Contemplation

 

lavender
Photo source unknown

 

The path to the prayer room
runs beside a bed of herbs —
rosemary, sage, holy basil,
chervil, chives.

Lavender. Walking,
I pluck a stalk and crush
the woolly flowers lightly in
my hand, pausing
to inhale the fragrance.

I carry the sprig down
the steps, into the place of 
contemplation. My body stills,
but thumb and finger lift
the purple flame, an oblation.

The aroma is itself a prayer,
a reaching, a receiving. I sit
in silence, breathing what God is
telling me: he is in me
as he is in the flower.

Thanks be to God.

~ A poem by Luci Shaw 

 

God’s Grandeur

 

Bird flying
Photo taken by me at sunset today. . .

 

The world is charged with the grandeur of God.
It will flame out, like shining from shook foil;
It gathers to a greatness, like the ooze of oil
Crushed. Why do men then now not reck his rod?
Generations have trod, have trod, have trod;
And all is seared with trade; bleared, smeared
with toil;
And wears man’s smudge and shares man’s smell:
the soil

Is bare now, nor can foot feel, being shod.

And for all this, nature is never spent;
There lives the dearest freshness deep down things;
And though the last lights off the black West went
Oh, morning, at the brown brink eastward, springs —
Because the Holy Ghost over the bent
World broods with warm breast and with ah! bright
wings.

 

~ A poem by Gerard Manley Hopkins, S.J.

 

The Evening of the Visitation

 

 

The Visitaion art by Angiolo D'Andrea
The Visitation art by Angiolo D’Andrea (1880-1942)

 

Go, roads, to the four quarters of our quiet distance,
While you, full moon, wise queen,
Begin your evening journey to the hills of heaven,
And travel no less stately in the summer sky
Than Mary, going to the house of Zachary.

The woods are silent with the sleep of doves,
The valleys with the sleep of streams,
And all our barns are happy with peace of cattle gone to rest.
Still wakeful, in the fields, the shocks of wheat
Preach and say prayers:
You sheaves, make all your evensongs as sweet as ours,
Whose summer world, all ready for the granary and barn,
Seems to have seen, this day,
Into the secret of the Lord’s Nativity.

Now at the fall of night, you shocks,
Still bend your heads like kind and humble kings
The way you did this golden morning when you saw God’s
Mother passing,
While all our windows fill and sweeten
With the mild vespers of the hay and barley.

You moon and rising stars, pour on our barns and houses
Your gentle benedictions.
Remind us how our Mother, with far subtler and more holy
influence,
Blesses our rooves and eaves,
Our shutters, lattices and sills,
Our doors, and floors, and stairs, and rooms, and bedrooms,
Smiling by night upon her sleeping children:
O gentle Mary! Our lovely Mother in heaven!

 

~ A poem by Thomas Merton

 

Happy & Blessed Feast of the Visitation of the Blessed Virgin Mary! 

Canticle to Saint Rita

 

saint rita by unknown artist
Art source unknown

 

Though your life was filled with pain…
Though your soul was torn apart…
Never once did you complain.
Faithful ever was your heart.

As a child you served God well.
You were always good and kind.
On holy things you did dwell
Within your heart, soul, and mind.

When your parents asked for you
To be a mother and a wife…
You did all they asked of you;
Gave up your will and your life.

When your husband treated you
Most harshly and cruelly.
You served him faithful and true.
Converted him lovingly.

When your sons did seek to kill
The man who slayed your husband.
You placed your trust in God still,
And He in turn stayed their hand.

When your head was pierced into
With a thorn from Our Lord’s Crown.
It increased your fervor true.
Never was your soul let down.

Grant to me a small token,
Through the merits of your heart.
Grant that I be soft spoken.
Please ask God to take my part.

~ A poem by Rita Marita 

 

Saint Rita of Cascia ❤ Patron Saint of the Impossible, pray for us! 

A Poem to My Mom

 

my mom
Mom & I (photos taken by me)

 

My mom is always near
even though we live miles apart.
She lives in my heart.
She is with me all the time. . .
In my daily walks around the neighbourhood.
She is the music I enjoy listening,
that brings me calm and peace.

She is the joy and the sunshine
when I contemplate the beauty of God’s creation.
She is the fragrance of fresh flowers.
She is in my mind when I’m not feeling well.
She holds my hand and reassures me
that all will be well.

She is my warmth and my rest.
She is the sound of the birds chirping at dawn
when I awake.
She is the colors of the rainbow, reminding me
of the promises of God.
She is in the clouds that are slowly passing by.

