Untitled Number Nine

Gentle Reader,

Participated in a craft fair this past weekend. Managed to sell more books than I gave away, but none went for consistent prices. (Never go into business with me). The experience has got me both looking through old, unpublished poems and beginning to scratch out new ones. I reveal not which the following is, for half the interest in poetry is in the interpretation.

While all art is contextual, tied to a specific place and moment, it is also universal, transcending boundaries and speaking the language common to all. And the truth is, we suffer. We battle.

Plutarch wrote, “Painting is silent poetry, and poetry is painting that speaks.” May the following conjure up a clear image in your mind. May you find Jesus there.

What do you do
When you’re trapped in a storm
That nobody else can see?
What do you do
When it takes all you’ve got
To stay afloat in the sea?

Arms wrapped tight ’round
Center mast of the ship
Feet continually slipping
Gales pasting hair to face
Filled with howls, screeches
A voice, against faith chipping

There is no meter to capture
The scene playing in mind’s eye
Nor prose that’s fit to express
The beating up of the heart
The bruising of the soul
The ever deepening distress

God, I pray You grant perception
To someone with grace to move
To walk in steady love
To be the hands and feet of You
Just as was designed
On mission from above

Because, I can’t stand on my own
Just one push away from falling
Hands already bleeding
From hanging on for dear life
Oh, Lord! Please, I beg,
Respond now to my pleading

…the members would have the same concern for each other. So if one member suffers, all the members suffer with it…

– 1 Corinthians 12:25b-26a



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