Poetry
Poetry Collection
Submitted by Aldon Hynes on Sat, 09/12/2015 - 08:22I am starting to organize the poems that are on this website.
I normally post my poems simply as blog posts, usually after spending some time editting them.
However, so are posted as fairly raw drafts.
Eventually, I go back, revise some of the poems, and place them into a structure related to other poems. It helps me think about how my poems interrelate. Hopefully, it will be helpful to you as well.
Some poems end up in a section at the bottom of uncategorized poems. These are often poems I haven't gone back to work on or to think about how they relate to other poems.
In particular, poems that I write during periods where I post a poem a day end up in this section.
There are links below to navigate through the different sections, subsections, and the poems within each subsection.
The Priest the Church Needs Today
Submitted by Aldon Hynes on Sat, 04/17/2021 - 12:23You are the priest the church needs today:
For the fifteen-year-old girl
who was raped
by someone she trusted
who is just uncovering her pain,
and has no one to talk to
especially not a priest.
For the seventeen-year-old transgender woman
who thought the transition
would make everything better,
but still she lives
in the spotlight of loneliness
and wonders if it’s all worth it,
and has no one to talk to
especially not a priest.
For the thirty-seven-year-old mother
who loves her son with muscular dystrophy
more than she can bear
and needs a rest and a loving ear.
For the forty-five-year-old couple
whose life seems perfect
as they help with coffee hour
because they hide the bruises
from their bitter fights so well
and can’t talk to anyone about it,
especially not a priest.
For the fifty-three-year-old wife
whose life did not turn out as planned.
Now she has the same symptoms
her mother had
at the onset of her cancer,
and has no one to talk to,
especially not a priest.
For the sixty-two-year-old homeless man
who tries so hard
to address his substance abuse problems
and put his life back together,
but the ancient traumas are too great,
and no one understands,
especially not a priest.
For the eighty-seven-year-old widow
who has never, in all her life,
let her children know
about her child born out of wedlock
that they always called their cousin.
and it is too late to tell anyone
especially not a priest.
And every day, more people are hurt,
often by the church itself,
and you are needed to be
the priest they can tell.
No Person is a Snowflake
Submitted by Aldon Hynes on Sat, 02/16/2019 - 13:06Written in response to a discussion in my Christian Ethics class as we discussed climate change; with apologies to John Donne.
No person is a snowflake entire of itself; every person
is a piece of the glacier, a part of the main;
if a piece of the glacier be washed away by the sea, our climate
is the less…
All climate change diminishes me,
because I am involved in our climate.
And therefore never send to know for whom
the bell tolls; it tolls for thee.
Fear and Blessing
Submitted by Aldon Hynes on Wed, 01/23/2019 - 12:12For my classmates at CDSP
How frightening it is
to realize
that just maybe
we aren’t imposters
and that God really does love us
more than we can understand.
What a blessing it is
to worship
with emerging leaders
in a variety of styles.
What a blessing it is
to reflect with friends
on who we really are
who God really is
and how we should live.
What a blessing it is
to experience
God’s unsurpassed love
through the saints gathered around us.
Strawberry Marrow
Submitted by Aldon Hynes on Tue, 06/19/2018 - 08:43I lift up mine eyes to the hills
and the structures
look like
Hebrew characters.
Class was challenging this morning
feeling almost
dissociative
in a good way.
I sit and write
as the sun beats down
like God’s warming love.
I am holding many concerns.
A friend has marked himself safe
in the fatal earthquake
in Japan
not far from where
my daughter lives,
shaken,
but okay.
A woman
who cannot have children
weeps
over those taken
from their mothers.
I pray for the sick and oppressed.
A classmate walks by
and offers me strawberries.
They are sweet and fresh
and remind me of the Zen story
about tigers, mice, a vine,
and a strawberry.
How sweet it tasted.
I am living deeply right now
sucking out all the marrow of life
and treating each moment
like the host in an Orthodox Liturgy;
death mingled with resurrection,
each drop being so sacred
it must not be spilled.