Orthodox Question

From Ann Glover O’Dell’s Midwifing the Soul:

Who are you?

asks the priest

high plumed in radiant robes.

Who are you?

a second time

repeats the accent verb.

Who are you?

comes again

and echoing through ears

which having heard

the triplicated liturgy

more times than three

reflect upon the ancient worship form

that claims the right

of sense and sound

to challenge chattled children

of the Sacred One.

And we who hear the story

may ponder poverty of thought

when we so gladly give reply

with surname, nation, or career

and watch slip through our fingers

the gem-stoned opportunity

to show our true identity.

Messenger

From Ann Glover O’Dell’s Midwifing the Soul:

The messenger arrives

to tell the laughter

and those who bother

listening regard him

as some street-smart

stand-up comic

and muffle chuckles

at absurdities he declares

and shares

more personal examples

than they care to hear.

He goes in search of faith groups

but they are telling their theology

each to each as memorized

from ragged texts of faded ink.

He goes in search of children

and they pretend to hear

but he observes them

playing rhyming games

with words he speaks.

He goes in search of kin

and scarce does utter simple phrase

but finds himself derided

for his clothes and style

of hair and questioned

on current war debate.

Retreating to his chamber

relishes delight

remembering

the banquet he enjoyed as

honored guest

and apologizing to his Lord

he offers sorrow

that no one wished to hear

about the feast prepared

especially for them.

Concavity

From Ann Glover O’Dell’s Midwifing the Soul:

I hold with concave hands

an empty bowl

and pray as I sit

gazing at its contours

and ready space

this glad receptacle

for what might come.

I look

and pray

for all the empty bowls

and bellies sat beside them

whose pangs make known

the hollow hunger

crying to be filled.

I look again

at potter’s vessel

remembering I came from clay

and cry out “fill me

with living water

pouring down and through

the sacred round impression

in my soul

to help the hallowed hungry

fill their bowls.”

The Challenge

From Ann Glover O’Dell’s Midwifing the Soul:

The boast brought forward

the challenge tossed

as one would hurl a hand grenade

to startle eyes that thought

pulled pin meant sudden death.

But verbal confrontation

is all the giant brings

as David and Gawain

and other folklore heroes

stand pondering

the greater good

and fathomless fear

that sticks them to the spot.

And we

the Jacobs and the Percevals

wreak havoc in the wrestling ring

with neither stone nor strap

nor any lethal means at our dispose

but only question ringing in our ears

demanding answer from

our battle-shy reserves.

We

called to combat

full well knowing

that conquest is impossible

and imminent death awaits

sudden resolve

are seized

and see ourselves step forward

an instinctual response

that knows we must

engage or never know

the essence of the giant or ourselves.

The boast brought forward

the challenge tossed

as one would hurl a hand grenade

to startle eyes that thought

pulled pin meant sudden death.

But verbal confrontation

is all the giant brings

as David and Gawain

and other folklore heroes

stand pondering

the greater good

and fathomless fear

that sticks them to the spot.

And we

the Jacobs and the Percevals

wreak havoc in the wrestling ring

with neither stone nor strap

nor any lethal means at our dispose

but only question ringing in our ears

demanding answer from

our battle-shy reserves.

We

called to combat

full well knowing

that conquest is impossible

and imminent death awaits

sudden resolve

are seized

and see ourselves step forward

an instinctual response

that knows we must

engage or never know

the essence of the giant or ourselves.

Dare We?

From Ann Glover O’Dell’s Midwifing the Soul:

Dare we defy tradition

concerning the Creator

and Sustainer

and Redeemer

whom we love?

Dare we turn upside down

mores ecclesiastical?

Dare we pluck grain

when hungry bellies cry for food?

and dip a cup in some strange well

to quench authentic thirst?

or speak as messenger of Him

who many messengers recruits

to tell the truth

through insights

to be judged by all who hear

as to the source?

I say we must

since we complete our  trinity

on Sabbath and/or any other day

and this flat world

more circles needs.

Pursuit

From Ann Glover O’Dell’s Midwifing the Soul:

Poets tell us

God pursues us like a hound

tracking us through

intricate life mazes

in hope of being able

to effect a turning round

enabling encounter.

And our running hastens

all the necessary dead ends

before the labyrinthine center is found

and turns us round to face

the spiralings our travels made

and watch as they become the seamless ring.

