Psalms of Gratitude and Prayer

      Copyright © 2016 John J. Brugaletta. All rights reserved. Except for brief quotations in critical publications or reviews, no part of this book may be reproduced in any manner without prior written permission from the publisher. Write: Permissions, Wipf and Stock Publishers, 199 W. 8th Ave., Suite 3, Eugene, OR 97401.

      Resource Publications

      An Imprint of Wipf and Stock Publishers

      199 W. 8th Ave., Suite 3

      Eugene, OR 97401

      www.wipfandstock.com

      paperback isbn: 978-1-5326-0247-4

      hardcover isbn: 978-1-5326-0249-8

      ebook isbn: 978-1-5326-0248-1

      Manufactured in the U.S.A. 09/17/15

      In memory of

      Eugene Montague

      who taught me what

      a poem can do

      Acknowledgments

      The following poems were previously published as indicated, some of them in an earlier form:

      “Acrobats” The Lamp-Post

      “Containers” The Lamp-Post

      “Christmas” Time of Singing

      “Everything Is Otherwise” Relief*

      “Finis” The Lyric

      “Fox Sparrow” Anglican Theological Review

      “Itadaki Masu” Relief *

      “Metamorphosis” The Penwood Review

      “Naming the Logos” National Catholic Reporter

      “Proper Prophet” Christianity and Literature

      “Teach Us to Pray” Image

      “The Blinding” The Penwood Review

      * Because they were especially appropriate to this volume, “Itadaki Masu” and “Everything Is Otherwise” have also been reprinted here from With My Head Rising out of the Water, by John J. Brugaletta. Negative Capability Press, 2014.

      Introduction

      “[The teachers of the law] devour widows’ houses and for a show make lengthy prayers. Such men will be punished most severely.”

      Mark 12 – 40

      “Thoughts are but coins. Let me not trust, instead Of Thee, their thin-worn image of Thy head.”

      C.S. Lewis

Itadaki Masu*

      I have received water, flowing and pooled, salt and fresh,

      cold and hot; wind off the ocean, among the trees,

      over wheat fields; wool for warmth.

      I am grateful for these, and for the many-touching octopi,

      the common beauty of oleanders, tough-limbed

      oaks, lithe ocelots, leather-skinned oranges, and

      pungent onions.

      About me lie perch from farm ponds, peppers and parsnips,

      potatoes and tellicherry peppercorns, pork and

      peaches, paprika, together with the sweet sadness

      of Pachelbel.

      I have been given air to breathe, alders leafing out in spring,

      crisp apples, deep-flavored apricots, and the shield-

      like leaves of aspidistras.

      Grapes and goldfinches, garlic and grass are in my treasury;

      jackrabbits and jays, ginger and juncos have come

      to me as gifts.

      I am inebriated on biscuits and bass, bread and bears,

      bicycles and barracudas, on basil and brass.

      Clouds and rainfall, snow and sleet, sunshine and darkness

      are my blessings, as are moonlight and firelight,

      starlight and candlelight.

      I have been awarded Mozart and Bach, Verdi and Puccini,

      Homer and Shakespeare, Thomas More and Martin

      Luther, Herbert and Donne.

      I have received from on high appreciative dogs and dignified

      housecats, deer and raccoons, chickens and grosbeaks,

      friendship and children, fuchsias and dahlias, soil,

      stone and steel.

      May I never be ungrateful for any shelter, any mouthful of

      food or sip of water, any friendly gesture, any offer

      of help, any touch of understanding.

* Japanese: “I have received from on high.”

      Gratitude

      “So then, just as you received Christ Jesus as Lord, continue to live in him, rooted and built up in him, strengthened in the faith as you were taught, and overflowing with thankfulness.”

      Colossians 2—6

      “There are minds so impatient of inferiority that their gratitude is a species of revenge.”

      Samuel Johnson

      Before Praying

      Like a farmer come from hens and hogs,

      his hands befouled, his feet two mounds of mud,

      who stands before the door and thinks himself

      too filthy for clean floor and fragrant table,

      I come to You with desecrated phrase

      made foul by those who think their lies a skill,

      and timid creatures who think lies are kind.

      What honest words are left to speak to You?

      But with Your guidance I have found a well

      to wash my hands and rinse my smelly mouth,

      and then, before I pray, take off my boots.

      Only fools defile a holy place.

      The Present

      Small as I was, possessing like a king,

      I knew my property came from my dad,

      and not just some of mine, but everything.

      What could I give him that he had not had?

      The possibilities became a list

      with statues first, then windows, then

      his picture that I daily blessed and kissed.

      But these were feeble objects made by men.

      With Christmas drawing near, my next thought flew