Psalm Tones
May 12, 2008 at 4:01 pm | In poems, spirituality | Leave a CommentTags: Biblical reference, syllabic verse
A short explanation of the following poems:
These are all syllabic forms, either Haiku, Tanka or Cinquain. The use of the word “Tones” refers to the various settings for doing Gregorian Chant. Chanting has been a part of Christian worship since the second or third century. In the seventh century, Pope Gregory the Great, perhaps in order to unify worship throughout the Church, made an official version of chant, using many of the very old forms. He named them by Roman numerals, limiting their numbers to less than ten, perhaps as few as six. The numbers tell the singers which notes will be used. Chanting is used for many parts of the Liturgy, but mainly for the singing of the psalms. It is still used, especially in monastic communities.
My use of the term “Psalm Tones” and the numbering, is my way of designating which Psalm is the source of my “mini-meditation.”
#1
I’ve reserved a place
in the seats of the scornful.
Dear Lord, forgive me.
# 5
Lead me in your way,
for all those who lie in wait
are right here inside.
#7
O Lord,
I take refuge
from any wickedness
or coldness of heart. Judge as I
deserve.
#13
Give light
to my eyes, Lord,
lest I sleep while living
and do not see the daylight in
your face.
#14
St. Paul would, in life’s
parade, put us in the rear -
self-appointed clowns;
the kind of fools whose Psalter
reads, instead, “There is a God.”
#15
Lord, who can abide
on your holy hill? Not I
who am not blameless;
no right-doer, truth-speaker!
Yet you invite me to climb.
#18
Lord, you are my lamp;
you follow, keeping me safe
when I choose dark paths.
Even on my stumbling way
you make my darkness bright.
#19
Heav’n, earth, day and night
have no voice nor language, but
they’re never silent.
They glimmer, whisper, shine, shout-
and always to God’s glory.
#22
My God,
where have you gone?
Why don’t you answer me?
Yet in absence and silence there
is love.
#23
I follow the rest,
out to the field and back home,
wondering daily
if the fold will be safe and
if the lord is my shepherd.
#24
Fight them
who attack me!
Kill those who seek my life!
They are not distant, lord, but here
inside.
#51
Each morning I pray,
“Lord, open my lips.” Perhaps
I should better say,
“Lord, shut my mouth,” that I may
in silence proclaim your praise.
#62
Soul-silence is time
unpassed, no minutes or hours,
limits or measure.
A time to wait for all things.
A time to wait for no thing.
#63
Eagerly I seek
thirsting and fainting for you.
In remembering
there is sweetness mixed with fear,
but your right hand holds me fast.
#84
Sparrows find a nest
as you planned for them. Could I
not ask for refuge,
a safe place where I can live
with this desire and longing?
#108
O God, my heart is fixed;
I sing and make melody.
And though my singing
is imperfect, it is still
what carries me straight to you.
#131
It’s all
too hard, I shout!
Great matters or small ones!
Help me, Lord, to be quieted
and wait.
#134
Let this servant stay
in the brightness of your light
where hands are lifted.
#136
Repeat the words, “Whose
mercy endures forever,”
until they echo
loud and louder still to be
the only Word I need hear.
#150
Even the stones might
have a breath to praise the lord,
as I too must do
’til I close my Psalter on
the final Alleluia.
Faulty Vision
May 8, 2008 at 1:58 pm | In childhood, nature, poems, viewpoints | Leave a CommentTags: childhood, free verse
Old Man of the Mountain, he’s always called,
and if you stand at just the spot
you’ll see his craggy nose and chin,
the deep-set eyes. Mount Rushmore
of New Hampshire, carved by God.
I must have been no more than five
the day we traveled there. “Oh, see!”
said mom, “Look up! See the old man?”
I saw some piled-up rocks on top.
“Oh, yes,” I said, “I see him very well.”
And it was years before
a postcard pictured what I’d missed.
But then, I’ve often looked and seen
things strangely; a slightly different angle
than’s intended. Still, I’ve been content.
Two Christmas Haikus
May 7, 2008 at 12:04 pm | In poems, seasons, spirituality | Leave a CommentTags: christmas, haikus
INCARNATION
Each December’s gift:
a celebration of life
come down from heaven.
PASTEL ANGELS
Hallmark’s colorful
sentimentality hides
the true Holyday.
Flying, I & II
May 7, 2008 at 11:24 am | In poems, viewpoints | Leave a CommentTags: Cinquaines fom opposing viewpoints
I.
Metal
and glass, nuts and
bolts, twisted and fastened
imitate poorly the flight of
one bird.
II.
Airplanes
amazingly
imitating a bird
translate the form and beauty to
metal.
Do Dogs Go to Heaven?
May 7, 2008 at 8:52 am | In Self, animals, eternal life, poems, spirituality | Leave a CommentTags: dogs, eternity
No “happy hunting grounds”
for my dog!
All the dogs of my life
are part of me,
as I am part of God.
Someday we will understand
each other exquisitely!
Epiphany
May 6, 2008 at 3:36 pm | In poems, spirituality | Leave a CommentTags: free verse, symbolism
Candle, candle;
quiet light
welcomes evening
without sound.
So do we
in stockinged feet
enter twilight
year around.
Candle, candle;
gentle light,
flickering
but never drowned;
as the flame of
Jesus Christ
chases darkness
where it’s found.
Candle, candle;
help us see
every day’s
epiphany.
Winters Remembered
May 6, 2008 at 1:45 pm | In Self, childhood, poems | Leave a CommentTags: childhood memories, free verse
Do you remember?
Being six or seven?
Ice . . . ah, Hurrah!
I’ll run and slide!
Mom says, watch out,
you’ll fall! But I don’t care.
I have to remember now, at sixty-seven
that I really may fall, and often have.
But even then, as I start to slide,
there’s that scintilla of joy.
Poem ?
May 6, 2008 at 12:26 pm | In Self, fantasy, poems | Leave a CommentTags: free verse, personification, poetry writing
My friend wrote a poem
about buying a wooden spoon.
I wrote one about a whisk broom.
A friend – perhaps the “wooden spoon” friend -
told me the best poems are about the
most unlikely things.
Not of moonlight and love.
Maybe of monkey wrenches or
paper clips or dirty windows.
But I’m not sure.
I think one just needs people
or things that can be people.
I want to convince the reader that
even a whisk broom
can love.
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