Recent Poetry, August 2026

That Works

Learning compassion

Is what spiritual practice is all about.

The work of a whole lifetime.

Whatever the tradition.

Sometimes you see that there is  no

Difference between you and the other:

Any other, and it arises quite  naturally.

That works.

Unless you’re one of those who considers it true,

Without experiencing it, but strives to act with compassion with that consideration in mind.

That works too.

Unless you’re one of those who doesn’t believe it at all.

Though it’s untrue, you act like it is true because it would be nice.

That works too.

The latter is the hardest practice.

But it works too.

Dorothy Day (1897-1980)

Folks were surprised

By the fact that you were such a

Traditional Catholic.

You shoulda been more radical.

That’s what they expected anyway,

Given your connections to Communists,

Given your work as a suffragette,

Given your disagreements with Cardinal Spellman.

The surprise was idea.

Bright Sadness

This confusing term

has been used to describe

The puzzling expressions

Of saints in icons.

Folks say it’s an oxymoron,

Or a joke, though not

A particularly good one.

But it’s only an expression of the

ordinariness that surrounds us.

That there is no particular division between

Joy and sadness. It  all depends on who is before

You when you finally see God.

You find your gladness

contains all the world’s sorrow

and your sadness, all the world’s bliss.

And the remarkable thing is not that this is true,

But that it’s so very ordinary.

And worthy of trying to capture in an icon.

Practice on-the-Spot

If you must stand within a queue,

Be present there, it’s what you do.

Meditation it ain’t, per se,

But it can really change your day.

You may be glad;  you may be blue,

But what is touched will be what’s true.

What Can Be Done?

The future’s only speculation,

A product of imagination.

The present’s all that we have got,

Though it’s elusive quite a lot.

Let us practice being kind,

Then. Nothing will be left behind.

My Mother (1931-2007)

I used to, without even trying,

Imagine myself tied to a chair

(My late sister reported she got this image too),

And any move I made, in any direction,

Was wrong.

And so was remaining motionless.

The point was, I was always wrong.

There was no way out.