Bright morning star of Winter, it awakens me to Dawn...
There are few mornings when I am up from bed so early, as I was some years ago on a regular basis. My kinship to this experience of the Holy Spirit, and the stirring of neighbors is still with me, though this poem tells of an intense experience--religious. Christmas remains, and Epiphany is not so far away. I can say that I have seen a star in the sky so keen that it reminded me of the Magi and the star they followed. Of course, theirs was the brightest possible, and so large! I like to think that we can see a star that is a reminder of Christ. Happy New Year!
Early morning
by Peter Menkin (2000)
Startling reminder, ray point of light (star):
come winter daytime,
bring early morning to awaken anew before dawn, with life to arise.
Stretch pearl luster and harken
with children, young parents, neighbors,
and babies unborn asleep, resting in the womb
to come forth beginning.
The new day has intentions.
You Holy Spirit stir me, health and hopefulness restore.
If I could format this poem another way on this site, I would do so. I've been told it is difficult to read with the sentence fragments, and the punctuation. I've tried to help it along. You may know, my father was a radio and television writer. He wrote dialogue, and camera shots, and all kinds of things. In all he wrote, I think he wrote fragments at least 90 percent of the time. So for me it has been catching, or inherited, to write fragments. I think you will find the poem readable. Let me know if you like it. Merry Christmas to all.
Winter Light Brightens the Path
By Peter Menkin
On Day Ten Winter sunlight
brightens the path.
Seek peace in knowledge.
He is with us, midmorning light.
The pilgrim witness to Yes.
Creation-beauty, You in Godhead
are indivisible Triune starry night before.
Soothing friendly good earth.
Perfect man, perfect God walk with us.
Reminder, ever the sound of love: gift.
Twelve days, festival time of sacred: holiday.
This is the way, where He is with us.
The days.
Day ten midmorning walk revealing the white light.
Notice the Spirit of God, it is being awakened in us for Christmas...
Sometimes my poems are better, and sometimes they are not so good. That's how it goes with poetry. So is my experience. Here is a poem about Advent, written in the year 2001. My experience this third Sunday of Advent in Church was a different experience, yet similar. The Spirit was present today in our worship service of Lessons & Carols. And the Spirit was present in some readings I am doing for Advent. I am reading two books this season. Here I'll first mention the supplemental book.
Published by Morehouse, an Episcopal publishing house, the book titled "Run, Shepherds, Run" is by L. William Countryman. The subtitle is "Poems for Advent and Christmas." A dear friend bought me this book, one I did not know about, and I am grateful to her.
The main book I am reading is titled, "Watch for the Light: Readings for Advent and Christmas." It is a collection of different writers writing about this season. Published by Orbis, a Maryknoll house, I have found these helpful in giving me direction this season.
Here are some words from the hymn printed in the book of poems. The author is anonymous.
O come thou Wisdom from on high,/who orderest all things mightily;/to us the path of knowledge show,/and teach us in her ways to go.
Here is a good reason to go to Church -- to find God...
Lately, and by that I mean the last six months, I have been reworking poems. Here is one I workshopped on Blueline Poetry. My visits there have been helpful. This poem is about wanting God in one's life. More so, it says "yearning." Advent and Christmas are good seasons for finding God. We ask that the Lord Christ be born in our heart at Christmas. Advent is the preparation for the birth of Christ.
Musical sound reminding the listener of contemplation, an experience...
This is a more unusual poem, hopefully worthwhile. I wrote it more than five years ago, in 2000. It speaks of the melding of music in the cathedral and the experience of contemplative prayer. There is an opening up, an ascending in hearing the music, just as there is in contemplative prayer.
My way into contemplative prayer is by centering prayer. I do so in quiet, no music. So why this poem about music and prayer? As I say, the experience is similar in regards to a feeling of God's presence.
I bought the CD of the music played by the group. It is "Officium" with Jan Garbarek, The Hilliard Ensemble. Check out Amazon.com to buy or look at the album. Amazon says of the CD:
"What is this music?" Fundamentally, it's an exploration of what happens when an improvisatory instrumental voice (saxophone) is placed into the world of early vocal music, which has elements of both improvisation and formal structure. In reality, it's an adventure in which the four male voices of the Hilliard Ensemble travel the 14th- and 15th-century territory of Morales and Dufay, visit the 12th century of Perotin, and roam even earlier ages of plainchant, accompanied by the always sensitive and tasteful, often astonishing, saxophone improvisations of jazz master Jan Garbarek. Sometimes, these new melodies simply accompany; sometimes they transform the common--a routine minor chord, for instance--into a sublime, indescribable moment. The answer to the above question is easy, but it's different for each listener. --David Vernier
Waiting engagement in contemplation: to Be/Ascend...(2000)
by Peter Menkin
The existential aloneness, yearning
enters as a musical cry, like a procession
the music flows through the building.
