Unitarian Universalist Church of Silver Spring

Poetry Celebration Sunday

by Lorrain Sorrel, Susan-Marie Stedman, Larry McAneny
service was led by Mary Amato
Service at UUCSS on July 28, 2002

Lorraine Sorrel and Louise Jansen
Larry McAneny
Susan-Marie Stedman
Mary Amato

1. Lorraine Sorrel

My mother was very fond of the Lake Erie. As a child she looked forward to the time she got at her grandmother's cottage. Between visits at the nursing home, I drove to the Lake, and stood on a cliff edge high over shoreless water. I stretched my arms, the Lake and space stretched before me. I followed seagulls low along the wages, birds rushing from over my shoulder to drop…cornering to “land” on water. Thousands bobbing on the lake’s swishing surface. And I was still.

Children on the Shore

It had stormed the night before.
Gran and I scanned suburban track views.
Then six shy cousins eyed the clothes I wore,
Long white stockings and shiny black shoes.

They welcomed me and took me out
To scamper barefoot on the shore,
Showed me a dead, still lovely, rainbow trout,
Washed up that night in the waves’ wild roar.

We gazed with awe on this gem of lake’s bestowing,
Shared a memory that would not pass,
Though I left with pockets overflowing
With shells, white stones, a piece of frosty glass.

“Mommy, Grandpa took me to the beach.
We waked barefoot over sand and grass,
Found shells in the water I could reach,
These stones and a piece of frosty glass.”

“Grandma, Aunt Lynne and I went down by the lake.
We chased Dawg and skipped stones, waded to my knees,
Built a sand castle the night waves will break,
Found this frosty glass. May we go tomorrow, please?

I’m sure near those promised “Many mansions,”
Untroubled by color, creed or class,
God’s children will romp on beach expansions,
Seeking treasures of stone and shell and frosty glass.

© Louise Jansen (Lorraine Sorrel's mother)

Kites on Lake Erie

I.	High flung extensions attached to the universe by string that like a sigh almost isn’t there.
II.	Clouds long and single in blue space glance by uncomprehending the moment of self sent to question or explain existence in a curve ever harmonic
III.	Small, separate and many white lake caps bubble, swish and laugh over emptiness against the sand onto themselves
IV.	We on the shore’s rim as it’s called away between our toes and through our pores are running and still waiting and watching a sign from silent kites earth color bits caught texturing space with form where space is held in blue.

© Lorraine Sorrel

2. Larry McAneny

Company Banquet

Quality managers, quality dinners,
Quality contests with quality winners.
Quality potatoes, quality filets
Salads with quality mayonnaise.
Quality production, quality sales,
Quality awards for dominant males.
Quality customers, quality service
All this quality makes me nervous
Quality leverage for quality biz,
Each quality V. P. a quality whiz
To the cash bars ordering quality drinks...
No quality shown when anyone thinks.

Flame Game

A candle burned at both ends will the sooner be extinguished,
But meanwhile such a candle is especially distinguished.
The joy of conflagration lives in burning twice as bright
And the game seems worth the candle in the dark hours of the night.
Brighter souls seem well content with merely half the glow,
And they can set their candles down, while I cannot let go.
I understand as well as you I’m likely to be burned,
Though self-destruction fascinates, however harshly earned.
Such incandescence, ill-advised, illuminates my riddle:
How may I hold the candle if I also light the middle?

Genesis

If I were God, and God were I,
I’d be Real Good, but God knows why:
My Truth would grace My every lie,
And sins My virtues multiply.

If I were God, and God were me,
I’d torment sinners such as He,
His punishment His crime would be:
Torment everlastingly.

If neither He nor I, but You,
Were God, we’d follow Satan, who
Would right a world now thrown askew
And re-establish gods anew.

Let’s You and I and Him agree:
It is no accident We’re Three.
The way to settle Our Divinity
Is work together as a Trinity.

3. Susan-Marie Stedman

Mountain Call

Cold is the snow in the mountains
Frozen the echoing sky
Strong is the call of the mountains
A yearning I cannot deny
Leave all your cares, your restless thoughts
Walk where the glaciers are old
Come lose yourself in the mountains
And let the wind carry your soul

Clear are the streams in the mountains

Tasting of rock and of tree
Deep is the song of the mountains
Rising, vibrating through me
Sing with the stars, dance with the moon
Stand with the clouds at your feet
Drink the sweet air of the mountains
And close your eyes in quiet peace

4. Mary Amato

Song For Brighid*

Words and Music by Mary Amato

Put the kettle on, and sweep the threshold
Gather up the sweet-smelling straw.
Lay it on the doorway at the moment
When the sun is gone.

Chorus:
Come thou in, Bride,
Thy place is waiting…
Stay with me inside.

Arms are meant to hold or else they’re aching.
Eyes are meant to see other eyes.
Time is passing like a cloud above this
Lonely field of mine.

Why can’t the wind of grace blow my way?
All I’m asking for is one seed.
Tell me where to go, I’ll climb a mountain
If only what should be, could be seen.

I’ll work with my hands until they’re sore,
I’ll give a-way the things I hold dear.
Don’t ask me to bear this emptiness.
Nothing is all that I fear.

*Note: Brighid is the Celtic saint of thresholds. Her nickname was Bride, and there are many legends associated with her. According to one, she was born while her mother was stepping through doorway. She grew up to become a midwife and one legend says that she was Mary’s midwife when Jesus was born. It was common for women to put straw on their thresholds and invite her to “come in,” to bless the house, and to bless all things related to conception and childbirth. A friend of mine has been having trouble getting pregnant and has been trying all sorts of medical technologies. I imagined that if she were living in Old Ireland, the only thing she would be doing would be invoking St. Brighid. This is my song for her.