Poetry

brunswick stew

May 7, 2020 0 Comments

judgement shall not be suspended
measured with colors from your heart
black and white with no grey
humility could have saved us
at any moment before
you were at home
you were at home
saw a black man jogging
grabbed your gun
unlocked your truck
put in the key
turned the ignition
reverse then drive
a neighbour joins you
started down the road
drove past him
parked in the street
exited your vehicle
released the safety
waited for him
we can only suppose
maybe more or less
but here he comes
ambushed him
weapon fired
now he’s fighting 
for his life
he falls he dies
you go home
we can only suppose
damn stew
so familiar
you eat it cold
with your
father
…………………………..
Ahmuad Arbery’s blood cries out 

On 23 February 2020 Ahmaud Arbery went jogging in a community outside of Brunswick Georgia. He was shot dead by a father and son who chased him down. Justice seemed suspended until cell phone video was made public.

Poetry

Just As They Had Been Told

December 16, 2019 0 Comments

Oh this babe wrapped in swaddling cloths
his last breath as vulnerable as his first!
He took up heaven’s cross to be 
wrapped 
in linen cloths. So, 
we might lay down filthy rags 
and be gracefully fitted for 
the robes of those made 
righteous. Praise him. 
Praise him. Praise him!

Jesus, Poetry

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Audience

December 14, 2019 0 Comments

When Anna’s
Hummingbird
holds court 
on the line in
December or
in August do
not hesitate 
to call in on
God directly
as you will.

Poetry, Prayer

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Invitation

December 11, 2019 0 Comments

Oh the delight awaiting children
on the edge of glades filled with light.
That dappled ground stirs no fear for 
those readied by stories told at night.

Every step a soft whisper on deep humus. 
Every large stone a call for sacrifice.
Every tree a witness to the movements.  
Every breeze shaping a truthful heart.

Even now when the wind blows gently 
I feel the persistent press for knowing 
someone ageless pulsing through it all
and tapping out the rhythms for my life.

Creation, Poetry

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Can’t Speak Truth to Power

December 10, 2019 0 Comments

I’m trading my hill songs for street songs.
I’m trading my sweet amens for Lord have mercies.
I’m laying them down for the joy of the Lord.

I’m trading my shiny tables for rugged beams.
I’m trading my nationalisms for kingdom crosses.
I’m laying them down for the joy of the Lord.

And we say yes Lord, yes Lord, yes yes Lord.
Yes Lord, yes Lord, yes yes Lord.

Let’s trade our like-ability for the neighbour’s love. 
Let’s trade our smooth talk for the prophet’s truth.
Let’s lay them down for the joy of the Lord.

And we say come Lord, come Lord, come come Lord.
Come Lord, come Lord, come come Lord.

We hardly know His words from the ground up.
Our quick takes ooze with white house platitudes.
We can’t speak truth to power so our nice words are used.

We are pressed but not crushed
Persecuted not abandoned
Struck down but not destroyed
We are blessed beyond the curse
For His promise will endure
That His joy’s gonna be our strength

And we say help Lord, help Lord, help help Lord.
Help Lord, help Lord, help help Lord.

We’re trading our hill songs for street songs.
We’re trading our sweet amens for Lord have mercies.
We’re laying them down for the joy of the Lord.

Note about the picture: an inset from Edward Hicks’ work, The Falls of Niagara

Note about a previous song quoted and alluded to in this poem: Darrell Evans wrote the song Trading My Sorrows, otherwise known as Yes Lord.

Poetry

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