I join this human allowance in the finitude.
In retrospect, memory brings days enjoyed,l
ike the heart seeking. Beautiful sound.
The hearing of the listening ear
enjoins the great spirits [heavenly praise] who gather
in bringing more clearly a presence:
everlasting peace in a depth of I am, stays.
What elicited this to mind was sound.
This more than exercise as a movement
in music is recollected from the Cathedral,
where the players invoked a sense of Christ,
done by the Hilliard Ensemble--
music that speaks spare words:
A saxaphonist met a vocal quartet.
Listen to this unusual sound.
What they play brings consideration... in the morning,
Advent, the season for preparation for the birth of Christ...
The best thing about this poem is that it says, "Mary says 'yes' to the Lord." I like that very much, it is so wonderful. "My soul proclaims the greatness of the Lord,/ my spirit rejoices in God my Savior." That from "The Song of Mary" also called, "Magnificat." I know my poem doesn't compare to it, yet I join my voice with others in proclaiming the wonder.
Thank you for going through this series on the Ten Commandments. This is a first attempt at this series, and I hope it has been interesting.
The Tenth Commandment: Coveting
by Peter Menkin
The other has it.
We want his wife, as David did his neighbor's.
We want his house, so big. Ours is not enough.
As the man with the field he coveted.
Driven by desires --misplaced,
man and woman covet:
neighbor's wife, his servant, his maid, his ox, his ass.
You shall not covet,
the Tenth Commandment says,
for it makes ill of man.
We fall. Uphold us.
Have mercy upon us, O Lord.
Write these laws in our hearts.
Monday, November 27, 2006
Ninth Commandment: One thing that is What happened to Christ...
False witnesses came forward to testify against Christ. This was deliberate, and the Ninth Commandment speaks to the deliberateness of the act. One must willingly break the Commandment. Pedagogical, as instructive, these lessons are more than lessons, but a way for man to live with man so humankind will be better both for humankind and for God.
The Ninth Commandment: Bear False Witness...
by Peter Menkin
Who cares?
Doesn't matter.
Evil happens.
Evil is separation, misbegotten lies
tearing one from neighbor.
Misplaced words.
All these things
happen when one bears false witness against
one's neighbor.
It is an awful thing
to say he did it,
when not at all.
God allows man to fail,
to do evil.
How can there be a God,
if man does these things?
The falsely accused
face injustice,
and cry.
Saturday, November 18, 2006
The Eighth Commandment: You shall not steal...
Here is a poem on the Eighth Commandment. It is a severe commandment like all Ten, that God has indicated what man must avoid. In this poem, I outline the criminality of theft, a common approach to one of God's commandments.
The Eighth Commandment: Theft... By Peter Menkin
Robbery, theft, pilfering, embezzlement, extortion--the list goes on of theft.
Ask the warden what it is that brought the man to take what was anothers.
Something in the heart, the mind, and many think spirit. Man disobeys God. Turned away.
You shall not steal, the Eighth Commandment claims. The word from God, again.
Who has ears for the words of God? How come hearts remain unmoved? This evil theft remains.
God desires we follow Him. God requests"hear." Listen, man and woman to the word. Even to obey.
Tuesday, November 14, 2006
The Seventh Commandment is about adultery...
There is much to say about adultery, how it breaks fidelity, destroys faithfulness, is an act of betrayal. I have tried to make a poem of the commandment, finding I know a number of people who have been unfaithful--and glad to do it. Too bad. Sorry, as the poem says in the end.
The Seventh Commandment: Adultery... by Peter Menkin
Betrayal, and infidelity. Evils that some call sweet secret. The Seventh Commandment says not--
but a sin and blemish. You shall not commit adultery. I know a man and a woman
who for twenty years were adulterous.
I know a man and a woman who in their 70s have been adulterous.
I know a woman who has been adulterous all her married lives, through four husbands.
So much unhappiness for everyone. Grevious is what adultery is to all who participate and know.
Diminishment of spirit, lies of love, intimacy lost. One feels a part of this just knowing.
Sordid details of our lives. Sorry.
Thursday, November 09, 2006
Thou Shalt do no Murder: Sixth Commandment...
