Thursday, April 30, 2020

Final Poem of PAD Challenge

The Tune of the Moon in the Late Afternoon

Like an actor in the wings awaiting her cue
Peeking ‘round the velvety curtain of blue
Halfway concealed, half in full view
Hear the tune of the moon in the late afternoon

Hastening the darkness so that she might shine
“The Sun’s had his circuit,” she wiltily whines
Then plots a great thieving. “His light shall be mine!”
Sings the tune of the moon in the late afternoon

I take in her opus as the Sun’s bedding down
For I too wait and wail in the wings for a crown
So I praise our shared hope hidden in the sweet sound
Of the tune of the moon in the late afternoon

Wednesday, April 29, 2020

Poem - Total Time Elapsed

Total Time Elapsed

Feeding the frenzy of milliseconds
is a good Captain
kind and compassionate
joyous and jealous
wary and ever-watching --
and all of this is good

Coasting tall on the tides of time
are we misled miscreants
cleverly clueless
insatiably seeking
eternal, yet ending --
and all of this is good

The question is one of what we spend
which the true currency
mammon or moments?
riches or routines?
what’s spent, what’s kept
and which of these is good

And in the end comes an accounting
of total time elapsed
of words tendered as wages
of talents long expended
of trust nailed to the Perfect
and of Who is reckoned good

Tuesday, April 21, 2020

A Love Poem

A Love Poem

The Love that shaped the earth’s foundations
and beckoned forth Life’s living fountain
and held up the Hill of the Skull
calls out to me
my ears gone dull and defiant
as I battle for faux height in a land of faux giants
and jockey for might and position
grieving and graying in vile indecision
and yet Love’s echo
the sound is sweet
but to a broken vessel, foreign
Love will pour in every ounce of
good to become known and
understood and to take back
what Love has always owned
and isn’t that lovely?
that while I was trying to scale heights
someOne yet above me was
pressing down
pressing hard to keep me grounded
and tangled in that Vine by which
the finest of Love nourishes

Wednesday, April 15, 2020

Trying to Pray

Image by Free-Photos from Pixabay.

A poem on a hard day.

Like a Dream, But Holy

She closed her eyes in prayer
and found behind those eyelids
no clear image 
all was warped greyish-brown
as if subliminal sludge were
dripping across her mind’s eye
muddying her God-eye
her ethereal focus all blurred and distorted

She parted her lips to petition
and felt a greedy quicksand
seize her penitent tongue
dragging the words away to
the abyss
those determined whispers unable to
fly their verses to the heavens

Her pleading became beyond --
beyond sensory and
past human effort --
into groanings of Spirit-depth
like a dream uncontrollable but holy 
and this blind, mute seeker --
she tries to trust that the Helper will be
sufficient for these weak days
filled with murky, music-less invocations

Sunday, April 12, 2020

Holy Week Poems - Easter Sunday

Image by Oberholster Venita from Pixaby.


See the place where He lay --
it's empty,
so run with the news!
Falter not at death's broken shackles lying about. 
Stumble not at loss of eloquent phrase.
Be plunged deep into believing waters
and rise with resurrection songs on the tongue.
See the place where you once had lain --
it's empty,
so run with the news!

Saturday, April 11, 2020

Holy Week Poems - Saturday

Image by Pexels from Pixaby

A Day in Between

in the
silence this
holy Sabbath.
Strain your soul and hear
fear fading to freedom
in the hours lodged between
the vile wrenching and the rising.

Friday, April 10, 2020

Holy Week Poems - Good Friday

Image by congerdesign from Pixaby


Abram set his eyes on the twinkling stars
to count his promised progeny.

Messiah was swallowed in shadows as the sun itself died at midday.

Moses commanded the children’s doorposts
be clothed in a sacred lamb’s blood.

In agony, the true Lamb of God bathed humanity in His own lifeblood.

David wielded a harp and a lyre
and carefully led his cherished lambs.

The Son of David bore the mode of His own execution
and was Himself slaughtered before the eyes of His beloved flock.

All of ancient holy writ angles toward this
to this ghastly moment
the putrid wine
the violence
the confusion and chaos
the sound of crushing
the infinite abandonment
on that Good Friday fuming with dashed hopes.

And we have caressed and cradled iniquities,
coddling, nurturing rebellious stains.

This Rescuer took them from us, strapped the offenses to Himself
and murdered them all in His own demise.


Thursday, April 9, 2020

Holy Week Poems - Thursday

Image by Leandro De Carvalho from Pixaby

Holy Thursday

Arrange the table, prep the meal
A few more grains descend
Lean in close t’ward sweet reveal
Oh, sacrament, begin

Sing and pray, then take some rest
While blood drops fall as sand
Upon this field of violence
Of combat, soul and hand

Then follow on, yet stand apart
Beware the watchful eye
Acidic lies slide off the tongue
While fading hours slip by

But morning's call doth break the spell
Confront thy sin . . . and cry

Wednesday, April 8, 2020

Holy Week Poems - Wednesday

Photo by Ernie A. Stephens from Pixabay

Two Wednesdays

Crawl carefully back across the timeline
to a holy Wednesday sandwiched between
parades and persecution
The bustle in the sacred city continues and
an unseen treachery is taking root
yet the Word keeps His mid-week agenda under wraps
Peeking around the shadows of silence
we hungry followers plead,
“Tell us now, please,
What are You up to in this day, Lord?
What is Your perfect plan on this Wednesday?”
No reply – we are left to wonder

Then whiplash now into today, dear one,
to this messy bend in a week stuffed full
of fear and press briefings and bland busyness
This mute mood distracts us from our distractions
as we battle the depths inside a different kind of silence
The frenetic movements are quieter today
and so we hungry followers plead,
“Tell us now, please,
What are You up to right now, Lord?
For heaven’s sake, what is Your perfect plan doing on this Wednesday?”
Wisdom offers no audible reply just yet
so we repent 
we worship
in hope, we wait

Tuesday, April 7, 2020

Holy Week Poems - Tuesday

Holy Week - Tuesday

Come walk the way of holy feast
Bask in the words of thy High Priest
Ponder a fig tree so soon deceased
As Tuesday rolls around

The grimy grip of jealous hate --
Whilst vilest demons salivate --
In His countrymen, doth lie in wait
To steal His rightful crown

But stay yet watchful, humble souls,
And trim your lamps with ample oil
Your name’s writ on celestial roll
Soon evil will be bound

For you hear Him counter each wayward plea
With His Self-ordained authority
So, mountains, get thee to the sea!
The King has come to town!

It's our bi-yearly Poem-A-Day writing time during April. I haven't been staying on prompt too well, but I think the topics of the day and especially the greater topics of this special week warrant their own works. I pray you are all well and leaning in to the Lord in these exceedingly strange days.