Sunday, June 14, 2015

Grudges and Gratitudes

I'm reading at Mass
later this morning:
Ezekiel's majestic cedar;
St Paul's 'We walk by faith'.

What am I doing now?
Waiting expectantly
as Mr Coffee makes
his low pertussive grumble.

Miss Marianne Moore,
Brooklyn’s Presbyterian Confucius,
once said: Grudges flower less well
than gratitudes.

Sometimes I hold
a grudge against myself:
so much distemper,
so many things done amiss.

But I have this reason to be thankful:
a friend eight hundred fifty miles away
who has made and sent me a birthday card
adorned with blue hand-painted morning-glories!

Sunday, June 7, 2015

At Some Point, Elena

At some point, Elena,
I must stop using the words
poetry and art
to describe your work
and must speak more truly:
grace and blessing.

Veteran trespasser through cornfields,
elegist of barns torn down,
hymnographer of peony and calla lily,
historian reverent toward your ancestors,
you have an eye
that I praise and prize.

Today is Sunday, a day
of eucharist, of thanksgiving:
so I write to you over early coffee
in the cool June foredawn,
just to say thanks!