The newspapers have stories about murder continually. A Commandment of God, do not murder; this seems clear enough. Here is a poem on the Sixth Commandment:
Sixth Command: Do no murder... by Peter Menkin
Life, like a flame gives light and burns: a breath, the Holy Spirit, gasped and known at birth.
Honor and respect this special gift, the Lord says. Be a friend to life.
The Sixth Commandment, says do not murder, for murder snuffs the flame, ends the breath, yet cannot still the soul.
Blood may cry out, it does, that murder, foul crime, has ended life. We call it awful, sin, evil. So many things that tell us it is wrong.
For we think, and know, not like brutes but as mankind.
Let us cement our relationship with the Lord, and say to ourselves, each day: have I snuffed a life, by giving pain, or stifled a flame? For murder goes beyond the death; death in many ways as in spirit, or self.
Keep the spirit lit, come with others to the Lord; know Him. Choose life.
Do not, no let us not do none so terrible, as the taking of life.
Friday, November 03, 2006
The Fourth Commandment: Day of Rest...
If this poem seems like a struggle is going on between living in the secular world and the tension of obeying God, you've read it right. The fourth in the series on The Ten Commandments:
Saturday Commandment; Day of Rest... by Peter Menkin
The integral given by the Lord is rest the seventh day. By this mankind may find another way of living a better, more fruitful living life to God.
I say this as a friend, for Saturday comes. Work I must, but I think this is not my Saturday,
I will stretch the Commandment. Pondering the meaning, and examining my way of living with a mighty God I wonder if this slight change in the calendar will be all right.
Nonetheless, I hedge my bet, and think on Saturdays, not holding my breath, this is the true one.
Alas, modern living in the 21stCentury, is not so friendly to the God we know.
I will try to learn to be a friend to God, in this small way. Every week.
Saturday, October 28, 2006
Examine the Third Commandment; another in the Ten Commandments series...
The strength of this poem is in the thought of examining what it means to take the Lord's name in vain. This leads to what is it that the Lord's name means to us. It is hallowed, as in "hallowed be thy name." It is an entry point to prayer, "Dear Lord..." And it stems from the ancient prohibition of the Hebrew people to keep the name of God holy.
Examined by the Third Commandment... by Peter Menkin
Entertaining the mystery of God: Doing as prayer says,
Hallowed be thy name, Examined by the Ten Commandments Are some of the ways. Oh, Third Commandment
of mystery and cloud, so says the Lord, You Shall not take the Name of the Lord, in vain.
So direct; yet we contemplate the many spiritual dimensions that light the way to know the will of God brought by Moses.
Wednesday, October 25, 2006
The Second Commandement, another in a series on the Ten...
Bear with me as I again offer a poem about The Ten Commandments. For some, an out of fashion series of Laws from God. For others, a still living statement from God. For me, the living statement continues.
Man makes idols in the stars and below... By Peter Menkin The personal side of the Second Commandment: Man is near the stars,
(how far we fly) but really by God's grace;
we admire this creation (and make gods of our efforts) celestial-the stars, no idol for worship.
You shall make no graven image, nor likeness of anything in heaven. (Where is a height so admired?) The word of God.
God is larger and more vast (my mind cannot grasp) than the stars in heaven.
You shall make no graven image, nor likeness of any thing in the earth (what dwells so deep, unknown)beneath.
Is this something from another world, evil, or mysterious (legion of forgotten and fallen) as a devil?
What is so earthen that it lacks the hand of our Triune God? A tree, it's roots in the earth-- how it reaches upwards (this by God's generosity) and gives pleasure to the eye.
This is God's work, as are the efforts of man at his labor (we make idols of our work, yet it is ours to do for the bread of our day).
Even to the depths of a mine, or deep at sea. Make no likeness of any thing that is in the water under the earth.
The Lord God is a jealous God.
Sunday, October 22, 2006
The first in a series on The Ten Commandments: Number One
Here is the First Commandment, of the Ten. Most likely, it isn't necessary to capitalize all the words in "First Commandment," yet I do anyway. And when referencing them all, as in 10, I also write "Ten." Shows you something about my attitude and what I have been taught.
In Thunder and stone... by Peter Menkin
To be set free by stones:
First Commandment: Have no other Gods but me.
Could the thunder on Mount Sinai have said something when
Moses came down? I am your God, you are my people.
Did trumpets sound? Light was there around Moses. Let me say the words,
Friend of God. Living words.
Tuesday, October 17, 2006
One of a series on the Ten Commandments, this poem tells of the Fifth...