Poets also tell us

God as magnet strong

contains such powerful properties

that all our lives

a pull beyond our will

is tugging at the life line

invisibly connected to our soul

which moves in constant yearning

toward yearning’s source.

What poetic imagery

can lure our spirits

to magnetically participate

in movement one to one

so that we’re caught tight

locked in love?

How do we let ourselves be caught

and drawn to what might cease our fleeing ways

and settle us to restful days?

Germinated Seed

From Ann Glover O’Dell’s Midwifing the Soul:

A germinated seed

sprouts

and pushing through brown loins

emerges

to the greening wonder.

Second leaf set

manifests the tell-tale traits

of parent plant

and stem grows taller into stalk.

Wind and drought and sometimes too much rain

bend and break and cause disfiguration.

But somehow sensing essence

we know ourselves to be

this tree of life

and  hope to bear good fruit

from roots’ deep reach

into primordial soil.

No Sacrifices!

From Ann Glover O’Dell’s Midwifing the Soul:

“I abhor sacrifices

burnt offerings and the rest”

God said

again and again and again.

A contrite spirit he desires he says

but we

set on action

works righteousness embrace

while denial words erupt.

Why sacrifice preoccupation

if not on God’s priority list?

Easier to wallow in the guilt

of wanting to be human

than plumb spirit contrition

for what that might mean.

We neatly set the formula:

someone has to die.

Not I

Not I

we say

and think we can breathe free

as hanging on the cross we see

the one supposed sacrifice

the oe who creed says pays the price.

“No sacrifice!” God screams.

“When will you understand

that your spirit I desire?”

Becoming

From Ann Glover O’Dell’s Midwifing the Soul:

Witnesses we are

we’re told

of all things seen and hidden

of all that streams before our eyes

of all that

capturing our senses

stirs the longings of our heart

of all remembered

and in Holy Writ encased

of all the lives of saints

and martyrs

of all the creeds and dogma

and catechism’s questions

of all the politics and power plays

and petty tyrants’ tantrums

of all that cries out to be said and done

and battles for fair justice won

of all the acts of our one life

commissions’ haughty pride

but  omissions’ guilt we hide

and ’neath it all

a yearn to witness

something strange and beautiful

a breaking

of the finitude of being

a splitting of mortality

a quenching of

the hunger and the thirst

a witnessing

becoming bread and wine.

Inscription

From Ann Glover O’Dell’s Midwifing the Soul:

Comes the scribe

with ink of pen

filled with words and

more than words

that flow as from an artist stylus

engraving permanent incisings

as the point inscribes the heart.

And the message?

Only this:

“Know thyself  as thou art known

Know thyself  to be my own

Know thyself as purely formed

on that vast creation morn.

Let the false laws be erased

That thou might know me face to face.”

Righteous Indignation

From Ann Glover O’Dell’s Midwifing the Soul:

My anger I define

     as righteous indignation

and puff myself

        upon a pedestal of power

passing judgment

     as becomes one who

         as though he’d found the truth

  as does a washer woman

     who seeks abrasive cleaning agents

then sets about to scrub

     until her rage against the dirt

transfigures into prideful satisfaction

    of a job well done.

Transcending Faith

From Ann Glover O’Dell’s Midwifing the Soul:

Clinging to umbilicals of faith

I pray

asking for more

of what is needed for belief.

Tightening my hold

on something beyond hope

I deepen my resolve

to discipline as avenue to creed.

Clenching my grip

on what I have decided must be true

I wait for confirmation

and as I wait

fatigue comes over me

and causes slackness in my grip

and I drift into sleep

and dream reminds me

of the circle that some large birds make

as if to redesign the sign for God

who whispers to my soul

that I was made to soar.

I see the image of the eagle

in my mind’s sharp eye

and with the eaglets

air ready

I suddenly take flight.

Awake!

From Ann Glover O’Dell’s Midwifing the Soul:

Awake! and keep awake!

While eyelids close

to give the body rest

touch not the lashes

of the Spirit’s ever watchful orbs.

Exercise the practice

of the cloistered one

who regularly rising

through the patterned hours

commits attention to that which

beckons him beyond

the chronos of the calendar

to events foretold

in sand grit

sharp as any irritant

to mollusk or to man.

Read instructions writ small

around the edges of the mind

before the sea salt blurs the words

and the search begins again

for clues and crumbs.

Hoist lightning-quick antennae

to catch the faintest quiver

to transmit to relay stations

information for the soul.

