For Ash Wednesday

Bartimaeus

by Beverly Ewart

Have mercy, Lord, on blind Bartimaeus -

I've been living in darkness for so long.

I sit by the roadside, hidden by dust

swirling around me, churned up by the thrust

of the feet of the passing, negligent throngs.

Have mercy, Lord, on blind Bartimaeus.

I can't see you, but you'll hear me – you must!

My eyes have no sight, but my voice has grown strong.

I sit by the roadside, hidden by dust,

and the blessed well-dressed might drop a stale crust.

The righteous look past me as they move along.

Have mercy, Lord, on blind Bartimaeus!

Passers-by hear me and tell me to hush!

...my call for your notice importunate, wrong.

I sit by the roadside, hidden by dust.

But the Teacher HAS heard... he calls over the crush,

“What do you want me to do for you, Son?”

“Have mercy, Lord, on blind Bartimaeus,

I sit by the roadside, hidden by dust.”

~

The story of Bartimaeus is found in the Gospel of Mark, chapter 10: 46-52.

~

 As a father has compassion on his children, 
   so the LORD has compassion on those who fear him; 
for he knows how we are formed, 

   he remembers that we are dust. 

Psalm 103:13-14 (NIV)

Gethsemane

by Beverly Ewart

On the hot ground,

abandoned tears -

wrung out and left

to disappear -

are tiny rings

of congealed dust

that testify

to tortured trust.

In the night,

on bones of tears,

the fluid flesh

takes shape – appears.

That dusty place,

as dawn draws near,

shall drink of springs

that once were tears.

Vernal Villanelle

Evening and morning were the first day,

sweet repose arose to activity;

a stony, fallow field to seed gave way,

and life, interred to sleep the frost away,

roused in the warm light of nativity.

Evening and morning were the first day.

Spring's descent through the landscape, bright and fey,

unlocked the gates of winter's penury;

a stony, fallow field to seed gave way.

Everything seemed lifeless, cold and gray,

but life was still – simply sleeping deeply.

Evening and morning were the first day.

The buried dead awoke with the first warm ray

of vernal sun, and woke the sleeping trees...

a stony, fallow field to seed gave way.

Spring laid living flesh on bones of decay,

from the blighted barren she birthed bounty;

evening and morning were the first day,

a stony, fallow field to seed gave way.