Holy Prophets Elijah and Elisha
If god lived in the sun she’d send her friends
a chariot of bubbling gas ablaze;
wheels of turning heat and burning reins of haze:
dynamism to carry off her ends.
The seat fabricate from sheer brace of power,
the floor ignites with planes of burnished flame,
the sun gives power to shape and nail the frame,
all conflagration to extol god’s hour.
If god lived in the sun she’d thaw the one
hamstrung in the gospel frozen from fears,
love hobbled in the cold, paused and icy tears;
her church where nothing may be done.
Defiant, Elisha followed him to fire,
felt heat and life, blessed with fierce love entire.
Elijah’s cloak over Elisha (sculpture by Betsy Porter — betsyporter.com)
The Wedding Surprise
A man, a king, invites us all to jump
to make his own world great again, not ours.
Tyrants by all names, Putin or called Trump,
Imagine the world subject to their powers.
We first seek God among the many decent,
Who find their names inscribed on the king’s floor-plan.
Their gold-edged invitations the king has sent
To let them think they’re different from the poor man.
But the poor are there, waiters, homeless sons,
Ice addicts, women trafficked, trapped and cowed,
Like ‘Where’s Wally’ we watch the poorer ones,
Try to see God hidden among the wedding crowd.
Look! That person who may be from the slum,
God, roughly dressed and humble, has finally come.
- Matthew 22:1-14
- Jesus begins his parable, ‘The Kingdom of heaven is like a man, a king, (anthropo basiliei)’, perhaps warning the reader not to identify God with this human tyrant.
The Wedding Procession – Fabbi Fabbio (1861-1946)
We’re still in the Octave of the Feast of St Francis, so I post below my poem, in a lighter tone, for this year’s feast.
[You can still buy copies of Sonnets for Sunday here (or scroll done from this post.]
+ + +
AND ALL GOOD
It’s no bad thing
to celebrate the feast of St Francis
with a dog and no-one else.
I called the dog
‘God’ last night.
She didn’t mind. It suited her.
I’ve missed Mass today
and played with the dog.
She finds joy in a chewed-up old toy.
I wept a little reading my novel,
she jumped on the arm of the chair
and licked my face wet.
We met her canine companion Chloe
at the park. They ran and played at growling.
I saw a wide smile spread across her face.
She grounds herself flat, not in submission,
but in humility, greeting all humans
and dogs as we pass.
Some call her cute,
but that’s irrelevant on Francis’ day –
She runs her race with boundless spirit.
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