I, My Brother’s Keeper?

Strong and handsome, bronzed and bold,

Cain killed Abel, so it’s told.

When God found him lying cold,

Drew He words made manifold:

“Am I my brother’s keeper?”


These millennia now past,

We, who span the world so vast

Read the tale and cry, aghast,

“Wicked Cain!” but quickly ask,

“Am I my brother’s keeper?”


Strange or old or yet unborn

Steal our time – these constant thorns.

Meanwhile, God, while Heaven mourned,

Hung, spread wide for all to scorn,

Answering that quest, age-worn:

“Am I my brother’s keeper?”


Now all my life is dripping down
Like molten lava over wire;
An upward glance views Cross and Crown
Set on a hill unscorched by fire
That, as I fall, looks ever higher.
Oh Christ! Be now my life and breath –
So lift me from this pressing death.

A Poem for Mothering

In your eyes, oh my child, I see Heaven
Waging war with the earth for your will,
Sense beneath each defiance and triumph
Ancient battles of skill against skill.

And I, as your mother, stand praying,
While watching your endless delight,
That God will be King of your choosing,
And you will hate wrong and love right.

Oh my son, if you hear my instruction,
May you turn your smooth feet to walk wise.
Then the Lord, your Good King, would reclaim them:
The desires bound up in your eyes.

Weary Me

Sadness, sadness, all is woe.

I cannot run away from it. I cannot fight it.

I have not the strength to lift my sword against it.


Will You walk with me through the thick of it?

Carry me through the darkness?

I am too heavy for the light.

Will You come down to earth and join me?

Lead me through the piercing blackness?

Feel the hurt and pain as well?