Behold your apathy
Stare deep and you will find
A twinkle of truth in their eyes
Look too long and you will become what you behold
But chase them into the rabbit hole
You will find them seated
At the Throne
Ready to tell the real story
Of what you fear most
The King created them
To magnify our longing
So we can turn
And magnify Him
His body, soon to be broken
My jar, broken for that day
When he pours out His blood for me
So I pour out this fragrance for Him
Preparing Him for Death
While He prepares me for Life
Based on Mark 14:3-9
Brighten my eyes
Give me a telephoto lens
to see You
My eyes will roll back
And I will see only in my head
The belly of the bird isn’t full of seeds
The rays of the sun haven’t shriveled the roots
The grip of the sharp thorn hasn’t stopped his breath
God continue your great deeds
God bring forth bountiful fruits
God keep your servant from death
Jesus be King
You sculpted my heart,
From its atriums to its affections.
My heart is from you, for you, in you
And I keep it from you,
Don’t use it for you,
Forget it is in you.
“Take my heart and let it be, consecrated,
Lord, to thee.”
The ocean cries, “fear the Lord!”
The skies sing, “glory to God!”
The sun proclaims, “all power is His!”
And the tree whispers:
but He doesn’t.”
I watch the second hand
wave at the numbers
as he chases the sun.
I trust him more than I should.
Treetops scraped with sun give
an illusion of fall.
Birds sing a bedtime song
only for kids, not all.
Recently, I completed an eight-week writing mentorship with one of my favorite writers. It was a transformative experience and I feel more confident to step forward and be a more consistent writer. My desire is to write more. During the mentorship, we used the language of “exercising your writing muscles.” Like anyone, parts of my writing “body” are stronger than others. But, to stretch the metaphor even more, there are muscles that don’t see as much activity as others. One of those is poetry and creative reflection. I’m going to start with smaller weights, so as often as I’m able, I’ll be posting micro-poems on Mondays, starting today!
With that introduction, here’s my very first Micro-Poem Monday, entitled Malchus. I hope you enjoy it:
I wonder if the servant
whose ear was cut off
had ears to hear
when the hand of Jesus
cupped his face
as He healed him.
Night is the only time shame is shadowed.
Daylight shines and reveals blood.
I feel like the Nile – a curse upon me for my sin.
The blood will never stop. I’m sure of it.
Twelve years I’ve prayed it would stop.
No priest, no prophet, no doctor – no man can stop my blood.
Blood and shame forever flow.
I’ve shed all this blood and still.
There’s a man on his way to town.
I heard he breaks the law and touches the unclean.
He is no doctor, but people say he heals disease.
I think he’s the one. Today, I’ll try to see him.
The town bustles.
I know Jesus of Nazareth is here.
Oh I see him! He walks down the street with Jarius.
They’re moving quickly – it hurts, my pain is growing.
But I must try, I have nothing to lose.
Jesus is in a hurry.
I shouldn’t interrupt.
The crowd is tight.
I can’t see him.
“Who touched my clothes?”
I know he knows.
“It was me.”
Based on Mark 5:25-34