Monday, August 18, 2014

WORLD WAR I POEM # 1

Poem for Today - August 2014       




THE GREEN FIELDS OF FRANCE


Well how do you do, Private William MacBride
do you mind if I sit here by your graveside?
And I'll rest for a while in the warm summer sun,
I've been walking all day and I'm nearly done.

I see by your gravestone that you were only 19
when you joined the dead heroes in 1915.
Well I hope you died quick and I hope you died clean
or Willie MacBride was it slow and obscene?

Well the sun's shining now on these green fields of France,
a warm wind blows gently and the red poppies dance.
The trenches have vanished under the plow
no gas and no barbed wire, no guns firing now.

But here in this graveyard that is still No Man's land
the countless white crosses in mute witness stand.
To man's blind indifference to his fellow man
to a whole generation that was butchered and damned.

And I can't help but wonder now Willie MacBride
do all those who lie here know why they died?
Did you really believe them when they told you the cause?
Did you really believe them that this war would end wars?

Well the suffering, the sorrow, the glory, the shame -
the killing and dying - it was all done in vain.
Oh Willie MacBride, it's all happened again
and again, and again, and again, and again.

And did you leave wife or a sweetheart behind,
in some faithful heart are you forever enshrined?
And though you died back in 1915
to some faithful heart are you forever 19?

©  Eric Bogle



Sunday, August 17, 2014

DEMONS 
[The following is  a  story I made up last night for today’s gospel story of the Canaanite woman – in Matthew 15: 21-28. I’ve always had trouble and wonderings about this story – so writing a story helps me put some meaning into it. I like writing stories – and I know something’s happening when I begin to wonder where the story is going and how it’s going to end.]




She brought her daughter to a half dozen hospitals and clinics in the city and nobody – no nobody - could help her. 

Nobody could heal her. Nobody could hear her daughter’s pain and her daughter’s horrors. 

Like an angry dog her demons barked in the basement of her mind – often keeping this daughter of God awake and crying in the night.

Her mother also brought her to priests and ministers, shrinks and specialists.

It seemed nobody knew what to do. It seemed after a while nobody really cared. Her daughter was an impossible case. 

 Next.

It seemed to her mom that even God had abandoned her and her daughter. It seemed Jesus didn’t care  – every time she brought her daughter to sit with her in her favorite church. Many an afternoon the two of them would sit in a bench -  in the second row  - off to the side – sort of in the dark - near the candles - of this little used Catholic Church – in the big city.

Her mom would pray and pray and pray to Jesus in the tabernacle – in the Blessed Sacrament. Her mom would  beg and beg. It seemed Jesus wasn’t  listening – wasn’t helping. Wasn’t he the one who said, “If you have faith, you’ll keep on knocking on God’s doors?”

Her daughter - with these unspeakable demons – would sometimes yell out in that big empty church. Sometimes she scratch her arms – sometimes to the point of bleeding. Luckily, nobody else was ever in the church.

Her daughter was 21 – had been in several institutions – usually for 2 or 3 days at a time – for observation - and had been dismissed from them all. Nobody could come up with a diagnosis. What to do? Where to turn? What now? What next?

Well, one afternoon, a 56 year old nun – which is young for a nun in many religious orders these days -  just happened to drop into that little used Catholic Church.

Let the healing begin.

She had spotted the church  - when the bus she was sitting in - stalled - right outside that particular church – at  that particular moment.

The nun got up from her window seat in the bus – walked to the front – went down the 3 steps - and carefully slipped by the steam and the smoke that was hissing -  out from under the motor of that bus.

The driver had said, “Sorry! Something’s wrong folks! Better get out of the bus – till I get some help here.”

The nun walked up the 4 stone steps of the church. She opened the big wooden center door. She then opened the inner doors and walked into this big empty church – which she have never seen before.

She knelt  down to pray – in a back bench - first a prayer for the bus driver -  and then for all the passengers – that everyone would be safe and get home to their families okay.

It was then that she heard the girl with the demons letting out a few shrieks of pain – somewhere down front and off to the side in the church.

