Best Processional Poems

Satin shoes, for years, 
I wore upon my feet;
Bound around my
Ankles with
Expectations 
I could never meet,
On bloodied toes
That languished 
In a pirouette 
Of self-defeat;
Wearing slippers
That tried in vain
To polonaise
Your dreams.

~~~~~~

Written:  Jan 24, 2011


Author’s note:    In the story of Swan Lake, it...

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Sunday afternoons,
or Saturday afternoons,
look and feel richer,
dense relational liturgy of mundane ritual,
often more sabbath quiet.

Quiet neighborhood school playground
celebrates more solitary visits
seeking silent sensory selftalk,
muse swings back and forth,
happy slides up elational,
processional,
then downright ecstatic.

Sunday's GratitudeGoRound
of a warm winter's sun
pretexting Spring's redemptive dance,
prancing across wet jungle gyms
of...

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The Man from Darwen

Came there a man from Darwen,
In the heart of the Lancashire Hills,
A Town of industrial landscape,
Coal Mines and large Cotton Mills.
These times of hardship and struggle,
Left its scars upon the folk,
Working class agents of Victoria,
Amidst black chimney stack smoke.

Luke dear Luke, please...

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"The Pavane" 

Autumn leaves
whistle nonchalantly
along the left-behind

paths of serendipity
hesitantly touch fingers
lightly for a while, tipping

lost in the wastelands
winter beckons 
love unconditionally

magic listens
and arrives
in the laps go-lightly

of racing hares
tossed salad years
and marshmallow dreams

of servile tortoise
pleasantville sown seams
stitching singers sewing

covers over pea-soup ethereal
conquered territory unseen
the unconquered all-knowing,...

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Each Catholic Church may be unique
But you will find familiar elements in any Catholic church 
That you also find in our own parish home.

Baptismal font—a pool or large bowl of water usually stands
Near the doors of the church and reminds us
That baptism is our “door”
To...

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Pavane for my dead daughter
 
So Innocent
So Chaste
So young
Unfulfilled
 
She died in my arms in the courtyard
The courtyard of my villa in Spain
What had she done to deserve this?
What had I done?
 
Is there nothing  up THERE?
No Pity
No love
Above
 
How dare THEY preach of...

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That empty presence hung upon the day
processional – unknowns who held him dear
bearing  the debt of sadness in their way
more apt to crack a joke than shed a tear
the joy of him is what they wish to share.
Thus, those who knew the man would...

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A canticle I think I'll be, 
A rimed thought, hoary and ancient, 
Stinking as the dust heaped up empyreal on the hills of 
The Judean sands;
And as dulled and dimmed as an archaic coin tarnish'd.
This is what I think I might be.
I'd as lief be...

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TRANSIENT
 made visible
in the eponymous
to
 first appear
a
point a
in
linear perspective
 relief
with expressive
intensity

a breath
a downcast gaze
with furrowed brow
a presence
  of
the
otherwise
as
realism
as
 is heightened
 by the
remarkable

facilitated
 articulated
so processional
  readily available
talismanic
effigies
of imagination
 realised
by
desire...

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The frog king, enthroned on his stump in the swamp,
Throatily cheered the processional romp.

The dragonflies darted and buzzed overhead,
And kept at safe distance the pink tongue of dread.

A midge lay sobbing right there at his feet,
“Cheer up, a smidge bigger, you’d make a nice treat!”

Then,...

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They walk in single file beside the river.
Five young men heads newly shaved,
their saffron robes washed so frequently
that orange has turned a saffron yellow,
a yellow seen in temple lamps at dusk.

They gather under a broad Tamarind tree
for shade and rest.

There was a big match last...

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Do, at night, flowers dream of their death?
The thought, admittedly is a poetic one,
but I find that absurdity,
is often a step ahead of knowledge.
I, being less self-absorbed than the frailest weed,
never dream of death, for death dreams of me,
it crawls into bed with me,
and enters...

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It is a time for congenial chants,
for keeping a reverent pace
with the hymnal steps of the heart.

The year lags behind us
setting slowly now 
laden with all its bygone woes.
The days are become processional,
a folding of sacramental raiment’s
strained with the fabric
of isolation, hardship, and loss.

Rituals are...

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And all the people were gathering;
With palms and olive branches in their hands..
There He is
Here He comes..
Riding on a donkey..He comes
He comes
He's here, here He comes
Jesus was in the center of the procession;
And all the people all around him were shouting'
Holy, Glory
Glory, Holy 
Hallelujah “Praise...

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It is a time to keep a reverent pace
with the hymnal steps of the heart.

The days are become processional,
a folding of past raiment’s
strained with the fabric
of isolation, hardship, and loss.

Rituals are more important
as the year declines,
as nights lengthen and settle
into rumor and whispered lore.

Hold high...

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