As Israelites in the desert,
We wander through life,
Searching for answers.
Born with God's purpose
Baptized with the waters of understanding,
We set out on our appointed direction.
For some blue skies with wispy clouds last for years,
For others it is moonless nights with storm clouds,
Raining kryptonite meteors of broken dreams.
Desperate we open our umbrella of faith,
But is tattered with moth holes of doubt,
And covered with the duct tape of hope.
Dazed and disillusioned, we stumble,
Untrained on how to handle disappointment,
We get caught up in tornadoes and tsunamis.
Blind-sides by creatures of the past,
Welding machetes of past memories,
That slices through pulsing arteries of scrapbooks.
Sandal-less feet treading over shards of broken vessels,
Piercing the life lines of our happy times,
And releasing the repressed monsters from closets of reality.
Through the tumultuous sound of the storms,
Standing in the space between day and night,
We hear a soothing voice that grounds us.
A mirage from the whiling desert sands,
A window of truth cutting through the confusion,
Dying on the cross, He intercedes for us.
He drew me from the desolate pit,
out of the miry bog,
and set my feet upon a rock,
making my steps secure.
He put a new song in my mouth,
a song of praise to our God.
—Psalm 40:2
The weak confident they can control their destiny,
Set out with the wisdom of fools,
And raincoats filled with pride and money.
The strong know that to live, they must die,
So they give the reins to God, the Father,
And wait for Him to chart their new course.
I do not consider that I have made it on my own.
Forgetting what lies behind and
straining forward to what lies ahead.
—Philippians 3:13
November 29, 2009
© 2007, Jacqueline Newport, Purple Poetry Path
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In their child-like ways,
The Israelites used to build altars,
And offer burnt sacrifices.
They listened to prophets and oracles,
And followed the Ark of the Covenant,
Into battles against the infidels.
Then, during the Passover feast,
A meal that made time standstill,
Jesus showed the depth of His love.
As the disciples made the preparations,
Reserving the Upper Room as Jesus requested,
Brings to mind Isaiah's words:
On this mountain, the Lord of hosts
will provide for all people,
a feast of rich food and choice wines.1
The doors opened and all were welcomed,
Tax collectors and simple fishermen,
All coming together to be with Jesus.
Smiles of celebration floated gently around,
Passing merrily from stranger to stranger,
Until all of them were one.
Jesus and his disciples entered the room,
With memories of waves of palm branches,
They sang hymns of thanksgiving and praise.
As they sang, each individual voice,
With its unique texture and tone,
Created a patchwork canopy of consonance,
That encompassed the room with God’s love.
In appreciation for all their blessings,
The assembly joined voices and loudly proclaimed,
Glory to God in the highest.
Jesus stood up, looking up to the heavens,
He spread His arms wide,
And prayed to God, the Father Almighty.
Jesus motioned for all to be seated,
And as they reclined around the table,
He taught them with parables and stories.
Wishing for a renewal of that easy fellowship,
God has with our first parents, Adam and Eve,
Jesus encouraged those around Him with loving words.
As the disciples discoursed with Jesus,
Judas, disgusted that a tax collector was at the table,
Missed the whole point of the sacred feast.
A sample of bread and wine was brought to Jesus,
He broke the bread and said the blessing,
This is my body, which will be giving up for you,
Do this in memory of me.2
As the words swirled around the room,
Mingling with their thoughts and ideas,
A silence fell softly over the group.
He took the wine and said the blessings,
This is my blood which will be given up for you,
Do this in memory of me.3
The disciples sat speechless in wonder,
His words silently spilled over stones of confusion,
And flowed swiftly into a stream of spiritual consciousness.
He enflamed their hearts with His words,
So when the time came for them to understand,
Their minds would be open to the Pascal Mystery.
Just as a father holds his children close,
Trying to prepare them for the pain,
Jesus forewarned his disciples:
For I tell you, I will not eat it again
until it finds fulfillment in the kingdom of God.4
Like the Passover lamb killed in the temple,
Mary gently lay in the manger,
The body of the small, helpless babe,
That would be broken and offered up for our sins.
In the bright light of the Easter festivities,
We sometimes forget the long twilight of struggling,
When our nets continue to come up empty.
