Archive for March, 2013

 Three Marys

We decided to go to the garden
even though a giant stone blocked our way,
with spices to perfume our memories,
with tears to anoint him, with prayers to pray.

But at his tomb, we were greatly alarmed
for the stone had been rolled back from the cave,
and a strange young man was there, dressed in white,
saying, “Fear not! He is not in this grave!

He is risen! He is alive! Now go,
tell his disciples that He goes before
you to Galilee, and you will see Him
resurrected, alive forevermore!”

Trembling and astonished, we fled in fear,
but with hope and joy that Jesus was near.

The Three Marys at the Tomb by Adolphe William Bouguereau

The Angel

I will declare to you the dreams of God,
the invitations of the Almighty,
with lilies in my hands, fire in my wings,
with the Word that was and is and will be!

When the earth quakes, I will come down to you,
my face like lightning, my clothes white as snow,
and fear of me will fall on Roman guards,
who, like dead men, can neither hear nor know.

But you will hear my voice proclaim the truth:
“I know you seek Jesus, him Crucified,
but he is not here, for He is risen!
The Lord is no longer dead, but alive!”

Behold, the revelation from on high!
Do not be afraid, for Jesus is nigh.


The Gardener

I saw you, Beloved, standing quiet
at the foot of my cross waiting for me
to speak to your heart as you were longing
to hear my Word to you beside that tree.

I spoke seven times, but to you, nothing,
a deep silence almost too much to bear,
but, Beloved, I was waiting for this:
to meet you in the garden of your ear.

Mens tua hortus meum est, yes, your
mind is my garden, your voice is lovely!
I have heard the voice of your weeping here,
and I call you by name, by own Mary.

I love you, Beloved, I love your name;
for the love of you, my dear one, I came.

Jane Beal
Made in the Image (2009)

noli me tangere

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There was the quarrel and his shrugged-off wife
(whose  hurt heart turned, perhaps, in time to stone) –
the opportunity to shape his life
as he would wish, decisively alone.
There was success, the mountebank who made
the fictions of his inwardness come true,
and there were other loves for which he paid
with loathing for the new self he now knew.
There was regret, the image of a child
that he had lost, that time could not restore;
there was the hunger to be reconciled.
Stratford again – and there, his own front door.
The statue moved and, gently, she descended,
and all the mighty fictions were now ended.

Dick Davis
from American Arts Quarterly (Winter 2013)

p.s. Compare to “Uxor Vivamus” (read aloud by the poet)

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Now appearing in shufPOETRY:

Saxophone in F



Ascension II


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“Resounding through all the notes

in the earth’s colorful dream,

there sounds a faint, long-drawn note

for the one who listens in secret.”

Freidrich Schlegel

(quoted by Schumann

before his Fantasie in C Major, Opus 17

for Clara)

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