Category Archives: poetry

Mama You’ve Done Well

poetry, women, ,

My only quibble with this poem is that the author essentially gives credit to his mother for thinking him into being. What part she did have in being his first cause, it was by an act, involving two people, and not a thought. God is the one Who formed us in secret, in our inward parts, and we praise Him for that, and thank Him for our mothers and all the many things they did, and refrained from doing, to cooperate with God in giving us life. ❤

MAMA  YOU’VE DONE WELL

I was first, a thought in your precious mind,
Until I became a living cell.
In the darkness of your motherly womb,
It took me nine long months to be fully groomed.
And Mama, you’ve done well.

After all the suffering and pain
When you labored like hell,
You took me home with pride and joy
Knowing you’ve given birth to a healthy little boy.
And Mama, you’ve done well.

You comforted me when I cried,
And scolded me when I lied.
You didn’t yell.
You kept me warm,
In your loving arms,
And gave me enough to eat,
And taught me that I must never cheat.
And Mama, you’ve done well.

You took me to school
You didn’t want me to become a fool.
You taught me to count and spell.
You taught me a tree started as a seed,
And if I want to become great I must learn to read.
And Mama, you’ve done well.

You taught me about good and evil,
And that I must respect everyone,
Especially old people.
And I must pray to God,
And read my Bible.
And Mama, you’ve done well.

And now that I’m a man
Handsome and strong
With much to tell
I can honestly say
Each and everyday
Thank you Mama, you’ve done well.

-Erwin Jones, (21st century) Belize

Mother by Elizabeth Nourse

A sudden whirl of green.

nature, poetry, trees, , ,

I don’t think I’ve ever experienced such a dramatic springtime as here in Wisconsin, the sort of place where winter covers everything with snow, and the plants have to do their thing fast once the warm winds begin to blow.

These small flowering trees seem to have calculated how many buds and flower petals can possibly be squeezed out of their sap — then they produce a few hundred more for good measure.

A day or two later, the leaves are pushing the blossoms aside, saying, “Our turn! Gotta hurry!”

DECIDUOUS SPRING

Now, now the world
All gabbles joy like geese, for
An idiot glory the sky
bangs. Look!
All leaves are new, are
Now, are
Bangles dangling and
Spangling, in sudden air
Wangling, then
Hanging quiet, bright.

The world comes back, and again
Is gabbling, and yes,
Remarkably worse, for
The world is a whirl of
Green mirrors gone wild with
Deceit, and the world
Whirls green on a string, then
The leaves go quiet, wink
From their own shade, secretly.

Keep still, just a moment, leaves.

There is something I am trying to remember.

~ Robert Penn Warren

Each morning the goslings by the lake appear to have doubled in size. Clouds race across the deep blue sky, darken and thicken, and pour down rain. The anemone buds droop, the sun blazes out, and the white flowers open gladly to take in the rays.

Snowdrop anemones in Pearl’s garden.

Pearl and I took the dogs to the dog park where they had a fine romp, and I admired more trees and flowers.

Virginia Bluebells

Earlier this week we drove to Sheboygan for dinner, and all along the road I got to see lots of handsome farms with beautiful silos, surrounded by bright green fields. On the way home I was quite taken with some stripey clouds.

Everyone and everything is gabbling joy.

Are the trees born again?

nature, poetry, trees,

TREES

by Philip Larkin

The trees are coming into leaf
Like something almost being said;
The recent buds relax and spread,
Their greenness is a kind of grief.

Is it that they are born again
And we grow old? No, they die too,
Their yearly trick of looking new
Is written down in rings of grain.

Yet still the unresting castles thresh
In fullgrown thickness every May.
Last year is dead, they seem to say,
Begin afresh, afresh, afresh.

-Philip Larkin

Unsheltered from God’s desire.

Pascha, poetry

OPENINGS

Now is the shining fabric of our day
Torn open, flung apart,
Rent wide by Love.
Never again
The tight, enclosing sky,
The blue bowl,
Or the star-illumined tent.
We are laid open to infinity,
For Easter Love
Has burst His tomb and ours.
Now nothing shelters us
From God’s desire —
Not flesh, not sky,
Not stars, not even sin.
Now Glory waits
So He can enter in.
Now does the dance begin.

-Elizabeth Rooney