Sunday, September 9, 2012

It's Sunflower Season...



 

 

 

 

SUNFLOWERS

Lafayette, New Jersey, September 1, 2001

 
God’s abundance wows me
from a sprawling field of sunflowers
which tower above
on thick woody stalks
 
They lift great ochre heads
framed in ragged haloes
of yellow gold
to shine sunrays upon me
like God’s own radiant face
amid a communion of saints
and I must smile back
 
Their leaves
are big green hearts
In their midst
my own heart
grows and greens
 
How God loves me!
He astonishes His child
with wondrous whimsies
 
Soon, when the season ends
they’ll just nod their weary heads
and shed their golden haloes
on the ground
 
and bequeath their gift of seed
to ravens of the air
which will feast festively
upon God’s abundance
unto them
 

Maude Carolan

 



Sunday, September 2, 2012

Metamorphosis


Metamorphosis of a caterpillar into
a butterfly


.

METAMORPHOSIS

 

Once I was a caterpillar, dwelling upon the earth,

Crawling along day by day, adept at feigning mirth.

I only knew the earthy life, I thought that that was it;

I took what terra firma gave, the pleasures and the grit.

There was no beauty in me.  No one ever looked here twice,

Few cared if I were evil, no one knew if I were nice.

I was only concerned with myself, what the earth could give,

Yet, inside I was sensing a far better way to live.

Instinct led me to spin a thread and weave a neat cocoon;

I became a living mummy, wrapped tight within my tomb.

What was happening to me?  I tried to kick and shout,

“Help me!  Open up this thing!  I want to get right out!”

No one heard and I was powerless, so I went to sleep,

Not knowing what was ahead of me, feeling something deep.

I don’t know how much time went by within my tiny tomb,

But sensed that I was being changed, as one inside a womb.

Finally, instinct worked in me.  There was a sudden urge

To break out of my chrysalis and from the dark emerge.

Somehow, I then received the strength to burst my being free;

Alas, the golden Light broke through and there was a new me!

I took some time to understand, some time to wonder why,

Then I just shook myself a bit and I began to fly!

And `lo, I was so beautiful, and `lo, I saw the sun...

Oh, after living on the earth, soaring was great fun!

A wretched worm was I no more, I knew that that was true,

I was reborn and I became a creation wholly new!

A butterfly!  A butterfly!  I received my wings,

Glorious splendors of the Heavens, all the higher things.

All old things have passed away, they’ll never come again;

I’ve set my mind on things above, on these I will attend.

Now, even when I swoop to earth and walk upon the ground,

I’ll never be a worm again...I’m Butterfly...glory bound!

Praise God for metamorphosis, it’s by His loving grace

That I’m a new creation now, and I shall see His Face.

 

Maude Carolan

Sunday, August 19, 2012

More Butterflies...





There Used To Be Butterflies in New Jersey



I remember the day the Monarchs held court on Cupsaw Beach

And filled the air with tangerine profusion

As they soared and danced with natural choreography.



There used to be butterflies in New Jersey.

They haven’t left completely,

But I see fewer every year

And miss their lilting frivolity, color and grace.



Today, I strolled a lane in South Carolina,

And was gifted with more species than I know,

The sum greater than I’ve seen in years.

Praise God, they simply filled my heart with joy

As they danced with gay abandon among the wildflowers.

They flitted against the sky with petal-soft wings

As resplendent in hew as the blooms

They landed momentarily upon, then sprang

Into fanciful Fantasia pirouettes.



Maude Carolan


This poem was written in the early 1990's.

Sunday, August 12, 2012

Summertime is Butterfly Time...




SKY DANCERS



There's something happy about butterflies.

They flit-flitter as they flutter by,

flying flowers against the azure sky.



They alight upon the milkweed, and then

they circle, soar and alight again,

toe-dancing on pink petals in the glen.



Ever dwelling in hue and sweet fragrance,

in garden splendor they flicker as they dance.

Pollination is purely happen-stance.



I delight in their overflow of joy.

(They wouldn't even know how to be coy.)

