Sunday 29 April 2007

XXXV: Can you see Him?

O flower, can you see the Lord?
Can you hear Him?
Can you feel Him?
Turn your face up to the Lord,
And you will see Him.

O moon, can you see the Lord?
Can you touch Him?
Can you reach Him?
Turn your face toward the Lord,
And you will see Him.

O mountain, can you see the Lord?
Can you call Him?
Can you need Him?
Bear your face before the Lord,
And you will see Him.

Sunday 22 April 2007

XXXIV: The things that I do

I make my breakfast.
I eat my breakfast.
I wash the dishes.
These are the things that I do –

And I do them with You.

I put my shoes on.
I go out.
I come back.
I take my shoes off.
These are the things that I do –

And I do them with You.

I sit down.
I close my eyes.
I ponder.
I yawn.
These are the things that I do –

And I do them with You.

Sunday 15 April 2007

XXXIII: The way to heaven

I met some people,
And asked them the way to heaven.

The first said,
“Climb this ladder – see, angels are going back and forth through the clouds, heralded by trumpets. You will arrive in glory!”
So I started to climb.
But I fell off.

The second said,
“I have a needle here. If you can concentrate and squeeze through the eye, heaven is waiting on the other side. Peer closely and you can see it – all the rest and comfort you could desire!”
So I started to squeeze my way through.
But I got stuck.

The third said,
“Follow that narrow path over there. It’s a long way, but the road is straight, and look – you can see Paradise in the distance, glinting with pearls!”
So I set off down the path.
But I fell by the wayside.

I was weary, battered and bruised.

But a fourth man came to me, with unkempt hair, and said,
“Pick up a lump of wood, and walk this way.”

So I followed Him.

Sunday 8 April 2007

XXXII: The edge

After Appollinaire

“Come back, come back from the edge,”
They cried.
And then he fell.

“Perhaps he was unhappy.”
“Perhaps all his life he was living a lie.”
“Perhaps he wasn’t right in the head.”
Or perhaps he knew that he could fly.

Sunday 1 April 2007

XXXI: If I could sing

If I could sing just like the birds
Without the need for foolish words,
Well then, O then, Lord, can’t You see,
How pure would my praises be.

But since that I am given this voice,
And given this pen, I haven’t a choice,
But to my smile must add a frown,
And with my praise my sins write down.