“I REMEMBER a house where all were good
To me, God knows, deserving no such thing:
Comforting smell breathed at very entering,
Fetched fresh, as I suppose, off some sweet wood.
That cordial air made those kind people a hood
All over, as a bevy of eggs the mothering wing
Will, or mild nights the new morsels of spring:
Why, it seemed of course; seemed of right it should.

Lovely the woods, waters, meadows, combes, vales,
All the air things wear that build this world of Wales;
Only the inmate does not correspond:
God, lover of souls, swaying considerate scales,
Complete thy creature dear O where it fails,
Being mighty a master, being a father and fond.”

– Gerald Manley Hopkins, 1844-1889

Gerard Manley Hopkins, (poet in bronze), 2005....

Gerard Manley Hopkins, (poet in bronze), 2005. Slightly larger than life-size. Regis University, Denver, Colorado. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)




A sacred healing space for broken
pilgrims from Asia
rises on a
stretch of virgin land in Monte Maria
– land of the Filipina –
Thousands come together
To hear the preacher-healer
A humble priest from the area.
He touches and a spell
Comes upon them; I fell
As soon as I saw him before me
In a makeshift marquee:
We then stood in awe and glee.

Uplifted spiritually
I ask the Lady of Monte Maria to pray for me.

© Millicent Danker
19 August 2012 / 22 May 2013


Willingly have I yielded
to your strong will
for me;
Knowing full well
you are
the supreme shepherd.
Yet your green pastures seem not
for me, but

Shepherd in Făgăraş Mountains, Romania

Shepherd in Făgăraş Mountains, Romania (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

only the dark angst
of earthly sufferings.

A broken lamb,
nine years long.

Gather me unto thy breast, and so nurture me.

© Millicent Danker
19 May 2013


fresco at the Karlskirche in vienna (by Johann...

Fresco at the Karlskirche in Vienna (by Johann Michael Rottmayr) (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Do not fear the fire in your belly:
That shaft of flame rising
or the burning tongues on your head,
leaping, tickling;
It is the shakti that stirs –
the paraclete.
Who wakens the sleeping spirit
and warms the chakras?
Is that the chi I see
now snaking up like bolt of energy?
Where is my God in all of this?

He waits inside in secret.

© Millicent Danker
18 May 2013


When we have some white wine that we can bite into

We’d like green olives on the side:

A bit of bread, a violinist

A cobbled street besides –

Near tourists and a pigeon or two

Hearts in tumult, waiting

For a message from above:

Promises of the Word – a sign, a sighting!

Thanking him for breath and life

For food and drink, for sound and sight;

Sunday in ancient Covent Garden

Is where my body fades but my soul takes flight.

© Millicent Danker

27 June 2004 / 12 May 2013

Covent Garden Market by Balthazar Nebot, 1737

Covent Garden Market by Balthazar Nebot, 1737 (Photo credit: Wikipedia)


They tell a tragic tale, flowing from fearful depths

They close out pain and shut the dark

They help you rest, refresh;

They silence life, cut me off, will not open, if they wish.

They transport you away

Eyes closed

Eyes closed (Photo credit: @Doug88888)

To garden of celestial play

Struck with searing flashlight

They show life with no sight.

Seeing and unseeing, stared into mine

Averted and distorted, they are sublime

Held, they bring you to your prime.

They filter your chaos and the drama of the world

*Shakti-filled, they liquefy, turn into gold

Blind to the faults of men, like Brahman.**

They are the Eyes.

The windows of your Soul.

The mirrors of your God.


*Vedic meaning: energy


© Millicent Danker

5 April 1999 / 7 May 2013