something old (and older); something new (and newer)

 For babes and candle makers

December 12, 2021

 

Children at deep blue hem
Our Lady of Guadlupe’s, maybe,
maybe today, her day now and then
here and there

there as cherubim at her hem
seeming safe maybe even at play yes
displaying baby sense of happiness
more than awe or reverence

a day to note her appearance,
her beauty, the new world inherent
in her being in the sky,
mother of god, indigenous, and us
grand children of god, then,
to be regarded as such,
hidalgos of eternity
if any be or ever were

worthy of candles
lit for her sake, today,
and for all candle makers
here and there, anywhere

[and for the dead in Mayfield, Kentucky]

 

            Sylvia Manning, Dec. 12, 2021, Glover VT

December 12, 2011

(as noted for Our Lady of Guadalupe)

 

black cat crosses

backyard winter rye

            (crayon kelly green

covering after long

awaited latest autumn

            rain

the obscenely sad losses

of other grasses

            beneath pecan trees

            alive but just

            and this year

            giving us

            no fruit)

                                         Sylvia Manning

                                    published in Waterways, Dec. 2020
                                                        written 2011 in journal, Seguin TX 

                                                                                                

Bringing in the Buddha

(in response to Huffstickler’s poem, The Way of Art)                                    

         
Dear poet my friend
it’s not cold enough yet
to bring the buddha in
from slab of granite
beside little river some will call a brook.

Last year a man (yes, a friend)
without an understanding
for our need in our spiritual poverty
            for ceremony,
            its poetry

lugged the buddha in like a piece of rubbish
without so much as a fare-thee-well.
Winter (an easy one, some will say)
           was hell.

This autumn has been kind.
There is still no cure
for hot and cold
as Pema Chödron knows

 

but a day may be left
when we are not bereft of Light and Love
from, in reality and poetry,    
          the heavens.

 

If we can bring this broken buddha in
even when the doing requires due care
for the cracked and patched
            piece of resin it is

will we call it dear, dear poet friend?
May we call it art? When we bring the buddha in

be s/he Jesus or a medium just sitting
            to take a stand

for beings in the millions to some true magnitude
some many (if not most of them) Magdalene-hued.

 

                                     Sylvia Manning, 10-27-21, Glover VT,                                                                                                                             published with changes suggested by

                                             Richard Spiegel in November, 2021 issue of
                                            Waterways: Poetry in the Mainstream (NYC)