Three Lenten poems by Philippa Linton

The mountains shimmer ... image from Pixabay

Desert, day one

There is now only him

under the white sky.

The mountains shimmer,

the wind scours every cell,

sand grained beneath his fingernails.

For the first time he feels

how vast and uncaring

the universe is

to a merely mortal.

Nothing but the rocks

and crows.  He notices the

sparrows, wanly smiles.

Cold at night

beneath the ancient waltz of stars,

he sets his face as flint

facing his destiny

this is the path

this is his way

here where he yields

to being forged like

a flame

in the desert.

Ash Wednesday, 9 March 2011

The real me. The eternal You ... image from Pixabay

 

Ash Wednesday

Into the wilderness,

something has driven me,

thirsty and hungry.

The valley of desolations,

the criss-crossing paths of another’s suffering.

I’d rather blot it out but

heavy clouds are massing.

Rain.

At least there will be rain

in this desert.

Alone on the mountain.

Only bare scarred rock

and the pale sheet of sky

and the trickle of a spring nearby.

I can sense, not see,

the wind that can shatter,

 the quake that can break.

And all around me, the voice.

And within me, a voice.

The real me. The eternal You.

I will not hide away.

See, Lord, this time I’m not hiding.

Ash Wednesday, 22 February 2012

Little springtime ... photo by me

Little springtime

Softly the spring steals in.

Your sunlight gilds

the stripped and shining trees.

The frozen ground is waking up.

A green mist dawns, the birth of leaves.

Unfurl your life in me.

Spirit, renew my spirit.

Such frigid air kissed warm and sweet,

You thaw and soften me.

 Lent, 2018