Kairos commands:

Keep awake!

Shepherd’s Lament

From Ann Glover O’Dell’s Midwifing the Soul:

My sheepness

sometimes speaks

in my attempts

at good Samaritan-like deeds

and warms my heart

with knowing

I have passed on grace

and am perhaps

a vessel used by God.

My goatliness

is something else.

Omissions can be numbered every day.

Perhaps I see

the whiny and the wimpy

and overlook the need.

Perhaps I turn away annoyed

at one who

seems to want

to bleed me dry.

Perhaps I give

my version of tough love

to those who

need a listening ear.

And yet my goat

consumes my life.

My goat in independence fierce

has no desire

for goatherd to direct its path

or take its milk.

My willful goat

prefers reliance on

resources of its own.

I know not how to give up goathood

and be a sheep of God’s own fold.

I sense division in my soul

and know not means

or cause to form reunion.

Oh God, come separate!

Unite!

Take best of both

and make me whole.

Shepherd’s Lament

From Ann Glover O’Dell’s Midwifing the Soul:

My sheepness

sometimes speaks

in my attempts

at good Samaritan-like deeds

and warms my heart

with knowing

I have passed on grace

and am perhaps

a vessel used by God.

My goatliness

is something else.

Omissions can be numbered every day.

Perhaps I see

the whiny and the wimpy

and overlook the need.

Perhaps I turn away annoyed

at one who

seems to want

to bleed me dry.

Perhaps I give

my version of tough love

to those who

need a listening ear.

And yet my goat

consumes my life.

My goat in independence fierce

has no desire

for goatherd to direct its path

or take its milk.

My willful goat

prefers reliance on

resources of its own.

I know not how to give up goathood

and be a sheep of God’s own fold.

I sense division in my soul

and know not means

or cause to form reunion.

Oh God, come separate!

Unite!

Take best of both

and make me whole.

Soul Seed

From Ann Glover O’Dell’s Midwifing the Soul:

How can the seed deep buried

in soul soil

come to be

experienced by him

whose personhood

the husk through which the proof displays?

Must plowmen come

to gash encrusted earth

and dislodge rocks?

Must fertilizer be applied

to supplement the meager means

within the seed to germinate?

Must cultivators come

to loosen ground

to stimulate a movement toward fruition?

Must harvesters come

to gouge the ground

and finding ripened tuber

pull it out?

Is flooding

as in rice production

needed

to swell the secret source?

If we knew how

to help someone

discover

selfhood’s glory

what joyful task we’d undertake.

As it is

we risk ourselves

in prayer.

All The Saints

From Ann Glover O’Dell’s Midwifing the Soul:

We sing

to all the saints

who from their labors rest

to honor those

who with us form

this priesthood of believers

and pondering their steadfastness

in sorrow and adversity

wonder how our reckoning

might fare

we whose labor

sometimes seems in vain

and other times too little

and often lacking energy

succumb to guilt

inherent in the standard

for what we think life calls from us

they who rest

would free us

from our sense of shame

would for us the load make light

and road make straight

and bid us lean into

the open arms that beckon us

simply to be.

Playground

From Ann Glover O’Dell’s Midwifing the Soul:

My mind streets wind

no measured architectural plan

designed to make my town

orderly and neat.

Musings like a messy house unkempt

with windows smudged

and chimney soot

and unswept steps

displayed for all to see

.

Public buildings unattended

stucco crumbling

floors unpolished

ceiling fixtures dangling loose

Blighted wasted space

with little probability

of restoration

to a former blueprint state

Suddenly the child runs past

with playthings tightly held

his lively chatter to himself

beckoning my spirit out of entropy

to shed the shackles of despond

Following his voice

through streets of clutter

I find his destination

Ah!

the playground!       

come frolic

with the children

barefoot

uninhibited

who gravitate

to crystal pond

where wetting feet and hands

baptize each others’ heads

pronouncing laughter benediction.

Yes!

come look and listen

for God is here.

Why Have You Sent Us?

From Ann Glover O’Dell’s Midwifing the Soul:

Why have you sent us

to this foreign land?

clothed these fragile organs

            in this too thin flesh

so we wake daily

wondering if they will

keep our life?

given us great fear

of hidden things

and places we have not yet seen?

put strong minds in us

that seek control

only to unsettle our rigidity?

Are we the tourists stranded

in a Canaan desert

with camels not for hire

and oases only a mirage?

