Time for a short break. Back in January.

Simeon

a Hebrew dedication like any other
circumcision
blood
blessing
naming

Jesus Christ
----------as per angelic instruction

and then an old man approaches
clear eyes
soft voice
wrinkled strong hands

takes crying squirming baby from astonished mother mary
and all becomes quiet as a spirit descends
and gives the song to bless the one
who extended his sight to see the One

as we too may encounter him at any
time
in any
one
at any
place
and may depart in peace
extending the song

Gloria In Excelsis Deo

they all tried their best to approximate angelic gloria

Vivaldi
punching out the word like a bullet to the heart
Palestrina
soothing the hillside with intertwining harmonies
Handel
exploding with high heavenly voices
Bach
breaking up the word into an instrumental dance
Mozart
simply letting the voices sing the sonorous song of praise
Beethoven
rushing upwards to a joyful complexity of rhythm and wall of sound

So many others

and then they struggle with the next line
angels proclaiming

Et in terra pax

not in heaven
not in our individual psyches
not even in our congregations
but on
--------------earth

how do we sing that?

with irony?
with hope?
with assurance?
with silence?

look at the newborn face of the child
the only true antidote to hate

and peace on
earth
may yet descend
on dove-like angel wings

stopping for me (apologies to e.d.)

there’s a grey horse outside
stamping and snorting
white steam nostrils

he’s attached to a dark covered sleigh (this is not jingle bells)
gleaming in the moon’s glow

my coat awaits as I get the urge
but it would be a loud and grating ride
as there is little snow and we would be
travelling on gravel and pavement and grass

where would we travel
I wonder
on this strange and singular journey?

the horse waits----------impatient

but I prefer the beauties of here and now
green eyes of my love
burgeoning lives of my children
good will of
friends
-------siblings
---------------church

and just like that
he moves along, sleigh scraping
behind
empty

Dad at Christmas

his favourite carol was Good King Wenceslas
and he liked to sing all 8 verses knowing them by heart
maybe it was the way the kindly monarch
presided over his grounds and led by example

and if we sang Joy to the World before the meal
he would try to sing the second verse as well
no hymn truly complete without all the verses

this was when he was older

he is strangely absent from my earlier
memories of Christmas
a vague smiling presence as gifts and play
took over
but at church or gathering
he usually gave a talk or
sermon at some point
pointing with that thick finger at the meanings of the
day

in later years this was reduced to reading Luke 2
“and a decree went out”

He made sure it was read and then smiled with pride
at his children and grandchildren as they performed and then
dutifully went to receive his and Mom’s blessing

sometimes he took out his harmonica
assuredly tapped it on his calloused palm
and played a hymn
trembling right hand
creating vibrato

He wasn’t much for receiving presents
gadgets and ties and sweaters held little interest for him
dropping to the floor beside him

but he usually got a book or two
and these he examined tenderly
feeling the edges of the pages with fingertips
turning it around in his hands
opening to a random page and beginning to read
presiding over the words with interest and
the love of learning something new

as he quietly presided over
a family gathered
to celebrate the Gift
with interest and love

not trees

the sap in winter
retreats to the core
or so I imagine
no expression of life or feeling
bare sticks waver in winter wind

we are not trees
as we sing our longing
for life and light
in this winter world
often with a catch in our throat
reaching out for each other
with unwavering love
wind freezing our tears

Jonathan Elias

he’s wearing a brimmed hat
black curls emerge beneath
he hasn’t shaved yet today
not particularly prayerful

but his dark eyes tell you
something serious is going on

he wants to take you far away
------- and so you get on his traveller
-------------- and propeller through
--------------time--------------space
across border lines
crossing distant seas

when you finally stop
he points and you see it

the strange beauty emerges like a multi-coloured diamond in a desert

and you ask where this is

he says nothing
pointing at his head under that hat

and you think
sometime
--------somewhere
------------------somehow

this prayer will be answered

Advent Poem IV

lighting a fourth candle means
nearness

when the kids were all eager hands and eyes
there were four songs before we could eat

it was tradition
o come
------what child
--------------angels
---------------------joy to

each candle lit in turn
inside the little green
Christmas tree-shaped holder
the first candle already down to a nub

a clamber ensued
whose turn to blow them out

the fourth candle meant nearness
as we sang our songs with
bow tied hearts

Song of the Church

Emmanuel…
come
we call

our voices turned inward
around outside wall

candles in hand

honey voices dripping harmony

where is the spilling over into the street
where are the bells calling those who long
where are the carolers in their scarves

when we magnify Emmanuel in the world?

