#devotional poems

[bluemonkwrites]

micro-psalm 24

in the overcast i think i am looking for You but catch my/self mumbling words i want to mean

[thepatchworkcrow]

Parting

When I am gone, my last slow breath Adrift in the room’s stillness there, Do not weep, nor seek, nor deny... Where Death has come, in darkest depth, I’ve risen thence into night’s air, And Hunters lift me up to fly... So find me in whispers of winds That shake the cottonwoods; in light From endless stars on coldest eves. Hear singing- my voice- there adrift On tides crashing in with the night. See green- my eyes- in summer leaves.

And knowing wildness, you’ll know best: I’ve flown with Hunters ever west...

[wanderingjotun]

Devotional Poem: My Taming

When he first came to me,

Masked and robed in

Someone else’s shape,

I fled

In breathless awe of this

Ruthless mythic creature.

Zie did not give chase,

Like some rabid monster

Bent on claiming my flesh

For zir own

(Though that was zir goal

In the end).

No,

This shapeshifter

With bloodied claws and

Star-filled eyes,

Broken heart written

A thousand times in

Every carefree smile,

Extended a hand,

Soft and patient,

Limned with whispered promises

Of safety and welcome.

They wooed me leisurely,

Approaching me time and again

As if I were the creature to be tamed,

With snarling teeth and

Raging bloodlust

(In a way I was:

Lost, angry, feral,

Shedding the skin of so much

Betrayal, hurt, loneliness).

They circled patiently, waiting for the

Time to approach and

Soothe my raised hackles.

Little by little,

So slowly it must have

Driven her mad with desire,

I spiraled toward her wild

Magic: raw, and constantly

Threatening to swallow me whole.

I learned to find comfort in her

Dangerous smile, and to

Trust that she--

In all her undefinable,

Shifting, silken-lie glory--

Wished not to make me a

Broken, lifeless spoil of war,

But to teach me to embrace

My own danger, my own

Bloodied claws and

Star-filled eyes,

Broken heart written

A thousand times in

Blood on the page and

Tears on my cheeks.

I could not have dreamed,

In that time I battered myself against the

Walls of invisible cages in the dark,

That he would be my savior,

The ever-changing constant,

That zie would tend my wounds

Both physical and internal, and

Teach me to stand once more,

Head held high and fangs bared,

That they would claim my flesh,

My soul, my very being,

Not from forcing a bridle on my nose,

But from building a home of

Broken sticks and thunderstorms,

That she would be the rainbow sparks

Dancing in waterfalls,

Drawing me forward,

Or that I would offer myself as

Haughtily as a housecat,

To curl forever in the

Untamed, tangled warmth,

Of Loki.

[bluemonkwrites]

Giants

Not yet blotted, but blurred, every day a grievance, have You regretted my making? For all leaning and tottering is for the corruption of beauty, for the immediate, invited thief of breath.

                       I, the put on, earth deceived more put upon than faulting, fall crying as if gravity was my own invention then stolen by Nephilim I think have not borne me.

[bluemonkwrites]

Too Comfortable

As I read on the couch with legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles, the cat crawls up and rests along my bicep and shoulder requiring a shift in how I hold my cup. I sip the coffee slowly, so the aroma can fill my face. My tongue bathes in tender mystery.

As I tilt the iPad toward me, a squeak or chirp from the other room hits my head like a poorly placed punctuation mark and the exploits of Josiah and the priest Hilkiah are covered by a sound I must investigate. After a brief search, I find the ceiling fan in the girls’ room needs repair. I turn it off and make a mental note to get to it after the rest of the house has awakened.

The sun is rising outside. I see the light just past the porch in my peripheral vision as I return to my seat and cup and purring cat and long paragraphs in Second Kings. Before I can get back to the cleansing of temples of Baal’s and Asherah’s desecrations, a siren, then two, wail close and persistently until finally, I must step onto the porch. After witnessing nothing unusual, just children scurrying to catch the bus, I lumber in and refill my cooled mug.

[bluemonkwrites]

micro-psalm 15

my car’s brakes are broken the vehicle has become a metaphor for fear and decay i’ve too many places to be even in this apartment my mind resists stillness

Lord God, our light, transport me to nightless                    habitation           where lamp and sun are unnecessary

[bluemonkwrites]

Fall on us

July, and the wood is still mostly green. There are no mountains in this part of Texas but those inside my messy apartment and perhaps in my imagination of Austin, so far from us all.

It’s morning, which is supposed to be some kind of metaphor. My plants need water. Maybe me too. Perhaps I will get to that before long.

I’m overdue for an eye exam. Sitting on the warming porch I drink a cup of coffee, but the words get little more in focus.  I know the sun will come out from behind those false rain clouds and scorch even the hill blanketed mothers.

Sometimes I remember my desire/my fear for the last summer when my sins /my Sin will be burned quicker than kindling.

[bluemonkwrites]

Translation Loss

Kill seems such a hard word. I’d ask if it would be okay to render this “don’t hang out with so much,” but You are not a God of halfway measures.  

                          Alright. So what about I start with vices I’ve already conquered, which on second thought is exactly none of them?

I may need to check a few versions over the word greed and whether You really meant that false god thing (which is so Paul). Then again, I’m suddenly remembering twenty plus years of catechism and that pesky Old Testament, so I’ll give You that one. And the others. Sigh and Selah.

Forgive me. I’ve been sick. Blight, I think they call it, the only cure for which is water and a little time outside.