Showing posts with label poem. Show all posts
Showing posts with label poem. Show all posts

Sunday, October 21, 2012

THE DODOS OF OUR DAY

The Dodos of Our Day 

Pity the pretend defenders of decency, 
the protests of baffled bullies in the pulpits 
of patriarchal privilege who’ve long relied 
on the fiction of feminine weakness and sin 
to justify the unearned dominion of males 
so easily distracted, disturbed and undone 
by the merest glimpse of soft flesh, of female skin 
that the only way to control themselves is to 
smother women and girls under cover of veils 
and social rules that treat all issues intimate 
as property safe only in male possession. 
Pity those cold and desperate to re-assert 
authority over bodies not theirs, frantic 
with fear of women thinking, working, threatening 
the oppressive cultish deference to all parts 
masculine required to preserve the lie of strength 
exposed in equality, in women living 
by their own choices, without “father’s” permission. 
Sad it is to see the Akins, Imams, Romneys 
irrational flailing ignorance in defense 
of a “right” devoted to hiding the ego 
fragility of the few who must be “in charge” 
to feel secure, the few who over-compensate 
for their own faults with weapons and words demeaning. 
Pity them, so dependent on their own fiction 
that just a little truth can mean their extinction.

(Marthe G. Walsh)



The flightless dodo bird is extinct, but it's human namesake is not...alas.

Many thanks to Marthe for the poem.

Sunday, October 14, 2012

MEDITATION ON JOB BY MARTHE

"Job's Torment" by William Blake




for my friends of faith who may not be reading my favorite church blog ... on occasion I write a little meditation based on the assigned texts for the week that my friends in Boston use (composed of things this amateur sees when reading, thinking about what it all might mean) ... and by the way, it makes the most sense if you read the texts noted ... a little thinking of a day ...

peace be and be

Marthe


Proper 22 Meditation

Job 1:1, 2:1-10, Heb. 1:1-4, 2:5-12, Mark 10:2-16
Ah, Job, no doubt of his integrity 
while certain of his blessings, fresh with vows 
of faithfulness and works of charity, 
flush with the love of his generous God! 
His obedience stood up to the loss 
of goods and servants and even offspring, 
no sin of the lips, no curse did he toss 
into his well of naked suffering. 
To love and to be loved with one’s whole self, 
a yearning children know and adults hide, 
shroud in rules, dusty scrolls on a shelf, 
to veil hearts hardened in the to and fro 
of risk and error wandering, contracts 
masquerading as the holy union 
of created partners drawn to compacts 
of unconditional love responding, 
receiving, rejoicing in its one Source. 
Naked as Job, innocent as children, 
a trust no mortal sunders in the course 
of jealousy or trial -- one true gift: 
      for a soul once bound to God, no divorce.

(Marthe G. Walsh)
Posted with the gracious permission of Marthe.

Image from Wikipedia.

Tuesday, October 2, 2012

"SEPTEMBER 29th, A PENDING AS IF"


September 29th, A Pending As If

The chill begins, the softer bright
of shorter days, the slow adjustment
of chattering wings long last flight
toward the heat of promised love
as if instinct could be memory
of steady guidance from above.

Wiser ones than I know it’s true,
“faith is living as if in great hope”,
from seasons dark springs life anew;
objective harsh reality
counsels rational despair to seek
something more, One we cannot see.

Into the light some call fading
launched a flare of words, once desperate,
of the loneliness of wading
in the run-off of others’ hope,
in the wake of lives that matter;
did they not care? Or think the rope

coiled at their feet was there for show
but not for rescue of the flailing
ones comfort shuns and cannot know
if the illusion is to be
maintained that optimism alone
can change the course of history.

As if – imagination’s gift,
and one last line of poetry,
a ribbon cast into the rift
between what is and what might be,
if only as if could be enough –
leaves flame, fall, mute to gravity.

(Marthe G. Walsh - September 2012)
Marthe is a new online friend who wrote the poem above and graciously gave me permission to publish her work here on Wounded Bird.  The poem is truly fine writing - so beautiful and so perfect for the season.  Of course, the words resonate for me in a very personal way as you see if you read the words beneath the title of my blog.