A few summer's ago I spent time reading about the Ten Commandments, books about it (about five). It was a summer project, probably done the summer of 2002. One result was a series of ten poems about the Commandments, all with a similar tone. I post this poem, part of the series, not because it has an instructional nature, but in the interest of recognizing all ten Commandments. I was not able to find a way to deal with the subject without being serious, and certainly was unable to remove some of the tone the Commandment offers as a lesson from God Almighty. I hope I have done the word of God justice.
Poem on the Fifth Commandment...(revise) by Peter Menkin
We ponder wisdom. God is on the childrens' side. Hold my soul dear. We are children all our lives
to parents, and as adults; God gives good advice: Honor thy father and mother
.Our mutual gifts embrace. God's wisdom, man's understanding of living.
Do good, honor God, live in the land, seek happiness.
The path to friendship with the Lord is written. Honor, as in hold dear,
special: remembrance and inner conversation. In mind and memory. Ancient of words.
Moses was a special man, friend of God, for he brought this simple lessonfrom a mountain
hidden by cloud. This is the presence of God, for which we yearn. Available to us in Ten Commandments, a way of examining our lives.
Wednesday, October 11, 2006
What the spirit of Church does: transformation, move to humility...
This more recent poem describes humility, an experience and outcome of Church. I have thought about what Church means to me, and also what I mean to Church. Not so much in the greater sense of the entire Church, but how my Church I attend has brought the experience and teaching to me in the spiritual sense. This as a part of the larger Church, which indicates some truths about the engagement and its relationship.
I hope this isn't too heady a way of discussing the subject. The poem is more direct and simple.
The hope humility brings…
By Peter Menkin
Humility born of Communion;
As the day goes,
Goes the work of knowing
God. Sunday is a time of celebration
And coming back to the Lord.
Coming back, to the self.
All day, wait on the love,
Recognizing relationship--
Self to man, self to others,
To the self with God.
This newness brings hope,
Where one embraces
Hope, the soul is fed
By this God who changes not.
Creation is.
I had a dream about getting older, and mostly about being young...
Once in a while my dreams are vivid, and I can remember them. Now I am older, not too old, but still youth is gone at my age. I dreamt about youth, and I thought about God, and I remembered and looked towards life everlasting. A poem.
An event of getting older
By Peter Menkin
The surprising thing about
the abrupt recognizeable
landmarks of our lives comes
with speed; please quicken me
to fulfill, enriching for all
around me. I recall the dream--
my youth speaks: youth, your moments
remain in a comraderie. Remain
remain, oh, friendship with
which I sleep fill me in good.
About this I talk with God, He
absorbs me with an embrace
and I know You Christ are wisdom timeless.
In a dream there comes an angel.
Behold, an angel of the Lord: say yes.
This is on the bones, in marrow
by grace the beauty brings
memorable tidings of youth,
gifts of life.
Alas, grasping this promise of time
brings me to know resurrection is sure.
I wanted it, this youth, to last forever.
My mind declares, I know there is more.
Here, let us receive the bounded
and unbounded changes of another birth.
Renewal is the season, electric. Stay
awake for we know not when. Soon.
See you there then, again. Singing.
A prayer, a poem, a recitation about sanctifying oneself...to be with God...
I have liked this poem from the time I wrote it some years ago. It is posted on my website www.petermenkin.com . Usually, I stick with poems that are newer or at least not on the website. Yet I liked this one so much at this time of year in Pentecost that I am posting it here. Note that it was originally written in March, from my notes at a Study House in Berkeley, California, Incarnation Monastery. Some how, this year it fits here as we continue in the season.
I hope it will speak to you as it has spoken to me, and some others who have read the poem. You can tell that I like it very much. I do not always like my own poems "very much." It is something I endeavor to find when writing these, that they will continue to speak some time after conception and writing.
Notes from the study house in March, No. 3 (2001)
by Peter Menkin
In God of God,
beginning with the mnemonic--with Christ
beside others.
Around the Abba.The Alpha.
Tree of the Cross,
giving voice to yearning
within. The returning
movement
of intention to be
with God the whole day.
The master says,
"not to be habitually forgetful,"
prayer of aspiration!
Help me in this God.
Exploring prayer time, a short poem about approaching the Lord...
Today I visited Grace Cathedral in San Francisco for Evening Prayer. On Thursdays, like today's Evening Prayer, the time is a choral Prayer time. Two friends went with me, and as usual everyone who has gone with me has enjoyed the prayer experience, and certainly the music of the choral group.
