Tag Archives: poem

Interrupted by poetry

More Words


Right now I only have is

Is this the start?

Or is this the middle?

It certainly is not the end


That would be has been





That’s happening

We are

Right now happening


In the midst

Of the middle

Before the end

Let’s never end


Be now

Here with me



Interrupted by the Overwhelm and Poetry

So completely overwhelmed, my friends. This morning I went to a beautiful lecture/speech and the speaker said, to the effect anyway, “When we hurt the least of us, we are hurting God. God suffers when the hungry are not fed, when the thirsty do not have water….to help God is to help each other.”

I nearly cried right there and my eyes are suspiciously moist now.

Here’s a poem, written a while back initially that I have been working on for a while.


The Body of Christ


We remember Him by breaking bread or

Is that the way He remembers us? Either way

Breaking is messy – let’s be glad it isn’t glass

Imagine the shards

Stabbing us

The drops of inevitable blood


Instead, today, with each piece pulled free and given,

Tiny crumbs fell to the ground, creating an abundance of memory

Reminding us of dogs who also

Deserve salvation and the birds of the air

And even of mustard seeds


Close your eyes. Wonder about mysteries

Wonder about wholeness that is found

only in the beautiful broken mess and then open your sight

to the cross, to what we are remembering

to Whom was so messily broken for dusty us


Interrupted by poetry

A Song for Maundy Thursday

Under the full moon, His love growing
Never to dim, never to end

Gather together children of light, 
Start with the feet so small in our sight

Under the full moon, His love growing
Never to dim, never to end

Feel the warm water, removing the dirt,
Imagine His hands cleaning your hurt

Under the full moon, His love growing
Never to dim, never to end

Children of Light, tremble in our bones
No skipping now, He’ll find every home

Under the full moon, His love growing
Never to dim, never to end

Sun slowly sinking, the water is drained 
the towels are stained, but His love remains

(note that I almost never normally rhyme, but this poem wants to so there we are as best as possible….)

Time for another poem

John in Prison

The cold stone walls, the slime that grew there, the hard floor, the rags
of rags. His skin red and rough and raw.
He knew it wasn’t going to heal. Not this time.

Way up high, a grate and sometimes a ray of sunlight or
a breath of wind. Dreams of the desert, its cold nights, its
burning sand, endless thirst. Sweetness of honey.

Seeing it all again. They had come. They had repented.
Fathers, sons, daughters, mothers. He remembered
their eyes or their hands, or a tentative foot toeing the water.

Some rising up from the Jordan’s wild and living water with laughter,
some with tears. Some very still, eyes looking around, wet hands gently
touching those that had brought them.

They had been there when his cousin had come and when he had risen
From the water, the glorious stillness – the moment the world seemed
to stop its orbit. Just a moment. Had he merely imagined?

Had it all been for nothing? Imprisoned now, destined for death,
was he merely a fool all along, such vanity, such pride? And nearly too late
the word of what his cousin was doing, of what was seen and heard.

And his dreams turned from the desert to the river.
Each night, swimming in the Jordon, swimming underwater.
Each night a new baptism, as he swam with the fish.

written 12/2/13

We felt sorry for coming and awkward with our hands and

Lack of bandages and sorry about the man who kept

Not making sense and the woman holding a doll instead

Of her baby.


The river of need and hunger; the raw

angry, desperate pain of brokenness. We discovered

Our need for forgiveness was far deeper than expected.


The water cooler, coming up so sweet

Lungs gratefully gulping. The air extra rich

as if a thunderstorm was brewing

and John himself kneeling before the next one to come.