Here is a sonnet that came to me earlier in the week. You may listen to me read it via the player below.
Set as the keel, He was placed between two Ends, and into His arms, He took His crew; As a ship, He bore them into the sea Within the hold of his keel and beam.
Though waves break over, He holds them above As on dry ground, He bears them through flood— Keeps them sunward; though dark, grey clouds roll, The arms of his beam keeps them safe in His hold.
They do not see Him; He bears neath the waves— Acquainted with grief, passed into the grave, His body stretched ‘cross keel and beam, Then tossed as a Jonah into the sea Where He bears them safe to His harbor’s fold, And they bear Him in the Supper they hold.
This past Advent and Christmas season, the Almond Tree Artist Collective has been engaged in creating works based on weekly prompts taken from Isaiah 40:1-5 which reads,
Comfort, comfort my people, says your God. Speak tenderly to Jerusalem, and cry to her that her warfare is ended, that her iniquity is pardoned, that she has received from the LORD’S hand double for all her sins.
A voice cries: “In the wilderness prepare the way of the LORD; make straight in the desert a highway for our God. Every valley shall be lifted up, and every mountain and hill be made low; the uneven ground shall become level, and the rough places a plain. And the glory of the LORD shall be revealed, and all flesh shall see it together, for the mouth of the LORD has spoken.”
As a pastor, it has been a very busy month, and I have not been able to keep up with the prompts, but now that the holidays have begun, I’ve been able to finish what I started. I believe this is 75% done, but I give you fair warning. This is by far the longest poem I’ve written, and it is my first attempt at common measure (or meter) which lends itself to lyrics that read more like a ballad. (Fun fact: you can sing common meter lyrics to the tunes of “Amazing Grace,” “House of the Rising Sun,” and alas, “The Ballad of Gilligan’s Island.” If you’ve made it this far, you may listen to me read this five and half minute poem via the player below. Have mercy.
I. Comfort
When all the world has been torn down, When all Her glory, lost, Speak Comfort, Comfort to the town Who to the sea was tossed.
Away in chains to Babylon Her townsfolk, tied and led Cast from the garden land and home Into a living death.
We pass through sea, to foreign lands Where accents strike our ears, We pine by banks beached on the sand And salt its shore with tears.
They asked of us to sing a song— A song we sang in Zion; We choke on words, weep for the wrongs, The shame of Judah’s lion.
Speak, Comfort, Comfort, to my own The Lord says, tenderly, To Jerusalem cast down I’ll draw her from the sea.
II. Proclaim
Proclaim to her, say it now, Mercy comes tomorrow; He’ll break your yoke, unhook the plough, Wipe your tears of sorrow.
Speak Comfort, Comfort, day has come Your ransom’s paid in full; Your time of service is now done; The balance paid, double.
It’s finished; Yes, there is no more— Both debt and due are paid; Your Hope through Achor’s valley door Has made for you a way.
Daughter Jerusalem, my son, Judah, come take my hand; The blessing lost, I now have won— Return you to the Land.
IIII. Wilderness
A desert voice, a herald cries, Prepare, Prepare today Come, by Him who lives yet dies Come through the desert way.
Through death, not ‘round, your victory Not by the coastal road— A straight highway through desert sea, The highway of our God.
Elijah, come and turn the hearts Of fathers to the children; Desire pierce with longing’s darts Wound with love, the nations.
Make straight the way from Galilee The land of the Gentiles, From nations far beyond the Sea Return from your exile.
Comfort, Comfort prepare the way— A highway for our God; Come by the narrow, Eastern way Back from the land of Nod.
IV. Justice
From Euphrates’ garden banks Pack your years of burdens Return, Return, join with the ranks Who take to Him their hurtings.
When you come to the desert shore Fear not the waves of sand, He shall level the desert floor, Return you to the Land.
Look not to the mountain’s heights Where others lay idle, And give themselves to their delights, Revelry, unbridled.
He shall bring down the proud who boast And lift up the lowly; He shall make of least, the most— Make the common, holy.
But what of death’s deep, dark defile? How can we e’er pass through? Though our descent goes on for miles, In life, He’ll raise unto.
The valley’s shall exalted be; The mountains shall be lowed; Enslaved, her captives shall be freed, And gentle made the road.
She’ll mount on wings, shall fly amain, Renewed, soar as eagles The mountain way be made a plain Those Not, now made, My People.
V. Glory
And all of them shall surely see My Glory when revealed; The Way that passes through the sea— The stripes He bore that healed.
The glory I’ve to show the world Is glory not of man, A banquet banner, love unfurled, Crowned head, pierced feet and hand.
Will you perceive the love I bear Or of it be ashamed? Shall in it boast? Cherish? Hold dear? Lift up? Deny? Disclaim?
True, the Word the Lord has spoken, Shall surely come to pass; His promise shall ne’er be broken; He shall redeem at last.
Speak Comfort, Comfort, tenderly, Your Lord shall bring you home; He shall not burden but gently lead The mothers with their young.
The prompt for Day 18’s Poem a Day Challenge hosted by The Poetry Pub, is “harmattan” which the dusty NE wind that blows through West Africa in the winter. The dryness and dustiness can provide a metaphor to a heart condition that I experience when I am especially tired after a day of ministry.
Also, ever since I saw Larry Gatlin talk about Kris Kristofferson’s song “Sunday Morning Comin’ Down” I’ve been fascinated with the lyrics and the story. The last two stanzas are heavily burrowed (copied?) from his song. For a pastor, it isn’t Sunday mornings coming down after a Saturday night that is difficult, it is the coming down on Sunday evening after a full Sunday.
Things are sometimes difficult. I am grateful for the Good Shepherd who says, “Come to me all you who are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.”
You may listen to me read the poem via the player below.
The Day 17 Prompt for The Poetry Pub’s November Poem a Day Challenge is a Form Friday prompt. The poetic form is “terza rima” — a form invented by Dante Alighieri which he employs in his Divine Comedy. This poem I’ve actually been working on for four years since attending a summer class at Regent College. The class and the eight late July days in Vancouver were some of the most refreshing days I’ve experienced. Indebted doesn’t capture my gratitude for the instructor and his example. I didn’t know any living poet-priest/pastors out there. His example gave me permission, and it has made all the difference. So, here’s to Second Joy, which happens to be the subject’s Yoruba first name.
You may listen to me read the poem via the player below.
with backward mutters of dissevering power 