Birdsong: A Poem
Today’s post is a bit late. Apologies for the delay, but sometimes the day runs wild like horses in Montana.
Maybe beauty can save the world. Maybe it can’t. Whatever the case, the video I shared this week proves the truth: Beauty can break rocks. Today, enjoy a poem inspired by this week’s previous video.
Birdsong
In the church of St. Simon The Tanner,
the guardian of the Kura River,
a choir collected voices as
a passing of peace.
The West sent their Pope,
the East a black-haired girl,
young as the Virgin Mary,
small as a baby bird
until she sang.
Over the drones of her elders
she wailed, throat full of notes,
which rose and fell like
the breaths between sobs.
Her elder, a bearded man,
sang his offering too
and all measured it
an act of power meets power.
But the girl,
it is said by some,
was the water
that broke the Rock.
Grab a Copy and Wake Up
THE BOOK OF WAKING UP —a book on addiction, attachment, and the Divine Love—launched TUESDAY so order a copy or ten at Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Bookish (my favorite indie bookseller). Then, forward this post to a friend and ask them to read along.
Friday Poem: Silence #1
Today, I’m sharing a new poem in my Friday poetry series. This one is still a work in progress. I’m sharing the bones (pun intended) with you. Have thoughts? Send feedback.
Silence #1
Our bones sing songs
heard only in silent cells,
the rooms where the times
cannot reach.
I have heard these songs
in the morning fog,
the mists drowning
the cloying praise of men.
I have heard these songs
in the midnight hours,
mine harmonizing with hers.
Collected, we are a symphony
muted by our louder affections.
***WAKE UP WITH ME***
THE BOOK OF WAKING UP —a book on addiction, attachment, and the Divine Love—launched TUESDAY so order a copy or ten at Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Bookish (my favorite indie bookseller). Then, forward this post to a friend and ask them to read along.
The First Friday Poem: Advent #1
Here I go, carving out a new streak. As I wrote this week, I’m setting out to publish a poem each Friday. Why? Because writing poetry opens my eyes to see the world differently and stretches my imagination. It serves as a creative tool for the examined life, too.
I’ve been working today’s poem since the Advent season, those few weeks between Thanksgiving and Christmas. It was a particularly dark season in some ways, a season in which my family parted ways with a church we’d been members of for a half-decade. (This might explain the tone.) It’s a poem built around the liturgical season of bygone weeks, and it was inspired in part by Gerard Manley Hopkins’ classic poem, “When Kingfishers Catch Fire.”
Advent #1
Hopkins’ Christ played in the places
where the living catch fire,
kingfishers and kin alike.
My Christ stands silent
where the devil dances:
in the copper confusion;
before the Advent candles
burn to the bottom;
before the divine baby
feasts at the ever-virgin’s breast;
before love grows into Knowledge
of how a child’s play
slits the soft stretch
of winter’s throat.
***WAKE UP WITH ME***
THE BOOK OF WAKING UP —a book on addiction, attachment, and the Divine Love—launched TUESDAY so order a copy or ten at Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Bookish (my favorite indie bookseller). Then, forward this post to a friend and ask them to read along.