To My Granny's Picture

Dear little Granny, let me take your hand
And thank you for the gift you gave to me--
That you could send your babies to this land
And yet remain yourself across the sea
For two long years before you also came.
There is a look of sadness in your eyes
And poignant loneliness too deep to name,
Yet back of this--I marvel in surprise--
I see a glorious faith, calm and serene,
A look of reverent courage and of peace
That you had sent them here to fields all green
And fertile with God's righteous, rich increase.
Your children's children honor you ... They stand
Holding your torch of faith in this choice land.

Legacy

He looked around the room and saw his ten--

A few short hours was all he had to live--

He smiled, "Six stately women, four tall men!

To you I leave no lands or gold but give

An honored name on which you each may build

Your cherished castles, live your dreams and find

No breath of scandal that must needs be stilled--

No specters that can haunt your peace of mind;

For though I have but walked the lowly road

My thoughts have been as high as yonder star.

My love has lightened every heavy load;

And I have watched you climb to where you are

Pride in my heart--Now my short trek is ended.

Continue choosing pathways, broad and splendid."

Granny's Rosy Glasses

Dear little granny with her charming way!

How very often have I heard her say

About some person I had frowned upon,

"My darling, put your rosy glasses on."

Portrait of Courage

(Mary and the Mother of Judas)

Beneath the fateful sycamore where still
A frayed rope hung, they sat in quietude
Of grief and saw: three crosses on a hill;
Repentant Judas ... Darkling death there nude.
Heads bowed, eyes tearless, bleak, both mothers knew
That winds through palms would sing triumphant, free,
The Song of Life, while whispers slithering through
The grass would hiss, "Betrayer!" endlessly.

"How kind and mother-wise to seek me here!
Forgive him, Mary."--Grief's taut floodgates broke--
"His hands were grasping but his heart held dear
Your Son, his Lord. Would I might ease your yoke!"
In syllables love-tender, Mary said,
"Yours is the greater burden. Lift your head ..."

Let Her Dream

Walk gently little donkey for you bear

The patient waiting Mary as your load.

The silent Joseph breathes an anxious prayer

And, pondering, walks beside you on the road.

O little lamps of Heaven, softly shine,

Reveal the wonderment in Mary's eyes:

A kingly little, son, His sire divine!

Remembered angel-words still bring surprise.

Dreaming, she smiles and sees a path of glory.

The night is brightened by a strange new star,

The angels have begun to sing their story,

The Magi journey from their lands afar.

Ahead lies Calvary. Stars, softly gleam.

Walk gently little donkey, let her dream.

Midwest Chaparral

That You May Find the King

These gifts I wish for you this Christmas day,
These simple gifts the heart may ever hold:
The faith to see the Holy Star's clear ray
Leading to Bethlehem; the treasured gold
Minted from friendship through the changing years;
The frankincense of hope to ease despair;
The myrrh of love that will illume your tears
Revealing Heaven through the gate of prayer.
From the garden of your heart may you give flowers
Petaled with all the beauty you have known
To burgeon for another's perilous hours--
Who walks with beauty never walks alone.
These gifts I wish for you and may they bring
The chrism of peace that you may find the King.

I Shall Keep Faith

Though Christmas may not be within my heart,

I shall keep faith with my brave son who died

A martyr on that far Korean shore

Where terror's horsemen ride.

Then hang the holly and the mistletoe

And light the Yuletide candles; trim the tree--

Dear God, pin back death's curtain with a star

That he may see.

The Archer

First in Archer Christmas Contest

When Every Heart Accepts

The little donkey will be journeying
To Bethlehem again this Christmas Eve;
Still gently will he step, the unborn King
Upon his back. Will Mary have to leave
The blazing Inn to seek a stable bed?
Will shepherds listen to the angel song
With man-made spheres exploding overhead;
Jets cleaving spaceways through a starry throng?
The patient donkey's journey will be done
When every heart accepts the Holy One.

