Tag Archives: prayer

WATCHING RETURNS

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We await returns, afraid to hope, yet eager for change

while the world turns and twists on battlefields

we cringe to see and do not recognize as our own.

We try to rebuild a prosperous and civil society

while schools, hospitals, highways, trains and homes

are blasted apart with life’s blood by robot drones.

The monsters are everywhere now, colluding to gain

all the world’s wealth and power as their own.

Hell on earth appears on city streets, and outside

schools and Home Depot, even at our own front doors.

We do not recognize the human drones, masked as they are.

We do not recognize the darkness draped now in gold,

gold we pay for that allows monsters to hide,

even from themselves, as gambling games mix with propaganda

aired on every screen, every hour, of every day while we play

with money we no longer have to pay the rent, buy our food,

teach our children in safe schools, roof the unhoused,

treat the unwell, feed the hungry, gas-up our cars

and find a way to stay alive and well – one more day.

The whole world is at war in unrecognizable ways,

on battlefields created as theaters of the absurd

but just as deadly in each its own way; and we play!

We play. We play. And, it is true, some of us simply pray.

Wait for returns. Gird and guard your strength today

for the battles which lie ahead and will not simply go away

as you turn from the poll results to begin another day.

Never doubt what we and all the world’s people are about.

We are all defending freedom and liberty.

Some of us are defending our very lives against genocide.

Americans sharing tax dollars with monsters brings no pride.

We are afraid to claim our well-earned and historical shame.

Return to wakefulness as the young are now doing.

See across oceans, in places with names we cannot pronounce

to wars fought more openly, with death a greater reality.

We are part of their fight as our monsters fund a common enemy,

and throw our support to help other monsters destroy even more.

Monsters are destroying the peace we diligently built

and the freedoms we fostered after the LAST GREAT WAR.

Destruction is at the heart of each and every war.

We play with blocks the monster continually knocks down.

The destroyer is once again, and still, at our door.

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HOLY HOURS

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Hours are not carried by Time.

Hours carry Time, and define

the meaning of each minute

night and day.

In wakefulness or sleep

Hours are mine.

Holy Hour is the time I pray

before the sacred Host of Immortality,

Grace enters with great mystery.

Indecent Hours get in the way of wakefulness

with sleepless nights, and dreams, in play.

Make every minute count, wise women say.

Hours mount their weight day by day.

Their heaviness brings down clocks, yet chimes

that days left are too few; I shall soon be out of time.

Make haste to use each Hour with a smile.

the time we have left used well makes life worthwhile.

Hours do not carry us into unfilled Time to waste.

We carry Hours like a weight to remind us to make haste.

Hours are not carried by Time.

We carry Hours. We carry Time.

Every minute of every Hour is mine.

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Goodness and Mercy

Goodness and Mercy

follow me every day,.

Their footfalls softly fall

As I make my way.

As darkness drops ahead

they lift their torches

to light my way,

comforting through nights

that threaten

To never go away.

I hear their voices

in children at play.

I feel their touch in hugs

from friends keeping loneliness at bay.

I share their laughs and smiles

with strangers on my way.

I am carried in their arms

by those who lift my fears away.

I accrue my many debts

but it is they who pay.

They carry me toward my fate

when I would wearily delay.

And, when it seems useless,

they remind me to pray:

“Thank you, Goodness and Mercy

for following me all my days.“

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THE HOLY TRINITY

This Sunday the garden is my cathedral.

Where I can kneel un-masked

among hostas and ferns

and turn my gaze upon Creation,

Third person of the Trinity

Who sows the seeds of Christianity

Buried deep with the Second

in the fertile soil of the earth

prepared by the First,

Master Gardener of our souls.

I contemplate Second’s rising

as I ponder the resurrection

of every living thing that grows

after a long winter of cold and snow.

What prayers are these I offer

in the pantheon of gods of long ago?

The prayers of an immune-compromised 

Catholic unable to sit among 

un-masked rows of worshippers 

kneeling in too-few pews

listening to the Good News

spoken by priests within brick and mortar,

while I  kneel in the open-air garden.

My communion is deep if incomplete.

I sign the cross and sigh,

breathing in the energy of the Trinity,

which keeps my soul alive.

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STOP SIGNS AND MIRACLES

Miracles happen every day

at each stoplight along the way.

Strangers meet unexpectedly

pausing quite respectably

to show one another every courtesy.

Without the light to make us pause

would we engage in such holy cause

as honoring the rights of others

before our own druthers?

We should not therefore, be surprised

when war is stopped before our eyes.

It can be done, it surely must pay

that we practice such moves every day;

in the simplest of ways, on every byway.

So, I sit at the light and silently pray

for the miracles to come today.

Every stop light and stop sign 

give me hope in the universal design

which I desperately implore.

Make war no more.

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Angel Prayer

Do angels fear to tread

Mariupol‘s streets

lined with the dead?

Who else will guard

the skies that bled

upon her living souls ?

A single prayer is said,

asking skies to close

and ease the dread

of more to fall and fail

than bodies.

Listen well, angels of Ukraine.

Speak to angels everywhere

and pass along the prayer,

lest dictators leave their stain

on centuries of despair,

on the streets of Ukraine

and elsewhere.

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