Fr. Martin's Poetry Corner

As precious as

the sap of the snowdrop

waiting

in frozen ground.

As precious as

the first daffodil

vibrant with joy

in early sun

like the first born

taking her first steps.

As precious as

the wild Beglieve rose

planted in autumn

from the haggard

where my mother had played

‘Daddy, will you fix my toy?’

A dab of glue,

a piece of cord,

deft fingers,

and it’s going again.

‘Is that you Father?

We’re getting married….

he’s not……..we want….’

Glue, cord, deft touch.

Will I?

I’m stretched.

I snap.

My car hits the wall.

I open a bottle.

‘Daddy,

Their hope was killed on Calvary.

In silence back to the familiar -

fishing in the dark on Galilee.

In the pre-dawn, marooned

on a lifeless sea by a mist,

directionless,

with empty nets and idle oars.

Prows of boats at prayer,

by the shore, begin to appear.

A call:

A Close Encounter

Through him all things come to be:

I am, you are
the clay of the earth from which he’s formed,
the womb of the world in which he’s fleshed
the stable and manger into which he came
the air he breathes that carries his cry,

The road to Bethlehem
is everyone’s journey
inward,
in silence
in stillness
focused,
a quiet mind
in a quiet corner
where the child is found,

to see with the heart:
Mary’s flesh is mankind’s
Mary’s flesh is mine
united