Psalm 21
song for a gift
Lord, thank you for this
time in which I may
wander without engagement
calendar in hand
I am engaged
without assistance
learning in a deeper and
kairotic way
about these things
whose making we call
Earthly life and time
Vaccines
(a polio center bombed in
Pakistan, because of
serving)
I lived in the cities where
Salk and Sabin worked
Which does not matter
As much as the reality of
Vaccines
Diphtheria, polio, small
Pox, and malaria;
Millions—millions—died
From Spanish Flu in
The last (twentieth)
Century
These diseases are now
Resolved and most are gone
With vaccines and other
Helps except for those
Ravages that were not
Cured except through time,
For we hadn’t means to
Cure
We still look at this
Challenge, though it
Seems we’re getting
Better
I don’t know how those
Against vaccination really
Feel, maybe because I’ve
Only experienced the
Good
I’ve had mild symptoms
Of that for which I’ve
Been given shots—that’s
In the nature of vaccines—but
I’ve not suffered fully from
Diseases or conditions
Against which I’m
Protected
Now, due to a condition (not
Vaccine-related), I’m toward
The top of the list of those
Who should receive flu
Shots
Any reservations
Notwithstanding, I get the
Shot
Those who refuse risk
Infecting others, though
I respect the hesitation
If I cannot ally the
Principle
Yet those who turn down
And those who protest this
Medical opportunity are
Not bombing doctors’ offices
Or clinics where these
Serve
Though, I must say, that in
This free land, some
Take issues to extremes
To destroy clinics of
Another medical kind thus
Surrender being human in
Becoming the extreme and little
More
But on a day in Pakistan
I’ve read further in the news
About
Bombing a polio clinic
Addressing a disease that
Can be veritably
Eradicated
If this terroristic vision
(An irony of shots)
Could be realized, then there
Would be outbreaks of laming
And of crippling infection
Without recourse except
The best (the worst) of
Luck
When we can cure, we
Are at our best;
What can be said for
Those who hunt down
All those who can and
Now must more bravely
Cure
Psalm 19
a song for when I’m terrified
In the middle of the night I
Had a heart attack and
I survived which are two
Things infrequent that is
To have the attack at night
And to wake up
I wasn’t scared then just
In great pain a pain I
Could not identify since
My heart had never been
A doctor’s concern so
I waited for it all to go
Away the pain the stone I
Felt upon my chest I even
Tried to go back to
Sleep and nothing went
Away things got only worse
I tried to count off what this
Might be bronchitis pneumonia
Or simply being too tired from
The semester’s work
The famous ache you see was
In my right arm not the left
So I knew it could not
Be that even though it
Was and as the sun was rising
I heard noises in the hall
Crawled to the door and opened
It and croaked a request to
Whomever in the hall
That could they there were two
Dial 9-1-1 for me and even had the
Presence to suggest this might
Be a heart attack after all
Here’s what I felt though
Through the whole of me in addition
To the pain a sense that I was
Dying and if so that I should
Let it go my tightening scrapping
Stabbing hold onto life
One word came to mind as if
I were hearing from outside
Though I was the only one
There and that word was
Relent
I don’t feel that now and take
No present comfort from that word
I think it was evoked to
Make me ready to make me
Less afraid as I felt more
The imminent loosening of this
Life in fact a relenting
It felt sad and serene at the
Same time
I like it here and do not want
To leave but I do think that
That word will come back
Relent
Psalm 18
about the divine participle
(Note Advent and Lent have
Participle meanings)
Lord, you are action, you
Are acting
The active spirit in the
Cosmos and inside ourselves
As a participle or a gerund
(Noun disguised as verb), you
Are meaning in all moving
Within beauty, space, and time
All is sounding, finding
Depth; all
Is soaring, reaching
Height, as you are passing
Over earth and sky and star
And under earth and in
The core
Our mortal lives
In waiting
You are saving
Saving grace
Within our lives
Helping us
In our divining
Lord
Psalm 17
a difficult song about mourning
Lord, how do we mourn
in a free land? How do
we allow atrocity and
still have the freedom
to choose? We do not
cry in empty space: but
our crying would be worse
in a revenge-wrought iron
land, where security
would be the only aim
and no one would have
open air to breathe
or drop tears for the
dead and for the living.
We must choose to
choose. Not to allow
evil or to destroy
democracy. Mourning
and breathing while we
arm, yes, and await
evil’s annihilate implosion.
For now we choose, in
a free place, to bear
the weight of death—in
nations wounded and in
the raw-split parts
of the human heart.
Psalm 16
a song of (USA) Thanksgiving (Day)
The Canadians had their day already.
I wonder if that’s because they’re
more easily, readily thankful.
In the USA, there’s so much to
be thankful for. I grew up in
Pittsburgh, and I like returning
there. Pittsburghers tend to
speak their minds, and their
minds are good. (Their driving’s
better, too.)
I have family. The five of us with
spouses, children of the new
generation, and pets (old, new). We
are scattered, which is sad, though
in our ways we keep in touch.
Friends I have, a small circle. And
I have made it smaller. Not the
happier of moves. But the friends
I have I cherish. They are good
for me, so good. They circle out
in nearness, which is the sense of
those we know and how and when.
I live alone and often feel the
peace of that. (I first typed pace
for peace, and I enjoy that too.)
I sleep badly, which means I have
hours of the day to be awake
and doing such as this. Would
someone else put up with that?
Hannah, my cat of nineteen
years. She is gone now, and
eighteen years were pretty good.
Then she faded fast. Not bad,
all in all. She was the queen and
I her knave. She ruled in blessed
benevolence, scolding me for what
is apt within the catly-noble
mind (which means daily
reprimand for not mind-reading
every whim). Still good, good-humored
company. Now a loss, though better
she go first. She awaits me on the other
side, ready to scold me what else I
missed in mortal time.
Mostly. I have you. Lord, I
know you love me anyway and
always. You love me in darkness
and in light. I am perpetually
astounded. And, yes,
thankful for this, all this, the
plenty that you give.
Thank you, Lord—Love, me
Psalm 13
a song of experience
Experience in the world has
Wounded and split
Any wholeness that I was
Parts of me are cared for
Parts are not
When I behave
Or when I don’t
I am fed and often
Comforted, even when
I don’t know how to ask
For this
There might be a price
But there are those who
Ask for nothing that
I know of
(Maybe later)
I have age and scars
Sometimes I don’t mind
But some wounds never
Heal, and pain can drive
Me away from everyone else
And you
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