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.
Sleep, known and unknown petitions by Peter Menkin
Sleep, invited each night with anticipation.
Lull during the hours to instill a deeper
sometimes,
punctuated with early times of prayer,
for refreshment. Often awakened through force,
intruded by darkness, an intensly desired need
after the setting sun--to avoid. May the dark night
of the soul pass, let the how desired is sleep, yes,
enter to gain marking rhythms as gathering
dreams in continuity with friends in known
and unknown petitions. Sleep,
an entryway to eternity:
as practical rest in this life revealed.
Come and chant the early night
to know the release recollection of life
may grant, then rest
more the often as sleep comforts mind
with balm we call to soothe.
Sleep, time to practice saying and knowing
in deep memory, down beyond conscious awake
among primal places being primitive and entered.
Rest, come to me to allow the self
to rest in thee.
This older poem, from 2000, has been revised. The object of the revision is to make it more clear. The subject is sleep and prayer: "Rest, come to me to allow the self/to rest in thee." This refers to resting in God--specifically, Christ. I hope you will like this effort of mine, and find resonance in it, if for anything the way that it tells of preparation for sleep.
Colored streamers move in the wind: a poem This may be more a series of notes and reflections, a journal entry, more than a poem. It is about the colored streamers representing the Holy Spirit that I viewed in 2000 at Grace Cathedral, San Francisco, California USA. They have the streamers up this year, too. A critic might not like this as a poem, but here it is as I wrote it in 2000.
Following the poem are some notes about it, a sort of correspondence from that time when it appeared first on The Atlantic Monthly Writer's Workshop.
Colored streamers move in the wind by Peter Menkin (2000)
The upon came incessant, gentle as breeze, light,
waving banners narrow,
these colored streamersf
anned the man of God
during the light resting
upon worshippers who through
hymn song, prayer lips kissing
with raised arms uplifted,
expectations of goodness
acknowledged as a greeting
to Sunday. Cross of giving
love does ascede to ascetic
requests when presented
before an urban multitude.
So his did so with humble
acceptance of divine will,
wounded in love to so join
the dance the spirit brought
upon the souls assembled.
Poem reflecting on gifts from Christ: "For God alone my soul in silence waits" Today, Friday, I visited a woman in the health care unit of a retirement home. She asked me for a word, and I gave her these. I am thinking about them today: "For God alone my soul in silence waits;/from him comes my salvation..." (Psalm 62, BCP). The poem I post today is a personal statement about Christ and I hope has meaning for you as a believer, or if not a believer, gives you insight into the Psalm quotation noted above. It is here without changes after being posted on Frugal Poets writer's workshop. It received some nice remarks.
Christ's enveloping charity...
by Peter Menkin With Christ,
Serenity.
With Christ,
Hope.
With Christ,
Charity.
There is faith,
Kindness.
There is love,
Knowing.
There is majesty
,Awe.
From Him,
Comfort.
From Him,
Gratefulness.
From Him,
Wisdom.
The serenityIs beyond knowing;
Great peace.
The hope,
Causes the heart to grow large;
Enveloping others.
The charity,
Is of a special kind;
In humility of the self.
In the kindness
There is love,
A knowing majesty
Of awe bringing Comfort, creating
Gratefulness that is itself
Wisdom.
These aphorisms come to mind,
As meditation leads to prayer,
And thanksgiving.
My heart is enlarged, it grows
With the humility of recognition
Of your enveloping charity
For mankind.
Hearing read readings from the New Testament, "The melody of the Bible..." For many years I have enjoyed and learned from hearing read and reading the New Testament. My Bible is "The New Oxford Annotated Bible" New Standard Revised Version. I also hear the Bible on Sunday when I attend Sunday worship services. In the Church where I attend the Gospel is read on Sunday by the Priest (minister), who usually reads in a manner that is proclamation. We have three readings usually.
The second is an Epistle. I look forward during Sunday worship to hear the Gospel and the Epistle. We also read from the Old Testament, but my poem for this post is about hearing the New Testament.
I think the Old Testament has much to teach us, and tells the history of man with God, or as some say, the history of God in human history. Liking the Old Testament, I wanted to include a mention of it so not to ignore the books.
This is a serious revised poem from the original.
