Memorial

Remembering a friend’s death

            Reminds me of her fall.

Tripped on the step

            Hit her head and fell

                        All of a piece.

Lying on the floor

            A gurgle deep in her throat

                        The only spark remaining.

Dark avenue opening before me

            The Road alone in the dark

                        Drowning in darkness.

Today her flame burns well

            Ten years later

That night it flickered

            Almost went out

Today I remember it

            As a dream

                        A brief taste of

                                    My friend’s end.

No Answers

No answers.

No speculations.

A long sometimes lonely road.

He walked that road before we knew him.

Two become one.
I cannot guess such loss.

He found a friend on the road.

Two become one, the unity of joy.

We knew them then, their rocky road broadening out into a high plain.

“Be careful when you shake his hand.”

A long arduous path from the heights

Descending steadily into a new darkness.

Joy is there in the darkness. Of course.

Joy is always there. So is darkness.

“Rage against the dying of the light” –
How do we rage, when light has died?

Two become one.

Separation at the end of a long journey.

We sing of hope we cannot see.

We claim new life we cannot feel.

Only questions

Untamed untameable thoughts

Continue in the dark.

The phone rings – another plea for money.
A voice says my name, then adds “Reverend”.

I guess I am. Preacher, teacher, answer man.

No answers.

No speculations.

A long sometimes lonely road.

Boy in the Temple

Sparked by a painting Elfrieda Lepp-Kaethler has helped place in our library, of Jesus in the Temple being questioned by his elders.

Questions hang in the air round the child;

Law delving through law deep into the loam
Of Wisdom. Faces crowd round the who and why,
The catechized One in his elders’ home.
Law shows the way for a young boy to grow,
To become the Law’s son at the right time.
Questions reveal what the teachers don’t know:
The son of the Law is Himself the Sign.

Questions decay in the soil of our lives,

Creating new life for deep-buried word.
And as we turn to the old and the wise,
Seed blooms before us, a gift from our Lord.
Living with questions, vehicles of grace,
Luring us onwards, unveiling His face.

Daryl Climenhaga, June 2014
(with help from Alison)