Posts Tagged ‘religion’

Song

Song

God took a bone from Man,
a single line from a poem,
and fleshed it out to make
a refrain, Woman, so the duet
began in a thousand tongues,
though all the beasts were mute,
till the birds began their songs.

 

Julian O’Dea

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A comment and another old picture of women

A recent comment on a photo showing the way women used to be but are now:

” You feel an intense sense of loss, but you feel better because you know things were better once, and you think, you start to believe, that somehow there can be a restoration of that better state – after all, here is the proof, sitting right in front of your very eyes! “Things were once nice like this, surely they can be again, right?” “

Good comment, and here is another old photo of how women used to be:

1957. Leeds General Infirmary, England. Prayers at the start of a shift.

“thou sluggard”

“Go to the ant, thou sluggard; consider her ways, and be wise”

Christ had a disciple

who was a drunk.

He could have been an

apostle but he was

always drunk.

Too drunk to deny Him.

Too drunk even to run away.

Too drunk to write a gospel,

even a short epistle.

All day he lay drunk by a date palm,

just watching the ants go by.

 

 

Julian O’Dea

Deep in Her Eyes

Deep in her eyes
I sèe blue blooms
as constant as
God’s sky

As Dante smote
by Beatrice’s eyes
I see and write
of Paradise

 

Julian O’Dea

The Eucalypt Trees

The Eucalypt Trees

Today the wind rises
and whispers in the trees
of bushfire.

Trees move in the wind
bending as if davening
in prayer.

For the memory
of fire is a blessing
and regeneration.

 

Julian O’Dea

On a Painting by Bosch

On a Painting by Bosch

Félicien Rops and Norman Lindsay
put naked women on the Cross;
Norman from Antipodean whimsy,
Félicien with European blasphemy
to mock the tempted Anthony

… but Hieronymus Bosch showed
Saint Julia on her cross clothed
and set a golden tiara on her head,
as the crown of martyrdom;
and pictured Saint Anthony
by her side, as her master had
Saint John.

 

Julian O’Dea

The Cow

The cow nuzzles at the hay
on the dirt floor a while
and then puts her muzzle
near the unfamiliar thing

and smells the milk-fed
human young.

The man grips a staff
but the beast turns gently away
and pulls at more hay
in the new Ark
on Christmas day.

 

Julian O’Dea