Just Imagine...

A-Poem-a-Day Until Christmas

Photo credit: catherinecgilmore.com

IMAGINE

Imagine worshipping a cooing one moment, whimpering the next, born to save us, sweet baby God, lying in a trough filled with scratchy straw, needing a diaper change

Imagine worshipping a stone-kicking, frog-in-pocket, sticky-fingered, tousle-haired God, gleefully splish-splashing through mud-puddles along a rocky Nazareth road

Imagine worshipping a nose-in-the-Scroll, confident little-boy-God, teaching in the Temple, confounding elders with astonishing Truths, as His parents search for Him

Imagine worshipping a rugged, long-haired, son-of-a-carpenter adolescent God, as He learns (ironically) to skillfully select woods and deftly wield a hammer and nails

Imagine worshipping a gregarious, life-of-the-party, wedding-guest God, Who miraculously turns stone jars of purification water into jars of finest wine at Cana

Imagine worshipping a child embracing, woe pronouncing, multitude feeding, leper-cleansing God, Who walks upon water, instructs the wind and even raises the dead

Imagine worshipping a bread-breaking, wine-offering, foot-washing God, Who soon to be betrayed, beseeches His Heavenly Father, and sweats blood in an olive garden

Imagine worshipping a 30-something, blood-splattered, fist-struck, scourged and spat-upon God, laboriously lugging a cumbersome crossbeam to His Own execution

Imagine worshipping a thorn-crowned, sword-pierced, crucified-with-common-criminals sacrificial Lamb of God, as He dies sinless for the sin of the world

Imagine worshipping a resurrected three-days-after-burial God, Who appears ALIVE! Yes, ALIVE! in His own burial garden, in locked rooms and to strangers along the road

Imagine worshipping this crucified, resurrected, gloriously ascending-in-the-clouds, victorious Son of God, Who says, "Go into the world and tell them."

Tell them…

He did it for them

Imagine…

Maude Carolan

***ANNOUNCEMENT***

I'm excited to announce that I'll be reading some of my Christmas poetry at two events in December. If you are available, I hope you'll attend.

The first is the Holiday Reading, tomorrow, Thursday, December 1st, 7 p.m., at Montclair Public Library Auditorium, 50 South Fullerton Avenue, Montclair, NJ. Other featured poets are Susan Lembo Balik, R. Bremner, D.M. Dutcher, Frank Niccoletti, Elizabeth Marchitti, Ken Ronkowitz and Bob Rosenbloom. An open reading will follow. This event is hosted by Laura Boss and Maria Mazziotti Gillan.

The second event will take place Saturday, December 17th, 7 p.m., at the ANT Bookstore & Cafe, 345 Clifton Avenue, Clifton, NJ. I will be joined by two poet/friends, Pastor EJ Emerson and Sister Jane Abeln, SMIC. Holiday music will be provided by Victoria Warne, Peter DiBella, Rikki Woods and Lidya Diaz. An open mic period will follow. Come, enjoy the festive atmosphere and Christmas cookies, too! James Gwyn and Victoria Warne host this monthly evening of poetry and music.

Getting Ready to Bake Cookies...

A-Poem-a-Day Until Christmas

Photo credit: humblecrumble.com

A NEW RECIPE

I flip through a cookbook

and select, as I sometimes do

a recipe I’ve never tried before—

a cookie, full of aromatic spices

cinnamon, nutmeg, clove

even a pinch of pepper

I stir some dark, robust molasses

and the spices into flour

butter and sugar

then roll teaspoonsful

of the thick brown batter into balls

line them neatly in rows

on cookie sheets

and slip them in the oven

Gradually the kitchen

fills with an old, familiar fragrance

I can’t immediately identify

In a few minutes, I remove a pan

from the oven, wait for the cookies to cool

then roll each one in powdered sugar

as the recipe indicates

One taste

transports me to childhood—

This is pfeffernusse!

that classic Christmas cookie

that spicy little gem I hated

the cookies that turned to rocks

clunkers at the bottom of the cookie jar

These were the cookies Mom offered

when there was no other sweet in the house

the ones that bobbed in her coffee cup

dripping as she ate them with a spoon

Today, all those mingled spices

the dash of black pepper

are pleasingly hot upon my tongue

the sweet sugar coating

the pungent aroma

are positive proof

the taste buds of my youth

have definitely

grown up

Maude Carolan Pych

***ANNOUNCEMENT***

I'm excited to announce that I'll be reading some of my Christmas poetry at two events in December. If you are available, I hope you'll attend.

