poems

Formation

vabutsy poems

Do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your minds, so that you may discern what is the will of God—what is good and acceptable and perfect. – Romans 12:2 (NRSV)

Form flows
Conscious of conform

Body mind spirit
Transform in transit

Reform
Spiritual synchrony
Religious remembrances

Conform to what
Who
When
Where
Worldly wisdom
Successly striving?

Transform to what
Who
When
Where
Religiously righteous
Didactically dogmatic?

Discernment discovery
Eludes easy
Knowledge karma
Lyrical elegance
Spiritual sustenance
Truth telling

Quintessential questing
Alwaysasking
How to know
Where to find
Who to trust
When to rest
In what may just be

Good
Acceptable
And perfect

Divine harmony
For me

Free form

Gardens

vabutsy poems

Gardens are nomothetic
Weeds grow clement
In good soul and bad
(Oh, the thought was soil
But the word is better)
Careful tending
Planning
Enriching
Planting
Sculpting
Attention is needed
To create
Nomothetic bounty
That joins
My will
To God’s.

Good Friday

vabutsy poems

A strange name
For the memorial
Of a death

A horrible death
Preceded by humiliation
And torture

The death of an innocent
God’s idiot savant

Remembered
Celebrated
On Good Friday

O good!
He died for us

O good!
God loves us

O good!
We are saved

O good Jesus
On Good Friday

O good God!

Falter Fun

vabutsy poems

(I recently learned that the German for butterfly is falter.)

Falter
Fluttering uncertainty
Art on the wing

Falter
Dip to a sip
Trip to a drip

Falter
Fly
Monarch of the sky

Falter
From flower to flower
Landing lightly

Falter
Flutter
Fly

Falter
Fliegen
Flattern

Beauty
In any language
Butterfly

Notre Dame de Paris

vabutsy poems

The first time I saw that spire,
the flying buttresses,
the steps,
the dark and soaring interior
was in 1975.

I was pregnant, just, with my second child.
We walked at the pace of our first-born toddler.
I lit a candle for my Uncle Donald,
Monseigneur Joseph Donald Damiens,
who had recently died.
We sat on the steps
and shared bread and cheese with our son.

The last time was a few years ago
with my friends Wendy and Jennifer.
We walked from our apartment
in le Marais
across the bridge
coming to the grand lady from the side.

We did not go in that time,
really we were just among the many passing by.
But I did take pictures –
who could resist taking a few pictures of a beautiful lady.

En l’annee 1163
Sous le pontificat
Du Pape Alexandre III
Eat le regne du Roi Louis VII
Maurice né à Sully sur Loire
Eveque de Paris (1160-1196)
Entreprit la construction
De cette cathédrale
En l’honneur
De la Bse Vierge Marie
Sous le title de
NOTRE DAME DE PARIS

John 8:58

vabutsy poems

They were not stupid
Those men of the cloth.

Well, yes, they were
Of course
Stupid
As men of the cloth
So repeatedly prove themselves to be.

But they were not unlearnéd:
Learning, in fact,
Was their claim to fame,
To community prominence,
To religious authority.

So they were stupid
But learnéd:

Learnéd enough to know
At once
What his juxtaposition of tenses
Meant.

While we puzzle it out
It hit them hard
Like rocks
Thrown at an adulterous woman

Like nails
In a coffin
Or on a cross.

“Before Abraham was,
I am”
He said,
Handing them the nails.

Staying and Leaving: Catholic Woman’s Version

vabutsy poems

I have left
And returned
And left again

I have shut the door
And then opened it

I have locked the door
And then unlocked it

I have wept
I have screamed
I have cursed

I have prayed

I have been lauded
For my feminine genius
I have been criticized
For my machismo feminism

I have been told no

But mostly
I have been ignored
I have been silenced
I have been patronized

I stood at their door
And knocked
To no avail

So I walked away
To other doors
Wide open, warm, welcoming

I have left
Except for my heart
Except for my longing
Except for my dreams
Except for my sisters

For those
Always
I have stayed.

Du Temps Perdu

vabutsy poems

In those days
My phone stayed
On vibrate
Even in meetings

I was
More or less
Always on call
For the two old women

So that day
In that meeting
When it vibrated on the table
And the caller ID showed “Mom”
I excused myself
Stepped out the door
And answered

“Mom, is something wrong?”

The excitement shook her voice
Made her breathless
As she spilled forth:

“Wrong? Nothing’s wrong We have a Pope! and he’s a Jesuit from South America and he took the name Francis first Pope ever to take Francis as his name we have a Pope!

A long time ago
In a galaxy far, far away
I was Catholic
Baptized at 3 weeks old
Schooled at
St. Rose di Lima
St. Leo the Great
St. Joseph Academy
Marquette University

But that was long ago
Far away
Long lost
No, not lost
Rejected

When that call came
I was Episcopalian
Catholic Light
Teaching Sunday School
Best friends with my priest’s wife

My mother though
Remained
In my sister’s words
More Catholic than the Pope

So now she interrupted
My work day
With her excitement
Losing years
Losing estrangement
Expecting me to share
Her excitement

Wondrously, I did.
A Jesuit
An American
A Francis

So I took an interest
I followed as he
Rejected palace living
Chose a small car
Rebuked the Curia

I followed and wondered
And felt a breeze
That carried the strawberry scent
Of Vatican II
Of my hopeful youth

But that was long ago
In a Rome far away
As I listened to his rant
Against those who criticize the Church
Friends and relatives of the devil
He called us

And I see Lord Acton
Standing behind Francis’ left shoulder
Sadly shaking his head.