The photo is not the most beautiful of autumn foliage pictures, but it is mine.  Here in south Louisiana, we do not generally have much leaf color because the first frost often comes too late in the season after the leaves have begun to fall from the trees.  A couple of years ago the weather and the stars aligned just right to produce the colorful tree in front of our neighbor's house.

Marthe's two collections of poetry are available at Lulu.    

Friday, September 21, 2012

LITTLE LORD WILLARD


How little Lord Willard aspires to rule!
So proudly attended the plutocrat school
with Dad’s reputation and money in hand,
sharp pencils and spreadsheets assembled a band
of legal and fiscal finaglers supreme
to pillage and plunder and finance his dream;
outsourcing, bankruptcy and capital gain
with zero concern and a cold hard disdain
for regular workers, producers of goods
on low or lost wages destroyed neighborhoods,
called stealing “creating”, insisted on stealth
to cover the truth of raw arrogant wealth
despising “other,” not so clever as their own
at gaming the system, reaping seed once sown
with intent to encourage the average
to strive, help the poor to rise, not leverage
the risk of vultures too greedy even to wait
for the maimed to expire their hunger to sate.
With ambition not limited by conscience,
Lord Willard, now Mitt, purchased the governance
of an unlikely state full of blue Democrats,
“fixed” the budget with fees, a no tax technocrat
without learning the first rule political:
voters are people, not trends or cyclical
losses deleted with the click of a mouse,
a lesson critical to win the White House.
Public service not mentioned in this current
election, but Mitt, demoted to servant
might just be the ticket to inject something
humble into his bubble of pretending
his elitist view is best for a country
of equals humoring his kind, the fake gentry.

(Marthe G. Walsh - September 2012)
Marthe calls the poem doggerel.  I call it Romney to a T. 

Tuesday, July 24, 2012

MARY MAGADALENE

"Penitent Magdalene" - Caravaggio

MARY MAGDALENE

Mary, Mary, Jesus healed you.
Full of thanks, you followed him,
Stayed with him until the end,
Mourned your Savior at the cross.

To the tomb you went on Sunday,
Your Lord's body to anoint.
When you found no body there,
By the grave you stood and wept.

"Mary, Mary, why the weeping?"
"Sir, where did they lay my Lord?"
"Mary!"  "Rabbouni!"
"Ah Mary, do not hold me.

"Go now and tell the others
That I live, as they will see."
And you went, and you told them,
"I have seen my Lord.  He lives."

June Butler 7-23-12
Yesterday was the feast of Mary Magdalene.  There is no evidence in any of the four Gospels that Mary was a harlot.
The whole story of Mary as a prostitute, who is fallen and redeemed, is a very powerful image of redemption a signal that no matter how low one has fallen, one can be redeemed.

Powerful as this image may be, it is not the story of Mary Magdalene. Mary Magdalene is mentioned in each of the four gospels in the New Testament, but not once does it mention that she was a prostitute or a sinner. At some point Mary Magdalene became confused with two other women in the Bible: Mary, the sister of Martha, and the unnamed sinner from Luke's gospel (7:36-50) both of whom wash Jesus' feet with their hair. In the 6th Century, Pope Gregory the Great made this assumption official by declaring in a sermon that these three characters were actually the same person: Mary Magdalene, repentant saint. The Catholic Church did later declare that Mary Magdalene was not the penitent sinner, but this was not until 1969. After so long the reputation still lingers.
Indeed!  Although Caravaggio's painting of the penitent Mary contradicts the information above, I chose it because I love his art.  

Image from Wikipedia.

Saturday, June 30, 2012

LOWER ORDER WOMEN BISHOPS IN THE CHURCH OF ENGLAND?

Let's hope and pray that will not be the case.  The following poem was written by David Booker, a former colleague of themethatisme.  David kindly gave me permission to post his poem.
The case for clause 5. 1c

You are not like me.
The difference is obvious,
as plain as the nose on your face.
I am sorry to say
that although I have nothing against you
personally,
and although some of my best friends are like you,
I cannot, in all conscience,
accept the gift you offer.

