Poems from The Grotto
(At Taize)
Maybe this time is just for me--
to sing my pain--a purging prayer.
I am transformed here,
and stripped bare.
My ego dies to my purpose here,
and I participate in poetry.
And when I think
of all the red inside me,
I understand, at last, that
I don’t bleed; I burn.
(In the Peace Garden)
Found: A lush, green and
sun-dappled world.
Her trees exude a perfume of
spice and loam; it’s in my hair
and I am among the growing
things here, rooted in basalt
and stretching to heaven--
dancing with the stream
and becoming water.
(In the Meditation Chapel)
Here is the bud
closed upon itself
believing that it is darkness.
In time, each petal leans toward
a white sun, peeling away the lie
exposing a buttery stamen at the
very moment of discovery.
"I am a wheel and a sun
and I am a universe!" says the bloom,
splayed and spinning in exquisite realization.
Until another season comes to take
both the closing and the opening,
stripping every rooted creature of both
its dream and its awakening
leaving behind just a green
stem to shiver in the dirt, still
growing out of God.
Published at Wordlust : Paperfetish, December 11, 2005
Maybe this time is just for me--
to sing my pain--a purging prayer.
I am transformed here,
and stripped bare.
My ego dies to my purpose here,
and I participate in poetry.
And when I think
of all the red inside me,
I understand, at last, that
I don’t bleed; I burn.
(In the Peace Garden)
Found: A lush, green and
sun-dappled world.
Her trees exude a perfume of
spice and loam; it’s in my hair
and I am among the growing
things here, rooted in basalt
and stretching to heaven--
dancing with the stream
and becoming water.
(In the Meditation Chapel)
Here is the bud
closed upon itself
believing that it is darkness.
In time, each petal leans toward
a white sun, peeling away the lie
exposing a buttery stamen at the
very moment of discovery.
"I am a wheel and a sun
and I am a universe!" says the bloom,
splayed and spinning in exquisite realization.
Until another season comes to take
both the closing and the opening,
stripping every rooted creature of both
its dream and its awakening
leaving behind just a green
stem to shiver in the dirt, still
growing out of God.
Published at Wordlust : Paperfetish, December 11, 2005
posted by Cindy St. Onge | 4:52 PM
2 Comments:
Cindy, I am humbled by your poetry and grasp of all that is full of beauty and wonder in the Grotto. A spiritual haven in the midst of our city revitalizing the lost who wander there in search of peace and inspiration.
Thank you, Doxie
You nailed it right on the head, Dots!
Thank you soooo much for your kind words, and I'm glad you got to the site ok:-)
Love ya bunches 'n' bunches
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