The melody of the Bible... by Peter Menkin You cause my yearnings, speakers so fluid as doves lovely messengers, you bring me to desire the Gospel words that make
New Testament. Desire to hear of Him, those fruits given with mercy, healing
in his blood, "joy for all the members in the sorrows of the Head."
Short poem reflecting on The Rule for Summertime: "I Desire to See Good Days"... This poem is a reflection of my living by The Rule of St. Benedict. A brief statement in poetry, this revision from the Writer's Workshop on The Atlantic is improved from its original, yet remains to state how much I like the promise of seeking and living a life in God.
Today I visited acquaintances and friends at All Souls church in Berkeley, where we talked at lunchtime about our experiences with God, and the promise of a better life that our lives are offered.
The night before, I listened to a CD produced by Cowley Publications titled, "Guard Us Sleeping." Besides Compline, there were songs for the night and plainsong hymns of the seven seasons. I was comforted by the monks of the Society of Saint John of the Evangelist, and brought to a sense of reverence for and presence of Christ. Their website: http://www.cowley.org/ .
I purchased the CD at a good price through http://www.amazon.com/ . Here is the location on the internet at Amazon to purchase or read about "Guard Us Sleeping."
As you can see, I am putting internet sites in my journal, trying to be up to date with others by providing links.
Here is the poem of mine titled, "I Desire to See Good Days." It reflects on The Rule of St. Benedict, and I think is a good poem for Pentecost and Summertime.
I Desire to See Good Days
by Peter Menkin The sunlight, the hallowed
event of everyday living.
Reminder of Christ
around us, before us, above us.
Peace, I seek the Lord's love.
Set out on this
to see him
who calls.
Two poems about centering prayer..."The mysterious majesty" I practice centering prayer, what is also known as contemplative prayer. These two poems tell of that practice. They are new poems, and short. Regarding contemplation, the monks of New Camaldoli have been practicing that kind of prayer for centuries. Here is their website: http://www.contemplation.com/ .
You may also wish to learn more about centering prayer, as directed and taught by Father Thomas Keating. Here is his website: http://www.contemplativeoutreach.org/frntpage.htm . Sometimes Father Thomas offers a telephone conference about centering prayer, and the conference usually lasts about an hour. The cost is nominal.
The Mysterious Majesty
by Peter Menkin
The earnest prayer
I offer is to receive
The mysterious, majesty
Of God in a quiet
Way of silence.
To wait on the Lord,
This special time,
A set aside for me
And my soul to know
You are.
If you recall, I wrote a poem about Pentecost and referenced the God of the Old Testament. One would usually make the poetic statement I made referencing the Trinity or Christ. I feel I need to explain myself, and here is a quote from a book titled, "Introduction to Theology" by Owen C. Thomas and Ellen K. Wondra. It is a book one would find in an Episcopal Seminary course, and was suggested by Father Tierney who is an Episcopal Priest. The poem I refer to is "Pentecost Sunday Prayer."
The quote:
"First, it is clear that the God attested in the Old Testament is one, a unity, and not a plurality. But second, it is also clear that God of the Old Testament is not a simple unity, but a complex, organic, or differentiated unity. All the anthropomorphisms of the Old Testament interpret the unity of Yahweh on the analogy of the unity of the human self. Furthermore, certain divine attributes or powers, such as Spirit, Word, and Wisdom, are distinguished and tend to be personalized and hypostatized. These terms refer to extensions of God's personal presence and powerful activity in relation to the world. They are not systematicallyrelated in the Old Testament, and they overlap in function. But they point to a differentiation in the Godhead that is to some extent analogous to the New Testament differentiation among the terms Father, Son, and Spirit. In the New Testament, the Old Testament terms Word and Wisdom are applied to Christ, and Old Testament texts concerning the Spirit of God are applied to the Holy Spirit. In other words, the New Testament authors were able to understand the relation of the Son and the Spirit to the Father in a way roughly analogous to how the Old Testament authors understood the relation of Word, Spirit, and Wisdom to Yahweh."
I chose the imagery of the Exodus from the Old Testament to say that we are liberated by our God, Christ, and that he brings us to freedom. In any event, I hope you enjoyed that poem "Pentecost Sunday Prayer" about the Holy Spirit bringing us a new freedom in Christ, liberating us. It is not my usual thing to make a sermon or homily in these notes, so I will stop here and let that poem posted previously speak for itself.
"Pentecost Sunday Prayer" and "The Winds of Youth in Spring": two poems...
