Mater Dolorosa

July 9, 2013

Oh, sweet mother of the blessed one,

how far a path of darkness you trod,

pierced first by daggers of bitter prophecy,

pierced second by most-terrible loss.

 

You found him there, your son,

declaring independence from earthly things.

You saw him once, fallen and bruised,

and offered a mother’s hands.

 

His small boyish frame, you could not imagine,

yet he flourished like the yearling lamb.

 

Oh most severe was death’s dim shadow

when your little boy leaned against the cedar,

when he took up his hammer at dawn.

 

How you knew he was a priest,

unlike those who slaughtered beasts.

 

No, your boy, once grown,

would offer himself, the lamb,

clothed in scarlet vestments,

wearing the miter of thorns.

 

And you, kindly ewe,

will offer the incense of bitter tears.

His “consummatum

you shall answer “be it done.”

 

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Doodles at work

July 27, 2012

After being forbidden to doodle on the desk calendar, I took my drawings to scratch paper. Here are my latest doodles in black:

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poppy on black ^

 

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spider on black ^

 

From wild gusts, God made thee.
made thee to stomp and kick the iron-black dusts of battle.
Yeah, did the Lord coil up the west-most winds
and blow into your blood red nostrils.

A beast with trumpet-call
wearing flesh of felty silk, yet stony white as new-carved marble,
You survey the vast fields and cover them in hoof-beats.

Flashing lightning,
meets the pitch of battle, singing swords, clamor-calls
whence you emerge forth.

Puffing smoke, clawing the earth
you bear up the warrior, dragon-like, stare with armored-eyes.
Your mane is a flag, high-flying, your tail a banner streaming
and fearlessness your champion.

God himself, foresaw you
and granted thee the swiftness of his winged-messenger,
so that earth caresses the heavens
beneath your churning feet.

by Rachel M. Gohlman (me)

 

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November 12, 2010

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