The tribes go up

A song after Psalm 122 

The tribes go up

to Jerusalem’s gates,

the tribes go up

to stand within.

The tribes go up

to Jerusalem’s gates,

to give thanks 

to the name

of the Lord.

 

And as we sing,

we offer our thanks,

we pray for peace,

we pray to be safe,

safe within the gates

of Jerusalem.

 

Pray for the peace

of Jerusalem;

pray for the peace

within our hearts.

Pray for the peace

of Jerusalem,

we pray for the house

of the Lord.

 

Photograph by Robert Bye via Unsplash. Used with permission.

Some Sunday Readings

 

An Unexpected Specter – poem by Josh Bishop at Rabbit Room Poetry.

 

The Windhover by Gerard Manley Hopkins – Sally Thomas at Poems Ancient and Modern. 

 

‘Sunshine’ and ‘A Kiss Across Time’ – poems by Martin Rizley at Society of Classical Poets.

 

A Bird in the Hand: Fifty Holy Wells, #18 – Paul Kingsnorth at The Abbey of Misrule.

 

Things Worth Remembering: Breaking Bread with the Dead – Douglas Murray on Seamus Heaney.

 

Outside the tent

After Psalm 61

Outside the tent is the storm,

a whirlwind of sand and grit

etching skin and heart;

inside a silence and light,

cushioned and pillowed, 

food and drink, a place

away from the tearing,

the noise, the deafening

of the storm. Inside the tent

the storm no longer is,

dispelled and flicked away,

a memory erased.

Photograph by asoggetti via Unsplash. Used with permission.

A hiding place

After Psalm 32

Panting, the in the darkness

of the cave, escaping

from the mouths tearing

at my heels, falling

to my knees, a body,

a soul exhausted

Here is the hiding place,

here is the deliverance,

here is the cleft in the rock,

the place of safety,

the knowledge of security,

where the mouths do not bite,

the waters do not rise,

the foe does not consume,

and arms surround me

Photograph by Dmitry Ratushny via Unsplash. User with permission.

The eagle

After Psalm 61

I watched it circle

in front of the sun,

the heat searing.

I watched it flying

high, swooping low,

soaring and descending,

coming closer to my form

in the sand.

The sun was darkened

as it flew closer, so close

I could hear feathers

and wings pushing 

against the wind, so close

I smelled the scent

of heated feathers, so close

I was wrapped in shade,

the shelter of wings,

and I thought

the eagle had landed.

Photograph by Mathew Schwartz vis Unsplash. Used with permission.

Counting the words

After Psalm 61

Counting the words

and descriptions

explained and listed,

a rock

a tower

a refuge

a tent

a shelter

and it continues:

a heritage

a presence

a love

a faithfulness

all of these words

these realities to embrace

these metaphors taking shape

on the plain consumed

by fire,

these words equating protection

these words defining safety

these words wrapping around,

surrounding.

Photograph by Enoc Valenzuela via Unsplash. Used with permission.

Inside the tower

After Psalm 61

Inside the tower,

the place yearned for

and found

hearing the noise

outside, the shouts,

feeling the ground

shaking, but safe

inside the tower,

the door tightly 

closed and firm

a barrier against

the hordes, outside;

safety is found

inside the tower,

only there,

only there.

Photograph by Nathan Dumlao via Unsplash. Used with permission.

At the edge

After Psalm 61

Teetering at the edge,

to look behind is to see

      the darkness, deep,

an abyss of the unknown. 

To feel resolve

      

      ebbing, courage

diminishing, strength

dribbling away leaving

     a husk, a shell,

a piece of chaff, prepared

to blow away at wind’s

     first hint, teetering

calling out in weakness,

teetering, slipping away,

     reaching for the rock

     the refuge as the rock

     the refuge reaching out

     to accept

     to embrace.

Photograph by Leio McLaren via Unsplash. Used with permission.