Mary, Mother of Jesus

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“It is not metres, but a metre-making argument that makes a poem – a thought so passionate and alive, that, like the spirit of a plant or an animal, it has an architecture of its own, and adorns nature with a new thing … thought and form are equal in the order of time, but in the order of genesis the thought is prior to the form.”
~ Ralph Waldo Emerson

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Madonna and Baby Jesus…the supreme subject…

Some call her Mary; others call her Madonna or the mother of Jesus.
She was frail, gentle and absolute, little Jesus was her first work of art.
The toddler probably wondered why some crawled and became twisted like broken branches when in his presence.

He smiled at them and their limbs grew strong, he never knew the hunger of man, for angels nourished him with poppies, and lilacs, and man’s love, which sustained him. While his mother scribbled and scrawled poetic verses that drifted from his mouth like clouds, his eyes were filled with fire when talking to his own invisible heart, his God, just like any other wandering poet.

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