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The Roman Catholic Diocese of Middlesbrough

Some poems

by F Mary Callan

The Pearl

 

When the grit gets into your being:

Not swishing through, then gone,

Not just pausing, with the tide fleeing,

Dropped in your shell, then swirling on.

 

Piercing your membrane, penetrating your self;

Every movement, a rip of pain;

Open or closed, on your rocky shelf,

The hurt inside you will never leave again.

 

No use to ignore it! The searing flash

Magnifies every motion, every urge.

Actions you hadn't noticed wake the lash

Of wounded flesh, rawness that longs to merge.

 

The suffering oyster gives its best:

Silky strength surrounds the speck,

Layer on layer, to earn some rest

And cushion the pain of that flaming fleck.

 

A pearl, jewel of serenity,

Wouldn't have happened without the hurt.

Dreamy peace, clouds of eternity,

Have wrapped in beauty that grain of dirt;

 

And when this little life has reached its end,

Peace at last, under the rocking tides,

Here is the treasure that will send

Divers searching, thrilled, where it hides.

 

A precious moon of loveliness lies in your hand;

No trace of the torture that bought its birth;

Silvery orb of mystery, veiling the sand

That made this life a million's worth.

 

Like a Lizard

 

Like a lizard on a rock, just basking,

Just being itself, warm in the sun's rays;

Spread out in the welcome warmth; no asking

What the day brings, after the dawn haze.

 

Warm on the warm rock under the sun's eye;

Warm with life, full joyful to be,

Just being, full of well-being; no worrying why

This lucky life, lazy, where the sun can see.

 

And life brings juicy leaves and crunchy insects,

Rocks to scuttle, and cracks to shade from the heat,

Other lizards to play with. Eye inspects

The waiting landscape; lounging still; warmth so sweet.

 

So we, seen and seeing, lie in love's gaze,

Enabled, empowered, soaked in sun;

Adored, adoring, drenched in sweet love's rays;

Our place to be, warming, resting. No done

 

Deed shall outshine the peace God offers:

Before and after and always, God's gift, to his lovers.

 

Jn 14, 27; 20, 20

 

F Mary Callan, York '95

 

The Scarlet Poppies' Dream of Paradise

 

God is the perfect poppy, purest scarlet,

Furnace of blazing colour, flame on a stalk,

And, central sensuality, the dark

Stamens, black mascara'd like a harlot.

 

Oh, the winking rhapsody, the fire;

Sultry attraction, ruddy cheerfulness;

The heat, the dance, the swaying loveliness,

The harvest sun, blue skies, fulfilled desire.

 

Redness complete, in shining sensuous silk;

Riding the breeze, full blown, in glorious being;

The droning bees, the rustling silk, agreeing

Every launched wish, bright Poppy o' the Ilk.

 

Scarlet poppies' nirvana! Do they ever think

Heretic pink poppies say: God is pink!

 

F Mary Callan, York '99