A flame of mirth! A whirligig! A toy!



Do they recall they once were grubby worms,

remember well their dark and squiggly squirms?

Reborn, now grace and beauty each affirms!



This almost seems to be sheer fantasy,

sky dancers as enchanting as can be,

springing from blossoms right in front of me!



So, merrily a-nectaring they go,

reaping and sowing sweetness in day-glow…

Seems they have learned what all of us should know.



In contemplation of their simple ways,

I wish to add their ballet to my days,

to sky dance gracefully on wings of praise!



Maude Carolan Pych


Sunday, August 5, 2012

One more Ocean Grove poem...an itty bitty haiku


     The Cross on Ocean Grove Beach



HAIKU


Ocean Grove morning

A multitude of angels

somersault to shore



Maude Carolan Pych




Sunday, July 29, 2012

Another Ocean Grove poem...


  Charming tent houses, Ocean Grove, NJ


WORSHIPFUL CONTRASTS, OCEAN GROVE


9 a.m. Sunday—

Contemporary worship. Boardwalk Pavilion, Ocean Grove

This is where we worship with snare drums and guitars

funky drama and spontaneous praise dance on the boards

facing sand and spray and rising sun

This is where we lift our hands and shout "Hallelujah!"

louder than the rousing rhythmic praise

of the waves crashing in our midst

This is where families come in tees and tank tops

cut-off denim, wrinkly cotton shorts

bare feet, sneakers, flip-flops

It's where we fan ourselves with song-sheets

chug from Poland Spring bottles

and flip through the pages of our Bibles

It's where we greet strangers, unabashedly

with "Praise the Lord!" and hugs and exit

faces shining with Moses-glow



10:30 a.m. Sunday—

Classic worship. Great Auditorium, Ocean Grove

I walk briskly from the Boardwalk Pavilion

(with my Moses-glow) to the old Methodist edifice

with its prominent Cross facing the Atlantic

This is where thousands gather

facing a purpose spelled out in lights:

Holiness to the Lord—So be ye holy

This is where worshippers arrive in crisp pressed cotton

and wrinkle-free polyester, strap sandals, pumps and pearls

where we rise and sing on key, hymns by Wesley and Crosby

where we utter printed responses by rote and in unison

Here, to the accompaniment of a historic pipe organ

we hear a traditional choir sing traditional hymns

and accomplished tenors and sopranos

and some of the greatest preachers on earth

do magnificently what they have been magnificently trained to do

This is where we pray quietly, reverently, solemnly

hands folded in our laps, as 100 silver-haired ushers

process prominently with collection baskets

wearing white slacks, dark jackets and red ties

with white carnations pinned to their lapels

This is where Gordon Turk, the organist

presents a resounding recessional

as we nod at one other warmly

and walk out edified into a balmy afternoon



Maude Carolan Pych




Monday, July 23, 2012

Boardwalk Pavilion, Ocean Grove, NJ



THE BOARDWALK PAVILION



This glorious summer Sunday morning—



We’re drawn eastward

from north, south and west

by the magnetic pull

of God’s love-force



Drawn, to the old wooden pavilion

to the Atlantic, the Jersey shore

to the boards at God’s Square Mile—

Ocean Grove. Drawn



wearing khaki and denim

tees and tanks

sundresses, flip-flops

carrying water bottles

carrying Bibles

fanning ourselves

with song sheets



We fill the benches

then spill over

into the periphery

onto folding chairs, lawn chairs

beach blankets. Some stand

Some look for shade



It’s 80-plus and breezy

The sky, clear

The sea glistens

Waves slap the shore

merrily. We’re merry



Vacationers stroll past

Some peer; some stop

some smile; some don’t

Bikers pedal by

joggers jog

                                                                             

Hymnsong; guitar-strum

Son-smiles; praise dance

heart-moves; Kidz church

Gospel-preach



Agape flows outward

aboutward



Sea mist rises like incense

upward, Heavenward

toward the One

enthroned



We bask in the warmth

of His smile



of His warm, sunshiny love

                                                                                                      

Maude Carolan Pych