I know my feet are prone to slip, unsure, So I play it again: Alleluia. And I know my hands may strike without measure, So
Category: Poetry
Hymn to The Reconciler
I worked on this sonnet throughout Holy Week but, as my organist schedule would have it, did not have a chance to revise and publish
VIII. The Demon-Possessed Boy (9:14-29)
Horrors.There is no other wordFor the things I have seen,And sat helplessly by—Useless. My own son, ripped from my armsBy a force I could not
VII. The Blind Man (8:22-26)
Touch me, someone,That I might know you’re there! Greet me, anyone,So I am not aloneIn this dark, dark, darkness. I am begging,Begging for more than
VI. The Deaf Man (7:31-37)
I cannot tellWhat these gestures mean.Why do you all waveYour hands at me? I can only guess atThe words on your lipsAnd can only makeVain attemptsTo
V. The Paralytic (2:1-12)
People just keep goingAround, across, Any way they can.Directionless,They do not notice the manWho motionless,Waits. They step over me, Their limbs stretching usefullyEven as they
A Bookish Charm 