Sep
10
2021
By Anonymous (not verified)
Father Andy Davy, MIC, pastor of St. Mary Parish in Plano, Illinois, also writes poetry. Here, we share some of his work and his commentaries on that work in the second installment of a weekly series.
Held
The toddler's temper
Flowing from small lungs
Fills her space with a hunger
Inconsolably strung.
She rages as she falls
Into weariness and tears.
Pounding ground and flesh
To find that well,
And freedom from all fears.
But as she reaches
Hope closes,
The door keeps nailing shut.
Her toy, her binkey, and her bottle,
Can't pull her out of this rut.
As she wastes away-a pitiful wraith!
Strong hands scoop her into an embrace.
But flailing hands counterattack
The Man
Who still quietly holds her close to his face.
Why do we reject the spring?
And push away the manna that new mornings bring?
Free us from our terrible twos!
Help us refocus back to you.
Our energy exhausted
Our saviors are felled.
Behold, the toddler is fast asleep,
She only needed to be held.
This poem came while watching my brother hold his exhausted toddler, helping her fall asleep in his arms. While seeing this little one battle against what she was ultimately seeking, it reminds me of how we battle restlessly against the only one in whom our hearts finds rest.
Tullie's Saddle
How does a horse grieve for her rider?
Her body becomes the tear.
Slowly her gait
Feels the space
Where of late
Her friend was near.
The saddle that caused such a burden,
Now lies fallow behind the wither,
And the horse walking unguided,
Wishes for those lost moments gone thither.
But the rested earth brings forth a bud,
And the saddle shall be filled,
As you await new life and wonder...
Dear horse,
It's okay to miss her here.
"Tullie" (Talullah) is the horse I have been riding for three years. Her owner had passed away from cancer several years prior. This poem speaks about the hope that sustains us in the midst of grief, while still acknowledging the need to feel our sadness, as part of the process of healing. It is told from the horse's point of view.
Held
The toddler's temper
Flowing from small lungs
Fills her space with a hunger
Inconsolably strung.
She rages as she falls
Into weariness and tears.
Pounding ground and flesh
To find that well,
And freedom from all fears.
But as she reaches
Hope closes,
The door keeps nailing shut.
Her toy, her binkey, and her bottle,
Can't pull her out of this rut.
As she wastes away-a pitiful wraith!
Strong hands scoop her into an embrace.
But flailing hands counterattack
The Man
Who still quietly holds her close to his face.
Why do we reject the spring?
And push away the manna that new mornings bring?
Free us from our terrible twos!
Help us refocus back to you.
Our energy exhausted
Our saviors are felled.
Behold, the toddler is fast asleep,
She only needed to be held.
This poem came while watching my brother hold his exhausted toddler, helping her fall asleep in his arms. While seeing this little one battle against what she was ultimately seeking, it reminds me of how we battle restlessly against the only one in whom our hearts finds rest.
Tullie's Saddle
How does a horse grieve for her rider?
Her body becomes the tear.
Slowly her gait
Feels the space
Where of late
Her friend was near.
The saddle that caused such a burden,
Now lies fallow behind the wither,
And the horse walking unguided,
Wishes for those lost moments gone thither.
But the rested earth brings forth a bud,
And the saddle shall be filled,
As you await new life and wonder...
Dear horse,
It's okay to miss her here.
"Tullie" (Talullah) is the horse I have been riding for three years. Her owner had passed away from cancer several years prior. This poem speaks about the hope that sustains us in the midst of grief, while still acknowledging the need to feel our sadness, as part of the process of healing. It is told from the horse's point of view.
BIDM
