L Did the angels Those sinew-armed strongmen of the ages Sweat great drops of celestial self control L Did tears run down the faces Of those who continually see the Face L Did holy muscles tremble and twitch at being restrained at seeing urgency and being forbidden at...
FRIDAY Blood throbbing like muffled drums Tendons stretching like fence-wires: tune-taut But soundless His reproach streaks the silence like Lightning in darkness. Two eyes, raging from the sandstorms of a Thousand tears, finally close. The body hangs limp as wet...
I bemoan the fact that if, as often said, poetry is the “stepchild of the arts,” then Christian poetry is the stepchild most readers would like to disown. I don't blame them. But I still write poetry. Joseph and Nicodemus (John 19:38-39) What a...
Everyone knows that poetry doesn't “sell.” Publishers don't want to print it, students groan aloud at the prospect of studying it. And poetasters have set our teeth on edge. So why in the world would I want to concentrate on it?Because it does what no...