In this short poem posted today, the reader will find one sense of prayer, for here I outline the self approaching the Lord. It is a known issue for Christians that we are thankful for Christ's life, for his redeeming mankind. At some point, this becomes personal to the extent that the inner man, the self, the part of a man or woman who has an essence, still an observing self made stronger through succumbing to the knowledge that the persecuted Christ, the Christ of the Cross is able to evoke for us the sense of self that we are sinners. We pray through God's grace. In prayer one is received.
The part of the identity of a man or woman that is human, individual and universal, yearns for the peace and forgiveness that is part of the Christ one gets to know.
We want to grasp this eternity, what is there for us we do grasp through humility and the gift of grace that there is an essential part that is reached. So I have written about some of the matter of experiencing belief and faith in the Lord Jesus and in the continuing love and faithfulness of God the Father in this poem, making that word "self" broader and hopefully a more imaginative self.
Prayer Time...
by Peter Menkin
The afternoon comes,
Each day prayer time:
Being with You.
Quiet,
Silence my thoughts.
In the presence of God,
In Christ,
In the Spirit
My self approaches,
My self it waits,
To just be.
This is my visitor counter. I am required to post it. Thank you for visiting...
Friday, September 15, 2006
God's presence is known to man, in quiet ways...a poem...
This is another of my poems written a few years ago, revised. It talks of that quiet voice of God. A voice we know.
Love mysterious ours... by Peter Menkin
I read
the books of the Prophets,
Isaiah the most recent: searching
with him the presence
and love God
in faithfulness offers generation
by generation.
The reason to know,
He seeks and searches
the heart
of men and women, whom
His everlasting
love comes to in self giving;
a grace
unearned changing me and all of us
in a cosmos of ways of calming
comfort
love mysterious ours.
A poem (again, a poem) about God in one's life: The Rule of St. Benedict...turning to God in vigil...
Most recently, I have begun a vigil for a woman who is nearing death. I visit a nursing home health care unit weekly, and a woman I have known for a while is refusing to eat, apparently too old now to live. This disturbs me, and it has been going on for some time. No one could do anything about it, including doctors and nurses. What do I do? How do I react? I chose to turn to God and a vigil.
I called it my vigil, but when I mentioned it to others they suggested some prayers (for it is their vigil, too). I chose to turn to God, and this poem is about a way of turning to God.
Poetic recitation on The Rule of St. Benedict by Peter Menkin
Attend with the ear of your heart
Listen in the silence
at night or daytime
through trials and living.
This Rule brings God, the Lord
closer: do so to me.
Labor of obedience:
Before beginning a goodwork, pray earnestly.
We are the Lords counted
sons and daughters.
The path offers good gifts,
open your eyes to the light.
Arise from sleep.
For All Who Suffer: O God, look with mercy on those who suffer, and heal their spirits,that they may be delivered from sickness and fear. Restore hopefor the desolate, give rest to the weary, comfort the sorrowful, bewith the dying; and bring them, finally, to their true heavenly home, for Jesus Christ's sake. Amen.
Sunday, September 03, 2006
Poetic notes on the Rule of St. Benedict; an introduction...
For 12 years and more I have endeavored to follow the Rule of St. Benedict, a short text that says so much about man and living in relation to Christ. This is a Trinitarian God set forth in this little book. Here is a poetic note on the Prologue. My hope is that it praises God and praises the Rule.
Prologue of great Text of The Rule... by Peter Menkin
Savoring the words of meaning
in The Rule is an offering
for understanding"...let us open
our eyes to the light...
"and come to know language--arise from asleep
that reaches across centuries--to listen.
Saint Benedict!
Awakening heart and mind, in His goodness
stirring the fear of God, King, Christ the Lord
through the words of "...this message of mine..."
notes the sloth
of disobedience is in us. Calls to ears that listen
"Run while you have the light..."
inviting all to the voice of the Lord;
call delightful, what is more?
A short poem reflecting on Christ and what He brings to us...
You as reader may find this a refreshingly short poem, that makes a point using threes. The implication of the use of threes is to elicite a sense of the Trinity's presence. As the poet, I have license to say such things and hope they are within reach by the imagination of the reader. A special artform, poetry does allow an expression of experience, love, observation that other forms are unable to communicate.
Wonder of Christ... by Peter Menkin
Wonder, wonder, wonder;
starry night.
Christ.
Delight in Eucharist,
Sunday morning.
Waiting.
Wonder, wonder, wonder.
How great.
You are.
So kind. So kind. So kind.
