Here’s today’s poem draft, an Easter Poem. The drawing done during Easter sermon on the Church program; I hope it’s not impolite, but it helps me to listen. (Also I hope some of you guys are also trying some daily poems so that I don’t feel like I’m the only one being silly. )
After Easter Service with Music By Tomas Luis de Victoria, Francisco Guerrerro
One miracle of Easter
is that a stone can actually
be rolled away. No Sisyphus in
Golgotha; no Calvaric wheel
of samsara, resurrection not
rebirth so much as return. (Christ,
unlike the Dali Lama,
was not even asked to pick out
the wire-rimmed glasses of
the prior him.)
But why don’t they recognize him?
Mary Magdalen takes him
for a gardener; at Emmaus, he’s
the only stranger in Jerusalem.
Though I’m not sure of what I recognize either
except that when clear single voices chime
together in a Renaissance motet
the soul exists for some while, and any stones
in the heart become simply the stuff that
earth is made of.
ManicDDaily 
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