WONDERS AND GLORY

Wonders and Glory

Psalm 19:1-4 — Common English Bible

Heaven is declaring God’s glory;
the sky is proclaiming his handiwork.
One day gushes the news to the next,
and one night informs another what needs to be known.
Of course, there’s no speech, no words—
their voices can’t be heard—
but their sound extends throughout the world;
their words reach the ends of the earth.

# # #

Wonders and Glory
Have you ever been absolutely
stunned by God?
I mean
brought-to-your-kneesflabbergasted,
flummoxed,
dumbfounded,
or
come to the abrupt conclusion
that God was in fact — God?
And then looked around yourself
with the realization
that the WOW that is God
dwells in all that is:
every living and breathing creature,
every grain of sand,
fleck of dust,
sparkle of starlight,
breath of life,
gasp of death,
cosmic motion,
lover’s smile,
or dreamer’s tear?
Have you ever
looked at a star,
blade of grass,
morning sunrise,
or heard the
call of a quail,
the breeze through meadow grass,
roll of thunder
and known,
I mean just known
that God is, was, will be
not just God,
but your God — forever?
Have you ever?
Evidently this psalmist did.
If it is possible
that you have never heard
or seen,
or forgotten you have,
I encourage you take the time,
pay more attention,
And let God blow your mind…

Advertisements

TO THE SUN

To conclude my poem-journey this week of a poem a day. I am using past work from around 1972 that was written after a cold night in the Sierra. It indeed infers an inner spiritual movement — awareness of body, awareness of God/Nature/God-in-nature. The awareness of that unknown entity we understand as that-which-cannot-be-named-known-or-described… nonetheless, discovered in unconditional love of small creatures — death, and the sacredness of summer’s sun…

To the Sun

TO THE SUN
© Hilary F. Marckx, all rights reserved

That which
was not poem
and
death-locked
in ever-winter-earth
now
beats with poet-rhythms
and
heart-heat
of summer-sun blaze.

You have melted me—
Like summer-heat snow-melt,
I seem to no longer stand
inviolate
against a safe winter’s sun.

You have melted me—
I pour,
fluid-like stream
from my ice-high eerie,
and my dissolution
floods stream-hollow channels.

You have melted me—
and I do not recognize
this I have become:
mist to
sky–breeze-blown vapor.
I seek life
in your heat.

You have melted me—
I reach out
to touch
that which was not
yet. and
I feel heart-heat pulse beat
where once
ice-locked
and protected

SEMMETRY

To continue my poem-journey this week of a poem a day. I am pulling from past and new work that infer an inner spiritual movement — awareness of body, awareness of nature/God-in-nature. The awareness of that unknown entity we understand as that-which-cannot-be-named-known-or-described… nonetheless, discovered in unconditional love of small creatures — and death.

In the Ice of Time

SYMMETRY
© Hilary F. Marckx, all rights reserved

I discovered grim symmetry
in winter’s freeze.
Tangle of
winter-bare willow.
Rabbit,
raptor-killed-gray
on white-frozen earth:
concentric circles of death
with one red eye
staring death
at center of corpse–
this raptor was
neat–and cautious.

Frozen earth,
soil beneath low branches
of bare willow, where still figure
draws me in.
Circle of fur, two-foot diameter,
shaven from rabbit’s belly
Lays out about carcass.
Death in the round,
warmth near-frozen
in fog-white mirror for earth.

One tuft of fur at a time
shaven from belly in
three-hundred degree circle
of wary movement.

Three inch round red plate of red meat
in center of carcass steams off
last remembrance of life.
Blank eye of rabbit looks at nothing,
and at me, as though I too
have blood on my teeth.
As though I too
might lay belly-bare
on frozen ground–
fodder for some raptor.

I thought: “Here is the glorious beauty
and the
symmetry of my own death.
If I could but die in
solidarity with the cosmos…”

RUNNING

To continue my poem-journey this week of a poem a day. I am pulling from past and new work that infer an inner spiritual movement — awareness of body, awareness of nature/God-in-nature. The awareness of that unknown entity we understand as that-which-cannot-be-named-known-or-described… nonetheless, discovered in unconditional love of small creatures.

