Saturday, December 7, 2013
from: EVANGELII GAUDIUM (2013)
Mary, Virgin and Mother,
you who, moved by the Holy Spirit,
welcomed the word of life
in the depths of your humble faith:
as you gave yourself completely to the Eternal One,
help us to say our own “yes”
to the urgent call, as pressing as ever,
to proclaim the good news of Jesus.
Filled with Christ’s presence,
you brought joy to John the Baptist,
making him exult in the womb of his mother.
Brimming over with joy,
you sang of the great things done by God.
Standing at the foot of the cross
with unyielding faith,
you received the joyful comfort of the resurrection,
and joined the disciples in awaiting the Spirit
so that the evangelizing Church might be born.
Obtain for us now a new ardour born of the resurrection,
that we may bring to all the Gospel of life
which triumphs over death.
Give us a holy courage to seek new paths,
that the gift of unfading beauty
may reach every man and woman.
Virgin of listening and contemplation,
Mother of love, Bride of the eternal wedding feast,
pray for the Church, whose pure icon you are,
that she may never be closed in on herself
or lose her passion for establishing God’s kingdom.
Star of the new evangelization,
help us to bear radiant witness to communion,
service, ardent and generous faith,
justice and love of the poor,
that the joy of the Gospel
may reach to the ends of the earth,
illuminating even the fringes of our world.
Mother of the living Gospel,
wellspring of happiness for God’s little ones,
pray for us.
Amen. Alleluia!
....
Friday, November 29, 2013
the quiet voice of ... Joseph Ceravolo
__________ Woods
The hawks float over us
two next to each other
hunting us all day
to tell us we live and breathe
the harsh woods,
and the deer scent pervades
justice, honor, freedom
in that sacred spot inside.
The hawks on the air
we on the sphagnum
of this bog in
reforming the earth.
We stop, we stalk
the ancient trail in the rain.
The flap of wings,
the song inside mixing
with our heated eyes
and insides. The hawk
like Hermes follows us.
It is everywhere, it is nowhere
follows our inside eyes
follows beyond solar winds
beyond golden shadows of death
to a common eternity.
—from Mad Angels
...
Monday, November 25, 2013
a romanian expression
GOD EXISTS
By Costache Ioanid
Oh, no! We are not a dream, an accident,
Nor a self-modeled clay.
But a Creative Force,
A Boundless Wisdom
Molded us.
Truly, God exists!
Oh, no! We are not grim wild beasts,
Led by a ruthless whip.
We have a soul,
And freedom,
A heart that beats for skies up high.
Truly, God exists!
Not ever would the plowed land
A chaste lily’s smile have noticed,
Hadn’t the Almighty his hand out reached
With feelings our inner well to fill.
Truly, God exists!
We bear the Scriptures as a proof,
And never-ending miracles and signs.
And he, who God to see desires,
Should stand in front of Him,
On barricades!
Truly, God exists!
Not always shiny is our journey,
Nor is our life a fairy-tale.
But we do live for it’s worth living
When high, above the narrowed world,
God exists!
Oh, no! We are not void!
What blessedness!
The Ultimate Truth is revealed.
Jesus lives inside of us,
Light and love,
And death is flight into eternity.
What blessedness!
Truly, God exists!
i lifted this poem from Lutheran Surrealism which is the only place on the whole wide web
where i could find a poem of Ioanid in english translation
.....
.
Wednesday, November 13, 2013
from a long poem The Sugar Cane
The cultur'd land recalls the devious Muse;
Propitious to the planter be the call:
For much, my friend, it thee imports to know
The meetest season to commit thy tops,
With best advantage, to the well-dug mould.
The task how difficult, to cull the best
From thwarting sentiments; and best adorn
What Wisdom chuses, in poetic garb!
Yet, Inspiration, come: the theme unsung,
Whence never poet cropt one bloomy wreath;
Its vast importance to my native land,
Whose sweet idea rushes on my mind,
And makes me 'mid this paradise repine;
Urge me to pluck, from Fancy's soaring wing,
A plume to deck Experience hoary brow.
James Grainger - approx. AD 1765
...
Friday, November 8, 2013
The Burnt Man and Me Study in Blindness
Dirty askew Cap in the shade
I used to be him Under a Bridge
Sun-burnt shining Block of red-gold
American Icon Tractor spinning by
Pulling a Mower Rake and Bailer Hay one month a year
Hey! I say I used to be him
Blister bubble back Pop Tart breakfast
Motor home overnight I used to be him
Cock-a-doodle-doo In the city
You called me from the day To the entrance to the night
Your sweet sweet voice Lured me away
Astray from I used to be him Goddamn charred-up
He's a God in his own right Burnt-down rascal
Refrigerator heart beam Out of the soul
Me and Him both Drink ice cold beer
Me under soft skin Sitting sound-proofed
Him up at dawn Scraping his palms
Hi-day hay! Hi-day ho! I'm stuck on a bridge
He's under the sun I drive through the night
He's all day long Stepping on dirt
"How come you know him Little city-slicker?"
I saw him yesterday Red-plated gold
Feeding on the eddy Cap askew head
He's got a spinning rod I wished I'd had one
He was my uncle My grand-dad and aunt
My Tupperware supper Great-grandmother too
My jadeite dream I saw him at a fish fry
Two hours away It was too damn hot
Hand worn face-wrinkle He's older than me
I used to be him Before I had to dream
You called me through the night To the entrance to the city
We went for a soft drink He showers with his beer
He showers then to bed I drive through the night fog
I lost you in the light-tent I searched the broken streets
I lost you in the night-tent I used to be him
He's blinded by the sun I wish I were burnt
He's blinded but perfect I've lost track of you
Ancient! Ancient! Red never slathered
Trout in the water Man in the field
I've blinded you And you've blinded me
We're blind hallelujahs I used to be him
And the baseball cap and the cooler I used to be
And the sun burn on the outside We're all staring baby
No one's blinded right No one yet at least
No one's blinded right At the entrance to night
Nate Mohatt
...
Wednesday, November 6, 2013
secrets of living
may my heart always be open to little
birds who are the secrets of living
whatever they sing is better than to know
and if men should not hear them men are old
may my mind stroll about hungry
and fearless and thirsty and supple
and even if it's sunday may i be wrong
for whenever men are right they are not young
and may myself do nothing usefully
and love yourself so more than truly
there's never been quite such a fool who could fail
pulling all the sky over him with one smile
e.e. cummings
....
Monday, October 28, 2013
and the colored girls go......
....In Berlin, by the wall
you were five foot ten inches tall
It was very nice
candlelight and Dubonnet on ice
We were in a small cafe
you could hear the guitars play
It was very nice
it was paradise
You're right and I'm wrong
hey babe, I'm gonna miss you now that you're gone
One sweet day
Oh, you're right and I'm wrong
you know I'm gonna miss you now that you're gone
One sweet day
One sweet day
In a small, small cafe
we could hear the guitars play
It was very nice
candlelight and Dubonnet on ice
Don't forget, hire a vet
he hasn't had that much fun yet
It was very nice
hey honey, it was paradise
You're right and I'm wrong
oh babe, I'm gonna miss you now that you're gone
One sweet day
You're right, oh, and I'm wrong
you know I'm gonna miss you now that you're gone
One sweet day
One sweet day
One sweet day, one sweet day
oh, one sweet day
One sweet day, baby-baby, one sweet day
one sweet day, one sweet day
Lou Reed +(october 2013)
....
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