The nun, Sister Mary Patrick, reached for her bag – and was about to head back out the front door. She heard a woman say, “Calm down honey. Calm down. We’re in God’s house. We’re in God’s house - now.”

All was quiet again.

The nun said a prayer for whomever was yelling or hurting.

Then she heard, “Mom, there’s someone back there. There’s someone in the back of the church. Maybe we should leave.”

Both got up and headed for the back of the church….

Spotting the nun, the mother said, “Hello Sister, hello. Could you say a prayer for my daughter? Could you give her a blessing.”

Pause.

“Yes,” the nun said. Then nervously she continued, “Let’s say the Lord’s Prayer together.”

Surprise, the young girl reached out her hands – one to the nun and one to her mom.

And they prayed the Our Father together.

Then the mother introduced herself and her daughter, Georgia, to the nun. She told the nun that Georgia was named after her dad – who disappeared a long time ago. It was just the two of them.

The nun introduced herself, “Hi. I’m Sister Mary Patrick.”

Then the mother for some reason said, “Sister can you help us?  My daughter and I need prayers and healing.”

And then they sat down in that same bench.  Then they told Sister Mary Patrick the whole story.

Sister Mary Patrick asked the young girl, “Do you have a job?”

“No!”

Then she asked her mom, “Do you have a job?”

“No!” said the mother as well.

“Well,” said Sister Mary Patrick, “I take care of old nuns and I sure could use some  help. I can pay both of you at least the minimum wage and a tiny bit more  - but that’s all I can pay.”

And the rest of the story is a story of healing – a healing that started that day in that tiny little forgotten church in this big city.

The old nuns - the 3 of them began to serve – were bed ridden or in wheel chairs – in a big - 3 story old convent – about 13 blocks away from that church. Good thing it had an elevator.

Georgia, her mom, and Sister Mary Patrick – became quite a team. It was bedpans – lifting – lots of lifting – lots of meals – and lots of love.

The old nuns fell in love with Georgia and her mom – and Georgia found healing and peace – serving the old gals.

They asked about Georgia’s education – which was practically non-existent. Well, that changed. In fact in 2 years time they had Georgia going to a community college – having got her high school equivalency – home school nun style mind you.

This is a story of healing – and it has a happy ending – Georgia eventually met a neat guy in her job as a dental hygienist  – began dating – got married – had 3 kids and a great life together – and her mom – her mom became a great granny. And Sister Mary Patrick – well – she was able to get more help and continued to serve her sisters and from time to time Georgia and her husband and 3 kids – as well as her mom – would drop into see the sisters – and Georgia would say, “This is where it all happened kids – the place where your mom got well.”


Then with a big smile she'd finish, “Well, well, well, as the story goes. Amen.”
BACK TO SCHOOL #2 

Poem for Today - August 17, 2014

SONNETEERING MADE EASY

I

With hyphens, clip off endings that don't fit;
We call this “Hyper-Technic Line Expan-”
It has a certain rhythmic swing to it
That can't be got with ordinary scan‑

Pentameter, iambic, is the rule
They teach in every other Sonnet School;
But we have found it simpler, if not nea-­
To take occasional liberties with me‑

Three quatrains and a couplet is the length
Of Shakespeare's sonnets, and of those by Mil-
It's standardized, like cheese from Brie or Stil­-
The only difference being in the strength.

So now that we have settled length and ti-
Our Lesson Number II involves the rhy‑

II

You'll note the scheme, “a,” “b,” “a,” “b,” above
In Quatrain One; that's perfectly O.K.
If something different's what you're thinking of,
See Quatrain Three, with its “a,” “b,” “b,” “a.”

For mittel quatrains we prefer to reck‑
With what the Germans, in their “schonnet-sprech-”
Employ: “a,” “a,” “b,” “b;” ja, that's correct;
No German schonnet's e'er been besser sprecht.

So mix your “a”s and “b”s, your “b”s and “a”s
To suit your own convenience; any son-
Will have our professorial blessings on
If it is rhymed in one of these three ways.

