The Poetry Marathon

Once there was an angel

all strong and fierce and bright

who lighted by my husband’s bed

before we were wed..

in the middle of the night.

This is what the being said,

when my husband had awoken,

because of it’s great light,

like a fire that won’t consume:

“You must love her”….

A message from God

Who loves His children.

He had been paralyzed

until the stately creature left

and warmth slid over him

like a blanket, soft and pure.

When it released him, he was bereft

for: one does not wish to be left

by an angel of God.

But, we were married in the Church

before the Majesty of He

Who sets all free

to love what is right.

For the tears which coursed down

my husband’s face that night

were also due to

the overwhelming love of God.

Four years past..

for children we prayed..

because to love children is right…

but not owed.

So we waited in hope.

And then, five years wed,

we bore the fruit of a child.

God’s love in human form.

Then, in years to come,

five more were born.

Sometimes there are stares

and whispers..

“How can you have so many children?”

They ask, amazed.

I know not.. for they are not like

flowers simply plucked from the field

when we want them, to pretty up our bouquet.

Lovely it is to behold,

but they are planted and rooted

by unseen hands, knit in wonder and awe.

Gifts from above, they are.

The tears which overflow course down

onto little cheeks…

for endless love is present

in the form of a child.

When the strangers whisper and stare,

sometimes they exclaim:

“You’re hands are full!”

I used to bow my head,

for they tried to shame me.

But, with age,

has come grace.

So now I simply reply:

“Yes…full of joy!”

with a smile of sincere

gratitude to the One Who gives.

But, sometimes He takes away..

a sacrifice in this world which

has forgotten love in human form.

We have seven children…

one taken to Heaven by God’s angel,

who had appeared that night.

And there are six born..

but all of them, love in human form..

a verdant field of rooted flowers,

colorful and bright.

For a Saint of Mercy once asked:

“How can there be too many children?

That’s like saying there are too many flowers”.

I looked through the glassy pane

to the window across the way

shrouded by boughs of flowers, hot pink.

The old woman lives there

and I imagine her on the stair

which appears in my view.

There’s a picture on the wall

–is it floral too?

Or, perhaps it’s the one she loves…

an old photograph, which captures time.

I see at the top of the straight staircase

a passage which goes this way or that.

Many nights I peer out into the dark,

the boughs now blanketed in silky black,

and I spy a light on to the right

in a room which lies upstairs, towards the back.

I’ve developed a camaraderie with her

and I say “Goodnight friend” as I imagine

her sitting in a papered room, with rose drapes

and lilacs in a vase

in a comfortable blue chair

covered with a quilted plaid throw.

But, how would I know?

I’ve seen her in the daylight

but she has just walked on past

carefully stepping on arthritic feet

keeping her balance precariously.

We’ve exchanged pleasant greetings.

But, at nights, when I utter “Goodnight friend”

I wonder…

What is it really like to sit in that room,

to tread the stair,

and to gaze out that other window across the way

back at mine

and imagine?

The tiny beating chambers

of a tiny baby heart

all perfectly harmonic

in rhythmic, living art.

Drifting on the sea

was a tin can with silver gleam.

I simply sigh,

thinking I’m one inch high

so I can sail off to lands in a dream.

Ezekiel reminds us of old:

“Fathers have eaten green grapes,

thus their children’s teeth are on edge”.

What say you, dear Lady?

I hear your sweet voice…

it calls both father and children

to return with all their heart

to the One Who aches for them..

calling them too,

each by name.

New Eve, New Ark, Holy Refuge,

Tabernacle of the Most High,

pray for us.

Upon the placid, darkened lake

and beneath the huge, bright moon

there sat a stoic Pelican

whose chicks would die too soon.

They clamored in a panic

for there was no food to spare.

The Pelican’s wings were broken

so the nest was bare.

Looking with pity at her brood

she knew what must be done.

Striking her breast, out poured blood

upon each and every one.

The chicks gobbled hungrily

at this sacred food.

And the Pelican, in her glory,

smiled upon her brood.

That’s the ancient legend

which saints of old did tell

to describe how God

indeed feeds us just as well.

He comes down from highest Heav’n

to altars on the earth

from which He pours forth Himself

to nourish and give new birth.

For, our hungry souls are fed

like chicks in a nest

And our Stoic Pelican

provides Food Most Blessed.

I am a ceaseless wanderer

who carries all I own

as I wander place to place

not knowing which

is Home.

I tread the path of the world

as aimlessly I go

searching, seeking

waiting, hoping

for something I don’t know.

I’ve always been an orphan..

can you sense my pain?

I am a loner who walks

night and day

down the lonely lane.

Suddenly there appears

a set of footsteps true

in the dirt

of the trail which comes

into my view.

The Man who I see there

looks at me with Eyes

which have seen

many things

and nothing a surprise.

He looks at me with an endless,

penetrating Gaze

and I know I am looking back

at the Ancient

of Days.

He tells me the greatest Story

and no longer am I blind

for He has seen

my searching

for something more sublime.

He says: “I was once lonely.

I had no pillow for My Head.

I hung on a Tree

until they made sure

I was dead”.

“They thought me a vagrant..

whose time was more than gone.

My teachings

they had despised

for so very long”.

“But, where I went they couldn’t go.

I had loved until the last….

even those who

rejected Me

in my lonely past”.

“Now, I am King of the Angels.

I am no longer alone.

The Earth is My Footstool.

And Heaven is My Home.”

“I invite you to come with Me..

your wanderings are done.

A whole family

awaits you,

my most blessed son”.

I look at Him in wonder

as slowly I surmise

that as the deepest night falls,

is when the brightest

Sun does rise.

So I stepped forward in trust,

no longer alone.

I know now where I am to go

on this path

which leads

to Home.

Somber silence ever loud

as comes down

the Glory Cloud…

from Realm above

steeped in Grace

as God stoops

to kiss my face.

The Altar here holds a Prize

which opens up

Paradise…

Bread of Angels

humble and small

Yet holding Power

which loves all.

Bounty of Heaven

and Sweet Manna

which lasts

’til we sit at the Table

for the Endless Repast.

We’re going on a trek

through civilized Middle Earth.

Do you see the winding path?

Raised boards over the wilderness.

Fangorn creeps close

but- Haste!

Carefully step.

Do you see it?

Misty Mountains

rising up, hiding secrets.

Yet, here lies

Gondor’s Limb

waiting to be restored…

in the waters of the Anduin..

It lives in Hope.

The celebration commenced

without event.

The party swirled around me

— like a square dance

around me–

as I stood

totally still

in the middle of the dance floor.

Totally still.

For here was life, dancing.

And I knew then

that life was…

still.

How can life swirl around…

just go on

as though all were well?

When a heart has stopped

and first breath

will never be.