Friday, March 21, 2008

Good Friday Poem

March 21, 2008. Good Friday. On my annual walk through Hanson Pines.

The Calling Wind

Bright sun glares on the whiteness
of the snows that still blanket the land.
Beneath the cold blue of the wintry sky
the wild winds whip through the mighty trees,
and a loudness roars and fills the ears.
Under the bridge the brim-full river runs,
pushing with power in its ever seaward flow,
glutted with the springtime rains and thaws,
crashing madly on the rocks beneath the city's dams,
threatening to repeat the havoc of the last year's flood.
There I walk, remembering things of long ago,
yet things I witness, touch, and taste each day
that Mass is offered on the altar of the church,
and those that come are taken to that Holy Cross,
and stand with Him who died that they might live,
the very Food that feeds to everlasting life;
and, as I walk and say my prayers and sit and write,
I hear the rushing mighty wind above my head,
and in its awesome rush of sound I hear
the Voice of God say, "Come."

---------ed pacht


Anonymous said...

Dear Poetreader, I know exactly the location of "Hanson Pines". I remember as a student of Rochester High some 52 years ago the "activities" that often transpired between students there. A great poem, I read it as those visions of Hanson Pines loomed from so long ago.
Thanks, Fr. D.

poetreader said...

Thanks, Fr. D. You warm my heart.
I've written many poems in the Pines, and spent many quiet meditative hours there. It's a truly magical place. The footbridge, the river, the trees, and the island of quiet in the heart of the city never fail to speal to me -- to my spirit. Especially on Good Friday (every year I spend part of the Three Hours there) the tall trees speak to me of the Tree whereon our salvation was won.