Note from Dave on his poem: “Now and then I post poems. This is an old one, an early publication–in fact, I used to keep track of poems published and, on my old list, this was number eight. It was published in a journal called Hellas many years ago. And it ‘really happened.’ I came home from teaching one day, saw the cat as described in the poem, and wrote the poem in one sitting (a thing that doesn’t happen very often for me).”
Here’s the poem:
(This is indeed Dave’s kitty, but not on the day of her wispy concert!)
Cat and Mandolin
My cat (a tortoise-shell, white underneath)
Lies sleepily, stretched out upon a sheaf
Of music I laid by my mandolin
Upon a table. Sunlight pouring in
The window makes her drowsy as she rests,
Notes of an old composer by her breast.
Her tail disturbs the silence lazily,
Brushing the mandolin, and sending free
Desultory notes into the languid air
Of afternoon—a lyric to compare
With that one Coleridge heard the wind-harp troll,
But far superior: The Oversoul
That moves creative thought with touches warm
Is incarnated better in this form.
“As thou knowest not what is the way of the spirit, nor how the bones do grow in the womb of her that is with child: even so thou knowest not the works of God who maketh all” (Ecclesiastes 11:5).
“The wind bloweth where it listeth, and thou hearest the sound thereof, but canst not tell whence it cometh, and whither it goeth: so is every one that is born of the Spirit ” (John 3:8).
I don’t personally know this guy, but I really appreciate his poetry. Whimsical. Light touch but deep thoughts, and you can tell he has a passion for God! If you’re interested in reading more, you can google him or look him up on FaceBook: https://www.facebook.com/johnbigjohn/
“And suddenly there came a sound from heaven as of a rushing mighty wind, and it filled all the house where they were sitting” (Acts 2:2).
new blood cells, paths of deep underground streams;
things seen by God alone: and things that bring
rejoicing to him through earth’s endless times.”
“Are not five sparrows sold for two farthings, and not one of them is forgotten before God? But even the very hairs of your head are all numbered. Fear not therefore: ye are of more value than many sparrows” (Luke 12:6-7).
I only have a few friends who are true poets, and Dave is one of them. Thank you, Dave, for letting me share this intimate look into God’s infinite capacity for knowing and enjoying his creation!
This day, when my soul’s form bends toward the East.
There I should see a Sun, by rising set,
And by that setting endless day beget;
But that Christ on this Crosse, did rise and fall,
Sin had eternally benighted all.
Yet dare I almost be glad I do not see
That spectacle of too much weight for me.
Who sees God’s face, that is self life, must die;
What a death were it then to see God die?
It made his own lieutenant, nature, shrink,
It made his footstool crack, and the sun wink.
Could I behold those hands which span the poles,
And tune all spheres at once pierced with those holes?
Could I behold that endless height which is
Zenith to us, and our antipodes,
Humbled below us? or that blood which is
The seat of all our souls, if not of his,
Made dirt of dust, or that flesh which was worn
By God, for his apparel, ragged, and torn?
If on these things I durst not look, durst I
Upon his miserable mother cast mine eye,
Who was God’s partner here, and furnished thus
Half of that sacrifice, which ransomed us?
Though these things, as I ride, be from mine eye,
They are present yet to my memory,
For that looks towards them; and thou lookst towards mee,
O Saviour, as thou hangest upon the tree;
I turn my back to thee, but to receive
Corrections, till thy mercies bid thee leave.
O think me worth thine anger, punish me,
Burn off my rusts, and my deformity,
Restore thine image, so much, by thy grace,
That thou mayest know mee, and I’ll turn my face.