Please don’t feel this secondary issue
in any way makes you second class.
Rather marvel at my exegetical acrobatics,
turning up to down, and north to south,
and Galatians 3 verse 28*
into a culturally bound reflection
we cannot be expected to take literally.

You must allow bigotry to triumph over grace
because unity demands the majority be silent.
As good Christians you must respect me
even when I refuse to recognise you
or eat from a table you may once have used
for fear of contamination
and deliberately airbrush you out of scripture
by mistranslating your name to suit my prejudice.

Yes, although our Church recognises
there is no theological objection,
you must turn a blind eye to injustice,
chauvinism, sexism, poor scholarship
and an incredulous watching world,
to guarantee a perpetual place for my ignorance.

After all, the permanent no go areas
we are asking you to create
will not stop those of others races,
or those with a yet incurable disease,
from exercising their ministry.
No, we only want to protect ourselves from women
and we really don’t understand the fuss.

David Booker

*Galatians 3v28: There is neither Jew nor Greek, slave nor free, male nor female, for you are all one in Christ Jesus
I can not support the amendment 5. 1c and dearly hope that it will be removed.
The statement on clause 5(1)c from the website of the Church of England.

WATCH (Women and the Church) on the clause:
But the amendment to Clause 5 has caused widespread dismay. It would entrench discrimination against women in the Established Church and place a permanent question mark over the validity of women's orders.  The confusion over its interpretation amongst commentators demonstrates that it would prove to be bad law
Sign the petition requesting the House of Bishops in the Church of England to withdraw clause 5(1)c.  You don't have to be English to sign.

Monday, June 25, 2012

A BEAUTIFUL POEM...

I hope this poem has the same effect on you as it did on me.
 
Walk With Me by the Water
well worth the read..

A BEAUTIFUL POEM ABOUT GROWING OLDER:
Damn...
I forgot the words


Don't blame me. You know who you are, and your name is Julie.

Friday, April 27, 2012

REMEMBERING GAYLE - SIX YEARS


The picture of my sister Gayle was taken on the grounds of the Tower of London during our trip to England in the 1990s. We were headed to visit the Norman chapel inside the White Tower. I stopped to take a picture, and Gayle walked on. Today is the sixth anniversary of my sister's death. With courage, she fought off lymphoma 17 years before she died from pancreatic cancer. I still miss her. For me, the picture is a stunning metaphor for Gayle's walking away from all of us who love her.

Please pray for her husband, Frank and her three children, two grandchildren, and one great-grandchild. Please pray for me and for her many friends who still miss her. She was a wonderful person. She loved to joke and laugh, and she loved a good party. She was a good wife, mother, grandmother, and great-grandmother. She was a good sister and a good friend to me.

For the past ten days or so, I've been unusually doleful, and I've wondered why. There's a good bit going on in my family that could make me sad, but I'm fairly resilient, with my melancholy times lasting only a day or so. Yesterday, it dawned on me that in the days before the anniversary of Gayle's death, I grieve each year, even though I'm not constantly thinking about the approaching anniversary. Still, the body clock says it's a time to grieve.

WHY COULDN'T YOU STAY?

You walked away; you left us
Bereft, bereaved.
How could you go?
It wasn't your doing,
I know, I know.
Yet, how could you go?

Two years passed and gone,
Slipped away.
After you left, I'd think
I'll call her; I'll email.
Oh no! None of that!
You won't answer.

Now I know you're gone.
No thoughts of visits to come,
Seeing your face, hearing your voice,
The sound of your laughter.
Sadness lingers, emptiness remains.
Why couldn't you stay?


June Butler - 04-27-08

Friday, March 9, 2012

JUAN COLE TRANSLATES OMAR KHAYYAM

Omar Khayyam (55)
Bartender, since fate
has defeated you and me,
and this world is not a
dwelling for you and me;
but given that we have a glass of wine
in our midst
know for sure that the truth
is in your hand and mine.
Translated by Juan Cole
from [pdf] Whinfield 55
Ah yes. Sometimes it is exactly so.

From Juan Cole at Informed Comment.

