Discalced Carmelite Friars

Province of St. Therese

Poet and Contemplative

“From the abundance of his spirit [the poet] pours out secrets and mysteries rather than rational explanation” (Prologue, The Spiritual Canticle).

“In contemplation God teaches the soul very quietly and secretly, without its knowing how, without the sound of words” (Chapter 39, The Spiritual Canticle).

In the spirit of St. John of the Cross, this blog reflects on the contemplative experience and the poetic experience, sometimes separately and distinctly, sometimes in common, as mutually enlightening.

I will also post to this blog, from time to time, my own poetry, with a short interpretive note attached.

~ Fr. Bonaventure Sauer, OCD

Seven Conversation Poems – Part 5

V. Life Lessons I used to do all kinds of things for the first time. The heart hid,Trying not to hammer too loudly its thump, thump, thumpInto the air, though unable not to—it was, after all, my heart. * I stop for gas in a small Nebraska town, and You are there,Passing into the afternoon. I see Your backside like A boarded-up house. At that instant the moment became
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Five Poems for Lent and Easter – Part 4

IV.Good FridayHis journey into the final end of it began in earnestWhen his voice first choked, spitting out a salty red brine.They had fed it to him like thick soup, ladling it upFrom deep inside his body.  In his stomach,His throat, his mouth, all the way up,It had burned like tears.  "Death will free me of it,"He'd hoped.  "Then this moment of dying will have becomeOne with my flesh." 
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Three Christmas Poems – Part 3

III.The Fourth of the MagiAnd I took to the road on footWhere tree limbs bent low, clawing at me.Beasts lurked in the shadows, beasts I'd never seen before,And owls hooted even at noon.They say wild men haunt these placesClothed in prickly boar's hide.On their heads sit wreaths with leaves the size of a giant's hand.Some, it's rumored, grow tailsThat sprout an inch a yearFor each year of their madness. 
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Five Advent Poems – Part 5

V.Christmas ShoppingLate fog crowds the streets.  A starlit journey lies before me,Trudging through that part of my life where words like YuletideStill apply, where treasure chests openGlimmering in the faces of shoppers as they elbow past.Soon lights, too, will flicker, to chase away every shadow of self-pity.Life is truly beautiful.  I've said that before, once againIt's crossed my lips. 
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