leaves spring up from sprouting grain— and let the one long lost to love take heart again. For now we fear the flame that burns, the tongue that speaks: too…
Jesus said to them, “There is no need for them to go away;