The first is the Holiday Reading, Thursday, December 1st, 7 p.m., at Montclair Public Library Auditorium, 50 South Fullerton Avenue, Montclair, NJ. Other featured poets are Susan Lembo Balik, R. Bremner, D.M. Dutcher, Frank Niccoletti, Elizabeth Marchitti, Ken Ronkowitz and Bob Rosenbloom. An open reading will follow. This event is hosted by Laura Boss and Maria Mazziotti Gillan.

The second event will take place Saturday, December 17th, 7 p.m., at the ANT Bookstore & Cafe, 345 Clifton Avenue, Clifton, NJ. I will be joined by two poet/friends, Pastor EJ Emerson and Sister Jane Abeln, SMIC. Holiday music will be provided by Victoria Warne, Peter DiBella, Rikki Woods and Lidya Diaz. An open mic period will follow. Come, enjoy the festive atmosphere and Christmas cookies, too! James Gwyn and Victoria Warne host this monthly evening of poetry and music.

I Set Up the Creche Today

Granddaughter Alana at the creche in 2015

THE CRECHE

I was a bride of twenty in the mid-sixties

decorating my home creatively and economically

by attending ceramic classes Tuesday evenings

in Bette Carozza's basement

We sat round the table and coffee cups

cleaning greenware, applying

underglazes and overglazes

talking girl talk all the while

We made cookie dishes and ashtrays

glossy green Christmas trees with snowy branches

fitted with tiny colored lights

We made rooster lamps, pitchers and bowls

piggy banks and tall German beer steins

The most ambitious of us

made chess pieces and Nativity figures

I began working on my Nativity set in 1965

took a few months off after Mom died

and picked up the last pieces

hot from Bette's old electric kiln

on Christmas Eve Day, 1966

How well I recall carefully cleaning

the fragile greenware with a sharp tool

till the seams were perfectly smooth

sanding and sponging tiny bumps

and filling pit holes

Wanting to be as authentic as possible

I applied three coats of sky blue to Mary's robe

and ruddy brown to Joseph's

Jesus' features were less sharp

than the other figures

having been cast from a mold

that had been poured too many times

I unknowingly made the flesh tones far too pale

for Middle Easterners

The magi and their regal camels

were embellished with accents of pure gold

and I glued tiny rhinestones

onto their gift offerings

even though it's likely

the wisemen didn't visit the Christ Child

until months after He was born

The shepherds' garb were given earth tones

and a staff was provided for one of them

fashioned from a birch twig

I dabbed white froth onto the lambs' coats

and gave the cow big brown patches

making it a Guernsey

a breed not likely to have grazed

the fields of Bethlehem

The long-eared donkey was painted gray

Bette's husband, ChiChi

built a fine wooden crèche

with a place on top

to hang the golden haired angel

who flourished a banner proclaiming

"Gloria in Excelsis Deo"

I installed a music box

which played "Adeste Fidelis"

and a little light bulb

and bought a bag of sweet straw

from Woolworth's

For forty-nine Christmases

I've been unpacking the big cardboard box

unwrapping the fragile figures from newspaper

and displaying them throughout the season.

Some years, when the children were young

Jesus wasn't placed in the manger

until Christmas Eve

then we all sang, "Happy Birthday"

The angel now has a chipped wing

and the Guernsey's missing a horn

but Jesus still lies sweetly in His crib

apparently not minding whether or not

I managed to get every jot and tittle

of His manger scene historically correct

He just lies sweetly there

year after year

reminding us

that significant night

long, long ago

is a forever celebration

Maude Carolan Pych


***ANNOUNCEMENT***

I'm excited to announce that I'll be reading some of my Christmas poetry at two events in December. If you are available, I hope you'll attend.

