Thursday, December 15, 2005


Praying The Rosary

The Sundays you visited
Were set aside
For mass?

I heard the incense, light’s fragrance,
Sing hymns through stained glass windows,

You sat next to me. I noticed the tangled
Vine or rosary beads, a prayer growing
Between your knotted thumb and forefinger.

Reciting the stations of the cross,
A mud colored story, told frame by frame, I never understood.

After peace, they offered up the host,
And the bells responded. On my shoulder
I felt your hand, able to crush walnuts.

And over the priest the crucifix watched my questioning.
I wonder why you refuse the legion of angels help?

You close your eyes,
Accept the host, a special anointing.
You understood.

Come off your cross. Show me the wounds
In your hands and side at the mouth of the empty tomb.

posted by Out Of Jersey | 8:13 PM


Blogger Yvonne said...

Wow, did you write that? It's really good.

1:41 AM  
Blogger The Cubicle Reverend said...

Yes I did, thank you for the compliment. I am particularly pleased of that one.

5:48 AM  
Blogger Cinnamon Spider said...

You should be pleased it is very well written and admirable. I liked reading it though I'm not particularly religious (despite taking R.E as an A Level hehe.)

11:08 AM  
Blogger The Cubicle Reverend said...

No worries, I didn't necessarily write it as a "religious" poem. More of a poem out of love and respect for my Papa. When I was a younger man, I could not understand why I was forced to go to mass every sunday. Now, being older, I get it.

11:15 AM  
Blogger Carmel said...

it sure is really good! I enjoyed that :D

1:43 PM  
Blogger Todd said...

Beautiful...I felt it.

9:00 AM  
Blogger The Cubicle Reverend said...

Thanks everyone

9:00 AM  
Blogger Frankie said...

This is so lovely!

1:07 PM  
Blogger millinerd said...

I liked it too.

7:06 PM  
Blogger The Cubicle Reverend said...

Thanks guys, haven't really shared anything I've written of this nature in a long time. Nice to know I still got it.

9:33 PM  

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