P o e t r y

Ocean

My love rises and falls
an ocean of unplumbed longings
and new horizons--
hope of life
upon distant shores.

Islands of my doubt
emerge like shadows—-
black,
threatening,
on the edge of the sunset sky.

A gull cries
yearning,
hoping,
and mourns—-
my tormented soul aloft
on the wings of desire.

The deeps rise,
boiling,
foaming,
and crash—
in expectation
on the sands of my heart.

Yet most of the time
I am still floating,
drifting—-
dead wood
on the tides of life.

And I wonder
where is the fabled ocean?

Then black clouds fill my horizon—
and I sing
as I am tossed
upon the rising deeps,
stung by the cry of the gull;
for I find myself carried by you—-
a ship safe
in the port of His arms.

- Yi-Jien Hwa

George Herbert on Prayer

PRAYER. (I)         

PRAYER the Churches banquet, Angels age,
        Gods breath in man returning to his birth,
        The soul in paraphrase, heart in pilgrimage,
The Christian plummet sounding heav’n and earth ;

Engine against th’ Almightie, sinner's towre,
        Reversed thunder, Christ-side-piercing spear,
        The six daies world-transposing in an houre,
A kinde of tune, which all things heare and fear ;

Softnesse, and peace, and joy, and love, and blisse,
        Exalted Manna, gladnesse of the best,
        Heaven in ordinarie, man well drest,
The milkie way, the bird of Paradise,

        Church-bels beyond the stars heard, the souls bloud,
        The land of spices, something understood.

George Herbert-- 1593-1633

Trains

trains - by Kasey Martin

            Descend into time, down into this place of fury and darkness.  Deliver me from thoughts of evil, from the tragedies of this place. . .

            The trains run on time here, for the most part.  The silver streaks split the air and silence with their own quiet rush and searching lights.  People pile on at their predetermined stops and carry themselves to the rear of the trains, or line the sides.  Anything to stay away from the front, the middle, and all the places attention comes to bear.  Some are swift enough not to be seen; others meander about in the middle, or towards the front in the hypnotic and dizzying light and are quickly taken away.  Like a buzz in the back of your mind.  Like that quiet hum you hear when you’re exhausted and too tired to think, but know you’ve forgotten yourself; so is the sound as the people vanish. 

            Only their watches remain.  Where they are going time must not mean a thing.  From the back and pressing sides, sounds are heard; murmurings much like that which was heard in those days before the trains.  Sounds from the outside, but dulled here and somehow different.  Again, like you might hear in a dream, but there is no joy found in them and most passengers rush from the sounds to the front or middle and they, like so many before them, are taken away.  Slowly, like the time spent waking from a long night’s rest, the train comes to its quiet halt.  Those remaining seem to wait with a mixture of hope and fear, and as they sit the roof of the train suddenly recedes with the light becoming more blinding and relentless as it engulfs all the passengers who remain.  Like a long canyon fire the train is consumed and we all awake amidst dizzying heights minds have yet to conceive.  There the voice is finally heard from the all but blinding light and slow perception comes as we all begin to see what we would swear was never there before and we begin to forget the days and the time and the trains.

This poem was sent to me by Kasey Martin a wonderful poet here at Asbury. What do you think about how he uses time as a metaphor?

"Freedom March"

"Freedom March"

Last night I had a dream, I marched with Dr. King

A night of love and peace and a troopers smirking stare

There were others, John Lewis and Andrew Young were there

We held hands marching from the Dexter Avenue Church Square

We sang songs of freedom rides, Selma, and the Albany Jail

How long, not long, tonight there is little despair

How far, not far, riding the freedom trail

How long, not long, just a few more miles to lift segregation’s veil

Tonight is quite, peaceful, still, and calm

Tonight there will be no basement church bomb

We prayed for Meredith and Medgar under a street sign

All those to the west past the Mississippi line

Martin laughed and spoke it sounded like a heavenly voice

Others raised their hands and spoke; it was a moment to rejoice

As we walk we began to sing "Freedom train" and "Why I must live in chains"

