"merton" poems
The dragonflies and meadow-sweet
Follow the banks of ‘The Wandle’
Allowing what is hidden and not heard
Behind posted iron railings
To be noted, found on a map, imagined
Its very name conjures up the river’s journey
Drawing one into its currents and flows
A place of beauty where time seems slow
Rippling the edges of thought, living as a space,
Exploration, given by inclusion and exclusion
Forever to ‘wandle along’ under the sky
Between the gaps in the real
And what finds itself from what
Came before in experience and words.
Love Mary x
The River Wandle is the largest river of the south southwest sector of London, England. Its name is thought to derive from the community around its mouth, Wandsworth. About 9 miles long, it passes through the London Boroughs of Croydon, Sutton, Merton, and Wandsworth to join the River Thames on the Tideway..
Mouth: River Thamesnn
Oct 30, 2018
Oct 30, 2018 at 7:01 AM UTC
the fostry boys and clair-n-tine hills
will wrest away their fears
like marcks-alarns and floaty badge
and puffer-nickel stills.
they'll bother beat with ever chills
and lime-lack in the surf.
I'll wait for time appronaheed,
I'll ferret out the mirth.
you'll not buy wick-ends in their fall
nor taste their merton soot,
you'll waste your fully throtton ball
and save your lamest foot.
as they're the childs of never-been,
the cartwheels at street and rue,
unghost their face as your beating slows,
these boys, to res-cue you.
Dec 12, 2013
Dec 12, 2013 at 3:33 AM UTC
“At the center of our being is a point of nothingness which is untouched by sin and by illusion, a point of pure truth, a point or spark which belongs entirely to God. It is like a pure diamond, blazing with the invisible light of heaven. It is in everybody, and if we could see it, we would see these billions of points of light coming together in the face and blaze of a sun that would make all the darkness and cruelty of life vanish completely ... I have no program for this seeing. It is only given. But the gate of heaven is every- where.”
― Thomas Merton, Conjectures of a Guilty Bystander
Surprising God, how does one surprise God?
I have heard the door or gate is not locked; it is always open.
Every day I think of Mike,
he told me about the river boat he was on,
the murky river water, many small boats alongside,
action all around. He was a sailor on a ship,
what the hell was he doing on a river boat,
he often asked, even now.
Can’t remember the name of the river,
but it was Nam…
You come home from war… you are different now.
No one seems to know that, “but glad your back bro,” they say. Yes, you are home, but then there is the addiction, not of killing but of forgetting.
The time comes to report, remembering one’s service, out in the woods, away from it all.
There is that standing at attention, hair and beard trimmed, at muster for the last time…
There was a strange silence afterwards,
How does one surprise God?
I have heard the door or gate is not locked; it is always open.
Dec 9, 2020
Dec 9, 2020 at 11:43 PM UTC
Two young pretty woman
Friends in since the 8th grade
One, Johnnie, was a classy yet
Sensual
And the other, Tasha, plain
And ******
They were both mountaineers
When Johnnie forced Tasha to
Go out and see the sights
Johnnie got the eye
Of a middle aged Tibetan monk
It was love at first sight
Though forbidden
Lama Tashi
And Johnnie Merton the middle of the night
In a shack
Run down yet cozy
There they made love
And talked while kissing
For they really loved each other
Though
One morning
Tasha and her beloved
Were nowhere to be since
Suspicious Johnnie
Looked until she found
Her beloved Tashi
Walking away
And her “friend” Tasha
Running away
This meant one thing
They were coupling.
Enraged at the thought
Johnnie poisoned her friend
Then she recurved a letter
From the Lama
That he made a mistake
And only wanted her
Johnnie crumpled the letter
For it added to her rage
The Tasha survived the
Poisioning
And it sent Johnnie in to a rage
She then took her ice axe
And hacked Tasha to death
With it
Thirty wacks
Then she lured her lover to the shack
And tried to couple
With him
During witch
She gave him
Fifty wacks
With the ice axe
While making love to him.
That was when she
Made the life long mistake
Johnniece “Johnnie” David
Killed herself with an overdose.
No note was left.
Feb 11, 2019
Feb 11, 2019 at 7:08 PM UTC
you cannot leave
the boundaries
of your cloister.
and yet, you have
crossed them a
thousand times.
writer. trappist.
human being.
adventurer. seeker.
lover.
may you be free,
may your restless heart
be still.
may the Divine Lover
hold you in
ecstasy.
