espacio creativo: mayo 2005 Imprimir E-mail
07.05.05

Caligrafía y Poemas por Mary McKeone rscj

Provincia de Inglaterra - País de Gales

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Calligraphy and Poems by Mary McKeone rscj

Province of England - Whales

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Calligraphie et Poèmes par Mary McKeone rscj

Province d'Angleterre - Pays de Galles

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The Centre Of My Life

He holds the loveliness

of all my days
lest I forget,
and stores my sorrows

in the hollows
of his, hands.
Then when I look at Him.

I see the graces
of the years;
my joys resplendent

on his countenance
and in his wounds
the traces of my tears.





Sacred Moment

I closed the door of my loom
and sat cross- legged at the Well of the World.
And the roots of the Tree of Life
embraced me,
encircling me,
drawing me downwards to the waters,
pointing me upwards
to the branches where angels dwell.

But I was lost in the rainbow
for the swing from earth to heaven,
from heaven to earth,
is too soon, too sudden
for one new to dreaming.

I swung from the stars
in one brief moment
and the breath of God was in my face.

I had had my fill
and, overflowed,
so I stood up
by the roots of the Tree,
opened the door of my room
and stepped out into the morning.





World of Tomorrow

Sometimes I see the spirit of the world
against horizon's evening,
mantled in her yesterdays of full-blown fame;
sometimes I see her crouched
with eyes aflame,         .
fearing the shadows of her sad uncomprehending
and yearning for the hope ­
that morrow may betray.




Tears

Today I saw a holy thing
more precious than the pain ­
a moment break in someone's eyes
    and fall away like rain.

The bread we break in friendship
is shared at very cost,
but when the leaven is the Christ
no moment can be lost.





To paint a lark

To paint a lark would break the laws of music;
To speak my joy would curb the Hand of God:
The hammering of word-play has steeled the edges
of my soul,
And joy, born of encounter, has hollowed me out.

So reach into me now, Word of the Spirit,
Into the growing point of self and soul,
To utter the lark song my tongue cannot
encompass.

For Your Presence is green to my being;
Gladness is bursting like the cherry blossom,
And the wind is warm.





Blessed Are The Poor

I met a woman poor in heart ?
­blessed is she -
who travelled lightly through the world
and her eyes were free.

She held all suffering in her care,
the naked and unshod,
and when she spoke of those in pain
you heard the voice of God.

She bore no grievance in her years ?
her sorrow had run through ?
quickened in Christ, her life was now
singing and true.

She paused no longer on her way
than friendship takes to be,
but, passing, left us all to share
her wealth of poverty.



Mary McKeone rscj
Province of England - Wales

Última modificación ( 06.10.05 )
 

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