The first is the Holiday Reading, Thursday, December 1st, 7 p.m., at Montclair Public Library Auditorium, 50 South Fullerton Avenue, Montclair, NJ. Other featured poets are Susan Lembo Balik, R. Bremner, D.M. Dutcher, Frank Niccoletti, Elizabeth Marchitti, Ken Ronkowitz and Bob Rosenbloom. An open reading will follow. This event is hosted by Laura Boss and Maria Mazziotti Gillan.

The second event will take place Saturday, December 17th, 7 p.m., at the ANT Bookstore & Cafe, 345 Clifton Avenue, Clifton, NJ. I will be joined by two poet/friends, Pastor EJ Emerson and Sister Jane Abeln, SMIC. Holiday music will be provided by Victoria Warne, Peter DiBella, Rikki Woods and Lidya Diaz. An open mic period will follow. Come, enjoy the festive atmosphere and Christmas cookies, too! James Gwyn and Victoria Warne host this monthly evening of poetry and music.

Have You Been to the Mall?

Today begins "A-Poem-a-Day Until Christmas"

Photo credit: asamatteroftaste.wordpress.com

CHRISTMAS AT THE MALL

Day after Thanksgiving, at the mall, what is this I see…

Santas sledding in the air and a tinseled Christmas tree,

a roly-poly Frosty, red-nosed Rudolph with some elves,

glittery garlands, balls and bows, bedazzling on the shelves?

The shops are alive with music, “White Christmas,” “Jingle Bells;”

there are “ho, ho, hos,” “let it snows” and cinnamony smells.

It certainly all seems festive, so cheery and so bright,

but what oh what does it have to do with that Holy night?

I cannot find a manger scene, an angel or a star,

I do not see the wisemen…wonder where the shepherds are.

I do not hear a carol or the story of the birth

of Our Savior, Jesus Christ, Who dwelled right here on Earth.

Many, it seems, have cast aside the things that matter most.

By replacing them with fairy-tales, the Treasure became lost.

My heart fills up with sorrow, and I feel the need to prod

the waning faith of restless souls who live apart from God.

We all need to remember the virgin and the Child…

Revive, O Lord, the rock of faith that’s been so long exiled. 

Maude Carolan Pych

***ANNOUNCEMENT***

I'm excited to announce that I'll be reading some of my Christmas poetry at two events in December. If you are available, I hope you'll attend.

The first is the Holiday Reading, Thursday, December 1st, 7 p.m., at Montclair Public Library Auditorium, 50 South Fullerton Avenue, Montclair, NJ. Other featured poets are Susan Lembo Balik, R. Bremner, D.M. Dutcher, Frank Niccoletti, Elizabeth Marchitti, Ken Ronkowitz and Bob Rosenbloom. An open reading will follow. This event is hosted by Laura Boss and Maria Mazziotti Gillan.

The second event will take place Saturday, December 17th, 7 p.m., at the ANT Bookstore & Cafe, 345 Clifton Avenue, Clifton, NJ. I will be joined by two poet/friends, Pastor EJ Emerson and Sister Jane Abeln, SMIC. Holiday music will be provided by Victoria Warne, Peter DiBella, Rikki Woods and Lidya Diaz. An open mic period will follow. Come, enjoy the festive atmosphere and Christmas cookies, too! James Gwyn and Victoria Warne host this monthly evening of poetry and music.

One Thanksgiving Remembered...

Here's a Thanksgiving poem from nineteen years ago...

Photo credit: home-partners.com

THANKSGIVING CO-OPERATIVE

1997—

Leo and I hosted Thanksgiving this year at our home in Totowa

in our compact dining room, which we made smaller

through the poor planning of our home renovations

(We recently bought a smaller dining room table

and smaller, armless chairs to provide us a bit more room

to maneuver, which is a big, big help!)