Country Doctor

When duty called

Me from my home, my work, where tranquil skies

And smiling hills gave benediction-peace,

I wore rebellion's mantle on my soul.

Why should I thus uproot my feet from loam

That knew my easy tread, and go afar

To heed the cries of those already doomed?

How I am here

Where I, myself, behold the face of War

And feel his cruel arms, and breathe the air

Made foul by his hot breath; here, where I lead

Your sons through strange dark corridors of pain,

And prune their shattered limbs, and ease their shock.

While some but mutter curses, others weep

Like homesick children that they are. Last night

A lad so like my own was brought to me--

So young and fair and suffering, that I prayed

That God would grant me healing. Then I knew

He would not live the night. I saw his soul

Naked and bleeding: in its primal need

Craving the chrism of a mother's kiss.

A hardened country doctor! Yet the tears 

Rivered my calloused cheeks. I held him close.

As his eyes dimmed, I kissed his ashen brow.

He murmured, "Mom", and passed death's portals

To find, at last, the Holy Grail of Peace.

Now as I stand

In this vast auditorium of death,

War's grim face softened by the lamps of night,

I cast aside the mantle I have worn,

And place about my new-awakened soul

The robe of thankfulness that I can give

My holy gifts--the frankincense and myrrh

Of deep compassion, understanding love--

Illume the way to life, or death, for these

Our valiant sons whose birthright has been sold.

The American Bard

Mary's Lullaby

Not long the road to Bethlehem, not long:
The hours sped swiftly for I spun a song,
A lullaby that I would sing with joy
When I would hold Him close--God's little boy.
The notes I plucked from beauty on my way:
Lithe amber willows with their furry-gray:
(Would He love little kittens?) ancient palms,
An avenue of harps that strummed the psalms
Of David like a prayer; an olive tree
Wherein a dove was nesting; (He would be
The Prince of Peace.) a linnet fluting through
The quietude of skies of April-blue;
The lilies of the fields shy-whispering;
The grasses by the roadside new with spring.
From all of this I spun a song for Him.
(Would He love catkins on a willow limb?)

The donkey--Joseph leading--stepped so slow
And carefully, I wondered: did he know
He bore the unborn King? As dusk descended--
A few more notes and my song would be ended--
Came drowsy night-sounds ... Did a shadow flee?
One long discordant note wail Calvary?
No, not in my joy-lullaby! Instead,
A cradle moon low-hanging overhead
Recalled the waiting cradle Joseph made...
Travailing pain ... Yet I was unafraid
For high above there shone the Moving Star
And Joseph spoke, "Not far, my dear, not far!"

When I lay resting on the fragrant hay
I thought of all the beauty on my way
And sang the lullaby that I had spun
For I was holding close, God's little Son.

Let Me Waken

Tell, oh tell in joyful numbers

That this day is but a dream.

Let me waken from my slumbers

Resting by a lotus-stream.

Surely I must now be dreaming,

Man could never be so blind

As to throw an atom screaming

At the rest of humankind!

Chromatones

Madonna of the Woodland

The Wise-Men pines looked down upon her child
Cradled beside her in a snowy bed
Of curling bracken. Forest-dark was aisled
With moonlight. As the silver silence spread
On shepherd cedars kneeling in their awe,
The night wind's muted song a lullaby,
This gentle mother of the woodland saw
A strange new star that moved across the sky;
And shining down upon the bracken bed
It made a halo for her young fawn's head.

Love's Alchemy

From the plane his comrades bore him,

Placed him gently at my feet--

Maimed and wounded, scarred and suffering.

God in Heaven! Could I meet

All the need for love and solace

In those haunted eyes--that face?

With a cry I held him to me

Sheltered in my heart's embrace.

I could feel his wild heart beating,

Clinging to my very soul.

Looking then I saw but beauty,

For love's alchemy makes whole.

Montana Poetry Quarterly

When Winter Sang

I heard the song, "Lift up, lift up
Your eyes! For beauty leaves the clod.
Oh, hush! Be still! A daffodil
Within its golden chalice-cup
Declares the artistry of God."