A little on the light side about Angels I have seen--just one...
An older and lighter poem about angels, this poem was written more than two summers ago, making the angel sighting event about four or five years ago. Maybe it was the heat, how the air can rise over a hot blacktop on a summer day creating a mirage. I caught this vision out of the corner of my eye, and when I returned to look at the angel with surprise, what was there was an ordinary man. When I turned back, there was the angel again--seen out of the corner of my eye. Call this an angel sighting.
Summer before last I saw an Angel... by Peter Menkin
Way out West where cowboys
and Indians live (they live in villages, native), two summers
ago there was an angel
at the gasoline pump--Chevron Station. (Greenbrae, CA.).
He looked like a man; there
are many men, but few angels
encountered at the Chevron, even in summer
the year before regular gasoline prices jumped.
Some like it here, these angels; tell
you these tall creatures as from
early Biblical story times. These are those among us.
Look for them now and then. Portents of friendly,
I hope, visitors walking among us
and driving both General Motors and foreign made
automobiles, filling the tank at the Chevron in summer daylight.
Are you a believer in angels, tall
or like many that these are travelers
come among us to stand and wait, enjoying
us humankind who are really animals of earthly birth.
I wonder.
Again, the Sunday experience; about returning throughout the week to God...
This is a good place for me to post a poem about returning to God. Notice I use the word "prodigal" to explain the sense of returning to self and God throughout the week. The Sunday experiencc is more than a one day experience.
Prodigal return, confession of mortality...(2002) by Peter Menkin
Flesh, that yields
to time. Soul entreats
my failures not noticed
in return to God
with open heart.
Stricken with failures
of being away from You.
Exercise:
What's known, you are merciful.
What's known, Christ prayed.
What's known, the cup.
Allow my unbelief
become belief; strengthen us.
We are prodigal; I am.
Notes from a Study House; Climate to Receive...a poem...
Every four days I post something on this blog, mostly a poem with notes. This poem is some five years old, hardly revised from the first writing. Sometimes it goes like that with poems. One workshop site I have offered poems on for criticism noted that a poet with five good poems in a lifetime has done well. I like to think this would be one of mine.
A friend suggested I take out the name "Hilliard Ensemble" from my poem, written about 5 years ago and revised. My feeling was that people who knew the musical group would be interested in the meditative, and even contemplative experience it brought to me.
In this poem I write of the sense of present largeness of loneliness that the music elicted. It was an emptying experience. Music does elicit religious and spiritual sensibilities. As you the reader may recognize in my poem, one emotion and experience does not bar another. You'll find some words of the Hilliard Ensemble end the poem; I thought them moving. I hope you enjoy this poem of a musical experience at Grace Cathedral, San Francisco, California USA.
Thoughts on the experience of a Concert... by Peter Menkin
The existential aloneness, yearning enters as a musical cry,
like a procession
the music flows through the Cathedral.
I join this human allowance in the finitude.
In retrospect, memory brings days enjoyed,
like the heart seeking. Beautiful sound.
The hearing of the listening ear
enjoins the great spirits [heavenly praise]
they gather
in bringing more clearly a presence:
everlasting peace in a depth of I am,
stays.
What elicited this to mind was sound.
This more than exercise as a movement
in music is recollected from the Cathedral,
where the players invoked a sense of Christ,
done by the Hilliard Ensemble--
music that speaks spare words:
A saxaphonist met a vocal quartet. Listen to this unusual sound.
What they play brings consideration...
in the morning,
in the loneliness, at night.
How the music waits upon us for engagement,
self emptying love given to respond. Allow
your love to come enjoining us to know:
"A blown husk that is finished
but the light sings eternal
a pale flare over marshes
where the salt hay whispers to tide's change."
I am.
My friend's Guide Dog is retiring: a poem-like statement called "Poem about a Dog"...
Jan has a Guide Dog that is now 11-1/2 years old; time for retirement for Christmas, the dog. This is a poem about the Guide Dog, but more a poem-like statement. I am sure there are better poem type poems, though I think you as a reader of this blog will enjoy this one.
Jan gets a new dog this weekend, a young one about 22 months. Guide Dogs for the Blind is located on their campus in San Rafael, California. That is North of San Francisco across the Golden Gate Bridge. To get a dog, one must apply, successfully go through their training, which is three weeks on campus. This training includes, sleep, eat, train, get used to knowing the new dog. One lives on campus for the training period. This time is the beginning of a human and animal bond.
I think this poem acceptable for a young girl or boy.
