A Poem for Daniel Berrigan, SJ

The love of justice and mercy
are inseparable.
The God of Justice and the God of Mercy
are one and the same.

And so,
put on your coat and shoes
to meet
the many kinds of people
that God is in love with-
and know
they may not know it yet.

Be kind and gentle
with the radical and jarring news
of a love beyond imagining.

Because this people may not be able
to see or hear or feel
because of their pain,
be gentle-
yet firm-
with the shocking
good news
of this active and radical love.

~D Gregory Smith

Poem for Tuesday


I notice the green turning brown
and the windy warmth of the dry
air that says “Montana, it’s August.”

It’s nowhere else, this feeling
that asphalt and lichen are creeping,
both oozing across their rocks.

That rodents start storing and
birds empty the feeder in record
time; nameless, timeless hoarding.

It’s the movement of the heat
that keeps it interesting- it’s exactly
what movement always does.

The dance, the  sway of the
breezing brush throwing out its
eager arms for dry sun, it calls me.

The voice is raspy, smoky even,
as it pulls me in to the story of
mountains and stream beds and meadows.

I love the smell of it all-of the green
and the brown that hits my nose now,
knowing I can wait and watch with the birds

and the rabbits and the trees and the
streams and the green and the brown, for
the still promise of orange and yellow and white.

~D Gregory Smith

Cpl. Andrew Wilfahrt- Gay Servicemember Died For His Country

A very powerful video about LGBT persons being able to do whatever thay’d like.

“He wanted to go, so that someone with kids and a family
wouldn’t have to.”

It Will Not Be The Same
A Poem For Andrew Wilfahrt

It will not be the same for us as for other lovers.

There’ll be no babe born when you’re nine months absent,
Six of them maybe spent under cold clay.

Nor will I share your picture with the men.
They’ll say, “This is Mary.
And young Tom.”
We’ll smile and say he’s the image of his dad.
“This is my Dora. We’ll be wed, soon as I’m home.”
We’ll toast them with watery tea, trying not to show
We don’t believe he’ll ever get back.
They’ll never hear,
“This is my Freddie. Isn’t he a peach?”

And yet our blood is just as red
And it’ll flow just as freely when the bullets fly

We’ll give our lives the same
For our country
For our families
For the sake of those who condemn us and want us dead
We’ll die to keep them safe,
Not to satisfy a god they’ve made in their own image.

It will not be the same for us as for other lovers.
But you are no less a man because of me
And I am not diminished because of you.

~Charlie Cochrane

Update: More from Cpl Wilfahrt’s father here.

Of December

You start, for me, with curved red ribbon and candles

and darkness- a cold, bitter night, made

sweeter with life

holding on.


You end with champagne and hats, horns and music,

sometimes, fireworks-

and if we’re premature,

a kiss.


In between, it’s expectation and the delight of a

perfectly chosen gift- the taste, the

sound, the smell of blessings,

even small.


The magic of the northern lights and snow (for me),

trees and children with questions

I have patience

to answer.


The poor eating a few more meals and travelers

taken in more easily, gladly maybe,

the precedent heavily

in mind.


Yours is the crispness of life, different and quiet

but still there- awaiting the notice of

a passing eye simply, the

sly patience

of truth.