Where

RUNNING
© Hilary F. Marckx, all rights reserved

Disco threads ragged patterns
through ploughed meadow grasses.
Starry night
dances the darkness
in red fir and Jeffery pine
patterned on silver.
Where is time?
That magic loom
weaving universe
upon universe.
Ambivalent existence
in trinity.
Tomorrow, Today, Yesterday.
Eternal forever
when I lay by the Jeffery pines
and a yellow dog
kept watch
with restless loyalty
near my head.
A little dog
meant always
for the wild ways
of the forest.
Like me, a runner,
always running.
Little runner
of the wild lands
where do you now run?
Long killed by a city
with no understanding
of how little runners of
wild wood lands
sometimes lose their way
where the grasses
are clipped so short.
But I still have you,
my friend,
fellow runner.
Sometimes
the trail gets too long
and the man
becomes too small,
then I hear
you panting at my heals
and next
ferreting unseen
in the thick trailside brush.
Running,
always running.
I still have that night,
silver moon on fir
and you
ever-watchful,
ever-running
lest I be surprised by that
unknown
living in deep moonshadow.
Still,
I sleep more wary
though
I know you must
now run eternal
on ever-soft fir-carpet.
It is in the dark
I wonder where the asphalt
ended for you
and where
it will end for me.
Ever running.

THE POSSIBILITY OF GOD

To continue my poem-journey this week of a poem a day. I am pulling from past and new work that infer an inner spiritual movement — awareness of body, awareness of nature/God-in-nature. The awareness of that unknown entity we understand as that-which-cannot-be-named-known-or-described…

The Possibility of God

THE POSSIBILITY OF GOD
© Hilary F. Marckx, all rights reserved

Walking along a trail
in a forest
on a wet day.
Raindrops, fog, mist —
the air alive with moist beauty.
God
lurking in the water sparkles.
The leaves glittering God
A day like today:
wet with beauty
alive with drenched light
does not prove
to me
that God exists,
but shows me how
I can walk among
the water droplets that caress
God’s Body,
and feel the erotic
that God is.
I find no boundaries
when God touches
me as I
was touched
by the Presence
of raw and palpable beauty
on that trail.
Sometimes I feel like I
am in an electrical field.
Nerve ends buzzing the
possibility
of God.

COSMIC NURTURER

To continue my poem-journey this week of a poem a day. I am pulling from past and new work that infer an inner spiritual movement — awareness of body, awareness of nature/God-in-nature. The awareness of that unknown entity we understand as that-which-cannot-be-named-known-or-described…

The following is a re-writing of what is commonly termed, The Lord’s Prayer, in Matthew 6.

Into Our Being

Cosmic Nurturer
© Copyright, Hilary F. Marckx

To

the one most nurturing
who loves us
with tenderness:
Holy Creator,
Holy Person of Grace.
Who is in the heaven
of heavens, our being.
The center of earth.
The center of cosmos.
Whose name is holy,
hallowed, exalted,
and most misused.

Let your name still be holy.
From beyond to within,
from the prime explosion
to the silence of my prayer,
let your nurturing include
all peoples,
and let your will be done
in hearts, minds and deeds
of those who live this heaven,
this earth.

Oh,
one who is most pregnant,
Creation sprang forth,
and life came to be
from your very substance,
give us this moment
the love and tenderness we need.
Oh, one who is most sensual,
arouse us with your passion.

Convert us
to an earthy,
lusty,
vibrant
people once more.
Forgive us,
most holy one,
for the times we have been
hard,
cruel,
inflexible,
and
undesiring of your grace.
Forgive us for times we have used you
to harm one another.
Forgive us for blaspheming
your holy intention,
your holy creation,
your holy and lovely,
voluptuous body,
tender body,
sweet body,
Christ’s body,
Church.

Deliver us from being
other that you created
us to be.

Deliver us into our being.

THE LONG RUN

To continue my poem-journey this week of a poem a day. I am pulling from past and new work that infer an inner spiritual movement — awareness of body, awareness of nature/God-in-nature. The awareness of that unknown entity we understand as that-which-cannot-be-named-known-or-described…

The Long Run

THE LONG RUN
© Hilary F. Marckx, all rights reserved

Long run,
from my home in Fair Oaks, CA,
down Fair Oaks Boulevard to Sailor Bar,
along the American River
back up Illinois
to home —
sweat running rivers,
oxygen debt cramping for payback.
Start on
asphalt and flat.
Cars, exhaust and noise.
Run to side road.
No traffic, oak trees
to river run and wild land.
Wild run.
Berries grab bare legs,
rocks roll under shoes,
leaves fall,
creatures dive for cover.

Trail could be anywhere, but follows American River
along long-dead dreams of miners.
Dredger tailings.
Ancient stream-bed exposed,
geo-history bared to present.

And I run
not fast, but steady.
Sun of valley’s edge bakes me.
Early summer run, grass still green, smell still new,
life still fresh.

The big hawks hunt,
some life in the balance.
I run.
The hawks hunt and I run.
Wild
no hawk as free–so bound to territory–
I run seven-mile circle
and shower.