Varios : Poemas para la Semana Santa y Pascua

Sixth Station

The dark has lifted
for a moment now,
and film of dirt and sweat,
blurring his eye focus
to make crazy patterns on the road,
has cleared.
The cool clean cloth
feels sweet against his face.
He remembers his mother
had the same gentleness in her touch
when she had washed from him
the grime a child's play made,
these many years ago,
and held a fresh white towel
close. This towel, too, he sees
is white.
The road no longer blurs
and rocks before his eyes.
He tries to smile a little
across the pain that cracks his lips,
and hands the woman's kerchief
back to her.
His dark eyes look, then, into hers.
He leaves remembrance
of his gratitude indelible
upon her towel's whiteness, and carries
indelible upon his heart
Veronica's gentle act of courtesy.

Anna Mae Marheineke rscj
Province of the United States

A Woman

There was a woman all right; there was a woman for you,
Warm-hearted, hot-tempered, even her hair was red
And her path was as rocky as the staccato music
her spangles made when she danced to the tambourines.
There was a woman for you - and even Christ knew it;
He knew what was in man. It was the noon of night, perhaps, when He first saw her, Dancing. Maybe she reminded Him of David leaping before the Ark
Because here was the same rhythm, the same swing and timbre of soul.

Christ had a sort of weakness for this whole-hearted lot of human kind,
And He called her, probably with a word that never passed beyond eye.
There was a woman for you, lovely as pomegranate rich and full,
And alabaster clear.
She smashed her life into one white gift and spilled out the ointment
Mostly of tears. . .She knew a voice in the garden when it said only "Mary" whitely.
The sharp alabaster had worked its way into her wounded flesh.
"Do not cling to me - yet
Or what is heaven for, new heaven and new earth,
A garden Easter-glorious burgeoning alleluias and tambourines
For this woman who, too, was a Mary, that name spilling over with grace
Like alabaster, or like windfall pomegranate seeds.

Janet Reberdy rscj
province of the United Sates

Holy Thursday

Not all grain falls, dies, fructifies afresh
in the warm earth,
renewing its own poor life.
Some is garnered and ground, fashioned to feed our life.
And some, ah God, in its dying
Loses its substance wholly
Flowers to Divinity.

Bertha Wilcox rscj (+2000)
province of India

"Draw nigh and take..."

This morning at our Eucharist
we sang this ancient hymn;
and a door opened into a timeless .
zone, where all Eucharists were but one.
And this is surely how it should be;
though the tug between the past
and the present and what is yet to be
forced a dawning comprehension
that could as yet barely glimpse the truth.
Perhaps, here, forced is to give the wrong impression
more an explosion in the mind
that timelessness must be for those
like me, so bound by ticking clocks
and five year diaries, who run the treadmill unaware.
An eternal now that our doing in remembrance
knocks and is opened
into the feast of eternal life.
Here only a comer of the mystery's curtain lifted
a glimpse of something inexpressibly greater where words and images would seem to hide
the truth rather than bare its meaning
Save to say that awe and wonder
found my eucharistic hunger filled
and knowing more to come
for this and so much more
I give you thanks O Lord.

Anne Hine rscj
province of England – Wales

Good Friday

Good Friday afternoon
and silence falls.

Small movements of the blossomed trees,
a bird or two, wagtail or robin,
casually busy round about.

Silence is not absence of all usual sounds
but a concurring stillness
which nature seems to share:

the mountains wrapped in mist
sunlight enhancing all that the eye absorbs;

colours of the year's first flowers
bare branches' shadows scribbled on the grass
the unleaved trees awaiting summer growth.

Our world is at a standstill
in this centre point of Time and Space
where we await a Dying and an End.

Once more this Dying and again this End
familiar, and each year renewed
in anguished expectation.

Familiar Ending and each year renews;
a springing back to life, a greenness
the opening of new leaf, new life, a Resurrection,
making, it seems a final End,
yet offering once again
a new Beginning forged of all our past
and all our solitary dyings.

April O'Leary rscj
province of England - Wales

Life goes on

On our TV screens
If nowhere else,
We have heard and seen
The horrors of death and destruction.

What to be done?
Have we an option
Beyond that of wringing our hands?

Remember we not
The Calvary Hill
Where Mary stood?

Remember his chosen friends
How they ran from Him
And were yet forgiven.

Did he not come to bring Life?
And Life goes on.

And the part for us,
Involves no more
that at second hand,
Is to believe.
To live the promise
He gave His life to bring.
To live on in the hope of His Word.

Frances Makower rscj
province of England - Wales

The Lord Has Made

This is the day,
Greater than the day the
Red Sea waters divided cunningly.

This is the day,
More beautiful than
Noah's rampant rainbow.

This is the day,
A homecoming dearer
Than that blest Prodigal's.

This is the day,
More awful than
Three youths laughing in the blazing furnace.

This is the day
He spoke about in parable and
Patient waiting.
The day they never understood
Until he passed through death
And a closed door.

This is the day he made
in his image:
Red with the Sea of his passion,
Gold with the sun-up of his rising.
This is the day for us to prize.

Judith Brown rscj
Province of the United States

Tiberias was this;
out of the dark,
soundless beauty of a gray world
stirs and shifts.
Layers of mist move to lapping waves.
Sky brushed with rose
lightens to blue, then
sinks again to mist.
Sea and sky merge in endless gray,
birds cry sleepily,
skim into light.
Slowly You brighten the world.
Fish leap in sudden flash of silver,
but my net is empty
till You stand on my shore.
Your waiting Heart
lifts a shrouded sun
to shine upon my world.
"It is the Lord!"

Carmen Smith rscj
province of the United States

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