What sort of strife-torn

place like this

could make its residents content?

Or was this all planned out

so we would cry at last

“Bring me home!”?

New Light

From Ann Glover O’Dell’s Midwifing the Soul:

In derision

critics named Monet

and others for

their daring to be

different

painting alfresco

reveling in natural light

Impressionists

and now the name

resplendent

with renown

is never

a pejorative.

And should we too

who gladly took the holy name

and breathe the air

defy the skeptics

daring to display

for all the world to see

the artist’s stamp

revealed as golden light

shining through

our eyes’ new panes of glass?

Predestination

From Ann Glover O’Dell’s Midwifing the Soul:

How could it be that

all are called

and but a few are chosen?

Are you some sort of

agent for the prosecution

culling through the ones

who

responding to

their jury summons

endure perforce

the machinations

of a tyrant terrorizer

demanding answers

to most private questions

publicly inquired?

How could you call us

children of your soul

and act as if we

are defendants

when jury duty summons

is all that we received?

Is part of you so power proud

that only judgment segregations

satisfy?

Is there not room

for all of us

within the kingdom gates?

If not

I think

I choose to be

unchosen.

Bristling

From Ann Glover O’Dell’s Midwifing the Soul:

I bristle at commands

life limitations

smothering my won and cherished

liberty.

I ignore laws

or strut around

proclaiming

obeisance to the spirit

over letter.

I wonder at myself who thinks me

quite above the law

yet wants strict punishment

for other disobedients.

Dare I play God

when even he

makes rules

that even he

obeys?

Ecclesia

From Ann Glover O’Dell’s Midwifing the Soul:

Passing on the street

peering down from windows

pausing at a corner

familiar faces without names

a crowd of witnesses

thronging daily

testifying public

to each other

with scarcely uttered speech

community invisible

webbed from filament

routines casually incised

within the human habits

unconsciously repeated

while a smile appears

as mind plays hopscotch

with random minute thoughts

and though a stranger

conspicuously marked

by practiced eye

the vision of ecclesia

never resonates

behind the blinking lids.

The Holiness of Life

From Ann Glover O’Dell’s Midwifing the Soul:

The holiness of life

demands attendance

to a water purifying

for the outer

and a dietary purging

for the inner

cleansing

to make straight

the way through

wilderness and wasteland

on swift burning feet

while tears

seem helpless to relieve

the agony of white hot heat

eventually which sears

the soiled soul covering

revealing sacro-sanctuary.

A Cup Of Water

From Ann Glover O’Dell’s Midwifing the Soul:

A cup of water is

mirage to one who

desert sweltering

wonders if his thirst

will lead to death

or will be quenched

by what he knows

will mean his life.

And we who run

our faucets heedlessly

to water needlessly

a prestige lawn

do we consider how

daily it must be

to thirst for what

the rains give down

in purest form

to all the earth?

to quite imagine

how we might provide

for him who suffers

body drought?

and further

how provide

the wellspring

to quench the thirst

of dry parched souls?

Ceremony

From Ann Glover O’Dell’s Midwifing the Soul:

In white smocked dress

with entre deux and reembroidered

lace on cuffs and hem

and heirloom petticoat beneath

made of great-great-granddame’s

wedding gown

and fresh new bonnet

fashioned in the latest neo-classic

hand sewn French couture design

by the young mother

having bought the sewing lessons

just for the occasion

without a thought to

knowing that the ritual required

the bare head of the child.

As streamers fell away

and cap removed

by him whose hand dipped in the font

epiphany tears blurred vision

in the mother’s eyes.

The infant passed from one to one

and blinking under water

dripping in its eyes

will have no recollection of this day

but secretly she vowed that

if cataract comes crashing

she will tell the story

of the special sprinkling

that was precursor

of a later time

when womb waters break

to midwife life anew.

When Were We Blessed?

From Ann Glover O’Dell’s Midwifing the Soul:

When were we blessed?

we ask the ones who

now and then remind us

to be blessing as we

walk among the multitudes

who need a sacred gift.

When were we blessed?

we ask again in order

to be certain of the time and day

to mark it down to be

remembered in a book.

When were we blessed?

we ask because we are not sure

that we can say with certainty

a blessing has become

so intertwined with who we are

that holy we experience ourselves.

When were we blessed?

we ask with ripening hope

that blessing fresh and warm

might be bestowed in

tokened reminiscence

of a once forgotten one.