However, with the dawn comes the resurrected Jesus,
Encouraging us to throw our nets once more,
And they are filled to overflowing.
As the disciples, sitting around the table of the Lord,
Were united together by the bread and wine,
We too are bonded, body and soul, by Christ's love.
Sitting in quiet reflection, the disciples paused,
Allowing their hearts to absorb all the transpired,
Basking in the love that Jesus shared with them.
Having been fed with Christ's Words, His Body and Blood,
We. like the disciples, have a choice to make,
To go passively through the motions of life,
Or go passionately forth to love and serve the Lord.
1Isaiah 25:6
2Luke 22:19
3Luke 22:20
4Luke 22:16
October 30, 2009
© 2007, Jacqueline Newport, Purple Poetry Path
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Mesmerized by the revolving doors of depression,
Spinning squares of sadness and suffering,
Twirling triangles of tsunami tears,
Hopelessly falling into the darkness of despair.
Swept away by violent waves of emotions,
Nightmares replaying bad choices on a giant screen,
Memories slicing into small shards of glass day mares,
Razor sharp spikes severe the blood vessels of dreams.
With each return to the rotunda,
Flying moth-like toward the spinning doors,
Feeling naked, like wearing a sweater of suffering,
Needing protection from an eerie emptiness that chills the bones.
Reaching for the spinning silver door handle,
Persuaded in and then pushed from behind,
Pursued by floating faces calling out to other travelers,
Promising a lottery of health and happiness.
Spinning around and around, afraid to let go,
Hearing the voices of those coming and going,
So many choices, so many options,
Choosing instead the safety of the rotunda.
Falling to the floor, dizzy from the spinning,
Bumping into a blind priest, who teacher all to see,
With God's grace, the shackles and handcuffs,
Dissolve into dust that is blown gently away.
Standing in the rotunda with a newfound courage,
The doors ablaze with a new understanding,
The eyes now see the glass, metal and wooden doors,
As glorious gateways for growing closer to God.
Accepting that each new door brings both sorrow and joy,
And through the effulgent gift of God's grace and love,
Comes the strength to face all our demons,
Sharing with them God's love and compassion.
September 5, 2009
© 2007, Jacqueline Newport, Purple Poetry Path
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Massive wood structures
designed by Peter, with help from
Gothic and Romanesque architects,
strong ships suited to sail
through turbulent times, built to withstand
gale force whispers of
gossip, winter
storms of scandal
and persecution, and fiery
hail stones of,
hatred bouncing off stained glass windows.
A crew, divided by difficult decisions,
unsure of how to chart a course through
rocky waters, white capped with
conflicting choices, sailing through a sea of
corporate take-overs and
economic drownings.
Confronted with
rising registrations and declines in weekend
passenger manifests, struggling to stay afloat with
passengers who only travel
once or twice a year.
Reluctant to abandon
ships with
small crews and sinking revenues,
shipping magistrate are
financially forced to
cluster the captains and crews,
together as one community.
Initial cluster voyages are bumpy, with
multiple deck hands, tangled lines and
shredded sails, those used to
taking charge, forced
to watch others assume their duties,
they fumed and fussed to the captains.
Tempers flared to boiling, scorching
words erupted from those blinded by
ego driven emotions.
Over time, the compassionate captains,
knowing the reason Jesus
slept in the bow of the boat,
while the storm raged around the disciples,
understood the importance of
patience and persistence.
The captains,
confident in God's protection,
congealed the confusion of the crews,
redirected the lost,
refocused the flustered,
reminded the crew of the importance of
receiving God's grace, which is a
love that bonds everyone together,
and as the crew and its passengers discovered the
discernment, that faith is the
ultimate goal and mission of the journey.
July 21, 2009
© 2007, Jacqueline Newport, Purple Poetry Path
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Gazing at your Immaculate Heart,
We see our sins staring back at us,
A barrier that keeps us from you.
Blinded by our selfish desires,
We make choices based on our history,
Confident we are in control of our lives,
But then the winds of turmoil gust,
Bursting through the door or our dreams,
Blanketing our sky with its blackness.
As we fast and pray for guidance,
May we learn to hate our sins,
And avoid all of Satan’s empty promises.
