Called to the vineyard

Jeremiah 29:7-13

Called to the vineyard,

this broken and battered place

of tangled vines and rotting grapes,

called to this vineyard, this city of exile,

you will be battered in this city

you will be broken in this city

because that is the work

of calling to this city of exile

because that’s what it’s about

in this city of exile,

this broken, battered place.

Joy yes but brokenness and

violence and he knows because

he lived it in this city of exile

and being called here

has a point

has a purpose

and the point is called salt

and the purpose is called light. 

Photograph by Zoltan Tasi via Unsplash. Used with permission.

The peace of the city

After Jeremiah 29:7-13

There is a city on a hill

and there is a city at the bottom

of the hill, a city in the plain:

a city of peace, a city without

a city of wealth, a city without

a city of live and kindness

a city without

a city safe and secure

a city of violence

a city that’s home

a city that’s exile.

Seek the peace of the city of exile.

Seek the safety of the city of exile.

Seek this city of exile.

Seek it.

Seek its streets.

Walk its lanes

Visit its homes.

Seek it.

Photograph by Dan Gold via Unsplash. Used with permission.

Noises of the city

After Psalm 122

It is the silence I hear first,

but soon the noises overcome,

the bleating and lowing

of the animals.

Drawing closer, it is the sounds

I hear next, the sounds

of laughter and argument and 

rejoicing and singing and

prayer, the words spilling

from reservoirs and fountains.

It is the clicking of my feet

in shoes I hear next, the sounds

of hard leather 

clicking in the cobbles,

adding to the music.

Photograph by Hanny Naibaho via Unsplash. Used with permission.

The sea is gone

The sea is gone

disappeared or

lifted in cosmic

evaporation

reversing Noah

in a bleeding moment

it was there

it is not now

in its place the city

the waves of the city

crash upon the shore

in high tide

the sea has ebbed

the city has flowed

the seagull returns

to the ark, no fish,

the ark beached

upon what looks

like Michigan Avenue

or Fifth Avenue

or The Strand

or the Champs Elysees

the sea is gone

Photograph by Petr Kratochvil via Public Domain Pictures. Used with permission.

He turns his face to the city

He turns his face to the city,

fusing its past and future

in one weeping moment,

an immediate joy,

an undeniable sadness.

He enters with acceptance,

not resignation or foreboding.

He walks the streets, canyons

of darkness and fear.

He walks the streets, forested

by voices  rising not in hope

but desire, seeking what

he will not offer, refusing what

he freely gives.

This poem is submitted to Open Mike Night at dVerse Poets. The links will be live at 2 p.m. Central time today

Photograph by George Hodan via Public Domain Pictures. Used with permission.