Long Processional Poems

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...

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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...

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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...

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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...

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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...

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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...

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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 co-sensory silent selftalk,
muse swings back and forth,
happy slides up elational,
processional,
then downright ecstatic.

Sunday's GratitudeGoRound
of a...

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There is a need for quietness today,
time drapes itself in velvet curtains.
I must move aslant if anywhere needs
to be somewhere.

I listen to my neighbors toilet flush,
It takes a long time for the sound
to drain away...

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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...

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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...

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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:...

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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...

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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...

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Driving to nowhere this dashboard, my confessional
My actions are my own doing, always discretional
Finding clairvoyance in love, most days are exceptional
Honest forthright, there is no reason to be transgressional
Live the golden rule, nothing about me...

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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...

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