We are going to break Alabama tonight; this is more than a political campaign

So onward we march, we walk from darkness to light

So onward we march, for Bob Moses and voting rights

So onward we march, until we part this segregated sea

So onward we march, until we are home, until we are free

- Ray Nothstine

He Is Comfort

I'm not really sure if this site is ready to go, but after a mildly traumatic day yesterday I needed to share my vision of God as it stands today.
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Spring, sun, filled with laughter
He is comfort

Warm, secure, silent vigil
He is comfort

Praise, shout, lifted voices
He is comfort

Fear, lonely, unsure endings
He is comfort

Trials, troubles, life unruly
He is comfort

Storms, quakes, unknown forces
He is comfort

Love, pure, never changing
He is comfort

Valentine's Day Verse

John Donne, 1572-1631, born to a prominent Catholic family in anti-Catholic England, endured a tumultuous life of faith and hardship despite tremendous opportunities. He wrote prolifically. One of his best known poems, "Batter my heart, three-person'd God," appears below. Because the greatest way to grow as a poet is to read great poets and poetry, we aim to release a stream of the greats on our blog in the days ahead. Read more of John Donne

Batter my heart, three-person'd God ; for you
As yet but knock ; breathe, shine, and seek to mend ;
That I may rise, and stand, o'erthrow me, and bend
Your force, to break, blow, burn, and make me new.
I, like an usurp'd town, to another due,
Labour to admit you, but O, to no end.
Reason, your viceroy in me, me should defend,
But is captived, and proves weak or untrue.
Yet dearly I love you, and would be loved fain,
But am betroth'd unto your enemy ;
Divorce me, untie, or break that knot again,
Take me to you, imprison me, for I,
Except you enthrall me, never shall be free,
Nor ever chaste, except you ravish me.

RSVP

RSVP

To move from fast to feast,
From ashes to riding an ass,
From wilderness wandering
God’s willingness wondering
To follow the way of the cross
To find what was utterly lost
All this was Lent to us.

The cup not passed over
By our Passover
The vinegar he willingly drank—
But through gift divine
New covenant wine
Came forth from his side as he sank
All this was given to us

Through breaking of bread
They knew their head
The joy of new life begun
From out of the depths,
From out of his death
His people one loaf had become
All this was food for us.

Lent leads to Easter
The faster turns feaster
A foretaste for those in the dust
A bread with new leaven
The manna from heaven
All this has risen for us.

Come now to the dinner
Come saint and come sinner,
The meal is now served to us.

Lent 1982
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God’s ways are not our ways,
Our eyes can not see,
The logic of love,
Nailed to a tree

Ben Witherington III is a professor of New Testament Interpretation at Asbury. . . . and a marvelous poet. He coauthored a book called The Poetry of Piety which we will be talking about more here later.

Musings

Here is a wonderful Poem by Dan Lowe, a Junior here at Asbury:

where are the tears of the many masses

for the healing of the broken hearted;

have the cries that will bring walls crashing

passed with the dearly departed?

faint whispers in the land of the living

and echoes floating on a lonely wind

are shadows of hearts that once were giving

more to this life than offerings for sin.

so cries for holiness in a desert land

are muffled by apathetic delight

and masses are left feasting upon sand

left alone in the cold of the deep dark night.

Fasting

I am being called into the classroom of the Spirit. Fasting is one of the means of "showing up" for class. Some of my learnings are unfolding in the poem below. In my mind I was writing in the spirit of George Herbert's marvelous poem on prayer in which he layers image upon image to paint a picture.

Feeding empty with Fullness
Indulgence aside
Tasting weakness
Shattering pride

Spiritual Gasping
Ironic Self Care
Inhaling Mercy
Exhaling prayer

Hungering knowing
beyond taste's delight
Divine craving
Soul's appetite

Love's yoke of longing
Dross churning within
Fiery crucible burning
foisting Heaven on sin

Deer panting for water
Soul feasting on God
Reveals crucified power
True authority's Rod

J.D. Walt. Lent 2005

Welcome

Welcome to the Asbury Poetry blog!