When were you blessed?

asks the One to whom all blessing

owes its origin.

I blessed you in

the blessing of the world

as good.

I blessed you in

the ancient ones

who multiplied the

sperm seed placed in them.

I blessed you as

I gave the essence

of myself that you might be.

Now kneel and be reformed

in warm wet clay

and feel my hot breath

on and in you

then go to lay

my hand

on those who feel unblessed.

Be my blessing.

Dancing into Light

From Ann Glover O’Dell’s Midwifing the Soul:

Dancing into light

she could not understand

why others silent stood

in shadows at the fringe.

Asking some to join her

they shook their heads’ reply

and she

contented not

presented query one on one.

They had no life they said

No life fulfilled enough to

spill into a rhythm moved to music

No life to know a joy that

could not be contained

within their flesh and frame

No life to fling wide portals

of their personality

and shun that shame

that inhibitions shape

No life that knows such

verve and drive

that energy must burst forth

in explosion

if not channeled

in some festive rite

No life to feel a spirit

they themselves

could not create

if ever there could be

Almost no life

to even wish

for what had not

by them allowed

the possibility

of shopping for some

dancing shoes.

King

From Ann Glover O’Dell’s Midwifing the Soul:

Riding as a king

triumphal in my victory

o’er all I call

the enemies who thwart

my willful nature’s best intention

triumphal such that

others see my good resolve

and cheer me on

to greater goals of goodness

my mind has undertaken.

I hear the cheer—“Hurray for you!”

as friends and kinfolk recognize

assistance they have given

and cheering for themselves as well

participate in “Job well done!”

And we all name ourselves

good and faithful servants.

The greening branches move

as green confetti showers down

and all experience

the kingdom of righteous tasks complete.

Little do we sense

that we must be

betrayed by some Iscariot

the one most close

the one whose presence

seems to be the primal motivation

spurring us to holy tasks

that one within we know as friend

is friend indeed and

of him say ‘the blessed one

who comes from God’

for who can bless us more

who orchestrates

the death of good

to empty and then sanctify?

Seeking

From Ann Glover O’Dell’s Midwifing the Soul:

I seek wheat within myself

among the heaping piles of chaff

I seek righteousness

amidst my bounding wantonness

I seek self-trust

beneath my inability to be

true to anyone including Thee

I seek goodness in my heart

even in the selfish evidence I’ve found

I seek ability to praise

displace my envy and my pride

I seek justice

in place of all the power

I hold so dear and can’t release

I seek solace

from the grinding guilt

that wears away all images

of wholeness in my soul.

Where have I heard

that seekers find?

Or is the seeking

as some say of journey

all there is

and I need entertain no more

an image of discovery

of something wonderful

at end of search?

My heart tells me “no!”

Buddha Teachings

From Ann Glover O’Dell’s Midwifing the Soul:

The Buddha teaches

wisdom to be found

in nothingness–a space

within that moves

into the world beyond the cave

and back again to feed itself

from inner calm

so that detachment from

the trappings traipsing round us

denies imprisonment to things

and liberates the soul

to glide and swim

through multiple experiences

without the need to own

or justify the lack

of action or production

but unencumbered flies

through space and time

constant consorts

abundancing its life.

Would that monotheists all

might free the soul

from dogma

and the need to do.

Invitation

From Ann Glover O’Dell’s Midwifing the Soul:

Gathered at the riverside

  we question

    mandatory participation

      in penance preparation

         as a voice tells us to turn

and face the dry and lifeless land.

With no ranting

  on the wrath of God

    we hear reiteration

      of continued invitation

        and silently assent

to a journey to the new unknown.

Then we turn slow

  to see the water surface

    undulating ever slightly

      and sense a beckoning

        by unseen finger

to respond.

Water wading moves

  from shallows to the deeps

      and though we have

        no swimming skills

the transport to the womb occurs

  as if we had stood still.

Desert Places

From Ann Glover O’Dell’s Midwifing the Soul:

There are those who choose

to visit desert places

who revel in the solitude as

seeking for some unpredicted beauty

find blossoms there

and color

and enchantment in the arid wastes.

But we avoid the barren lands

needing

so we think

oases of variety

and fecund warmth of kindred souls.

We have seen the wilderness

and heard the mournful howl of brazen beasts

whose names unspoken

strike a paralyzing fear.

