Who you think you are, be really. Peace Love Compassion Anger Fear Judgment Basket Bucket Honor Crime Rape Integrity Grace DisGrace Selfishness Us Them Mercy Rigidity Now Now Black grey White (What do you think it means to Be Kind To Each Other?) Freedom versus Utopia Good gray Evil Sacred grey Profane Peace gray Fear Asleep grey Awake Violence gray Understanding Pride grey Humility The Art of Rape Sacrifice Innocent Real gray Deception Gift grey Seduction Truth Hope Love
Sunday, December 31, 2023
Chili en Baroque
Sunday, December 10, 2023
Rest in Peace, Rose.
Thursday, September 7, 2023
Road to Bethlehem, by Joseph Brickey
The amazing music is here:
http://marysbeagooddogblog.blogspot.com/2022/09/hymn-to-st-joseph-most-haunting-and.html?m=1
-along with lyrics and art...
But I found this related stunning painting and wanted to update/share.
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| St. Joseph and the Blessed Virgin Travel to Bethlehem. Painting: The Road to Bethlehem, by Joseph Brickey ... |
Friday, April 21, 2023
Oh, Sudan.
But first,
--- remember Congo?
sadness....
Never justice.
Still waiting.
My
Still Waiting for Justice
List
is hundreds of items long....
Just in my own country.
........This decade....
Saturday, April 8, 2023
An Easter Poem
A poem for Holy Saturday:
Limbo
by Sr. Mary Ada, OSJ
The ancient greyness shifted
Suddenly and thinned
Like mist upon the moors
Before the wind.
An old, old prophet lifted
A shining face and said:
“He will be coming soon.
The Son of God is dead;
He died this afternoon.”
A murmurous excitement stirred
All souls.
They wondered if they dreamed –
Save one old man who seemed
Not even to have heard.
And Moses, standing,
Hushed them all to ask
If any had a welcome song prepared.
If not, would David take the task?
And if they cared
Could not the three young children sing
The Benedicite, the canticle of praise
They made when God kept them from perishing
In the fiery blaze?
A breath of spring surprised them,
Stilling Moses’ words.
No one could speak, remembering
The first fresh flowers,
The little singing birds.
Still others thought of fields new ploughed
Or apple trees
All blossom-boughed.
Or some, the way a dried bed fills
With water
Laughing down green hills.
The fisherfolk dreamed of the foam
On bright blue seas,
The one old man who had not stirred
Remembered home.
And there He was
Splendid as the morning sun and fair
As only God is fair.
And they, confused with joy,
Knelt to adore
Seeing that He wore
Five crimson stars
He never had before.
No canticle at all was sung
None toned a psalm, or raised a greeting song.
A silent man alone
Of all that throng found tongue –
Not any other
Close to His heart.
When the embrace was done,
Old Joseph said,
How is Your Mother, Son?”
Thursday, April 6, 2023
Easter...Farm...Poem
Everyone walking about manifesting themselves.
The sad sinners bouncing around
Miserable and spreading
Misery
All one is able to do is walk about,
the delusion or pain to the extent one can ease it.
that it is allowed to be eased.
like washing a cut,
like wiping a mouth
As Jesus took Pilate as far as he could go… (and Peter and John ...and Mary...)
Farm Grandmother
easter poem mtodd
Redux
http://marysbeagooddogblog.blogspot.com/2014/04/farm-grandmother.html
Easter Egg Beauties
(but for real easter beauty, go Here...Holy-Easter-poem




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