Within a clearing in a wood
I learned His ways beside a brook.
All summer long I heard the song
And, listening, I understood--
The thrush, the leaves, the wind, my book.

I heard the song when fruited lands
Bestowed fulfillment's accolade.
In autumn sun the willows spun
The gold of faith and I touched hands
With God ... and waited unafraid ...

The Sea Is Singing

Since I have heard the music of the sea

I cannot bear to hear the voice of man

Mumbling discordant tones, for clear and free

The waves are chanting of a master-plan--

The earth a great Democracy of Love.

They sing the timeless lyric, "Peace, be still!

The God of Heaven watches from above

And wind and wave and man obey His will."

War drums will cease. The strength of wrong shall fail.

Wearing His shield, we shall erase the bars

Of hate and greed that right may yet prevail

And WORLD DEMOCRACY outlast the stars.

Above the clanging of the tongues of fools,

The sea is singing that the great God rules.

The American Bard

Hon. Men. World Peace and Unity Contest

Where Fear and Hunger Stalked

He searched in vain for beauty pure from dross,

The soul of beauty God had made when He

Had carved the mountains, boundaried the sea ...

But always in his search there fell across

His path the shadow of the albatross

Of selfishness whose discord drowned the free

Clear flutes of gentler birds; bade beauty flee

From terraced gardens ... Long he mourned his loss.

Then through the squalid streets of Greece he walked--

One drooping flower bloomed to lend its grace

Where bone-lean children carved their dreams in dust.

Startled, he saw--where fear and hunger stalked--

The soul of beauty in the withered face

Of one who gave away his last dry crust.

Repentance at the Holy Gate

Smiling cadaverously he knocked. The gate

Swung open and he said, "May I come in?"

I know the empery of Hell. Too late

Perhaps, I feel contrition for my sin

Of compromise with evil on the earth.

I might have reached a godliness of soul

But ruthlessly wrought chaos. Grant rebirth!

My cowering conscience pleads to be made whole.

My heart is now a crucible of fear.

Would that my soul had dared to seek the Fount

Of Light! With avatars and angels near,

I could have been a savior on the Mount.

The Emancipator

The Old Man Weeps

An old man, hatred glooms,

Weaves destiny--Dark is his face--

Upon the rim of chaos. Never mild,

His breath, now hot, now cold: a wind shrill-wild!

With somber threads he weaves--No trace

Of brightness from his looms.

Then love comes softly; love, a little child,

Brings skeins of sun with Royal grace.

No more the fear of doom's

Designing, for there blooms

The Rose of Peace ... Earth primrose-aisled!

The old man weeps ... yields love his sovereign place.

Desecrated Shrine

Always throughout the years I saw the Master

Forgiving, with compassion on His face;

But now I see, swift-flashing through disaster,

The javelins of anger cleave His grace.

Within His hand the very whip is lashing

He used to drive the money-changers out.

He hears the clink of coins within the clashing

Of swords that make the world a crimson rout.

Would that today we might retell the story--

The tables overturned, the changers fled;

Too many now defile the Temple's glory,

And God rebukes us for our martyred dead.

He stands majestic, as He is divine,

And bids us cleanse His desecrated shrine.

The Lyric

Second in MFCP Clinic Poems, Fall 1951

Speed Swiftly Time

Though time speeds swiftly on his vibrant way

I do not fear his silvering decay:

So lightly tethered to the earth am I

That traveling by my star, I reach the high,

White silences ... and view the Master's weaving,

Its flawless primrose strands, the gray relieving.

How beautiful the pattern He has woven

For me to follow! Never shall the cloven-

Hoof and lion-roar leave tragic scars

On its ultimate perfection. Even war's

Harsh and discordant notes of death will blend

Into His symphony where kingdoms have no end.

Speed swiftly time. As you pass, clear and free,

I hear the steps of immortality.