Mary-Patrice Woehling

The morning after angelsSt. Joseph sanded wood,Nailed smooth boards at right angles,And though the crib was rude, It was a vast improvement On donkey’s feeding trough; The craftsmanship was excellent Though the design was rough. St. Joseph made a promise To keep God safe from harm; At the coming . . . . Continue Reading »

You’re rising somewhere in the April nightAgain, as ever with returning spring.Your tomb will be found empty at first light Again. The dead cells of Your corpse igniteAnd flame to life; the spheres of Heaven ring.You’re rising somewhere in the April night To glory. For a moment all is right;The . . . . Continue Reading »

He scrubbed the trough and filled it with fresh hay.The midnight sky was bright and hard and raw; The constellations danced above cold clay. That night the heavens put on a displayThat froze wise man and shepherd mute with awe.He scrubbed the trough and filled it with fresh hay And wondered how long . . . . Continue Reading »

In truth, I was not born to royalty;My power came from pleasure and my smile.I used my supple body to beguileA bookish, awkward prince who spoiled meAnd I became “Great Lady.” Other wivesAnd concubines he kept convenientlyCould never breach the deep affinityBetween us, or the love that bound our . . . . Continue Reading »

I need tidings of comfort and of joy;Please play me “Hark, the Herald Angels Sing.”I don’t like “Silent Night”; it’s like a dirge;“Sleep in Heavenly Peace”? Eternal rest.The Christmas carols that I like the bestAre those that have a child’s happy urgeTo raise the voice and spirit . . . . Continue Reading »

10:59. The seconds slowly trudgeOver the top of the eleventh hourWhen shells and whiz bangs cease their lethal shower;We hold our breath and watch the minute budge.The church bells peal in joy, but time will judgeIf this is lasting peace or brooding power.On monuments crepe paper poppies flower;What . . . . Continue Reading »

I planted snowdrops forty years agoWhen I was fourteen; early March they driftAcross the garden, poking through the snow.I see them springing, and my spirits lift.I see them blooming sheltered by the hedge;Some come up in the middle of the grass.They linger by the fieldstones and allegeThat Easter . . . . Continue Reading »

September 1:  Though acorns start to fall,And equinox is still three weeks away,We lose the evanescent light of day;Despite bright mornings, night begins its sprawl.October 1: The pumpkins are for sale;Chrysanthemums grow gold or tawny rust.Towards Halloween the warm days start to fail;The . . . . Continue Reading »

I wonder who taught Salome to dance,To wave her arms, to drop her final veil.For all her grace, she somehow disenchants. She’s sinuous and snakelike; no romanceRuns through her lithe limbs; blood red stains each nail.I wonder who taught Salome to dance. We noble ladies glance at her askanceWhile . . . . Continue Reading »

The Lord God, the Almighty, simply said,“Do not eat any fruit from this tree. ItMay taste delicious, but its aftertasteWill make you realize that you ate in haste,And you will wish that you had never bitInto its luscious poison. Use your head.”When Eve and Adam gamboled naked inTheir garden, . . . . Continue Reading »