Meaning Is a Measure of Repose

Meaning Is a Measure of Repose
Meaning is a measure of repose.
Each clarity extends our comfort zone.
Reason understands what reason knows,
Rendering its verdicts on its own.
Yet if God did descend one frosty night,
Child emergent from a mortal womb,
How can we comprehend so strange a sight,
Reason still incumbent in the room?
Ideas must answer more than we might ask,
Seizing not our wisdom but our fire.
The wonder must be equal to the task,
More consumed by passion than desire.
A truth must be a stone that breaks the heart,
Shattering alike our faith and art.
Merely Being Is a Miracle
Merely being is a miracle.
Each is both aware and unaware.
Running underneath one's thoughts, a canticle
Repeats one's silent gratitude as prayer.
Yet life does not allow for much devotion,
Claustrophobic in its constant need.
Hunger puts the mind in constant motion,
Reckoning the harvest from the seed.
In ritual and art one finds a moment
Still enough to peer into the deep,
To see beneath the will the wonderment,
Music of such joy that one must weep.
As angels sing, so sing that you might hear
Silence that no mortal long can bear.
Merry Christmas to My Love
Merry Christmas to my love!
Enjoy the holiday!
Revel where the angels move,
Rejoice in what they say!
Years burn life down to a stub;
Christmas comes and goes.
Happiness lies at the nub,
Refuse of one's woes.
Inside the husk there is the seed,
Shivering with glory;
The midnight cold, the dire need,
Mere setting for the story.
All the labor, loss, and pain
Sings of beauty born again.
Merry Christmas to the One I Love
Merry Christmas to the one I love,
Even on this day of love for all,
Remembering the love of one whose call
Redeemed all those whose hearts his love might move.
Yet only one love does my spirit prove,
Chosen in a passion like a squall,
Having in such ecstasy withal
Rejoiced in what we were created of.
In such love do we find our way outdoors,
So to be drawn to love of flesh and soul,
Traveling beyond our village green,
Moving towards the wash along our shores
As our love joins the greater love unseen,
Shining with dark passion on the whole.
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So Let Them Be, Who Have Had Sex with Children

So Let Them Be, Who Have Had Sex with Children
So let them be, who have had sex with children!
And turn Your rage on those who turned their eyes,
Intending to defend Your church with lies!
Nor were they ever fit for Your dominion!
These hypocrites are far worse than the poor
Polluted souls they moved from place to place,
Avid to avoid undue disgrace,
Trafficking in silence to be sure.
Remember them when You return! For they,
Instead of proper penance, yet remain
Cardinals, bishops, princes in Your name,
Knowing well what price they ought to pay!

Sister Margaret
Sister Margaret's been here many years
In service to the children and the Lord.
She is one lovely note within a chord
Too vast and beautiful for human ears.
Even those who've carved out bright careers
Remember long and fondly one who poured
More love into their hearts than they could hoard,
A river sweeping through their childhood tears;
Remember, too, the beauty of a life
Given as an act of charity,
All of it, not one desire held back.
Ruled by need, they pause in harmony,
Even in the midst of daily strife,
To see in her a passion that they lack.

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