Poem about a dog... by Peter Menkin
There seems to be no way
to describe "Christmas"the dog
without taking a child's wonder
at this blind woman's friend.
With her, "Christmas" the Labrador,
Jan can go many places
bravely.The two clip along at three miles
an hour. That is good walking speed.
What a wonderful help this friendly,
kind dog has been
these eleven years. We give
thanks for her service
and companionship. Good
dog "Christmas."
She is loved by Jan, her mistress,
for she is a help and a companion;
good at crossing streets, and walking stairs.
Some animals are special to mankind,
and this is a special dog and friend
for many years.
Soon "Christmas" will retire,
to Carol's house, where she is loved.
Guide Dogs for the Blind
will lead Jan to another canine friend.
What a loss for "Christmas" to go,
but a new friend to come.
What to say about the elderly, whom I visit on a regular basis at a retirement home named The Redwoods. Here is a poem about visiting the elderly.
I visit them in the nursing unit for those who are limited and even sick or very elderly, and in the personal care unit, where they can get along with help. Today's poem reflects how important our years are to us, our lives, and that remembering youth and younger years helps with living a long life.
That's my opinion, though not scientific, it is poetic.
Conversation with aged...(2002) by Peter Menkin
Speaking with old ones
tells me to pray for myown youth.
I recite a long Psalm,119,
beginning as a confession
but lending my thoughts
and opening my heart to childhood.
Be gentle to memory, for failure
to seek God, and desire good
creates a long list of weakness
and mindless concerns that ignoreGod--
for so many years.
The old ones I talk with speak
of their youth, and I think"
Is this what is on their minds?"
So I soothe and open my heart
to let in healing to younger times
in my life. Even to childhood.
I say words for them,
for others.
It is in the thought before the words,
in the mind before the thought,
present in the heart, and I listen
always desiring to hear.
This talk with old people
leads me to gentleness with myself.
This is their message.
They say to me, "I am living
so long. I hardly think about it."
I have been doing volunteer work visiting the elderly for a number of years (almost thirteen now). I consider it a ministy of friendship with the elderly, all of whom I had never before met. I have gone to different nursing homes, and care units or health units. Most frequently I meet people in their room and we talk. This all is done here near where I live, in the same county. I spend about six hours a week doing volunteer work in this area.
Note about the photographs: The photos of flowers were taken in British Columbia, Canada and Western Washington State by my brother Michael. As for the communion table, it was taken by an Oblate called Benedictsraven. The picture of me, Peter Menkin, was taken in Seattle, Washington at a park by Michael Menkin. The view out the monastery window is also by benedictsraven and is of Camaldoli in Italy as is the communion table. The path is also by Michael Menkin and like others in this series used to illustrate the blog was taken in British Columbia, Canada.
Friday, August 04, 2006
Poem about Communion: Another one that reflects the experience...
It appears that I have a number of poems on the Communion experience. This one is like a prayer. I hope you like it. My experience with Communion has been a refreshing one. I have included a poem by the Episcopal Priest John B. Coburn. It is also a poem like a prayer. I post it here to provide a flavor for prayer and poetry.
Hospitality of Communion...( 2001)
By Peter Menkin
In the poverty that lies of my sorrow,
I asked with the bended
knee of my heartfor gifts as Solomon
did when he asked of You
wisdom.
Wisdom day, I want to know
this rhythm living
with You.
Some wonderfully enter
into spectacular celebration
on Sundays that is a feast,
and I am waiting
to know some of this incredible
Word: let my prayer rise like
a sweet savor,
incense that is happiness.
Discovery, you are the Vine,
and there is such celebration!
I called out in the Church,
Reveal Yourself, O my God!
I am needy and seek You.
In the quiet part of day,
towards sunset,
hear me.
My sorrow brings
me a lowly heart. MayI know this lowly heart
in your poverty.
I have met Youin others.
They invite me
with an ache. Heart. Mine.
Give me
hospitality.
Accept me.
People post all kinds of personal things on the web. When writing something, even a poem, it is better not to be too personal. Afterall, what is written about becomes something of a story. So it is with this poem about a baptism at the Church I attended. This is a revised version from the original, written in 2000 from when the baptism occurred. I hope you like it.
Baptism: a Witness
by Peter Menkin Silver sea shell: he pours
[the baby waits, spirit come]
water dearly upon head
[what stirs here now]
and brow of annointed
[gentle stroke finger signs]
child held in white lace.
[fabric hung as treasure shroud]
the congregation with all
[on his body, wonderful ceremony]
the children in attendance.