Spring has certainly come to this town where I live, North of San Francisco across the Golden Gate Bridge. The second poem posted today is about Spring, and though this month will mark Summertime, I can still feel Spring. The poem itself was written in 2001, and it has never been published but is now here for you, reader.
The first poem is one from 2002 and though posted on a writer's workshop, elicited no comments. Otherwise, I would fill you in on the comments and maybe post those with the poem on Pentecost. By the way, I have trouble spelling "Pentecost" every year. And every year I look it up on the Brittanica website because they have a Merriam-Webster Dictionary.
Because I spell it wrong, it doesn't find the word. I suggest to the publishers of the Brittanica site that they create the dictionary so that misspelled words can find the right spelling. Is that so hard? It is by a process of illimination that I get the right spelling.
Pentecost Sunday Prayer (revise) by Peter Menkin -- 2002
For I am empty and forlorn,
so I hope and pray.
Tongues of language and flames.
Lord.
I search; let me
welcome the Holy Spirit.
The God who brought
us out of Egypt to freedom;
let God do this emancipation:
accept and welcome,
and let us receive the Spirit.
Reach out, lift the heart,
have faith that the Spiritfire
comes settling in, penetrating us:
Goodness.
Tongues of language and flames.
Dance in our hearts.
Let it be me in Church,l
et it be me, let it be others.
Come Holy Spirit. Consuming fire;
burning yes.
The winds of youth in Spring, they call...(2001) by Peter Menkin Many times my youth
comes to me, like a breeze
stirring the landscape,
and all that's in it, reminding me
that my companionship
with other living things
is renewed by growing.
Birth is an exclamation
surprise, and my springs
of blood in marrow of bone
are enlisted with birth's
great divine entry
to this world. We adore
the strength of youth,
calling to it in unknowing
conversations that continue
as part of daily life.
Fresh stirrings and wonderment.
This touch of exclamation
is the wind caressing
the spring day, awakens
the years even during
the aches of moments;
so alluring and enjoyable,
this renewing youth.
Carried into older age.
A poem as poetic list, a list as poem about sin and confession... This isn't a poem, it is a poetic list that poses as a poem. I also think it is a poem that is a list, that explains one of the things I do to stay in relationship to God. I think you will find it understandable; no secret message, here. Just work to do to keep things and my life straighter than not.
Another of my poems written five years ago, this one was also originally posted on The Atlantic Monthly Writer's Workshop on the internet. Today, should you go to the Reposte & Post section of the online Atlantic, you would find little action in the Writer's Workshop. Too bad, and a real loss for me because it was so helpful. Then in 2001 it was a lively and interesting group, often encouraging of my ambitions to write an acceptable poem--about God and Christ.
Returning to the poem posted here: Some people don't believe in formal confession, to a Priest. The Episcopal Church offers the sacrament of reconciliation, called confession. It is done one on one with a Priest, and is more a spiritual conversation. The practice as I know it allows the confessing to see the confessor. In other words, it doesn't take a dark room, but can be said in a chapel with no one else around to hear.
Moreso, this poem alludes to such confession, but I think you will find it covers the idea of setting things right with oneself and one's God. And with others in one's life. As you can see, I think it is a good practice and also a form of self examination. Certainly, it is a poem as confession since it tells the reader that I believe I am a sinner and do sin. That is a lot of public revealing, in itself.
Relief from burden and grievings
by Peter Menkin - 2001
Sin is
awareness that
forgiveness offers
the covetous,
and a long list
of human frailties more,
too numerous to name
relief from burden
and grievings of the soul.
What to do with sins
not in conscious.
Do not fret, listen
to your heart; be
still and know
that I am God. Live
with sorrow, embrace
joy, allow acceptance
of the human, eschew
evil. Know failure;
willingly embrace
humility. Tears.
Live life a friend
said. Yes!
Garden variety, thorns,
common knowledge, blindnesses,
bring my misgivings
to purity
~May I grieve You not
Lord~
Last poem of Easter, a return to the first of Easter... This simpler poem tells of Easter Vigil, at this end of the Easter Season, after the Ascension, a return to the beginnings of the Easter of this year. Now five years old, I rediscovered this older poem on my computer from 2001. Originally posted on the Atlantic Monthly Writer's Workshop website, it appears here unchanged from that original post. It seems it was a good poem from the start. I hope you like it.