She is in the day and the night.
She is in my heart, you know.
She is the place where I came from,
my first home, my childhood memories.

She is the one leading me into Mary,
Our blessed and heavenly Mother.
She placed me under Her care and protection.
She is my first love, my first friend.
She is my mom!

~ My personal reflection

 

Wishing you all a very Happy & Blessed Mother’s Day! ⚘

Ad Mariam

 

Madonna 1609
The Madonna, art by Giovanni Battista Salvi – called Sassoferrato (1609-1685) Rome

 

When a sister, born for each strong month-brother,
Spring’s one daughter, the sweet child Mary,
Lies in the breast of the young year-mother
With light on her face like the waves at play,
Man from the lips of him speaketh and saith,
At the touch of her wandering wondering breath
Warm on his brow: lo! where is another
Fairer than this one to brighten our day?

We have suffered the sons of Winter in sorrow
And been in their ruinous reigns oppressed,
And fain in the springtime surcease would borrow
From all the pain of the past’s unrest;
And May has come, hair-bound in flowers,
With eyes that smile thro’ the tears of the hours,
With joy for to-day and hope for to-morrow
And the promise of Summer within her breast!

And we that joy in this month joy-laden,
The gladdest thing that our eyes have seen,
Oh thou, proud mother and much proud maiden —
Maid yet mother as May hath been —
To thee we tender the beauties all
Of the month by men called virginal.
And, where thou dwellest in deep-groved Aidenn,
Salute thee, mother, the maid-month’s Queen!

For thou, as she, wert the one fair daughter
That came when a line of kings did cease,
Princes strong for the sword and slaughter,
That, warring, wasted the land’s increase,
And like the storm-months smote the earth
Till a maid in David’s house had birth,
That was unto Judah as Mary, and brought her
A son for King, whose name was peace.

Wherefore we love thee, wherefore we sing to thee,
We, all we, thro’ the length of our days,
The praise of the lips and the hearts of us bring to thee,
Thee, oh maiden. most worthy of praise;
For lips and hearts they belong to thee
Who to us are as dew unto grass and tree,
For the fallen rise and the stricken spring to thee,
Thee, May-hope of our darkened ways!

~ A poem by Gerard Manley Hopkins (1844-89) ,  S.J.

 

 

Happy Mother’s Day Blessed Virgin Mary, my heavenly Mother!
Ora pro nobis!

 

 

 

 

The May Magnificat

 

Virgin Mary meditation of the holy Virgin Mary by sarah paxton ball dodson 1889
Meditation of The Holy Virgin (1889), art by Sarah Paxton Ball Dodson

 

May is Mary’s month, and I
Muse at that and wonder why:
Her feasts follow reason,
Dated due to season —

Candlemas, Lady Day;
But the Lady Month, May,
Why fasten that upon her,
With a feasting in her honour?

Is it only its being brighter
Than the most are must delight her?
Is it opportunest
And flowers finds soonest?

Ask of her, the mighty mother:
Her reply puts this other
Question: What is Spring?
Growth in everything —

Flesh and fleece, fur and feather,
Grass and greenworld all together;
Star-eyed strawberry-breasted
Throstle above her nested

Cluster of bugle blue eggs thin
Forms and warms the life within;
And bird and blossom swell
In sod or sheath or shell.

All things rising, all things sizing
Mary sees, sympathising
With that world of good,
Nature’s motherhood.

Their magnifying of each its kind
With delight calls to mind
How she did in her stored
Magnify the Lord.

Well but there was more than this:
Spring’s universal bliss
Much, had much to say
To offering Mary May.

When drop-of-blood-and-foam-dapple
Bloom lights the orchard-apple
And thicket and thorp are merry
With silver-surfed cherry.

And azuring-over greybell makes
Wood banks and brakes wash wet like lakes
And magic cuckoocall
Caps, clears, and clinches all —

This ecstasy all through mothering earth
Tells Mary her mirth till Christ’s birth
To remember and exultation
In God who was her salvation.

~ A poem by Gerard Manley Hopkins, SJ

 

 



“Mother of God, tell me your mystery;

of how your earthly life was spent:
the way, right from the time of ‘Fiat – how you’d be
buried in adoration, Mary!
Say how – in a peace, a silence – you could enter in
to deeps that none but you could do –
bearing the gift of God within.
Secure in God’s embrace keep me I ask.
In me his imprint may He place –
For wholly love is he.”

Saint Elizabeth of the Trinity, O.C.D.