Petering
by Matthew T. WarnezA man does tireof beingcold. He nears the fire.But beingtold, he lets expirethe BeingBold. —Matthew T. . . . . Continue Reading »
A man does tireof beingcold. He nears the fire.But beingtold, he lets expirethe BeingBold. —Matthew T. . . . . Continue Reading »
III. Conversion God, imagine you(O Majesty!)emerging fromobscurityat thatsmall feast— At Cana,a wonder:clarity uncloudstheir heartswhen the best winegushesfrom the water jars. For thatI thank you,my Dear.And, Love,I’m praying:please pour over meyour charity;douse mein the delightof . . . . Continue Reading »
Dante’s understanding of the heavens—as spheres rotating around the Earth—has been out of date astronomically for nearly half a millennium. Dante’s political world consisted of a score of perpetually warring Italian city states and a few greedy, scheming popes. His intellectual . . . . Continue Reading »
Give me, I thought, a stand of tilted pinesguarding white water hurtling into mist.Give me a steep-cut torrent over stones,trout-bright, clear and fast. Or better, I wished, give me the reckless reachof a winter sea, heaved by moon and wind,salt-sweet mayhem roaring across a beach’sapron of . . . . Continue Reading »
Here is the place envy and lies Pent me behind a prison gate. Oh, happy is the humble state Of that wise man so sage he flies This wicked world that’s filled with hate, And with his humble home and board In some delightful country spot, His one companion there the Lord, Lives out his life alone, . . . . Continue Reading »
She is already what she will become.In crimson cape, her neck pierced by a sword,she holds the palm of peace and martyrdom— both suffering and glory, her reward. The striking textile pattern, a rosette, recurs in hues of amethyst and jade, suggesting jewels, perhaps an amulet for Christians. . . . . Continue Reading »
Truth is truth wherever it is found, In light-struck windowed hands of opal glass, In pebbles left in homage on a grave, In fingers shelling mounds of lady peas, In radiance that roosts inside the soul, In paint, in words, in whirling steps, in steel, In “rings of fire” as infant heads are . . . . Continue Reading »
The Christian story is the true myth, making concrete, clear, and present what the pagans had perceived only dimly and distantly. Continue Reading »
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 »
’Tis the year’s midnight, and it is the day’s,Lucy’s, who scarce seven hours herself unmasks.— John Donne, “A Nocturnal upon St. Lucy’s Day,Being the Shortest Day” Afternoons end early, in December. When the day dissolves in night, remember Lucy, who took on the night, embodied . . . . Continue Reading »