Week 3. John 8

Written during the week of March 18-23

Monday’s Quatern:

Come into the temple at dawn

find the illusive rogue teacher

Paparoa in the morning

who sits down and begins to speak

words richocheting thru the crowds

Pharisees and teachers of law

come into the temple at dawn

seeking the troubling rogue teacher,

woman in tow for his judgement.

Gathers crowds and writes in the sand,

infuriating leaders who

come into the temple at dawn

stones in hand, overwhelmed by fear.

I hold my breath watching him stand,

navigating their challenges.

Testifies, sent by his Father

come into the temple at dawn.

Tuesday’s Nonet

it began innocently enough

changed water to wine at Cana

fed five thousand on a hill

but he says I am bread

he says I am light

he says “I AM”

echoing

crumbling

stone

Wednesday’s Haynaku

I am light for the world	my time has not yet come
you never will walk in darkness	I am not of this world

Thursday’s Landay

discovered and dragged from deception

in dawn’s breaking light she was damned alone before them

bitterness rising within her breast

biting her lip till she tasted blood of the broken

his silence pushed her beyond the fear

accusations fading to a silent scratching in the sand

shuddering, blood pounding in her ears

waiting for judgement to rain down on her betrayal

still the silent scratching in the sand

whispering through the dust rather than gathering stones

Friday’s Sonnet

Shall I compare thee to a brilliant light,

A light so full that it casts no shadow

Nor shall I find darkness, though it be night.

(And still, what shall I do with my sorrow?)

“Where do you come from? Where are you going?

These are the questions no one is asking.

These are the things they think they are knowing.

If not Galilee, what needs unmasking?

His light casts their certainty into shade.

So, swiftly they turn to frame light as dark.

“Not from Father, but from demons you wade.”

Cornering, fighting his words till they spark

within them a rage and they reach for stone.

He slips into shadows ‘ere one is thrown.

Saturday haiku

temperature rising

water is not yet running

spring is breaking thru

temperature rising

gathered people now turning

kingdom breaking through

Week 2. John 7

Little Levi and big sister Elena break into the writing like spring ...

written during the week of March 11-16.

Monday Nonets

Brothers knew him well but did not know

this one thing, from the beginning

He was one of them, yet not.

So familiar was he

that they scorned his claim

to be water

for all time

Spirit

sent

Levi curls forward tight to return

to his accustomed position

undisturbed by hungry cold.

Eyes tightly shut he wills

himself back to sleep

Elena kiss

Mama kiss

startle

sleep

Tuesday Quatern

“This isn’t my time. Don’t push me.”

The wedding wine was running out

His mother knew some hidden pow’r

And called him out before his time

Now sarcastic brothers taunt him

“This isn’t my time. Don’t push me.”

Like them, but strangely unlike;

Didn’t give them what they wanted.

He has stirred up things around him

Something has shifted in this town

“This isn’t my time. Don’t push me.”

Anger growing, wonder spreading.

Accept healing-not the healer.

Accept the food – but at what cost?

Slipping in and out of trouble

This isn’t my time. Don’t push me.

Wednesday Haynaku

time

is of

the utmost importance

Thursday Landays

Wind blasts snow across icy dirt roads

Little Elena stands on the ice looking for deer

Morning snowflakes drift past the windows

Levi opens new eyes to Sapton’s bright winter’s light

Pines and aspen, birch and ivy vines

Still wave, still stand as buffer to the winter’s sharp sting

… and back to John 7

Jewish religious festivals merge

Into sound and color and all saturated senses

But not this feast of tabernacles

Jesus of nowhere walking free as though nothing mattered

Friday’s Sonnet

You fall asleep and leave me unattached.

So silently I slip on coat and boots

and walk into the forest paths unmatched

by summer’s warm beckoning leaves and fruits.

Papery bark peels and curls from birches

Red willow dances with spruce and aspen.

Chickadee, red pole and nut hatch perches

on winter’s silent sleep, stillness grasping.

