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Month: February 2011

Beauty/Poetics

In A Place Apart

Posted on February 16, 2011 by stephen t berg / 2 Comments

Millie Glick is a teacher, a pioneer and an adventurer. With her husband Ike—also a teacher and adventurer, and fortuitously, a bush pilot—she spent many years ...

Christianity/Religion/Spirituality

Veiled Valentine from God

Posted on February 14, 2011 by stephen t berg / 5 Comments

Bow thy heavens, O LORD, and come down: touch the mountains, and they shall smoke (Psalm 144). I’d like to see that! God’s finger, crooked for a cro...

Poetics

Poets–some local masters: Michael Gravel, Laurie MacFayden, Alice Major, Kelly Shepherd

Posted on February 10, 2011 by stephen t berg / 0 Comment

Occasionally I feel like Steinbeck’s Lennie. I am not Lennie. But sometimes, launched aloft by morning coffee and the smile of a stranger, I feel as though I ca...

Environment/Poetics

Ecocide

Posted on February 8, 2011 by stephen t berg / 7 Comments

Earth mother, earth daughter, would that you had been earth father, earth son, for then, the males of romance would not have praised your nourishment as endless...

Posts pagination

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Over the coming months, I’ll be slowly retiring Grow Mercy. This Easter marks 20 years and some 1500 posts. (And here, a deep bow to you, for reading and/or responding.) I’ll not, however, be retiring the impulse behind Grow Mercy, but will be shifting, exploring, following a hybridized urge, and a genre to suit. For me, what these decades have increasingly revealed is how writing is a spiritual path. Now, for whatever time and energy remains for me, I’ll be tilting more toward The Ragged Psalmist, still inchoate, but the handle feels like it fits. I do hope you’ll subscribe.

Why — The Ragged Psalmist?

Because some stubborn ember, still warm, compels me to write some cobbled songs — praise and lament, cries and sighs — and sound them back to the sacred Mystery.

To throw a wrench into a world geared up for business; to resist the moneychangers in their corporate temples — because poetry is political, and light is its administrative wing.

Because old lies and old words screw us over and must be remade to tell the truth; because our glossary of mockery needs burial, and the lexicon that’s left needs anointing.

To strive to honour the life of a sparrow; attend the spell of a dead star — whose light we still see; to feel, down to the bone, the quantum foam, we all flail in.

To thicken compassion and thin out aggression; to oppose injustice and hate in a way that excludes no one, not even the hater.

To let failure, discouragement, suffering and perishing have their say, without any spoon of bromide; to let joy, delight, and beauty come as they may.

To penetrate darkness and delusion — and so discover all this love in us.

Because mindfulness and mercy need constant oxygen.

Because in the time that’s left I want to tattoo the implications of our “forgiving victim” on the body suit of my heart.

Because reality points to unity — and we must hurry to catch up.

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