Thursday's vigil, night time by Peter Menkin - Apr 13, 2001 We await
in vigil
a mysterypromise.
A surprise
of one in three,
eternityopens its gates.
The cross,
the tomb,
sorrow allows
ecstacyof kindness
for He is not
here, the angel
tells. Easter word.
We stretch our
arms out to you.
Is it a spirit that "quenches" or is it "quenching." Quenching is probably right...
The ending of this poem says, "Quenches." The grace of God quenches the spirit, bringing peace is the thought I wish to communicate. Yet I think the right word is "Quenching", according to those who have read the poem. The grace of God is quenching my spirit for its thirst and its jangle of thoughts and busyness. Here is the poem, some words about contemplation, and even at times, meditation.
Waiting on the Spirit by Peter Menkin -- Jun 3, 2002
Inner life aware of soothing Spirit.
Waiting.
Grace that underlines
living.
Ask for waters
that spring from abundance.
Quenches.
Communion with God and others through Eucharist...a continuation of the series on communion... My web page has many of my poems, and this one titled "The Journey of Communion" is from those pages. About my previous post of May 11, a friend says, "Communion is not really about either the giver or the receiver. It is about receiving the whole person of Jesus: Body, Soul, Mind and Spirit. And in receiving Jesus, we become more like Him, both individually and corporately. It is never just a 'Me and Jesus thing.' " In thinking about her comment, I wanted to post something about communion again, and so this one.
Regarding that May 11 post about communion, I revised the previous post to better reflect her thoughts. When revising it, I borrowed from her words, including these: "I know and am known by God, with others." I thought her criticism did reveal a more full and better statement about communion, and included those words. I hope it's legal to borrow some words for ones poem from a friend or from a criticism. That poem to which I refer is titled, "Communion with a Bishop." It seems that this older poem, posted here, is a continuation of a statement about communion. So I call the subject of this post today, "Communion with God and others through Eucharist...a continuation of the series on communion..."
Yes to communion with a Bishop, a special experience...
This poem has been thoroughly reworked again, and perhaps it will settle down. It is about communion with a Bishop, a special experience, and for me a not so usual one. I found myself invited to this communion that celebrated the installation of a professor's chair at Church Divinity School for the Pacific in Berkeley, California. Now a few years ago, the memory of the experience and the communion remain in my memory.
Communion with a Bishop
by Peter Menkin
Yes, to communion,
to the Bishop
who offered this
to a roomful of faithful.
Yes, to communion:
Wine and bread. The warmth of the moment,
revealing an intimate
belonging. Engaging me and others
in the quickness of life, with the eternal
experience that is beyond imagination.
“My ways are not
your ways,” says God.
Hospitality to acceptance,
the Lord and the Bishop
are welcoming in the spirit of warmth and friendship.
Yes, to communion.
Those present, line up wanting the holiness.
We stand with reverence.
All of us bow before taking the elements.
“The body and blood
of our Lord Jesus Christ,”
as blessing,
of veil of time and place.
Yes, to the peace of Christ.
I reveal myself in prayer and go on in silence.
Some words as a poem that say Evening Prayer is a comfort and comforting...
Evening Prayer is practiced in the Church I attend, and I find it an intimate way of worship. Some people call this time of prayer The Office, or the Work of God. In my poem you'll find the statement that it is both a comfort, and comforting.
We go on in spirit with the journey with Christ this Easter...a blessing of the Spirit... I have been thinking about Easter, and at Church we have been talking about the risen Christ. This poem posted here was not written in Easter, but afterward in May of some years ago. I liked how it talked of journeying on with each other in Christ. So it seems also to fit the theme of the Gospel this day that is about Thomas and the risen Christ coming to visit the disciples in a room.
Renewing on the journey by Peter Menkin --May 16, 2001
Omega, birth with Paschal
blessings into the Spirit
that is renewing me, how
alert one comes to the body
mystical. Drawn one is;
we are pilgrim
travelers on journey for
the everlasting strivings. Live
the cross; to know and meet
the cross and embrace the travails
with desire in the Omega that
is I Am. Enlarged in an exclamation:
surprise, and my springs
of blood in marrow of bone
are enlisted with birth's
great divine entry;
Another note about the word "apperception" from the new poem on Easter posted previously. I want to apologize for being so sloppy in defining the word. Something not well done in the previous post. Here is a better definition.
