Friday, June 15, 2012

Intolerable Compliment: A Book Poem

Divine molder of persons
Blessed cleanser of stains
You loved me into loveliness
And these fires under my eyes
And across my back
Are gifts you’ve given
The love that will not let me go
Great straightener of crooked lines
Holy un-breaker
Break down even the idols I’ve wrapped my heart around
And when you wound, I thank you.
For by your power and grace you weep for my weeping
Powerful scribe of my sorrows
Amazing bottler of my tears
For in and around and after pain
Blossoms unconventional joy unbridled
Too lovely for this sinner, too bright
Too often I’ve wished for love diminished
Mighty maker of magnificence
Even in this corpse
Even in my deadness
Sweet savior if you must, mend me
Refine me till the day I kneel before you
And love seen through dark glass
Made clear before my face

   I wrote this poem in response to chapter three of C.S. Lewis's The Problem of Pain. I am currently reading that book with a friend from Virginia and we are sharing our thoughts and feelings and analyzings and musings and speculations on our shared blog. You should check us out. After we finish The Problem of Pain we'll be reading A Grief Observed (also by Mr. Lewis), to get the emotional and pastoral side of suffering instead of the theological and philosophical aspects of it. 

Tuesday, June 12, 2012


Carrie should skip this because she doesn't like reading about heat. ;-)

I welcome in the wet heat
And it’s a jungle out there
I even hear the monkeys
Perhaps this unopened door
Has hid the rainforest all along
The mugginess like a blanket
Softening the wind song
Disturbing the insects
Making us all feel foreign
The glass door is cracked
And jungle winds have entered
Bringing a wasp and the biggest fly
I’ve ever seen in the jungle
The air so full of moisture
It feels like lies
The windows sweat despite the open door
Out of which the monkeys call
No other creature makes this sound
If I’m silent I feel drumbeats
I can even hear the wetness

Monday, June 11, 2012

To the Unnamed Atheist

Whispers of intentional disrepair
Lawless effigies of science
Set up in stalwart un-trustworthiness 
Cling here
Because the storm is a’coming
But they won’t save you
Doubt floods your mind and you wonder
Whether your accusings of a closed mind
Point back at you with the same fingers
You jab in the eyes of the faithful
You are blind
In your whisperings, your musings
In the garden
Did God really say
Did God really
Did God
Create this world just to fall into disrepair
You’ve repaired his world in your image
His son recast in your own womb
And in his place you’ve raised stones and grass and atoms and
A vacuum
Nature and nature’s God abhors this

Friday, June 1, 2012

Bird Fight

And her feathers were ruffled before
So I stared into middle distance
I’ve been painted here once or twice
Over this bustling street
Straight down is the thrill
Of rushing past a moving car
I sneak a peek over my wingblade
Serene and confidant that I will never take flight
She preens and pretends
Two can play at this game
And I watch the passing road monsters
Below our twig-like feet

   I drove under a street lamp the other day with two birds on it completely ignoring one another. It was hilarious. Optimistic Existentialist might find this pretty funny. 
   Birds come up often in what I write, but this is not the first failed bird-romance I've ever written. This one was.