Easter Wrap

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Canadian poet, Easter poem, Elaine Stirling, seasonal verse

I don’t need me no
Pharisees, no Sadducees,
no, “This be Easter, you think
how I please!”

I ain’t no student of
history, of sanctity nor theology,
but I like me the story from Galilee
of a man who walked with a band of 3,
6, 9, 12…the crowds kept growin’
and he kept on knowin’
what resided in his heart
though it tore his folks apart
‘cause he wouldn’t play the part
of a dutiful son, an obedient one…

I’ve a message to share
from the guy up there
or the guy in here,
doesn’t matter where you put him,
what you call him, maybe she,
maybe all, or the You of bloody yous.
I bring you good news!
Hear me out there?
I BRING GOOD NEWS!

All you gotta do is—
hahaha!
Think I’m gonna tell ya?
Nuh, uh, uh!

You’ve heard it all before
and you put it on a shelf.
You gotta love your neighbour
the way you love yourself.
Set no one else above you
(ergo, no one else below)
It’s the whole of the law, bro,
whole of the law,
grammatical declension
of a singular intention—
the more of what you think
creates the more of
what you grow.

Sure, you can doubt
or disbelieve ascension.
You could also turn your cheek,
deprive naysayers of attention,
let them woefully begone
to their zealotry conventions.
Finding others who agree
is not a new invention!

Hell, I said I wouldn’t tell,
I’ve gone ahead and done it.
It must be all those hot cross buns
and bunnies made of chocolate.

It’s Easter, folks,
and though you may
not see the dove above you,
just know, the mighty heavens do—
and all of us, we love ya!

~~~

© Elaine Stirling, 2017
The beautiful “Garden of Gethsemane” painting is by Victoria Rogers.

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2016, the first 720 minutes

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#bringingbacktheglosa, #HappyNewYear, Canadian poet, Edna St. Vincent Millay, Elaine Stirling, glosa, Spanish medieval fixed verse

~~a glosa~~

But then it does not matter. Strange how few,
after all’s said and done, the things that are
of moment. Few indeed! When I can make
of ten small words a rope to hang the world!

—from “Interim”, Edna St. Vincent Millay

The year is new. I have not found
a meme or dubious quotation yet to press
upon the friends I mostly haven’t met.
There’s been no sunset at this longitude,
only rise through which I slept and dreamed
of small regrets. I should get out and do,
but what? One friend is on a plane,
another has six horses to attend. The one
who’s dieting thinks she must lose a size or two,
but then it does not matter. Strange how few

the options seem when the calendar
is fresh, and life and death do not hang
in the balance. I could be content,
pursue new lines of thought, imagine
worlds that might have been, and could be still.
If I’m unfed, one day, by images of war,
infernos, floods, and raging politics,
would I be less a worthy citizen? Would my
withdrawal wound the Senate, leave a scar?
After all’s said and done, the things that are

would be such anyway, or could it be—
strange brew—that my continued
observation seeps like mustard gas
into habitual, low-lying banks of thought
where greenery and possibility once
flourished? Oh, give my head a shake!
Go play outside. Fresh air will do you good.
Inspiration didn’t come back then—I swam
in it, a dolphin, flippered, finned, with no mistake
of moment. Few indeed! When I can make

of this day a borderless idea that the planet
will outlive my worry, longevity’s irrelevant,
that those in little boots with flashing lights,
absorbed in making snowmen, are more
worthy of my admiration than the crumbling
antiquated systems that confused and whirled
me from frivolity to lockstep, then perhaps
I will have made some worthy contribution,
after all, an original pattern knit and purled
of ten small words, a rope to hang the world—

a bright infinity scarf to warm this good New Year!

Happy 2016!

~~~

© Elaine Stirling, 2016

Easter: A Pantoum

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Easter, Elaine Stirling, Malayan form verse, poetry, repeating lines

Pursue the dream and not the dreamer;
she stays out of reach, it must be so.
Release what you have nailed to a tree;
the pagan acts you doubt rebound eternally.

She stays out of reach, it must be so;
relief awaits, and this I vow, your greatest agony.
The pagan acts you doubt rebound eternally;
accommodating crowds will gather either way.

Relief awaits, and this I vow, your greatest agony.
If you don’t resurrect, who will?
Accommodating crowds will gather either way;
the Pilate of your mind retired easily and well.

If you don’t resurrect, who will?
Release what you have nailed to a tree;
the Pilate of your mind retired easily and well.
Pursue the dream and not the dreamer.

~~~

The pantoum is a Malayan verse form, with similarities to the European villanelle and rondeau in its patterns of repetition. I find it works especially well with themes of great intensity.

Happy Easter, everyone!

© Elaine Stirling, 2014
Photograph of Arles, France, by author