Help us to see past his many masks,
Temptations deftly disguised as needs,
The seductive ways Satan deceives us.
Please surround us with your velvet cloak,
Protect us from our fears and weaknesses,
The ones that keep us from following Your Son.
It is through fasting, penance and prayer,
That we scrape the layers of cataracts,
From eyes that are cloudy with sin.
And as we gaze at your Immaculate Heart,
With our newfound clarity and grace,
We see the Sacred Heart of Jesus, your Son.
June 15, 2010
© 2007, Jacqueline Newport, Purple Poetry Path
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A meal that welcomes all,
Clean and unclean,
Wealthy and poor,
Bringing all together
United with their host.
Connecting all as community,
Celebrating a common love of the Lord,
A love that surpasses all understanding,
Opening hearts with child-like wonder.
All division and dissension disappear,
Enemies become friends,
Neighbors become family,
In the breaking of the bread.
A table bright with candles,
Dishes of silver and gold,
Cradling the bread of life,
A bread that heals all wounds.
Goblets of silver and gold,
A fountain of life giving blood,
Blood flowing with a forgiveness,
That extinguishes sins.
A meal that bonds all together,
Bridging the chasms of pain,
Bringing hope and nourishment,
To those who are hungry and thirsty.
As we approach the sacrum convivium,
Let us leave behind our transgressions,
Greet our family and friends with love,
Sing praise and thanksgiving,
To a compassionate and loving God.
June 14, 2009
© 2007, Jacqueline Newport, Purple Poetry Path
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With ashes on our foreheads,
we begin our Lenten season,
a humble reminder
of our mortality, and as
the seasons of winter and spring struggle
for control, we spend the next 40 days
being open to God's many graces.
Ashes, dusty and dirty,
falling into our eyes, blinding us, forcing us
to rely on God to lead the way.
Fasting and praying
in the long, dark, winter nights, trying to follow
the faint cancel in the distance, as
we reach out to those walking
with us, we find ourselves dropping our burdens
of anxiety and pain, and
little pieces of ash fall from our foreheads.
Bringing our cans of soup and
pocketful's of change, the sun shines
down on our faces and
little pieces of ash fall from our foreheads.
As disciples in mission,
we pray the Rosary and special Lenten prayers,
as soft, warm, spring breezes, sweep
little pieces of ash from our foreheads.
As Palm Sunday nears,
a time of cleansing rain and warming sun,
we cleanse our souls, by confession
our sins and doing penance, and
little pieces of ash fall from our foreheads.
Preparing for the Sorrowful Mysteries of
Holy Week, our eyes have adjusted to the darkness,
and we walk towards the light, with
little pieces of ash still on our foreheads.
On Holy Thursday,
our spiritual cleansing begins with our feet, as we
bow and offer to help our neighbors, the act of
becoming a lowly servant, removes
little pieces of ash from our foreheads.
On Good Friday,
as we venerate the Cross, proof of
Christ's love for us,
we bow and kiss the Cross, and yet more
little pieces of ash fall from our foreheads.
And lastly, the Easter Vigil,
as we walk into the darkness of the church,
the warm spring air overtakes the cold, winter chill,
sweeping more
little pieces of ash from our foreheads.
Let by the candidates for
Baptism, Confirmation, and First Communion,
we all follow that small candle of light,
recalling the presence of God, in the pillar
of fire and cloud that
led the ancient Hebrews to the Promised Land.
As the light of the church,
blaze brightly in our mole-like blinking eyes,
those singing and praising
Glory to God in the highest, reveal
their sparkling clean, shiny foreheads.
April 5, 2009
© 2007, Jacqueline Newport, Purple Poetry Path
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In a world filled with greed and lusting for power,
We cautiously tread a path filled with hidden land mines,
Each day evil seems to lurk around every corner,
Just waiting to trip us into falling into sin.
The media broadcasts bad news around the world,
Sicknesses of all sorts spread like wildfire,
Burning the minds and hearts of young and old,
Thirsty and hungry, we look to our leaders for help.
As the lines of unemployment stretch longer and longer,
And the cost of loving exceeds our monthly incomes,
We look for a light to protect us from the darkness,
Where love and goodness prevails over justice.