Friday, April 15, 2011

LOL! THE JOKE'S ON RICK

From Jim Burroway at Box Turtle Bulletin:
Former Sen. Rick “Man on dog” Santorum hosted a town hall meeting where he unveiled his campaign slogan, “Fighting to make America America again.” Turns out, the pithy phrase didn’t come from Santorum’s creative genius. It’s from a pro-union, pro-racial justice, and pro-immigrant poem by that famous Harlem Renaissance gay poet Langston Hughes. The poem, “Let American Be America Again,” goes like this:

Who said the free? Not me?
Surely not me? The millions on relief today?
The millions shot down when we strike?
The millions who have nothing for our pay?
For all the dreams we’ve dreamed
And all the songs we’ve sung
And all the hopes we’ve held
And all the flags we’ve hung,
The millions who have nothing for our pay–
Except the dream that’s almost dead today.

O, let America be America again–
The land that never has been yet–
And yet must be–the land where every man is free.
The land that’s mine–the poor man’s, Indian’s, Negro’s, ME–


I stole nearly the entire post. I hope Jim forgives me. I couldn't resist.

You can't make this stuff up.

Wednesday, April 6, 2011

GOD'S EAR


Prayer is the little implement
Through which men reach
Where Presence is denied them.
They fling their speech

By means of it in God's Ear
If then He hear.
This sums the apparatus
Comprised in prayer.


Emily Dickinson

In haste.

Image from Wikipedia.

Thursday, December 16, 2010

JUST BECAUSE....


The Madonna and Child with Two Angels - Sandro Botticelli
Museo Nazionale di Capodimonte, Naples.
.

Mary’s Song of Praise

And Mary said,
‘My soul magnifies the Lord,
and my spirit rejoices in God my Saviour,
for he has looked with favour on the lowliness of his servant.
Surely, from now on all generations will call me blessed;
for the Mighty One has done great things for me,
and holy is his name.
His mercy is for those who fear him
from generation to generation.
He has shown strength with his arm;
he has scattered the proud in the thoughts of their hearts.
He has brought down the powerful from their thrones,
and lifted up the lowly;
he has filled the hungry with good things,
and sent the rich away empty.
He has helped his servant Israel,
in remembrance of his mercy,
according to the promise he made to our ancestors,
to Abraham and to his descendants for ever.’


(Luke 1:46-55)

Just because I love Botticelli's Madonna paintings, and just because I love Mary's magnificent prayer of praise and thanksgiving to God, The Magnificat, was reason enough for me to give you this.

And then these words came to me:

O Blessed One

Mother of God, O holy one,
Inside your body, the Word made flesh,
As an infant suckled at your breast.
The God-child, cared for gently, lovingly,
Grew in wisdom and in grace.

Mother of God, what did you know?
Were you sad? Were you fearful?
Midst the joy of family life,
Did you feel a piercing in your heart?
O blessed Mary, pray for us, sinners all.

June Butler - 7/17/07

Reposted from July 2007 just because....

Image from Wikipedia.

Wednesday, December 8, 2010

"CHARTRES" BY GLENN SHEA


The Belle Verrière (c.1180 and 1225)

The Writer's Almanac, with Garrison Keiller, posted a lovely poem titled "Chartres" by Glenn Shea. You may want to have a look. I think you won't be sorry.

Image from Wikipedia.

Thursday, December 24, 2009

Jesus Dear

One glorious night in stable cold
A babe is born in days of old.
O Mother Mary, do you hear
The angels sing of Jesus Dear?

As Jesus Dear your arms embrace,
You see His face so full of grace,
Your overflowing love abounds,
Heark'ning to the angels' sounds.

Your arms around Him keep Him warm.
You vow He'll never come to harm.
Yet in your heart there dwells a fear
Of hurt to come to Jesus Dear.

A shadow of a cross falls o'er
To pierce your loving heart well sore.
O Mother Mary, what distress
To mar the blessed happiness!

He'll grow in wisdom and in grace,
A Babe no more in form and face.
Sweet Mary, do I see a tear?
Weep not. He's yet your Jesus Dear.

From Luke: 1-3

June Butler (12-24-09)

Saturday, August 29, 2009

Our Lady Of The Driveway - I Remember Katrina


Mary, Full of Grace

Thanks to Athenae at First Draft for the photo and the title. She took this picture when she was in New Orleans at the end of March, when a group of us led by FD bloggers, Athenae and Scout Prime, gathered to gut a house, view the destruction, and squeeze in a little fun.

