Quinquagesima Sunday

The old rites are not old at all: Each is:
     A golden Hour hidden in ordinary time
     A tree hidden behind another tree
     A jewel lost in a desperate flight
     A chalice stolen by a thoughtless thief
     A book of truth banned by the occupation
     A solitary flower in a slough
     A happy thought unspoken behind the wire
     An Altar whose candles await the Light
The old rites are not old at all. They are.

Your 'umble scrivener must be cleared every few years by Homeland Security for permission to teach as a part-time adjunct faculty of no status whatsoever at his little cinder-block community college. This began under President Bush. President Obama did not end it.  President Trump is for now making yuge deals or something.*

A Shining Checkpoint on a Hill

There is within this body no pedigree
And the DNA is hardly worth knowing
No yellow star, kennkarte, or ausweis
No tribal identification card

Form 3078, TSA Pre(checkmark)®
FEMA security clearance, TWIC card
NEXUS, SENTRI, Proof of Residency
USDA HSPD-12 card

A Costco card – oops, failure to renew:
Say, will a Barnes & Noble membership do?

Something a wise Benedictine said reminded this scribbler of the poor man to whom Becket gives a blanket in the 1964 film:

Poor man: "Thank you."

Becket: "You're welcome.  It will keep you warm."

Prissy cathedral canon: "He'll only sell it for drink."

Becket: "Then* that will keep him warm."

Compline in an Alley

Oh, let the poor man cling to his bottle
It’s his, isn’t it?  It’s his own free choice
The only thing he owns. Not even the space
Behind the dumpsters is reserved for him

Some bigger guy might take it away tonight
And his blankets too, and maybe his shoes
But with his bottle he is a worthy man
And he will drink to his own worthiness

Hard-earned, hard-fought, hard-drunk, ‘til dead
And kissing no one’s feet or hands or *ss

For John Keats

Wanderer by moonlight, you never knew
That mellow autumn of elusive fame
Which you well-earned in your suffering youth
Through the fatal cough as you labored in haste

In haste to set in jeweled, sunlit lines
Each joyful day’s delight in nature and man
Before they faded into that long night -
You never knew what treasures you left to us

Then may your desperate pilgrimage to Rome
Lead you at last to more glorious Stairs

Aliens Foreign and Domestic

A little Ford bearing on its bumper
A made-in-China South Vietnamese flag
Tailgated by a menacing larger Ford
Which passes, bearing on its bumper
A made-in-China Confederate flag
And then another Ford with an image of
Nuestra Senora de Guadalupe
On U.S. 96 near the Wal-Mart -
There must be something in all that
    But what?

Collateral Damage

His final defensive perimeter
Room 304 in The Plaza Hotel
Convenient to the bus stop, and not far
From the public library one street over

He checks out a Perry Mason each week
“They knew how to write a good yarn in those days”
And bears it off to The Corner Café’
Free refills; the waitresses always pet him

He makes speeches in Perry Mason’s courtroom
The Social Security office, and Korea

Saint Robert Southwell (not a catchy title; I'll work on it...)

+21 February 1595

O clever Jesuit! sneaking about
From house to house, and, too, from heart to heart
Speaking the treason of faith, hope, and love
And bearing true the Passion of Our Lord

O pray for us, poor brave seeker of souls
We faithful remnant of Our Lady’s Dowry
Against the whisperers, the rack, the rope,
Hiding, flying before pursuivants

Without you

Our souls, like looted chapels, lie in heaps
While still Our Lady of Walsingham weeps