Doug Taylor-Weiss, a one-time “Evangelical on the Canterbury Trail,” was for more than 30 years a priest in the Episcopal Church serving most recently in Auburn, New York. He entered full communion with the Roman Catholic Church in 2016 and now lives in his native Grand Rapids where he sings in two liturgical choirs with his wife, Debra.
(Friday Hours of the Compassion—Terce) in The Hours of Catherine of Cleves, vol. M, p. 87 Seasoned scenes release their power in yellow. Toward the end the sunset folds away all Footpaths to the city. A pale opossum Lumbers by as if the night will always Fall. There’s a lid—it looks some like a door—laid…
In filtered sunlight footstools even shine.They show in autumn tones their tenebrae,A brown that sparkles—isn’t that so fine!Along with chipper calls, cicadas pray. The peaceful sun’s retirement from this day,This night, leaves nothing lost; days do not die.Instead, night gathers in and up our playIn packets portaged forward, tight and dry. The day’s clear glare…
Participants in gracious comedy, Francesca and Lotario agree, Find Pleasure sat with Duty, king and queen Upon two wine-dark thrones. Aghast at losing Face, each blamed the other. Pleasure, pale And drained, with croak complained, “Six arduous pails Of sweat and tears without one drop of blood,” While Duty, bloated, raised his fiery head To…
When, loud and lauded, grifters drift along Who crease their purple pants and sable jackets, I think to beg my memory for a song That bundles sunshine up in yellow packets. Sometimes, however, all I hear is a racket. When funnel clouds demolish mobile homes, We lose both cozy throws and stylish chromes.