The metre, length, and rhyme scheme now are def-
­La porte est ouverte—simply put la clef.

III

The only item still to be discussed
Is subject matter, and we think you'll find
That Love is one that you can always trust
(Though Milton did quite well On Being Blind).

So Love it is, the simplest of all top‑
Like “Frozen Love” or else “Love in the Trop-”
If you feel good, try “Love Is Here to Stay,” 
And if you don't, there's “Love Has Gone Away.”

Love's hot or cold; it moves like a thermom-
­It's in, it's out, it's either up or down;
It's in the country or it staved in town—
A Fair or Stormy, Wet or Dry barom-

So get a pencil and a piece of pa‑
And you're all set to start “The Sonnet Ca-”

© S. B. Botsford
Page 663-664
In The New Yorker
Book of Poems,
Selected by the Editors
Of the New Yorker,
Morrow Quill Paperbacks,
New York, 1974


Saturday, August 16, 2014

BACK TO SCHOOL 

Poem for Today - August 16, 2014




A  LESSON  IN  HANDWRITING 

Try first this figure 2,
how, from the point of the pen,
clockwise it unwinds itself
downward to the line,
making itself a pedestal to stand on.
Watch now. Before your eyes it becomes a swan
drifting across the page, its neck so carefully
poised, its inky eye
lowered in modesty.
As you continue, soon,
between the thin blue lines,
swan after swan sails beautifully past you,
margin to margin, 2 by 2 by 2—
a handwritten swirl of swans.
Under them now unroll
the soft, curled pillows of the 6's,
the acrobatic 3's, the angular 7's,
the hourglass 8's, and the neat tadpole 9's,
each passing in review
on stilts or wheels or platforms
in copybook order.

Turn the page, for now
comes the alphabet, an eccentric
parade of odd characters. If at first you tangle,
now and again, in a loop or a twirl,
no matter. Each in time will dawn
as faces and animals do, familiar,
laughable, crooked, quirky.
Begin with the letter S. Already
it twists away from the pen like a snake or a watch spring,
coiled up and back to strike. SSSS, it says,
hissing and slithering off into the ferns of the F’s.
Follows a line of stately Q's floating
just off the ground, tethered by their tails,
over the folded arms of the W's
and the akimbo M's. Open-eyed, the O's
roll after them like bubbles blown away.
Feel how the point curls round them lovingly
after the serious three-tongued E's.
See now how the page fills up
with all the furniture of writing—the armchair H’s,
the ladders and trestles of A's and Y's and X's,
the T-shaped tables and the upholstered B's.
The pen abandons a whole scaffolding
of struts and braces, springs and balances,
on which will rest eventually
the weight of a written world, storey on storey
of words and vows, all the long-drawn-out telling
that pens become repositories of.
These are now your care, and you may give them
whatever slant or human twist you wish
if it should please you. But you will not alter
their scrawled authority, durable
as stone, silent, grave, oblivious
of all you make them tell.

Tomorrow, words begin.

© Alastair Reid
Pages 381-382
In The New Yorker
Book of Poems,
Selected by the Editors
Of the New Yorker,
Morrow Quill Paperbacks,

New York, 1974

Friday, August 15, 2014

ASSUMPTIONS: 
WE  ALL  HAVE  THEM! 



INTRODUCTION

The title of my short homily is, “Assumptions: We All Have Them!”

Today is the feast of the Assumption – and I assume we all know it means the Assumption of Mary into heaven – after her time here on earth.

It’s an amazing assumption. It’s an act of faith – that there is resurrection – life after death.

I was visiting a lady in hospice the other day – whose husband once said to me that he doesn’t believe in life after death. I didn’t bring that up the other day – as I sat with both of them and with their kids on their back porch.

Resurrection – life after death – is the big assumption – the big hope – the big act of faith.

I would stress faith and hope – because there is no proof – in life after death – just faith and hope – and a belief in the charity and love of God that Christ is the one who will be the bridge that will take us into heaven.