orange moon

mundane prairie winter
not much snow

and then through distant trees
the moon appears
like a slice of Christmas orange

it hangs horizon
like a brilliant orange bowl
floating the sky
holding all things fanciful and fantastic

for this is Manitoba in winter
sometimes you see northern lights
but this miraculous tangerine surprise?

I reach out and fingertip the soft lunar edges
my thin arms stretched through the dark December night
and hear the beating of my living heart

Satchmo

cold snow flakes
drift
around yard
as he walks up the drive

he’s underdressed
and incongruous this rural north
but his white teeth shine
in that familiar smile
when he knocks rhythmically on your door

everything seems so easy
from his
pin-stripes and knife creases
to his casual two-handed shake

and you ask him
------- hasn’t it been hard?

you know what’s hard?
not doin’ what I do

as he describes a large circle
--------could it be a heart
with his arms

and he goes on for a while
------- not too long
about the rhythm of joy
the wonder of play
the smile of peace

not in those words of course
but you get the drift!

tree

rising from simple base
to angeled tip (not angled)
covered in coloured mini stars
randomed with
wooden stars
-------paper scrolls
----------------knitted mailboxes
-------------------------crystal figures
---------------------------------fragile balls of colour
27 years of collecting
why?

because…
------- because…
-----------------because…
well…

can you see
it busts through the ceiling, the window, the eyes
and exists all
alone
in all its prickly greenness
as a
----------force of fierce beauty

Advent Poem III

we know it wasn’t December 25th
it wasn’t even bleak midwinter…
were there shepherds?

a lot of borrowed stories and myths
to piece together a story

shrouded---------shaded---------shadowed

O Magnum Mysterium

divine becoming flesh?

what are we stumblers in the 21st century
supposed to believe?

groping in the shadow of
Darwin
Einstein
Freud
Even Moltmann

but behind the shadows is light
shining on
a page open to Matthew 5

divine word become flesh
baby Christ

come Immanuel

Annele at the Piano

a transcendent moment

her finger lingering
lovingly on the key
note hanging in the balance
serious black dress
intense eyes on music
body slightly swaying

the note takes on significance of
what came before and
what is to come

our gathered family held in tension
a simple church basement
so many stories
so many struggles
so much beauty

a slight lift and she releases the note
as a tear falls

the music goes on

Whitacre

blonde hair cascading
he enters hesitantly
shyly
but with a smile

he speaks of this strange idea
that there is light in the world

after all the dark dark clouds
and violent thunderstorms

centuries of war
genocide
hunger

light that breaks through
like water in concrete crack
and can’t be stopped

light that shines through
the sympathy of eyes
the symphony of tears

light that shines eternally
from creator’s love

and you believe

Mary

magnificat

to think that our souls
enlarge God
make greater
make more audible
let us see details
like a zoom lens or
a distance microphone
and bose speakers

boggles
astounds
seems impossible

but she was chosen
to bear
the shame
the weight
the pain
the Christ

the saviour
the way
the truth
the healer
the companion
the lamb

and we follow in our ways
singing her song
magnifying

in sickness

ticking tips of clock-like knitting needles
accompany hospital sounds as we
wait
for IV fluids to do their thing

she is there
my girl---------beauty---------wife

listening------easy talk
making life life

a simple church in Saskatchewan prairie
sun slanting in window
piano playing Debussy

we walk aisle together
no giving away
we are each other’s

little did we know of
sickness and health
little did I know
of this woman
who makes her children stars
who teaches little ones to love
who makes our house a home
who knits for little ones in Africa
who cares and cares and cares and cares

