The Ascension

AscensionHands, feet, side –

Perfectly marred and scarred

A finger to touch the

Living wounds must rise.


Forty days of rebirth,

A foundation laid

A kingdom restored

To the ends of the earth.


Followers look on amazed

As a cloud raised-

the heavens opened

to behold the Son of man.


The season’s of the Lord,

Cannot be disclosed –

Yet he will return

Just as he has been

lifted from your sight.


April is the Cruelest Month

NPG x88526,Thomas Stearns ('T.S.') Eliot,by Ida Kar

T.S. Eliot is this month’s poet. Last month’s poet was Milosz and it was a great success that is,  I learned a great deal. I am more familiar with Eliot but just couldn’t resist dedicating the month of April to studying his works.  Where to begin? I suppose The Waste Land or The Four Quartets would be a good start.



There is always material. The world is an endless source of metaphors and conceits. It’s just a matter of seeing, writing, rewriting and rewriting again.


Evelyn Waugh


Evelyn Waugh, one of my favourite writers, was once asked how he wrote his novels, he replied, “I put the words down and push them a bit.” Oh, to push words like Waugh!


And Now A Sonnet


The Annunciation

A being winged divine descends the spheres
And comes to speak with lady chaste and pure.
She does quake as air and angel nears,
And pales to white as light reveals once more
Eternal Love. And bearing binding news,
The angel chosen stands and swiftly speaks,
Of Lord of Lords of King of Kings of Jews
And Worlds to be renewed. The Virgin seeks
Her heart – the hinge to all eternity.
What love and grace this maiden gives our Lord,
The Son of God and man! Her ecstasy,
A garden, forms, unfolds the cloistered Word.
Within a Virgin Pure Our God now twice
Begotten lives to die, to pay our price.



I lay you on my chest.

A rise and fall of breath.

A smile as you rest,

How could I forget?


I look to my first born

As she plays and chatters

I recollect and mourn

The memories forgot –


The haze of days

similar, calm and mild

One upon another.

being, becoming, then

changed –

A child.


Upon Reading Milosz

I read a poet’s work,

I think how long it took to write,

Of what he saw and I did not.

Concise and hammered

not in metal, in –

meter, rhythm, rhyme and word,

Wrought in inked heart-blood,

There he is.

I close the book,

set it down

Atop the coffee table

and go about my day –

Like a cloth pattern imprinted for a time

on my skin

His images and verse,

press upon my mind.


Blade of Grass

Blade of grass encased in ice

Mind you if I tread,

Upon your still and cloistered vein

So to hear and feel

The breaking of a thousand shards

Beneath my shodden heel;

Oh, that Mighty Crunch!

Or should I stay to path of snow

and leave you solitary,

To bask in your magnified glory til,

The cruel cold thaws And

Drips its drops, leaving

Your lone leaf decreased

And undone in the morning sun?

Oh, but I could free you-

Breaking the brittle bonds that freeze.

In one swift step-

Ice would lay upon the ground

And glisten at your knees.



socks, children, drudge, exams, loans, grind, bills, laundry, diapers, slog –



When we meet-

A skim, a scent, a sweep,

When we meet-



The Word Consumed

καὶ ὁ λόγος σὰρξ ἐγένετο


He arose for you from dust

From this, for this,

All shall return, All will

Arise now in word.


Do not forbear-

Grace came, a letter hidden

Unfolded, shone and spoke-

Truth lit and Wonder writ.


Marked by All and for all

He shall return

For He arose

Crowned in thorns –


Red was his blood

The Word was shed,

“Arise” truth spoke-

And so the mystics wrote:


Of thorns of flesh

Of five hallowed wounds,

Of a Virgin’s love that traced

The Risen Son Heir of All.