ASSUMPTIONS: WE ALL HAVE THEM

The title of my homily is, “Assumptions: We All Have Them!”

We would go crazy without assumptions. We assume the water is good. We assume the pilot can fly the plane. We assume that the other people in the cars around us are not about to fall asleep. We assume that those who say they love us, love us.

We have assumptions about there being a tonight and a tomorrow – and a next week and a next year.

Tragedies, accidents, abuse, terrorism, can destroy our trust in others as well as life.

Goodness and kindness and love and presence can firm up our trust in others – especially those around us.

MARY: MODEL AND MOTHER

I assume this is where Mary fits in. Her presence in the Christian Vision – helps us build up our faith and our hope and our assumptions about life and eternal life.

I think one of the blessings of being a Catholic is our assumptions about Mary – as a model and a mother. She lived some 2000 years ago. Yet she is more than that. The Christian assumption is that after her life, she was taken up to heaven by Christ ago. And like those who have gone before us, she is someone whom we can pray to. She is someone who we know by faith is with God – and so we can pray, “Hail Mary full of grace…”  We give her that compliment  - then we ask for help.

She modeled how to live life. When she lived her life in Israel – Nazareth, Bethlehem, Jerusalem, and on the road, we see that she was full of grace. She spotted those who had run out of wine – a couple at a wedding in Cana of Galilee - and someone who were running out of blood – her son – on the way to his death at Calvary. She told people to listen to her son. She was there after his resurrection – helping the Early Church get off to a good start.

As we heard in today’s gospel [Luke 1:39-56], in the Early Christian hymn, the Magnificat, she proclaimed the greatness of the Lord with her life – her spirit rejoiced in God our Savior.

She was not only a model, but she has become a Mother for our Church down through the centuries. We see her shrine – statues, pictures, etc. in every Catholic Church – and so many Catholic homes. We see so many churches – like this one – named after her.

When I was a kid I was an altar boy and then a candle boy at Our Lady of Perpetual Help Church,  Brooklyn, New York, I saw firsthand people visiting Mary’s altar – as well as lighting a candle. We grew up as a family saying the rosary – every evening. It felt like an hour – especially with my mother’s add ons – which I’ve always hated – but all this taught me that there are assumptions here when it comes to Mary.

CONCLUSION


The assumptions are: there is a God. There is the Christ. There is Mary – a model of faith and hope and charity – showing us how to live life to the full. There she is also  a mother – someone whom we can pray to and hear her say: Go to Jesus. Amen. 
ASSUMPTIONS ABOUT MARY

Poem for Today - August 15, 2014


SONNET 41

In Mary's body miracles took place
Expressions, Yahweh, of Your holy plan.
She danced in You before her life began,
Conception sweetly clean, without a trace
Of sin or imperfection, full of grace.
As conceived, so conceived in Anne;
So conceived the way the Son of Man
Would enter time, would join the human race.
In Mary's body, normal flesh and blood,
A spirit lived unburdened, free to love.
Normal soul and body, hand in glove,
She was as You intended: simply good.
Singularly normal in this wise,
She bridged the gap from earth to paradise.



© Christopher Fitzgerald
Painting: Virgin With Child
Mikhail Vrubel,
detail of Mary's Face


Thursday, August 14, 2014



ST.  MAXIMILIAN KOLBE


1894 - 1941

Here is a painting of Saint Maximilian Kolbe by a friend of mine, Al Pacitti.

St. Maximilian Kolbe was killed in 1941 in Auschwitz, Poland. It was by lethal injection. Notice his prison uniform.

He was a member of Conventual Franciscans. Notice his religious habit.

He spoke out against the Nazis - and was imprisoned.

In July of 1941 - 3 prisioners disappeared  - and the German camp commandant chose 10 men to die by starvation. One of the 10, a Franciszek Gajowniczek screamed out that he had a wife and kids. At that Max Kolbe volunteered to take his place.

"A man can have no greater love than to lay down his life for his friends." [Cf. John 15:13]