Feb 13, 2014
Feb 13, 2014 at 10:17 AM UTC
~for alison~
sun’s come out, yellow invitations issuing,
let’s walk, asking, my afternoon habitué, you’ll talk,
I’ll listen, maybe a poem, a tune, who knows,
what will come of it, surely ain’t exactly clear
Nina Simone on the phone, called,
letting you know, she’s feeling good,
subtly pointing out you could too,
what will come of it, surely ain’t exactly clear
Adele rang up, just in case,
you were undecided, to keep on
chasing pavements, even if,
what will come of it, surely ain’t exactly clear
Elle King came by, shame she said,
what’s you need getting into is shame
‘n trouble, the kind that makes ya shake,
what will come of it, surely ain’t exactly clear
Chris Stapleton, didn’t have no idea,
you knew him too, reminding you that
Tennessee Whiskey ain’t the answer neither,
what will come of it, surely ain’t exactly clear
Amy W. stopped in, in case you needed a ride
in her BMW, just to say hi, you ain’t no p.o.w.,
stop cheating on yourself, it ain’t no good,
what will come of it, surely ain’t exactly clear
my woman, sat down next to me, demanding all
my devices, pad and phone, you’ve got memories,
roots, a home on the ground, no nighttime gypsy you,^
don’t need no sad other women music, surely what comes
of it is exactly clear.
^Alice Merton
May 27, 2020
May 27, 2020 at 3:27 PM UTC
So America Magazine attacks Thomas Merton
With Wendy
Says that no real contemplatives
Actually find him useful
Christian resentment
That's what Nietzsche called it
These sick religious people
Envious, Bitter, Small
Merton was tormented
And a very talented writer
And committed to peace
And a brother of God
Is that too much?
Seeker, silent seeker
Friend to Daniel Berrigan
Brother to Thich Nhat Hanh
Solo in Kentucky
A writer, Father Louis
7 Storey Mountain
Destined for Samutprakan
Which is where my relatives live
Buddhadasa's Theravada Zen
3710
Christ of the burnt men
Thomas. When?
Dec 27, 2022
Dec 27, 2022 at 5:06 PM UTC
My brown leather boot disappears into the
white, downy crust that covers the earth.
A few hundred steps later and I find myself by a pond--
a frozen halo caressing the edges, suddenly broken by
a heron taking flight.
Cardinals play in the branches above the water.
Thorned trees, the names of which I am uneducated on,
drop clumps of snow on my head.
My notebook is soaked; the ink, now in spiderwebs charged
by the water, s(preads)lithers to the outermost bounds of the lines.
I am happy.
I begin to step in the opposite direction of the lake, making my
own personal perforations in the snow.
I happen to find myself on a road.
Step, step, step, step. Up over a hill.
Is that the ghost of Thomas Merton that I hear, venturing alongside of me?
No, I suppose not. It’s the sound of silence broken by the beat of my steps.
A puppy approaches me, dragging its owner along. I give it a pet, admire its
fox-red fur, and then we part.
I hear an engine start and the scrape, scrape, scrape
of a brush against a window.
I venture past four cows, who somehow find grass to graze on underneath the thick,
white powder.
Around a curve, over train tracks, each tie causing the snow to ripple.
Across a bridge, over a creek and into the snowy hills of Kentucky I go.
Apr 29, 2017
Apr 29, 2017 at 1:06 PM UTC
So often I fall into sin. More often than not, it's the same one or two. I fall down again and again and it's hard to not get discouraged. I heard a beautiful song today that said "a saint is just a sinner who fell down... and got back up again. There are good days, weary days and bad days, but in the end the good days outweigh the bad days and so I won't complain". To me, it's a simple and beautiful reminder of something we all too often forget. In a contemplation from St. Thomas Merton, it said that hell is hatred and it's a hatred not of other, but of what we know others see in ourselves. It is the "curse of shattered sight". (A secular TV reference, but well applicable for these purposes). Sin is a symptom of this shattered sight as well. It is a desire for the good, but the good is twisted and distorted and we are caught in the trap of "looking for love in all the wrong places". We see the worst things that other people see in us and fail to see the good. We end up turning against each other and destroying ourselves. The love that satisfies and fulfills is the love of God for us, his beloved children. He loves us and accepts us for who we are: good, bad, shattered sight and all and he sent His only son to die for us when we were his foe. How great is the Father's love for us! To be truly free, we must admit to ourselves that we are imperfect, and we make mistakes. Even when we ***** up pretty bad, good family and friends still love us, accept us, encourage and challenge us to move forward and keep doing better. If there are those like us who can do that, then surely God, in his perfection, will do that all the more! Accept yourself fully and embrace all of who you are. We cannot truly love others or be loved by others if we don't love ourselves. Next time you fall, remember: Jesus fell (in love) for you, and he fell three times (out of the fullness of love) for you, and got back up again.
Lord Jesus, please grant us the strength and grace to get up again when we fall down. Help us accept and love ourselves without condition as you first did for us. By your grace and mercy, heal us from this shattered sight in accordance with your will and may we find comfort and solace by your side in the shadow of the cross. Amen.
Dec 18, 2024
Dec 18, 2024 at 10:51 PM UTC