chemotherapy II

strangely quiet
except for nurses’ chatter
and the IV pumps purring
cat-like

hopeful sunlight pours in through side window
as I glance at the people in the chairs
all ages
--------all expressions
------------------all symptoms

hours pass like this
with the cats hissing poison
into blood system

the quietness oppresses
like waiting death
ready to pounce on the
next mouse

but the purring comforts
carry curative
curious companionship

Advent Poem 2

thin layer of snow covers roofs
ready to melt and trickle into eaves
at the first sign of southern warmth

Santa’s sleigh won’t have much to land on
at this rate

but the sun is shining
tempering this cold day
in Manitoba
in early December

glinting lovely light off roofs
and brightening the snow-covered lawn
beside the shadow of dark trees

Romeo and Juliet

a sonnet when they meet
perfection of form
--------perfection of love

or at least the best that people can do

white slip of a dress
--------jet black hair
waiting for consummation
completion of marriage
not knowing of the blood
boiling in the veins
dripping in the streets

a handshake when they die
perfection of gesture
------- perfection of commitment

or at least the best that people can do

brass

surrounds pictures in a square or oval
dignifying
adding weight
legitimizing the mundane
even if it is only a snapshot
of baby on a beach

polished golden colour
shaped into
instruments of beauty
curled in on themselves leading to
mouthpiece where it all happens
the mundane vibration travels through

and a ridiculous sound transforms into
dignified
piercing
pure
power

a baby on a beach

Gorecki

he comes to the door
covered in snow
shaking and stamping his boots

and beckons you outside
and you follow
------- bundled up

it’s not really that cold
but it’s winter here and you begin the trek

he takes his time
making new trails through the snowy
plains

everything is the same
but then the monotony becomes momentous
as you notice the tiny crystals in the snow

the small birds darting around
--------they stay for winter

the new snow inexorably
flitting down

the grey bright sky merging
--------snow on horizon

and you see the pain in his shoulders
his bowed head
his slow steady gait

and when he turns around to look at you
eyes
------- desparate
--------------------hope

John the Baptist

locusts and honey
------------odd combination

most people love honey
most wouldn’t touch a locust

maybe most were like that with him
stangely attracted like Salome
but also repulsed

but they had to listen

repent
make straight
come to the waters

this scraggy man
undignified
no status
piercing eyes
booming voice
hailing the one to come

captured Herod’s attention
captured…

picture

there’s this picture of me
we printed it up a while ago

I’m about ten or twelve and my blonde blonde hair falls straight past my ears
to the collar of my button up short-sleeved pink shirt

I’m sitting on the midsummer grass
most likely on our yard in Gretna

one leg is bent up and I’m resting my hands and chin on the knee
the other leg is tucked under

my black and white sneaker anchors my pose
as I stare into some unknown distance

I’m not exactly happy
my eyes rabbit-like, expecting something

I don’t remember being there or the picture being taken
I don’t even remember the shirt

but I remember the feeling
that apprehensive wondering – indefinable aloneness

that strikes a boy becoming man

oranges

mandarin oranges wrapped in green paper
in a brown wooden bowl
on low table

I can’t indulge – too much fibre

A saxophone reverberates in a church
somewhere sometime
a little jazzy
a little eastern in style

this I hear through speakers in my living room
in a small prairie town
no cathedral here

just dirty, icy streets and
bare black trees
and a few boxy churches

the sax plays on gyrating with its own
echo echoing
oblivious to me
accompanied by voices
harmonizing heaven

just like a perfect round orange

hammered dulcimer

the sound of winter

ping…

as the strings vibrate after
the strike of wooden hammer
reverberating the room with the clean cold feeling of
December

each string sounds in tandem with another
augmenting sound in sympathy
stretched taut across hand-crafted wooden trapezoid
amplifying and echoing around room

sometimes if the melody and harmonies arise just so
playing an age-old jig or reel or carol
a prayer goes up
pleading for warmth

in this cold cold world