We find solace in the words of Pope John XXIII,
And in the works of our own Mother Foundress,
We find the charism of God’s love and goodness,
In the eyes of the Servants of the Immaculate Heart of Mary.
February 15, 2009
© 2007, Jacqueline Newport, Purple Poetry Path
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The little one, caked with dirt watched,
As a crowd of scribes and Pharisees,
Brought to Jesus, a woman,
Caught in the act of adultery.
As the warm sunlight shown down,
The little one cowered behind the crowd,
As Jesus stooped down and began,
To trace his finger in the sand.
Watching Jesus move his fingers,
Through the fine granules of sand,
Reminded him of the sand and grit,
That covered his own little body.
The little one prayer fervently,
That no one would see him,
As the crowd bent over to pick up,
A missile they planned on throwing.
The air in temple courts suddenly ceased,
As everyone's breathe paused in anticipation,
The only sound was Jesus,
Gently moving the grains of sand.
With a roar of impatience,
The crowd of scribes and Pharisees,
Began to bombard Jesus with questions,
“Now what do you say about her?”
All knew that according to the laws of Moses,
The woman must be stoned to death,
And they hoped for an answer they could use,
To ban Jesus from teaching in the temple.
The little one watched in amazement,
As Jesus slowly rose from the dust,
And spoke to the Scribes and Pharisees,
“Let the one among you who has never sinned,
Be the one to throw the first stone at her.”
Jesus returned to tracing in the sand,
And as his words sank into their hearts,
The stones were transformed,
From condemnation into forgiveness.
All around Him stones slowly fell,
First the elders and then the others,
Stones, hot with guilt, began to melt,
As they absorbed into the soft grains of sand.
A sigh of relief hung motionless in the air,
As she stood waiting for Jesus to speak,
“Did no one condemn you?” He asked,
“No one sir,” was her reply.
Rising up He gently said to her,
“Neither do I condemn you,
Go home and do not sin again,”
Relieved, she turned and left.
Then Jesus turned to the little one,
Picked him up and brushed off the dirt,
“Don't worry little one, no one will be harmed today,”
And He returned the stone to its warm blanket of sand.
February 15, 2009
© 2007, Jacqueline Newport, Purple Poetry Path
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Merciful Father, center of our lives,
You divided up your kingdom,
As a sign of Your love for us.
And then we turned from You,
Chasing neon lights and empty promises,
and focused on the flurry of financial fame.
Unaware, we drown in a sea of lost souls,
Drawn to dry, prayer less people,
Who are full of ego and self-centeredness.
You patiently wait for the day,
We wake from the darkness of bright lights,
And are homesick for the freedom in honest work.
We resolve to return to those who love us,
Content to serve as a hired hand,
We beg forgiveness from those we hurt.
As we travel towards home, He sees us,
A Father filled with goodness and mercy,
Who bestows abundant gifts and graces on us.
Coving us with the finest robes and jewels,
He prepares a bountiful feast just for us,
He showers us with His unconditional love.
Seeing the error of our ways,
We rejoice in the love He gives us,
We vow to share His love and goodness with all.
January 25, 2009
© 2007, Jacqueline Newport, Purple Poetry Path
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Jumbled together in the dark,
A colorful picture painted on the cover,
Were the many pieces of a broken heart.
All different shapes and sizes,
Soft pastels and vibrant hues,
Shades of both morning and night.
Feeling all alone on the shelf,
Crying endless, dry silent tears,
Listlessly waiting with the other puzzles.
Frustrated with each failure,
Tired of being broken,
Desperately wanted to be whole.
Being shuffled and bumped about,
With each new moves and change,
Hollow sounds echoed against the cardboard walls.
Brushing up against compatible pieces,
Somehow unable to connect,
Falling apart, again and again.
Until the day the ceiling disappeared,
Revealing the light from a star,
A bright light shining from the North.
A baby’s cry broke the silence,
And as strong hands reach down,
The pieces fell together.
Healed from the pain and sorrow,
No longer broken into many pieces,
Becoming the picture on the cover.
And as the hand slowly withdrew,
The pieces stayed intact,
Filled with peace from its heavenly Father.
January 11, 2009
© 2007, Jacqueline Newport, Purple Poetry Path
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