[sustained with the spirit]t
o greet with awe the new
[a prize of gold, shining cross]
arrival amid awakenings
[panaroma in light waiting]
to promises in vows uplifting.
[all say we will, renounce evil]
towards love's hand,
[the baby is sealed]
held forever ours and mine.
[infant cradled, this dear time]
"I hear the sound of angel's
wings," comes Christening
for you are His forever ours.
“The Opossum That Came To Visit” (A title)..children's story...
This children's story is about an Opossum that lived under the porch of a friend's home for a while. It is different from my usual poem. I hope you will like it.
“The Opossum That Came To Visit” (A title) by Peter Menkin
Tilde was a girl opossum who lived under the back porch of the house at the end of the road then a left turn into the drive a walk of 100 feet to the steps that led to the front porch. She had been living there since summer began. Tilde was a pretty opossum to other opossums and had a keen sense of sight--for an opossum.
That’s what the cats that lived in the house said about her. They also said that she was one of the homeliest creatures they’d ever set sights on and in their conversations about Tilde, whom they liked to talk about since she was new, they never once questioned where she came from or where she might be going. For all intents and purposes Tilde was there and had set up housekeeping.
One thing this meant, since Tilde liked a little snack now and then, was she had nibbles available to her when the cats weren’t around. At night Tilde left her cool spot under the porch, where she had a chair and a table and a small radio which got most of the local stations and went out through her front door at the side opening of the porch and right onto the roof of her house, (the people in the house called her roof their back porch), where she found a nice plate of nibbles that the cats had left. But Tilde wasn’t always so lucky to find a full plate of nibbles.
The raccoons who lived around the house often came at night and in their noisy raccoon way made quick eating of the nibbles. Tilde, who was an opossum who liked things the way things should be, and that meant quiet and under her control, especially on the roof of her own house, considered the raccoons, fat things that they were, she often thought, a nuisance.
She planned to put out a jar of peanut butter, leave it for them to eat during one of their greedy visits and relished the idea of their getting peanut butter stuck to the roof of their mouths.
The idea of it brought an uproarious laugh to the whole area. But Tilde didn’t care who heard her. She was willing to let it all hang out and it felt good. “That will teach those raccoons to fool with my plate of nibbles in the middle of the night,” she thought to herself. She almost hugged herself with glee when she thought again about the peanut butter she was going to set out for them.
“What’s the point of all this,” Tilde thought to herself, after she considered putting out the peanut butter, while at the same time relishing the idea of two fat raccoons licking the roof of their respective mouths and wishing they had some water to wash away the peanut butter.
“What is the point,” she reminded herself assertively, for Tilde was an assertive opossum. “The point is that this place where I live is a veritable Garden of Eden, and the nibbles a part of the fig tree--fruit for her day. It was in fact a favorite part of her day because at night she could venture out and make a stop along her travels, which she liked to do, and between looks at the moon have some nibbles. So Tilde decided to put up a sign, one the raccoons could read. You can see a copy of the sign
Tilde put up on dirt path by the drive to the front steps of the house, near the underneath way of the porch:
God is near. Rejoice in the evening and dance in the moonlight, wait for the sun, and begin a good life, enjoy. Or something about peanut butter warning. Or something about keep off the nibbles, and cryptic lettering of ancient kinds, and kindnesses).
You probably can’t read it. Tilde knew what it said, and certainly the raccoons knew what it said. When Tilde was writing for them she kept thinking that maybe it would be better to make a similar, more direct sign--something with a straightforward message like,
“Keep Off the Grass.”But, no that wouldn’t work, because the raccoons never keep off grass anywhere if they want to walk on grass. In fact, in Tilde’s first summer she’d heard the mice that lived in the house say that the raccoons were perfectly happy to not only get on grass, but to dig up grass. Of course there wasn’t any grass for digging up around the house, except down by the creek. Nonetheless, this was getting off the subject and if there was anything Tilde was good at it was getting off the subject. She decided on the sign that you see when you go by the house near the drive.
We’re getting to the end of our story, so to make a long story short, Tilde didn’t succeed in keeping the raccoons from thenibbles. But she did succeed in making a very nice sign, which the raccoons commented on and spent some time looking at.
In fact, the sign was the talk of the raccoon community, which she heard when they started their usual pushing and shoving each other around. The sign stood all summer long. And Tilde often had nibbles on her moonlight walks, by the way.
After all, the raccoons left some. And no, she never did get around to putting out the peanut butter so fortunately that part of her plan was just a passing thought.
