A FEW GOOD RELIGIOUS POEMS

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John Berryman

1914-1972

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This is from a much longer poem titled

 "Eleven Addresses to the Lord"

....this is "Address" Number 1.

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Master of beauty, craftsman of the snowflake,

inimitable contriver,

endower of Earth so gorgeous & different from the boring Moon,

thank you for such as it is my gift.

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I have made up a morning prayer to you

containing with precision everything that

 most matters.

'According to Thy will' the thing begins.

It took me off & on two days.  It does not

aim at eloquence.

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You have come to my rescue again & again

in my impassable, sometimes despairing years.

You have allowed my brilliant friends to destroy themselves

and I am still here, severely damaged,

but functioning.

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Unknowable, as I am unknown to my

 guinea pigs: how can I 'love' you?

I only as far as gratitude & awe

confidently & absolutely go.

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I have no idea whether we live again.

It doesn't seem likely

from either the scientific or the philosophical

point of view

but certainly all things are possible to you.

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and I believe as fixedly in the Resurrection

appearances to Peter

and to Paul

as I believe I sit in this blue chair.

Only that may have been a special case

to establish their initiatory faith.

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Whatever your end may be, accept my amazement.

May I stand until death forever at attention

for any your least instruction or enlightenment.

I even feel sure you will assist me again,

Master of insight & beauty.

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Denise Levertov

1923-1997

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Flickering Mind

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Lord, not you

it is I who am absent

At first

belief was a joy I kept in secret,

stealing alone

into sacred places:

a quick glance, and away - and back,

circling.

I have long since uttered your name

but now

I elude your presence.

I stop

to think about you, and my mind

at once

like a minnow darts away,

darts

into the shadows, into gleams that fret

unceasing over

the river's purling and passing.

Not for one second

will my self hold still, but wanders

anywhere,

everywhere it can turn.  Not you,

it is I am absent.

You are the stream, the fish, the light,

the pulsing shadow,

you the unchanging presence, in whom all

moves and changes.

How can I focus my flickering, perceive

at the fountain's heart

the sapphire I know is there.

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Allen Ginsburg

1926-1997

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Psalm III

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To God: to illuminate all men.

Beginning with Skid Road.

Let Occidental and Washington be transformed into a
 higher place,

 the plaza of eternity.

Illuminate the welders in shipyards with

the brilliance of their torches.

Let the crane operator lift up his arm for joy.

Let elevators creak and speak,

ascending and descending in awe.

Let the mercy of the flower's direction

beckon in the eye.

Let the straight flower bespeak its purpose

in straightness - to seek the light.

Let the crooked flower bespeak its purpose

in crookedness - to seek the light.

Let the crookedness and the straightness

bespeak the light.

Let Puget Sound be a blast of light.

I feed on your Name like a cockroach on

a crumb - this cockroach is holy.

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                                     Seattle, June, 1956

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Joseph Awad

1929-2009

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For Jude's Lebanon

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It is said he was a relative of Jesus,

That his apostolate

Was to the land we know as Lebanon,

That he gave his blood for Christ.

What wonders did he perform

To win the Barnum & Bailey blurb,

"Patron saint of the impossible."

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I'm beginning a novena to St. Jude.

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His lone epistle opens lovingly:

"Jude, the servant of Jesus Christ

And brother of James, to be called

Who have been loved in God the Father

And preserved for Christ Jesus,

Mercy and peace and love

Be yours in abundance."

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I'm beginning a novena to St. Jude.

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He had a poet's way with words.

Evil, sensual men he called

"Wild wave of the sea,

Foaming up their shame,

Wandering stars for whom

The storm of darkness

Has been reserved forever."

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I'm beginning a novena to St. Jude.

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In Lebanon there is loud lamentation.

Beirut, once beautiful Beirut,

Bloodied by Christian, Jew and Druze,

Weeps like a wound just under the

world's heart.

Pontius Pilates in world capitals

Wash their hands, pronouncing solemnly,

"The situation is impossible."

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I'm beginning a novena to St. Jude.

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