1 : introspective self-consciousness
2 : mental perception; especially : the process of understanding something perceived in terms of previous experience.
I chose to go with the second definition, thinking I didn't like the first for introspective self-consciousness was not what I meant. "Apperception" is a new word to me.
"...(O)ur hearts are opened wide with a sweetness of love that is beyond words." RB
Today this Easter Wednesday something a little different. A poem posted twice, the same one. Each is a little different. The first is the newest version and incorporates a quotation from The Rule of Saint Benedict. The second version is not so much older than the first. It written just the day previous on Tuesday, another beautiful Spring day here in Northern California across the Golden Gate Bridge in the small city where I live. Note that in the second, the earlier of the two versions, there is a line about Christ and the Spirit in the blood giving life. Not so in the first one.
Embrace of God (2)
by Peter Menkin The heart yearns,
wishes for warmth, finds opening
to the Lord. "With tears and the attention
of heart..." this divine love sustains life. More.
In the secret of the self, within the psyche,
we yearn for knowledge with self recognition of existence,
Christ does feed us. More. The beyond
calls; mankind discovers something uniquely
greater than the mysteries that Intrigue senses and thoughts."
...(O)ur hearts are opened wide
with a sweetness of love
that is beyond words."
Easter reveals to us this greater than,
this renewal of the good, exploding with eternal might
there is love greater everlasting
gift unforgettable recognized with prayer. More.
With a knowledge of expanded eternity beyondthe measure of imagination--
the gasp of surrender.
Promise that tells us God
Embraces the spirit of mankind.
Embrace of God (1)
by Peter Menkin The heart yearns,
wishes for warmth, finds opening
to the Lord. A deeper thing,
like the blood that courses through the body
this divine love sustains life. More.
In the secret of the self, within the psyche,
we yearn for knowledge: recognition of existence,
Christ does feed us. More. The beyondcalls;
mankind discovers something uniquely
greater than senses and thoughts.
Easter reveals to us this greater than,
this renewal of the good, exploding with eternal might.
There is love greater, everlasting.
Gift unforgettable recognized in prayer. More.
With apperception--
the gasp of surrender.
Promise that tells us God
embraces the spirit of mankind.
In the poem, the word "apperception" means to recognize, to have an inner sense (without self consciousness), an awareness. That is almost the dictionary definition, more the second definition of the word.
Poems of the spiritual and religious experience... about Saturday after Good Friday...
When I first posted this poem on a workshop site (The Atlantic Writers Workshop) there was more discussion than I could imagine. This was my response to the question of "What are you doing writing this kind of poetry?"
My note to Chris about the thematic sense that urged me on to write about the hymn as my version has many dimensions. But the one that stayed foremost is described in the response on the thematic sense I saw in the goodness of God. That has personal meaning to me, and it tells me something of the nature of Christ.
That is important to me for I have God in my life, and I want that experience and reality. Call it a presence.To expand a moment, if there is a presence allowed in this effort of mine, then to the good. I think you can touch and feel what is presence, and that it is a poetic thing, too, is important. Perhaps this helps me to share the work a little more with you. Thank you again for your comments and provocations to look at what is being done by me with the exercise I created.This was a second response in the same line of discussion. Thank you for bearing with me this Good Friday as I post all of this:
Chris
This is a poem of the religious experience. I have often wondered if something like this is more religious than literary. My interest has been to stay literary with them, while being religious or spiritual. There is a very large supply of religious and spiritual poetry, and this small effort that is a kind of work copying another, though briefer and somewhat different, seems to have sparked a genuine sense that it is religious.In a way, I am flattered. I think that the personal is important, as is the individual experience, and I am glad you took the time to read the poem and note that it lacked that dimension for you as a modern thing to know.My assessment is that these are experiences that one can know and that one may also wonder about.These two comments are direct quotes from the discussion, so they have their original sponteneity.
Now, the poem:
To know something about God by Peter Menkin, Mar 2002 With apologies to the hymn of the Syriac Church
So much grief to learn
Christ died and descended
into hell.
The vigil of Saturday
goes on. Imagination and
faith follows the journey.
He is alone in the tomb,
cold to touch.
Yet He continues.
May we with him.
He showed us God,
when he heard them cry,
"Take pity on us."
Death held no holdon Him.
He traced his nameon their heads,
those in darkness and fetters.
They belong to Him.