And we have been alone

in deserts desolate of all

except the gritty sand

that wears our feet

and lodges long within our mouths

that stings our tears

that burns our skin

and sings the solemn unpitched note

that seeks to deafen us.

We know a wilderness

where nothing blooms

where sorrow’s sobs can sprinkle nought to life.

Is there a hand to give us hope?

Is there a voice to tell us this will pass?

Truth

From Ann Glover O’Dell’s Midwifing the Soul:

Is there truth so palpable that

once known

effects a freedom heretofore

unknown

unknowable

and further

unimagined?

So what

and where

and why

is truth?

Is there an entity

as powerful

as Holy Writ describes?

What motivates

gigantic games of searching

all possiblities

for ambrosia for the mind?

Great minds and small

have followed

rocky

tangled

paths of question

often coming round

to the beginning place

with question asking multiplied

and still no closer closure comes.

Might our preoccupation

with this noun

if substantive it is

be labeled imbecile attempts

at rank omnipotence

because we

after all

seek ranking with the gods?

Is this a foreordained

conundrum

maddening maze

of constant fruitless questing?

Or is there somewhere

a reality that

we were born to know?

To know in such a way

that moving us

to joy abundant

truth becomes a verb?

Memory

From Ann Glover O’Dell’s Midwifing the Soul:

A strange phenomenon

memory

that without which life

would not be worth

the trouble to sustain

say some.

Puzzling

how together

some can witness

an event

retaining bits and pieces

perceptions and reflections

so different in recall.

The remembering almost makes

an individual

as multi-faceted as all

whose lives with that one intersected

and each left wondering

how recollection

so differing came to be.

Perhaps the psyche soul

unique to each

magnetically attracts

the details mandatory

for spirit evolution

beatifying each and all.

Character

From Ann Glover O’Dell’s Midwifing the Soul:

Dim foreshadowings afford us

early glimpses of what later

might be called good character

the strength of which was hewn

from hard fine granite

chipped away in slow

painstaken labor

certainly

not self- designed

nor requested

nor desired.

No

this surgeon artist scalpel

reconfiguring as prisoner

one who would if breaking

chains invisible were possible

bolt and leave a fiery trail

as hastily escaping such ordeal.

How daring the Designer

who mined the blocks

then saw unique form buried there

waiting to be born

and as the Master Sculptor

took full advantage of

his expertise without

apprentices employed

but in his own worn practiced hands

the ancient tools

began their sacred work.

Stigmata

From Ann Glover O’Dell’s Midwifing the Soul:

I listen with my ear

my mind

my heart.

I strain to hear

I know not what

but something from beyond

the dailyness of dull routine

where unpredictability

no audience desires

The catechesis memorized

as well as hymns and creeds

parade despite my plaintive plea.

I meditate on verb and phrase

and hope for some

resounding redolent reconfirmation

of oral apparition rare

enough to scar my brain

or stigmatize my hands and feet

to prove whatever words

some holy voice might tell me.

Perhaps if I but see or hear

or have imprinted as tattoo

a sacredness no need to prove

I would not need the sermonette

“be doers…”

 for the doing

would already be.

Who Heard God Say?

From Ann Glover O’Dell’s Midwifing the Soul:

Who heard God say

“let us make man”?

Can we be sure

that “in our image”

was not addendum

for enjoyment of

imagination of an ego

eager for some status

in the face of fearful

existential angst?

Who learned of angels

and the guarantee that

we can almost match

them in God’s hierarchy?

Is this a fable poised

like all such stories

to smudge  

the universal question marks

and make us rank ourselves

more highly than we ought?

Or set a standard of perfection

dangling always right above our reach?

There must be some fast truth

imbedded in the tale told throughout

the rounds of galaxies

and baby weaning days.

There must be more than make-believe

to stir the heart’s awakening

to a melody mysteriously

making sure we don’t

forget the humming tune

and lyrics long repeating

“fearfully…wonderfully.”

These Least

In the alleys and the byways

we can find the outcasts

often self-imposed as

they

grown weary of

the uphill climb

they daily trudged

saw their energy

slip back

and felt defeat

despair

and desperation

so intense that

effort could not be born

within embrace

of gnawing pain of hunger

cold

and even more

the knowledge

that they

are the forgotten friendless

for whom no portals open

to welcome commensality

with those who

strangers

yes we be

live out

the Lord’s injunction

to feed

and wash

and clothe

and warm

those ones for whom

life lingers long

in shadows of

a dim drab dream

and harsh reality.

