The weeping of Lord Jesus on his Cross

The  death of self , the emptiness, the loss
Make a space where new works may be born
Like the dying of Lord Jesus on his Cross

The more the loss, the  more space  dispossessed,
The more may be the harvest of the corn
The  death of self , the emptiness, the loss

The creative must most freely their wish toss
Though pain like this is hard to make  welcome
Like the dying of Lord Jesus on his Cross~

In the soul, the  sharp thorn is  embraced
God himself from poor hearts  has been torn
The  death of self , the emptiness, the loss

The good, the holy, even love’s defaced
As we wander in the wastelands all forlorn,
Feel the death of Jesus on his Cross

Absolute,we lose our wealth and home.
In spaces deep as hell new life  is born
By the  death of self , the emptiness, the loss
The weeping of Lord Jesus on his Cross

 

 

 

 

 

Nothing is as beautiful as spring

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https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/51002/spring-56d22e75d65bd

 

Spring

Nothing is so beautiful as Spring –
   When weeds, in wheels, shoot long and lovely and lush;
   Thrush’s eggs look little low heavens, and thrush
Through the echoing timber does so rinse and wring
The ear, it strikes like lightnings to hear him sing;
   The glassy peartree leaves and blooms, they brush
   The descending blue; that blue is all in a rush
With richness; the racing lambs too have fair their fling.
What is all this juice and all this joy?
   A strain of the earth’s sweet being in the beginning
In Eden garden. – Have, get, before it cloy,
   Before it cloud, Christ, lord, and sour with sinning,
Innocent mind and Mayday in girl and boy,
   Most, O maid’s child, thy choice and worthy the winning.

Oh,Francine Pose,Youtoo!

It] began to seem amazing how often it was assumed that having a vagina automatically meant I was less intelligent, talented, capable, and interesting than the world’s least interesting human being who happened to have a penis.”
Francine Prose