Bible poems
Liturgical response
Creation thrums with Being
And peals the Word — 'I am'.
We sometimes remember
To whisper the antiphon, 'We are'.
Vivien Arnold
Food of love
'I don't give a fig', says Adam to Eve.
She is silent thinking
of the small orifice on the fruit
a narrow passage for the fig wasp to enter;
set down eggs; pollinate the flowery fig.
Bloom and ripen.
She reveals none of this to Adam
who shields his manhood with a leaf from the fig;
seething at his ejection from the Garden.
Eve isn't sorry that she bit
into the temptation of the fruit;
found its secret self.
She never forgot that first taste
of paradise; brought the knowledge with her
beyond the garden into the world of weeds and thorns.
Of course Adam put it about —
it was the snake's clever lies that had beguiled her.
She was deceived (he said). Eve knew better.
She had bloomed. Ripened; tasted truth.
Moya Pacey
Jacob and Esau
Those twins
wrestling inside me —
faith and doubt
twins
so alike
so opposite
Is there a point
of equilibrium —
a place where
the sea becomes
calm
at the bidding
of an Other?
Janette Fernando
Song of a deaf poet
When you see me all alone,
I hope you understand
that though my ears don't hear a thing
the spirit rules the man,
and the harp of David dwells in me,
his strum is my command,
though ostracised from crowded rooms,
I dance on desert sands.
Damian Balassone
An exodus of crosses
They line our country roads
triggering a fleeting pity
in a blur of wood and flowers
as we speed by —
the crosses meant to mourn loved ones
killed by machines like the ones we're sitting in.
Isn't their number increasing
to a similar degree as the number
of prayers is decreasing
and the exodus from our churches continues?
Even though the faith in the crucified
and resurrected Christ is diminishing
the waves of crosses to mourn
so many broken bodies, broken dreams
are towering higher and higher
as if the Red Sea of our helplessness
was swelling and never parting
to let a ray of hope shine through.
Frank Joussen
Gentle Jesus, meek and mild
Watch me rise!
Snickering cowards.
Obese priests.
Manicured politicians.
Oil-stained soldiers.
Watch me rise.
You who crushed me.
You who danced
while my feet were nailed.
You who drank to my health.
Watch me rise.
Watch me walk from the tomb
like a vengeful angel.
Watch my eyes.
I have come for you.
I have come for you.
Stephen Daughtry
He calls her name
he calls her name
among the twisted olives
shadowing the tomb
sealed within grief she hears
only a stranger's kindness
Anne Benjamin
Born and raised Britain, Vivien Arnold has lived in Canberra for over 40 years. In addition to sacred poetry she writes secular and satirical poems, stories and plays and composes liturgical and theatre music.
Moya Pacey's first collection of poems, The Wardrobe was published in 2009 by Ginninderra Press. Her poetry has appeared in publications such as The Canberra Times, Island, Poetrix, Studio, Divan and Crux.
Janette Fernando is a casual relief teacher, poet and editor. Since 2007 she has been Managing Editor of Poetica Christi Press and last year co-edited Reflecting on Melbourne, a coffee table book of poetry, artwork and photography about Melbourne.
Damian Balassone is a Melbourne poet whose work has appeared in various journals, magazines and e-zines. He is currently working on a second collection.
Frank Joussen teaches English and religious education at a German high school. He is a member of the international Catholic peace organisation Pax Christi. His poems and short stories in English have been published in print journals and ezines worldwide.
Stephen Daughtry has worked in arts and media for many years. He occasionally finds time to indulge in words for pleasure.
Anne Benjamin has won awards for her short stories and her educational publications and has had some poetry published. She presently works part-time as a consultant and is Adjunct Professor within the School of Leadership Australian Catholic University Strathfield.