And we who have

the means to purchase

and provide for

some small number

of these least

and shun

responsibility

of offered hospitality

can muster

a water cup

of gentleness

in the form

of smile or touch

or one kind word.

Education

From Ann Glover O’Dell’s Midwifing the Soul:

Life-long learning

is offered

to those elderly whose jobs

have ceased providing

stimulation adequate

to satisfy the curious

and those whose jobs have ceased entirely

who thrash about

to find a mind-thing

to occupy and verify

that brain cells function well enough.

But what of learning’s leader–

the staid formation of a guided tour

through book ideas as foreign

as the fields of some lost land?

The gentle musings of one long

removed from active life

preparing for the grave?

The pandering of some

pedantic pedagogue

promoting what he calls

manna food?

The life-long learner

comes

if true to self

and that which beckons him

to ponder deep desires of early life

when inner voices tried to make him hear

and follow his own siren’s song.

To live uniquely as himself

to view his world

in such a way

that education emanates

from each experience

to teach him

most of all

about himself.                                                            

Witnesses

From Ann Glover O’Dell’s Midwifing the Soul:

Witnesses they say

surround us

invisibly attending

indivisibly uniting

in such great company

that spoken of as clouds

great masses

throngs of ones

too numerous to number

ethereally growing

as joined by new arrivals

some of whom have

known us in a special way

and watch to see if their

imprimatur still tangible

within the heart

informs our pilgrimage.

Witnesses they say

surround us

their watchfulness

not all they bring

no, least of all

their watchfulness

for sightless they would still

perform their gift

of lifting and embracing us.

Comfort Ye

From Ann Glover O’Dell’s Midwifing the Soul:

Comfort

comfort ye my people

comes command

and yet perhaps more

confirmation of

the character of

creaturehood

than mandate for life mission.

From whence comes true compassion?

Perhaps as we spring

fully formed

in soul-made grandeur

from the womb of Him

who birthed all sacred life.

So we endowed

with angel flight

and special birthing splendor

hold secretly sequestered

in dark reaches

heretofore unspermed

conception capabilities

of such elaboration

angelic choirs

would sing our praise

and we magnificats would raise

were we to witness and display

peculiar parity with God

as in immaculate conceiving

we give birth

to God’s own wombness

passioning with those begotten ones

who need some mending of their wings.

Baptism

From Ann Glover O’Dell’s Midwifing the Soul:

Baptized once with water

ceremonially

or bathed in childhood

or perhaps alone with tears

or saved from certain drowning

or drenched with raging rain

some experience of water

has impressioned us

with grave importance

of the power it has

and when we hear the story

of those on whom the splashing

was accompanied by words

of cleansing to embrace new life

we wonder as we later ponder

other needed rituals of water     

and a wrestling then with life

to find a newness never found

not knowing where or even if

a new one could be had without

a certain rite in which

a cleric spoke convincingly

of purity and sanctity

that made us

not only know in mind

but feel in heart

a sense that some rare grace

indeed had come to take us

not so much from something old

as into something new

and being clothed

in fresh washed white

drink water as if holy wine.

Not As the World Gives

From Ann Glover O’Dell’s Midwifing the Soul:

‘Not as the world gives’

is your peace you said

yet we would be

content just now with

what the world defines

since such unpeacefulness abounds

we cannot entertain the notion

of a state within

when all about us

life’s demise looms large.   

Power plays take center stage

and those rehearsing roles

soon star in great performances

surprising e’en themselves

with prowess and precision patterning.

Oh greed where is thy pain

which piercing self to inner well

of generosity so makes our

substance sharing

more to be desired

than much fine gold?

Where is the understanding

of that peace not understood

by mortal minds but mandates

light’s deep penetration of the

soul’s storehouse of truth?  

Is there a spirit energy

encased within your peace

propelling us to

show the world the way?

Pouring Nard

From Ann Glover O’Dell’s Midwifing the Soul:

Our alabaster jars emit

some essence purely ours

unnamed but permeating

deep within our secret place

saved up long years ‘til space brim-full

to be poured out unconsciously

on that most precious personhood

soul-born within the womb of God

anointing as one would a king

except this spills down past the head,

the seat of power, of will, of aim,

and covers all the flesh

and all interior dwelling

and all ethereal parts unknown

but to Begetter in beginning

that all may know the kingdom

and royal robes forever wear

and offer oblations as the high priest

and spread divinity throughout the realm.