Actually, this turned out to be one of our smoothest running feasts

attributable in part, no doubt, to years of experience

but even more attributable to good cooperation by all

I took a vacation day the day before

and got an early start house cleaning, then began

simmering cranberries and marinating mushrooms

Beth came in the evening. She peeled potatoes, stuffed dates

and worked on a new recipe, onions braised in honey and wine

Kristin arrived early Thanksgiving Day

and created a superb antipasto masterpiece

The night before my sister and Carrie spent making desserts

They baked pumpkin, apple and chocolate cream pies

and made a pumpkin bread, besides

I think they told the truth when they said

Uncle Ricky baked the chocolate pecan pie himself, but

I wouldn’t bet money on it. It was awesome! Awesome!

Carol said she stayed up until 2 a.m. keeping watch

over the hot pies cooling on their back deck

to make sure raccoons didn’t dive into our holiday goodies!

The escarole soup, the turkey and all the veggies were

(wonder of wonders!) ready on schedule

Rick, carved the bird and opened the wine

(once we found a corkscrew)

Leo led the blessing and we each

mentioned something we were specifically thankful for

then all partook (of more than we should have!) of course

Leo stationed himself at the sink (What a guy!)

and in between courses, Evert suggested

playing board games in the living room

There was Trivial Pursuit and Scrabble

I had to break a deadlock between my daughters

over the allowability of a hyphen, which  we determined

is not allowed since there are no Scrabble hyphen tiles. Sorry, Kristin!

Richie and Carrie are old enough now to fully take part

so there was much giggling, chatter and good-natured teasing

Everyone took turns clearing away plates

The girls helped put up the leftovers

(and made packages to take home)

Carol carved the rest of the meat off the turkey...bless her heart!

Later, I brought out the old family photo albums

and we squeezed around the dining room table

trying to figure out who was who

especially in the photos from the 20s and 30s!

Aunt Carol Harris called from Florida to say she loved everyone

Frank called twice (We missed our brother.

He was with Ana’s family, at an even bigger feast for thirty!)

We sent and received e-mails from Leo’s daughters in North Carolina

and warm thoughts sailed across the miles and sea

to his sons in Florida and Germany

We also thought about Kevin in Amsterdam

who celebrated his Thanksgiving alone at a Burger King

and Michael in California and Donna and her family

(who we hoped would join us, at least for dessert)

She was spending the holiday with family in Pennsylvania

We wished everyone could have been with us

crowded into our cozy house around our dining and kitchen tables

but those were impossible wishes...                                                   

nevertheless, we were wonderfully full and very happy

and supremely thankful for all our blessings—

Maude Carolan

Have a most blessed and scrumdelicious Thanksgiving Day.,,

"Lord, Grant Me the Serenity..."

One of the most serene places I've ever visited was Weston Priory, a community of Benedictine monks, in Vermont in the 1980s. A poem about that experience follows.

Photo credit: newsperuse.com

 SERENITY

Plainsong at Vespers

sung by a handful of Episcopalian sisters

in a little convent chapel in New Jersey,

whisked me back a few decades

to a summer weekend

at Weston Priory in Vermont,

to celebrate the Feast of St. Benedict;

whisked me back to my Catholic Charismatic days,

when I was willing to travel anywhere

to participate in vibrant congregational worship.

At the priory

I witnessed what many never see,

monks dancing in a circle,

their slow, graceful sweeps

billowing white hooded frocks

in the gentle breeze.

They sang fresh, mellow songs

that were wending their way

into contemporary liturgies.

The monks invited a few of us

to join their sunrise worship.

We quietly gathered in a rude garret

with a wide many-paned window

that offered pre-dawn darkness.

Sitting upon pillows strewn on the floor,

we melded with the stillness.

One by one the Benedictines entered

with their prayer books

and sat meditatively.

After a time

they softly read Scripture,

prayed, and chanted mellifluous praise.

Suddenly, a brown field mouse

scampered among us,

flitting betwixt and between.

No one stirred at all.

Beyond the panes

blackness gave way

to the rising sun;

streams of warm glow

dissolved the morning mist

above a placid pond.

Splashes of magenta and lavender

petunias drenched in dew

emerged at water's edge.

Maude Carolan