“Donne” painted by Isaac Oliver, 1662 (Public Domain)
This poem was written on Good Friday on a trip Donne took westwards to Wales from Warwickshire, England, and he is examining his own soul in the light of Christ’s suffering and crucifixion. The interpretations of the poem are myriad, and I have only my own opinions to persuade me, since I never met him! 🙂 However, (projecting from my own spiritual journey), I believe the poem is an expression of the intimate and inevitably personal experience of faith, wherein we find ourselves undone by the overwhelming nature of Christ’s perfection and love and find that—although we are unworthy and undeserving—God incarnate in Christ has provided for our sins, calling us to Himself for redemption and resurrected life whereby we are gradually remade to become more like Jesus . . . until at last we see Him face to face and recognize Him as He is—the One who loves us with everlasting love and redeems us by his mercy and grace. All He asks of us is to believe. To turn to Him by faith. He, then, will turn us back toward East . . . and Eden. To God!
“For if, when we were enemies, we were reconciled to God by the death of his Son, much more, being reconciled, we shall be saved by his life” (Romans 5:10).
April is both National Poetry Month and National Poetry Writing Month. So far, I have yet to produce a single poem this month, despite my love for poetry, but I have one really gifted poetry-writing friend who has taken up the challenge of writing one poem each day this month. I’d like to share a bunch of them with you but asked his permission to share this one for a start:
An older church—I’d say seventy years
since it was built. The craftmanship and care,
the expertise of older days appears
in the construction. Worn smooth with long wear,
in even rows mapped out, I note the tiles.
I love them best. The images below
my feet intrigue me most and most beguile
my eyes: a griffin; then the next tile shows
a star; a roe-deer grazing, then two birds
beside each other and of the same kind
crossing their tails; all painted then interred
in hard-baked squares, set up, arranged, aligned
in even rows; a crown, a fleur-de-lis
depicted; then a rampant lion, lantern,
a dove, an eagle—their symbology
no longer understood but not undone. (—David Wayne Landrum)
Professor, poet, husband of one of my friends, and influencer of some of my kids during their university training Thank you, Dave!
“Thus says the Lord: ‘Stand by the roads, and look, and ask for the ancient paths, where the good way is; and walk in it, and find rest for your souls’” (Jeremiah 6:16).
PS— If any of you have a spiritually-minded, uplifting poem, please add it in the comment box or send it to me at kathrynwarmstrong@gmail.com and I’ll try to connect with you in hopes of publishing it this month. Blessings~
To find happiness go drink at a funeral –life’s distillation
Optics twist the truth while we thirst in the desert lost in a mirage.
Death stalks the poor man but the rich man doesn’t see the hearse coming.
Fairy Falls Pathway U.K.
The forgotten path is the best in the end but how to find it?
“Thus says the Lord, Stand you in the ways, and see, and ask for the old paths, where is the good way, and walk therein, and you shall find rest for your souls.” (Jeremiah 6:16).
Thank you, Phyliss Hammerstrom, for sharing with us some of the beautifully crafted wisdom you composed for your (2020) Haiku Harvest!
Early, before light red robin starts reveille calls sun to duty
I used to climb high in the white-laced apple tree Oh, the clouds seemed close!
The tiny seeds wait deep in the soul’s rich soil. Water and tend them!
Under the dead leaves white lilies-of-the-valley springing up–rebirth
Unlike my white hair trillium trades its white “hair” for purple in old age.
“The mighty God, even the Lord, hath spoken, and called the earth from the rising of the sun unto the going down thereof” (Psalm 50:1).
About the author: Phyliss Brien Hammerstrom writes drawing on a decade of experience living overseas in Pakistan and the United Arab Emirates as a teacher of English. She is an inveterate traveler and explorer of the world. When she isn’t writing, she is painting. She lives in Northeast Ohio and identifies as a follower of Jesus. (She has also been a dear friend of mine since our college days!)
Carol is a blog follower who has been a source of inspiration and joy to me for the past several years, and I love this recent poem reflecting on the nature and purposes of shadows. God bless you, Carol!
Precious Jesus, there is no end to your love! Help us to love you more. (—Written by Carol Simpkins Floyd in January of 2022)
“As it is written, eye has not seen, nor ear heard, neither has it entered into the heart of man, the things which God has prepared for those who love Him” (1 Corinthians 2:9)
Summer Setting 