Communal

Note: If you want to comment on Ann’s poetry, I will copy and paste, just as you have written, into an email to her. Thank you. – Celia

From Ann Glover O’Dell’s Midwifing the Soul:

Rustle of anticipation

decorum-tamed in sacred space

could not contain

eager excitement as

children-like they waited watching

crowding in habitual place

sharing seats with former strangers

expectation now uniting.

The moment came and on the face

of each one present glowed a radiance

felt within and seen without

igniting new communal flame

non-consuming yet hope-glowing

in the destined still-to-be.

Unseen aureoles now formed

around the crowd as well as him who spoke

in new yet old familiar tongue

each falling rapt upon the ear

of all who in the hearing heard

the rush of holy breath and knew that

they were born again commensally.

Born of and with and then into

the Spirit of the One whose

once-begotten Spirit we all are.

How Can We Be at Peace?

From Ann Glover O’Dell’s Midwifing the Soul:

How can we be at peace when

spirits’ doors are locked against it?

locked and bolted ‘gainst

we know not what but the

unknowing makes us fearful still.

Fearful of whatever lies beyond

paltry presumption of control 

beyond concentrated consciousness

that knows so little

understanding even less.

Fearfulness that lies in wait

albeit quite against its will 

for frequent fear is nonetheless

predictable and anxious huddling

in its shadow is more

to be desired than any sort

of openness to expectation’s

swaddling cloths of vulnerability.

How senseful that our fear 

that chronic lodger

continues welcome with its stale                         

foul breath and stained attire

when we the landlords

with our legalese

could if we dared

advertise our “rooms to let”

and interview new prospects

always with the veto power

tightly clutched within our ring of keys.  

Union

From Ann Glover O’Dell’s Midwifing the Soul:

Water into wine

into sacramental pure libation

shared by all attending

festive culmination of betrothal

of the bridegroom and the bride.

Preparations planned to posture

in appointed places

all the actors

of the passion play

the passage rite

the mystery of miracle

leaving home and kindred folk

to enter tiny canopy and there

repeat the ancient vows

and pledge to honor

new relationship of head and heart.

Would that all so young

might don the wedding white

baptismal robes and leave

the washing waters of remorse

and feel such cleansing

as pre-nuptials require

to fully celebrate the union

of my mind and soul.

Name

From Ann Glover O’Dell’s Midwifing the Soul:

The name’s the thing–                                                                                                                                   

the precious thing that’s mine alone.

Some stories tell of Adam

naming animals with such humor

and caprice that we are made to laugh

and as young children we named toys,

then pets, and some of us kept genealogy

of all the living creatures that came

to love us in our youth.

We named our playmates, imaginary though they were,

and those of us with great imaginations

even gave ourselves new names and then designed the tales

to prove that those names were most real.

But Kunta Kinte brought to us a new reality

in the giving of our names.  Was he named

by splendid universe or great ruler thereof

or was he named in presence of and introduced

at once to all the galaxies beyond?

No matter.  Perhaps both.  Whatever happened

as we read or witnessed it on film,

and witnessed, too, the naming of the

families of slaves descended from this one,

we learned to longer look at naming

and the phenomenon

it truly is.

How many names do we possess?

And have we named ourselves as we

were wont to do?

And have we understood the family

of names passed down to us from all

ancestors who lived before and wove their

lives into peculiar branches that are ours?

And naming of ourselves–how often and deliberately

have we bestowed upon ourselves

appropriate appellations reckoned

 by a quickened self-disclosure?

How often have we let the voice

of God break through the towers of babbling names

in order to proclaim again–or for the first time

to our sometimes deafened ear

our holy name of well belov-ed only child?

Exile

From Ann Glover O’Dell’s Midwifing the Soul:                        

Sent into exile, called out of exile

Who sends?

Who calls?

Once upon a pilgrim journey

seeking what had been abandoned

but what memory labeled lost

and held remorse at having let it loose

and turned that sorrow into stern resentment

at victim-state inexorable

and pondered who the persecutor be

and weighed the balance of another’s misery

with hope to win the crown of thorns for prize.

Through exile comes the Kingdom

in golden robes of seamlessness

once blame is cast aside

and hope can see the beauty of the wayside

and yearn for life

as those beneath the water yearn for air.