Triduum: a #Tanaga-prose #haibun


courtesy of the National Catholic Register


Holy Thursday. My intention to attend mass collides with our exhaustion. Mira and I both have not slept well the past two nights–she worse off than me. A simple marinara penne with tilapia and shrimp, a bountiful glass of burgundy or three, and our inevitable crash on the couch is our anemic celebration. I try not to hear Christ’s admonition: “the spirit is willing, but the flesh is week.”


Could you not keep watch with me?

Will all of you stay sleeping?

While I bear this symphony,

this funeral bell ringing?


Good Friday. An early morning mist fills the backyard. Slick grass and wet-stained pavers mark the passing rain. The sun tries once to shine through the gathered clouds, to no avail. But the songbirds still sing. I drive Frank to his track team practice, and I pick him up from it. Somehow these mundane activities are my whistling past an open grave. We will celebrate the Lord’s Passion at three. But until then? Another day off. No contemplation of the trancendant becoming eminant, of Life dying to reconcile the ignornant dying to Life.


My spilt blood upon the stones

My arms outstretched and nailed down

I give up this life on my own

for love, my eternal crown


Holy Saturday. We have no pets to be blessed. Simply the time to wait. Soon, we will stand beside the sacred fire. Our candelight procession will enter a dark Church. Soon will come the readings of Jewish scriptures, anticipating the mystery of Easter, which we all gather to celebrate at last.


See the harrowing of hell

the gates of Life thrown open

mystery for you to tell

and celebrate so often


Easter Vigil

first bloom of tulips

in the morning


for dVerse Poets Pub MTB–Tanaga, pubtended by Frank Hubney

and With Real Toads’ Fireblossom Friday–Poetic Imagery

UPDATE: and my current #Haikai Challenge







29 replies »

  1. Happy Easter, Frank. This took me back to my teens, and going to church at Easter, with new shoes and dress, and white gloves to the wrist. Singing in the choir – the Magnificat and the Halleluiah chorus – was sublime. Transcendent.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. And why shouldn’t the host always participate?

    Holy days seem to capture all of us somehow… the little prodding of guilt that some of us perhaps follow less than more? Is all that guilt really necessary as long as we are good people?

    I made a ‘care package’ for a friend who could not dine with our own celebratory dinner. Special delivery with Daffodils included.
    Tulips aren’t quite up yet.

    I really like how you mixed the forms – something my rebellious soul loves to do.

    Liked by 1 person

  3. A contemplative journey through Holy Week, the end of his days leading to the new beginning. The descriptive atmosphere seemed to fit your helplessness at what to do while your Lord suffered, especially the point made about whistling past an open grave. I hope you had a blessed Easter of tulips blooming and I wish you a joyful Easter season. No one can take away the joy given to us by God:)

    Liked by 1 person

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