Ash Wednesday, February 22, 2012
Begins again this Springward journey;
rebirthing all that once lived.
Trickle again once fickle brook and stream
sickle sighs yet in repose, sleeping still.
Earth, sore and Winter-stiff, seeks, sighs
stretches out skinny arms of want.
Her cold, hard bosom births not what soon will come
e’er the Sun’s hungry mouth suckles,
fills his lusty gut on hopeful barrenness
feasting on milk of timeworn, weary passage.
She forgets not the suddenness of late
and sooner dark, splayed upon a fine, greenness
come for to spite the buds of transforming light
bidding death where life has yet to emerge.
Warmly insistent she speaks, sharing her story
poured out over the long-shadowed land.
Bring such bothersome beauty to branchier speech,
fall around us, spilling, foaming such fury
and fermenting our soon-drunk wine of promise;
earthen spirit’s Eucharistic prayer.
Hush now, silence yourself bold coldness and spare not
freedom’s great gift only taken this once year’s-life.
Steep instead in warmness, worried not for lack
but bubbling and birthing bold words lightly spoken.
Remind us, refresh and reframe what is still rooting,
routing sad night-hood to don the new, the now, the never again;
only to return, restored and restoring,
Give us again your beauty for our ashes.
Wednesday speaks your secrets.
4 thoughts on “Spring on Ash Wednesday”
I love your word combinations, the sound of them… Winter-stiff, once fickle brook, long-shadowed land. A beautiful and melodic piece, reminding me that today is a special day and I had forgotten that. Thank you Rob.
Thanks, Leslie-Anne. For you to say such things is compliment indeed. I receive it hungrily and thankfully!
Rob, beautiful poem/prayer. Here our Lenten theme is on wilderness and how it speaks into our lives as both metaphor and physical place. Your poem evokes that sense of entering into mystery and opening up to what is within and all around. Thank you.
Reblogged this on innerwoven and commented:
Same poem, different title. The original title belongs to T.S. Eliot alone. I back away slowly in fear and trembling…