The New Day Greets Me
The new day greets me like a middle-eastern girl —
A young Bedouin virgin, enshrouded in mystery.
A single amber eye peers out to charm
And beckons me from behind the cerulean veil
Which drapes and falls over her woolen green robe,
Revealing barely a hint of her rolling beauty and form.
Oh how I find myself ineluctably drawn to follow
With hopes of savoring her promised delight!
By Thomas C. Webber
2/27/02
“Bluer Than Blue”
As the harvest moon peers behind shudders
of mist-blown clouds on this autumn night,
watching, as I hear the distant rumble of your train
with its lonesome whistle piercing the silence of my solitude.
I am startled out of my drunken stupor and tears shed
through a thousand seasons of regret.
And I am left to ponder:
Is this the final depot of your long journey?
And will you be waiting, weary of your load,
ready now to take to my arms if I come for you?
If not, that celestial spy will surely know
what I am . . . bluer than blue.
By Tom Webber
Tuesday, September 7, 2010
An entry from my journal (March 19, 2009):
It is curious to me how today
I am drawn to a solitary piece of trash
amongst all the beauty that surrounds me
in this tiny cove in which I find myself
on this late winter day.
Here I find myself staring at my feet
at the remnant of a dirty, white, plastic bag
wrapped around umber shoots
that spring from the ground.
The snow-laden landscape,
with its dry grasses, branches and barren trees,
are all painted in varying shades of sienna,
off-white, gray and black.
And yet, I find quiet beauty
in what otherwise utters the hushed, unspoken word
of “death.”
But there is that trash —
shivering sheepishly
in the chill of this late winter breeze
as it clings to and peers from behind
stalks of dried shoots,
as if playing hide-and-seek.
But as I look closer still, I notice,
almost as an afterthought,
or better, a surprise,
inconspicuous signs of life
as tiny patches of green grass
come peering through
amidst the barren rubble.
AH, RESURRECTION!
In this season of Lent,
as I seek to empty myself
of sin and self
through acts of love and prayer,
tiny signs of God’s grace
are sure to be revealed to me
here and there.
There is resurrection amongst sin and death.
ALLELUIA!
(c) Thomas C. Webber 3/19/2009
“A Valentine Wish”
(an original poem)
Is love but a moment
remembered once a year,
scarlet hearts
cut and given?
Then I fear she will elude me —
as a wisp o’ wind —
felt now, soon forgotten.
But if love is a moment
born and forever sustained,
two hearts of flesh
etched with pain,
then joy is my lot.
— (c) Thomas C. Webber
February 1989
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This is a poem I wrote when my wife Barb and I celebrated our first Valentine’s day as a married couple, way back in 1989. Hope you enjoyed it!
A Psalm of Icy Awareness
The earth around my home
is now locked in a winter wrap
of bone-chilling snow and ice.
Water, once clear and liquid,
a joyous, flowing community,
is now frozen into crystals of ice.
Recently in humanity’s long history
there has arisen an isolation,
a separation of those who share
common human flesh and bone.
While once upon a time we gathered joyfully
in families, tribes and clans,
we now so often live divorced
from earth and from each other,
with loneliness as our only company.
All isolation is ice-olation,
frigid to human flesh,
cold and lifeless to the touch,
untrue to our most basic unity, community.
And whenever I act single-handedly,
apart from an awareness of my sisters and brothers,
I become a deformed, divine disciple.
And tribeless, O God, how can I tread the path
that you have designed as companion course?
Ah, the wisdom, so divine,
in your Genesis words,
spoken to perfectly made, fully automated Adam,
“It is not good for one to be alone.”
From Prayers for a Planetary Pilgrim by Ed Hays
All during this month, I have been meditating on the life of St. Francis of Assisi. His life so inspired me that when I was younger, I felt called to join the Order of Friars Minor and become a priest. That obviously did not happen (which is a whole other long story). Nonetheless, the spirit of this beloved human being and saint has continued to lay hold of my heart as an inspiration and guide. I continue to turn to him as both my spiritual brother, father and friendly companion.
While looking through my journal today, I ran across a simple prayer that I had jotted down one day last spring. I thought I would share with you. The spirit of this prayer springs from the same creation-centered spirituality that stands as an important hallmark of Franciscan spirituality, where God is understood to be imminently present within Nature and all of her creatures. While my prayer clearly lacks the eloquence of St. Francis “Canticle of the Creatures” (which I shared with you in my previous post), I certainly think that Francis would find in it a kindred spirit. I hope you do the same!
Oh God, how like the sun You are!
I cannot bear to look upon You with the naked eye —
for Your Beauty and Your Glory are too bright!
Today, You glow brightly like a white-hot iron —
but not in the fire,
for You are the Primordial Fire
from which all of the lights —
all of the greater and lesser ones —
have found their light.
While I cannot see the rays which emanate from Your heart,
I can sense your warmth upon my shoulders this day —
a warmth which seeps deep into my soul,
dispelling the chill left by sin and sorrow
and leaving me brimming with so much joy!
You Are the Hidden Roots of My Soul
(a prayer)
Oh God, you are the hidden roots of my soul,
my life, and my being.
You sustain me moment by moment
even when I do not think of you.
Your life-giving love, grace, and power
pulse through me like the sap of a tree.
Help me to remember that it is not so much that I
have planted myself in you
as YOU planted me long ago as a seed
to grow in love.
You did this long before I knew your name.
Now I, like a strong, stately emerald tree
am entering into the autumn of my life.
Use me, Oh God, to stretch out
and provide rest and nourishment to others.
Let me be your branches, bringing beauty
to a world torn by loneliness and strife.
And when that day comes
where my leaves drop to the ground
as the winter chill of death awaits me
May I blaze with the radiant beauty of your grace,
resting in anticipation of the springtime of resurrection.
Amen.
(c) Thomas C. Webber 9/1/ 2009
