Returning Home to Moscow from the Caucasus

Nomad Mikhail

when did you get home?
and did the ocean roar?

did you see your pals again
at the Georgian shore?

did you look into a store,
did you hold your child high?

and why was he a kid again,
and why was I a sigh?

i have already been there...
i shall not go again.
go and find your future
and sometimes i will send

an email of christmas time,
easter email too,
picnics, woods, and running twain
for we will ne'er be true...

Poems to Mary

A poem I wrote in 2009 to the Virgin Mary, Theotokos. Mary is a fighter for the oppressed and the poor. I realize this might offend some people, but the spiritual reality is far more ferocious than the mainstream churches lead us to believe. I pray to her now for my sister-in-law in Toronto undergoing surgery.




Kick-Ass Mary


How great the pain that pierced your heart,
Mother, when they raised Him on the cross;
ceaseless furrows of your tears record the
tsunami of your loss!
Hammer and spear, thorns and scourge,
all life from your soul did purge?

"My pain blinded everything else, I could not stand;
I admit that in my pain I cried a few
tears and screamed in my deep despair... softened
by the mound of stones I threw!
From Roman heads came blood, their cries attest:
'Get that Jew bitch! That Jewish terrorist!' "




notes:
the Virgin Mary is usually depicted as silently suffering during the passion of Jesus. However, she fought for her kids like a soldier, and drew the blood of killers. She still fights for us.
(as I explain in a comment, I tired of Mary being portrayed as Our Lady of Perpetual Victimization.)

Easter 2008

(From my other site, but the poem is very appropriate.) Easter 2008 When archaeologists of old delights will find the ruins of our ancient kisses and delve into the warrens of this age and see the maze-like foundation of our lives: reconstruct the murals replumb the obelisk; and roof the halls of Herculaneum, and place the bodies at table encaustic. Shall they then find our candled nights of love that sparkle like the radyant rising sun? and drape the scenes with purple porphry sheets lest we old pagans contravene their faith? free us from this prison, and we shall fly away! and going up to Galilee to see anew the universal pulchritude!

Fast Day 28 December 14, 2007

Susan's Tree, enwrapped in needles' mystery; starry visions shining in the skies; gifting-time, either honey or the bee; hope-weaver of our lives! Druid sylvan, motionless in prayer; with what eyes solstice now observing; on mountain tops, once and forever which ancient feasts partaking? Susan's Christmas Home, filled to overflow with good food, wine, and sweets embroidered; weaver of delight our gifts bestow! All our fears occluded!

from other site http://peace-weaving.blogspot.com/

just in case I don't get around to a Xmas post.

Fast Day 9 August 3, 2007

From the fast http://peace-weaving.blogspot.com/2007/08/fast-day-9-august-4-2007.html  

Homeless in the Market of War
   
This is an age when no man goes about in finery.// 
This is the age of our debasement. When our hearts are noble, even the rags of the poor//
shine like silken finery upon our backs. Five years ago the powerful usurped their own //
worst dreams and became ignoble beasts of prey. Richard Cheney, William Krostol, Richard Perle and // 
Douglas Feithe, Michael Ignatieff and Strauss sneered at us in our drab clothes and straggling band//
saying how will you endure? there are so few of you! And we answered, Lo, indeed you are fools! // 
for the number of noble men is truly small! Not like your band of discord and war, motley garbed// 
in opinions outrageous and ravening. The noble have a fortress mighty whose //
strength gives increase to our small band of heroes. It is a disgrace to lie. They ignobly spread lies like seeds.// 
Would we not rather die than live their fabrications? We mill about in the midst of the market, looking//
at the wares. To which seller of souls shall we entrust our lives?



modelled after 'Antara 

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