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Mercy Wears a Red Dress
Mercy Wears a Red Dress
Mercy Wears a Red Dress
Электронная книга144 страницы58 минут

Mercy Wears a Red Dress

Автор David Craig

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The work of a wonderful secular poet, Billy Collins, provides a great model for Christian writers. His Coleridge "conversation poems" allow for real play and comedy, all in the service of profundity. These are veins that have not been suitably mined by poets who have access to the larger humanity that only Jesus can provide. But there's more than comedy in this collection. The Sorrows of Mary offer a sober truth, as do the four Gospel sonnets; both sections provide a bracing interlude before we get back to high-spirited comedy in the St. Anthony poems--where the sainted speaker disdains direction and instead carries on about whatever is on his mind at the moment. In all, Mercy Wears a Red Dress offers a slice of the abundant life, a knowledge echoed in a Protestant hymn: "I read the back of the book and we win."
ЯзыкEnglish
ИздательResource Publications
Дата выпуска23 нояб. 2016 г.
ISBN9781532608049
Mercy Wears a Red Dress
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    Предварительный просмотр книги

    Mercy Wears a Red Dress - David Craig

    9781532608032.kindle.jpg

    Mercy Wears a Red Dress

    David Craig

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    Mercy Wears a Red Dress

    Copyright © 2016 David Craig. All rights reserved. Except for brief quotations in critical publications or reviews, no part of this book may be reproduced in any manner without prior written permission from the publisher. Write: Permissions, Wipf and Stock Publishers, 199 W. 8th Ave., Suite 3, Eugene, OR 97401.

    Resource Publications

    An Imprint of Wipf and Stock Publishers

    199

    W.

    8

    th Ave., Suite

    3

    Eugene, OR

    97401

    www.wipfandstock.com

    paperback isbn: 978-1-5326-0803-2

    hardcover isbn: 978-1-5326-0805-6

    ebook isbn: 978-1-5326-0804-9

    Manufactured in the U.S.A.

    December 6, 2016

    Table of Contents

    Title Page

    The Papal Sash

    We did say a rosary in the car—

    Advent is kind of trumped

    To Our Lady

    Sagrada Familia

    The Vatican

    I use a tiny bowl for cereal

    Yeats, once a raven, haystack

    Pat’s face tints

    Larry fights a Rottweiler

    Pix’s horse

    Grandma McElwee’s Irish house

    My parents bought me

    My twelve-customer paper route

    Sports-ing

    Being a winner

    Sunday mornings settle in

    The slowest flower

    A line, shaken, stirred

    My garage indicts me

    Life goes on after I sin

    The post Confessional rise

    Birthday poem

    I found this old entry about my son

    When the kids were born

    Harry the Schnauzer

    Thomas Merton doesn’t make the fudge—

    There is a hollow in winter

    What will make us live good lives

    Our Lady appears so often these days

    The local librarians are generous

    Christmas on a county road

    We invented chocolate milk

    Giving Bridget a ride to school

    Poem for Jack

    A turtle is considered obese if it is too chubby to withdraw into its shell

    The light blue, a touch of white

    At the West Virginia Dept. of Motor Vehicles

    I think the VPAA must get irked

    If your name is Rufus

    People in the third world

    When I finally caught up with him

    The first time we went over the Kovach’s

    Whenever you think you’ve got someone pegged

    Beetle busy, the world goes on

    So much light green encroaches

    O Great Cataract, volume and vowel

    Mercy wears a red dress

    Hand in Hand

    The Seven Sorrows of the Virgin Mary

    After Simeon

    The Flight into Egypt

    The Loss of the Child Jesus in the Temple

    Mary Meets Jesus on the Way to Calvary

    Jesus Dies on the Cross

    Mary Receiving the Pierced Body

    The Body of Jesus is Placed in the Tomb

    The Seven Sorrows and Seven Joys of St. Joseph

    The Doubt that is Joseph

    The Poverty of Jesus’ Birth

    The Circumcision

    The Prophecy of Simeon

    The Flight into Egypt

    The Return from Egypt

    The Loss of the Child Jesus

    Gospel Sonnets

    Through Beelzebub

    A tree and its fruits

    The Pharisees would be a Sign

    The return of the unclean spirit

    St. Anthony Speaks

    The presentation made by St. Anthony to people who spoke various different languages

    St. Anthony Preaches to the Fish

    How He was Seen Simultaneously in Two Places

    St. Anthony Assists a Monk who was Tempted Sexually

    He replaces a woman’s hair that had been torn off her head

    He reveals one of Satan’s tricks to the friars

    How he boldly preached against vices

    How a downpour did not dampen his listeners

    The angelic postman

    Notes

    Acknowledgments

    The Papal Sash

    We did say a rosary in the car—

    that was something, though it was hard to hear

    all the voices. Today I’ll go to Confession,

    can’t say which of my lambs will follow.

    Onward Christian Soldiers we are not,

    except for Mrs. Polite, as mom calls herself

    in one of Jude’s programs.

    And in truth, she has grown, by leaps

    and bounds, while the rest of us,

    I’m afraid, are more hopper types—

    about the back yard, in the basement,

    all over the furniture; hopping

    and nibbling, nibbling.

    We are still everything we aren’t.

    There’s no brightening it:

    the flag we will wave when Jesus comes back

    will be a beat one. We’ll probably

    have to tie one of the ends in a knot

    to the staff; though our waving, we hope,

    won’t be abashed, or too much

    of an embarrassment for our neighbors.

    Still, today is a new day, and there is

    the Confession thing. Life does get better,

    like that horrible PRINCE OF EGYPT song:

    If you believe—though I don’t think

    creatively seeing makes anything happen.

    Like the rest of our lives, that’s too shallow,

    shoddy to do much good.

    This is the Valley of the Lord, east end.

    The part near the river, behind the tracks.

    We can clean up, comb our hair,

    but there’s no hiding who we are.

    We are the blessed.

    Advent is kind of trumped

    by the Christmas tree, though no child

    rushes to help me spread its artificial wings!

    Our Down’s guy, however, does note

    repeatedly that he’s on the nice list.

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