The Penitent Woman
For all times a memorial,
for all tears a baptism;
if the gates of my heart would open
and these sin-locked knees would bend.
Shall it be always
in pain a child is born,
and in suffering the Spirit reborn?
She has anointed your head with oil, O King,
and you have given her your blood for a covering.
Place of Being
You have no place here, no want, no being here –
for within that place, that want, that being,
In the kingdom God reasons
only through faith of affirmation.
Implied in the infinity, inherent in his make-up,
heaven foregoes all personal choice.
For if the Truth is Spirit, and the Spirit is ghostly,
He casts an insufficient sight,
a beggar’s portion of divine essence –
a mere picture-works unto the framing
of a substantive God.
I hold place for him here,
who keeps his way straight:
deep inside my blood-self,
well outside his Garden stay.
One had begun with an uncertainty of reason,
in a fallowness,
yet a persistence to learn;
herself astride the pinhead
of the cardinals’ genteel fashion;
restricted by piety from higher searches
or dislike of more practical thought-tools.
Twas an early primer to drinks
and cranks which principle a lifetime:
even as all blessings fall away,
and I recount from my beginnings,
when naught was mentioned
of restraining limits
or placement of bounds to apprehending
capture of a Lord still scarcely understood.
He is Won
Even to know that he is
is not to know that he’s good;
good not just to some,
sometimes good to all,
always good to none;
once forgiven discovered sin,
giving hope for clearing mind –
mine casts a graceful thought:
a won favor on stranger’s cross,
of another’s victory sacrifice.
Dr. Walter Boswell