Week 4. John 9

written during the week of March 25-30

Monday's Quatern
This man does not keep the Sabbath.
He finds a man who was born blind,
spits on the ground and creates mud.
...works with dirt just like his Father.

A prophet or a sinnerman,
this man who does not keep the Sabbath?
Spit and polish, mud and water.
Do you want to hear it again?

I washed and now my eyes can see.
Does the work of his Father, but
this man does not keep the Sabbath.
Do you want to follow him too?

Echoes of his creative power;
his fingers shape mud to find life.
This is good, so very good but
this man does not keep the Sabbath.

Tuesday's Nonet
he's never seen the light of morning
noonday sun falls hot on his back
ev'ning fades without notice
sounds and smells and flavors
color all his days
till this day mud
banishes 
darkness
SING!*

Wednesday's Haynaku

spit mud mask wash in Siloam

spit accuse him send him away

Thursday’s Landays

sharp longing wraps around my will pow’r

imprisons my better judgement and leaves agony

despair idles beneath the surface

coursing through a vacuum of boredom to wreck havock

sight unleashes the joy and the fear

we struggle to understand how it is possible

where is the man who gave you your sight?

while you were blind, we knew how to see; now are we blind?

suddenly things have become unclear

sight comes to one born blind, and so we must throw him out

Friday’s Sonnet

Shall I compare thee to new morning light

spilling o’er the horizon, shimmering;

awakening the birds, ready for flight,

casting long shadows, darkness bewild’ring.

We call it the breaking of a new day.

But it is night that is broken at dawn.

The slow spinning of earth’s orb will betray

night’s long hold – even in Saskatchewan.

Work, for the night most surely is coming.

While you are here, night is taken aback.

Wash mud in Siloam, heart beats drumming;

eyes have been opened, light shines through the crack.

Thin light of morning awakens my soul

awakens hope that all will be made whole.

Saturday Haiku

slowly receding

snow abandons ground and green

plants emerge ready

cloudy grey stillness

dead branches litter my yard

thrown down in winter

blue jay calls from high

screeching his warning or joy

morning calls forth songs