Yet cold is cracking, winter losing hold,

rivers slowly rising in the sunshine.

The turning moment may not be so bold

as those who, well fed, still asked for a sign.

Nicodemus stands by.  Now Galilee

links him by day to his sanctuary.

Saturday Haiku

five thin birches grow

around one decaying stump

round dance from their roots

comfort shaken by bread

March 8 Sonnet

Shall I compare thee to my daily bread?

How can that be, for you are friend, father.

Stone oven bakeries by flames are fed,

my kitchen’s loaves of wheat and oats offer

no small promise of sustenance rising.

Bread in our home, or to the ground falling-

while Israel wander’d, recognizing

not you in the feeding, in the watching.

And standing there like teacher, brother, friend;

you also walk on water, multiply

the smallest gift and laws of nature bend.

Comfort shaken by bread, we stumble by.

Safe little baby, all swaddled and warm…

this Christ of the mountain takes me by storm.

bread and fire

Bread and fire spread on the mountainside

Bread in our mouths and fire in our hearts, so we ran from him

Landay is a couplet, or running couplets with a 9/13 rhythm.  I fell in love with this form - it invites you to speak with an edge of grief, or anger, or displacement.  Used by many women in regions where I have not walked, have not lived, to speak of things I have not experienced.  Found myself taking the perspective of those who walked away from Jesus in these difficult conversations.

broken and shared on the mountain

from john 6

Broken and shared on the mountain,

the boy’s bread and fish did not end

till all who were foll’wing feasted.

a boy’s 5 loaves and 3 fishes.

Hungry and thirsty they listened,

Broken and shared on the mountain

was bread unexpectedly giv’n,

words unexpectedly bitter.

Manna supplied in the desert

like Jesus supplying their need.

Broken and shared on the mountain

-they could not face this allusion.

Many then fled from the spectre

of Joseph’s son somehow their food.

Finally even the 12 left him

broken and shared on the mountain.

(from Wednesday)

quaterns:

4 verses, 4 lines, each line 8 beats 

the first line slips down a line each verse till it is the last line in the final verse 

no rhyme schemes

wintermoon

WINTERMOON

Shall I compare thee to a winter’s moon?

You hold more warmth in morning’s dawning light.

Cold, still, the air that wraps life in her womb

and winter’s grip through endless months holds tight.

So short; the sun’s swift journey ‘cross the sky

leaves long and darkened edges to our day.

To sleep succumb, and hibernating cry

we - eyes downcast – forget horizon’s way

of playing with our light at morn and eves. 

Late sun casts cool pink carpet as she breaks

and breaks and breaks and circling, dawn retrieves.

But long before, the winter’s moon awakes;

companion trails through cold night wanderings,

holds sunlight trapped, then fades in the offerings.

________________________________________


Getting ready to write poetry for this next season.  I stumbled into this practice last year as I started into the gospel of John, wrestling with the reality of the infinite God becoming finite, the Creator taking the form of his creation. So I decided to severely limit the form of my writing.  A very small way to experience succumbing to the limit of form.

I thought I would post more of them last year, but found the process far too raw ... exposed wrestlings and "accidental" or form-driven phrases that surprised me.

This poem is anchored in the sight of the winter moon that hovers and shines over the western horizon just before the sun rises.  Or as it rises on a cold dark evening and shines across the south Saskatchewan river along the Meewasin trail. Short days mean that the moon has more time.  Its cold white reflected light reveals the night in a completely different way than the obliteration of the yellow sun.

Also - it is a brash riff from the sonnet master, Shakespeare.  Why follow only a definition of a sonnet when you can improv off a sonnet with long life?
So.  There are many variations of a sonnet - it has had centuries in which to morph.  This follows a form like Shakespeare's:
14 lines
each line has 10 beats
beats are in iambic pentameter
rhyming scheme is ABAB CDCD  EFEF  GG

So.rigid.  "Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?"