What shall I pursue
with vigor unrelenting?
A face no man can see,
a voice heard only in stillness,
a presence too real for mere sense.
All other things lose their relish
sooner or later.
I have tasted heaven once,
and now all else is insipid.
For the meantime I am dull;
my heart is hard, unfeeling.
But Hope hopes on:
it is its nature.
Oh, to delight once more
in things eternal!
To taste the sweetness of Deity,
To have Joy fill the heart to brimming,
To have Love prompt the soul to singing!
Maybe Tears will flow soon;
that is the way.
I write poetry
even if I don’t know how;
but better this
than waiting till
I’ve fully learned how to.
Life’s wasted in too much waiting
for the perfect time.
There is no such thing!
There’s just the moving
and the doing
and the taking of risks
Better that than always waiting
for the perfect time.
Alas, I cannot travel all the ways
of Wisdom, for the time alloted me
is short. I must content myself to be
a traveler of one road throughout.
But what road to choose I cannot tell,
Each road has charms I can’t dispel:
To embrace the one is joy and pain;
To leave the other, loss and gain.
The sun is hot, the sea is calm,
the boats move in a circle.
The boatman feeds the sharks with shrimp;
they eat without a struggle.
The tourists swim beside the fish;
they’ve paid to get this close.
The children shriek: they feel the rush
when nearby a shark goes.
A toothless maw sucks in the tide;
they’re big but pose no danger.
There is no sign of a Great White;
of whale sharks I am fonder.
(Note: Feature Image taken from trip advisor.com.ph)
Oh Father God,
Have mercy now
On me Thy wayward son.
Please change my heart
And make me pure;
Make me willing to endure
Thy judgments just,
For then I trust
I will come forth as gold
Refined in fire,
with cleansed desire:
To love Thee above all.
Alive the grace of God in me
Though Sin may rage ferociously.
Grace shall not falter, shall not fail,
And in the end it will prevail!
Though bruised and battered Grace may be
a victim of Sin’s wild melee:
Let bloody kicks and punches fly,
‘Tis all in vain – Grace cannot die.
Thus, bleeding, fallen in the fight
Still, will I trust in God’s sure might.
His grace will give the victory;
I rise above the enemy!
Water . . .
sprinkled on the greenery
– thankful grass!
I see that gratitude
springs up everywhere
because people care;
their ordinary tasks.
I mean: the one
who holds the hose and goes
watering the grass.
(May 10, 2014)
(Reflections on a Paralytic)
August 19, 2007
When I saw the man who could not move
it was for me all over….
I saw him lying on his bed
(a strange smell was in the room);
there were saints of stone around him
and lighted candles too.
He would laugh as if he cried;
he would cry as if he laughed;
he was neither mad nor sane:
this was simply how he spoke
because he could not move.
What I saw made me bitter:
I believed in joy no longer,
though I still believed in God.
Something really sharp had cut me,
gave a wound that would not heal.
Life took on a different meaning,
which so suddenly became clear:
In the midst of speech and silence,
in the thick of things to come,
some unclear, appointed suffering
might be waiting round the bend!
Then I saw the Man who could not move –
arms outstretched upon a cross,
blood and tears upon his face,
a crown of thorns upon his brow.
The hands that made the world were pinned
so helplessly… so willingly.
(He died in absolute safety
in the arms of Perfect Love.)
And his joy was all the greater
because he could not move…
Now our joy is all the greater
because he would not move.