The wise men meet the separation wall

yeats poem

The three-fold terror of love: a fallen flare
Through the hollow of an ear;
Wings beating about the room
The terror of all terrors that I bore
The Heavens in my womb.
Had I not found content among the shows
Every common woman knows,
Chimney corner, garden walk,
Or rocky cistern where we tread the clothes
And gather all the talk?
What is this flesh I purchased with my pains,
This fallen star my milk sustains,
This love that makes my heart's blood stop
Or strikes a sudden chill into my bones
And bids my hair stand up?
-W.B. Yeats 1865-1939

Mary Oliver: The ponds

Mary Oliver:
 The Ponds
… Still what I want in my life
is to be willing
to be dazzled-
to cast aside the weight of facts
and maybe even
to float a little
above this difficult world.
I want to believe I am looking
into the white fire of a great mystery.
I want to believe that the imperfections are nothing-
that the light is everything-that it is more than
the sum
of each flawed blossom rising and fading-and I do.
I want to believe that the light is everything-
And I do.
Amen.

The light shines in the darkness

An image painted on the wall enclosing the Palestinians

Now that's an epiphany!

How Long?

Advent’s aching cries

are answered liturgically

by Christmas’s declaration

that the Christ is born among us.

It is a momentary reply;

by New Year the complaint has been renewed

as we mark the passing and the weepings

of another twelve months.

The world still waits.

In comfortable lands people are encouraged

to make worthy resolutions

towards a better future,

usually for themselves;

while corporate and national intentions

seem incapable of positive resolve.

The wealthy still cleave to their riches

while the poor are bought and sold;

resources are hoarded;

fearful armies are marshalled and deployed;

and involuntary wanderers search in vain

for a welcoming embrace.

The planet grows warm and sad

while clever fools peddle their fearful doctrines

to ensnare their eager acolytes.

How long?

We cry once more, and again,

as we face a further fifty-two weeks

wherein our tears will swell to a flood

to carry our relaunched supplications

floating before the Almighty.

With this fragile hope we seek

that the God Who Comes will take notice;

and that our yearnings might be echoed

in divine spirit, and find substance

in our breath.

© Ken Rookes 2011

Simeon’s dream

The Lord God has blessed me with the gift of years;

along with the gift of tears.

Do not presume that we old ones

desire mere comfort and quiet;

while I am permitted to stand upon the earth

I will seek God’s salvation,

the fulfilment of God’s outrageous promises.

I watch the children at their games with the hope

that their joyful dancing will never cease,

that their songs may echo through the hills,

even though civilizations collapse

and great buildings crumble.

I dream of truth,

and of justice blended with grace;

of prisoners restored, rejoicing, to their families.

I yearn for the day when soldiers

will return to their villages,

to take brides, beget children,

and plant olive trees.

I cry for the quiet dignity of the poor

in their hunger and desperation.

I pray for the generosity of spirit

which alone reveals the greatness of a nation.

You told me, God, that I would live to see

your Messiah. Today, in the temple,

there was a couple from the north,

with their new son,

come to make their offering.

The infant’s hand gripped my wrinkled finger;

I laughed, I wept, I shouted a blessing,

and then I gave him my dreams.

© Ken Rookes

One Word

One divine word;

a whispered murmur on the lips of shepherds,

sung sublimely by a choir of angels,

and written in straw:

come.

© Ken Rookes

The Colours of Christmas

In the other half of the world

where December grows cold and icy,

the holly bush speaks of defiant life;

green and red

in the midst of winter’s white death.

The colours of Christmas.

Green for life and growth,

red for life and blood,

white for the hope that the darkness will end.

The colours of God’s surprising journey

among us humans, touching hearts

and minds with the generous red,

gracious green,

and merciful white; promises of hope,

intimations of joy,

and the blessings of peace.

Continue, Lord,

your strange journey

through human strife and struggles,

to colour our lives with the reds, the greens

and the white of your coming.

Meanwhile, in this half of the world,

where December grows hot and steamy

and the light is bleaching bright,

the flowering gum in my nature-strip

bursts exultantly into green and red;

the colours of Christmas.

© Ken Rookes

The Adoration of the Roadworkers

Ken Rookes
Oil Painting 2005

The Holy Family

Ken Rookes
Linocut, 2008

Part of the Jesus and the Goths series.