saluto to Carmen Joseph LaBello

This past weekend Carmen LaBello, Sr. passed away.  It was an honor to be able to sing at his memorial service.  I have been moved and inspired by how he lived as an artist and a man of God, offering his brilliance, his creative joy, and his heart to our local church.   This poem is an impressionistic take on the part of his life that I had the privilege to observe, and what I learned from the memorial service.  Many of us church artists have much to learn from his legacy.

a giant

small of stature

a rainbow of paint on his apron

remarkably steady open hands

broad smile and warm Italian countenance

a throwback to Renaissance days

he might have filled galleries

but chose to paint his love of life and God and family

onto the easel of the church

such an eye

capturing reality with accuracy

re-fashioning it with dexterity

an impeccable link from eye to brain

to imagination to hand

and gigantic heart

warming the room by his presence

filling the space with color

shape, shade and perspective

and a Tuscan command of the art of living

his life a masterwork

his community his gallery

splashing color and joy

wherever his brush

his chisel

his smile

and the lively art of conversation

would take him

ah where he arrives now

there must be

canvas-perfetto

and brushes-delicato

and oh

the colors of the light

Buon viaggo, Carmen.

does God whisper

I wrote a short poem for this two minute film that a few of us at the WCA created and produced--
Have you ever had this kind of experience in your own life?

overconfidence

(March11): I posted this poem a week ago.  Now in the light of the Japan earthquake and tsunami, it's a bit chilling to me.


overconfidence


We think that we know

more than the milennia.

That we have outpaced

the aeons. Outgrown

the ages. The curvature

of the earth smiles. Comets

laugh. The galaxies

wink.  Not so fast, the nebulae

whisper. Not so fast.

vapors

I'm learning how strong the connection is between trust and healing...

He could not do any miracles there, except lay his hands on a few sick people and heal them.  And he was amazed at their lack of faith.
   --Mark 6:5-6

vapors

if no faith could be found

when you passed through a town

miracles would be in short supply

Lord you must have worked so hard

wiping your brow

trying to turn over the sputtering engine of healing

on empty fumes of trust

when there wasn’t enough

and when the last vapors of faith dried up

blowing away in a cloud of doubt

did you feel the healing slip away

did you sense the lights of hope go out

oh the frustration in your eyes

when you had to pack up 

and move on

and the sick

just stayed there

sick

roll ahead 

two thousand years 

to now

here we are

eons away from those dusty roads 

can you find a speck of trust

in us?