The statue of the Virgin Mary stood in a driveway. The head was broken off, but someone had put it back in place. The photo and the title struck me with such force when I first saw it that I have never forgotten it. The image of the statue of Mary in the driveway - "Mary, full of grace" as Athenae calls her - was the symbol of my destroyed and broken home town, my abandoned city, my beloved New Orleans - always full of grace to me.

Our Lady Of The Driveway

O Mary of the Driveway,
Broken like your city,
Your head lies on the ground.
A sorry sight, a sign,
A sign of devastation
Wrought by wind and water,
Angry blow and raging flow.

A passer-by, one of tender heart,
Sees and stops and mourns your head
Lying there apart,
And gently, gently takes it
And replaces it.
There. Our Lady's whole again.
Or so it seems. Or is it so?

Grandmère Mimi - 5-13-07


I posted the picture and the poem first on May 13, 2007 and then again on the anniversary of Katrina in the years that followed. Until I change my mind, I will post the picture and the poem every year on the anniversary of Katrina and THE FEDERAL FLOOD, which, in New Orleans, was not a natural disaster but an ENGINEERING DISASTER. I remember the more than 1800 people who died and all those who loved them. I remember the 275,000 who lost their homes. I remember those who survived, but suffered through horrendous conditions in the days after Katrina. I remember those who have not returned to their home towns, and who want to, but can't find affordable housing. I remember those in Louisiana and Mississippi still struggling to recover and rebuild their homes and their lives.

Katrina - August 29, 2005

UPDATE: See Paul the BB's post "Lest We Forget".

Yes, I know it's quite circular. Paul links to me; I link to him. But I don't care. His post is a beautiful tribute and memorial on this the anniversary of the tragedy.

As I said in his comments, "You know, I couldn't bear to do a post like yours. I'd be overwhelmed. But I'm so very pleased that you did in honor of those who suffered so much."

Monday, April 9, 2007

Supper At Emmaus


Supper at Emmaus by Caravaggio, 1601
Then he [Jesus] said to them, "Oh, how foolish you are, and how slow of heart to believe all that the prophets have declared! Was it not necessary that the Messiah should suffer these things and then enter into his glory?" Then beginning with Moses and all the prophets, he interpreted to them the things about himself in all the scriptures.

As they came near the village to which they were going, he walked ahead as if he were going on. But they urged him strongly, saying, "Stay with us, because it is almost evening and the day is now nearly over. "So he went in to stay with them. When he was at the table with them, he took bread, blessed and broke it, and gave it to them. Then their eyes were opened, and they recognized him; and he vanished from their sight. They said to each other, "Were not our hearts burning within us while he was talking to us on the road, while he was opening the scriptures to us?"


Luke 24:25-32
From Rmj in the comments to my Noli Me Tangere post below:
We used to have wonderful discussions in seminary about Jesus after the resurrection. Did he have a body, or not? All the Gospel witnesses are intentional[ly] inconclusive. In Luke, he appears to the disciples, but is only recognized in the breaking of the bread, then he vanishes. In John, he walks through walls and closed doors, but has wounds that can be touched, and eats fish with Peter (to prove he's not a ghost).

Fascinating stuff. Ambiguity is the very warp and woof of life!
Indeed it is! Assuming Jesus had a body of some sort, I wonder what it would have been like to be among the disciples on the road to Emmaus with Jesus and hear him explain the Scriptures. What would it have been like to break bread with Jesus that night? Although they did not know him as they walked with him, there was something about him that made them want to remain in his presence. I put myself in their company.
Come And Eat With Me

Will you come and eat with me?
You can stay the night.
Stay just a while and have a meal.
As we break our bread, we'll talk.
Stay with me; rest a while.

Here, take your bread.
Wait! Who are you?
You are Jesus, the one who died!
You are dead, but here you are alive,
Here you break bread with me.

You made me come alive,
As you spoke to me of the prophets.
You set my heart on fire when you told me
How you had to suffer and to die.
What! You're gone? Just like that?

June Butler - 4/9/07
From Luke 24:25-32