Christian poetry
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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 swarm the over-full room. But what can I do?Nothing but what I am doing:Lying here. Still, in one shattered piece,I feel the full weight of despairAnd the weight of the Continue reading
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IV. The Leper (1:40-45)
Unclean,I hide myself.Lest I am seenAnd sent away,Purged from the cityWhile dogs and rats are allowedTo stay and hide in its alleys, Infect its crevices. But they sayI am unclean.I do not argue;I am one of the twice-cursed onesWho cannot hide his sinsBeneath a cloak ofSmooth, clear skin,The whitened sepulchreOf an unblemished face. I am Continue reading
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III. Jairus’ Daughter (5:35-43)
As so often happens, life took priority over poetry. Indeed, I fear this is one of the reasons I am not destined to be the next Wordsworth or Dickinson; I am too quick to set my writing aside. Still, it is a least a little to my credit that I never abandon my writing forever! Continue reading
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I. The Man with the Withered Hand (Mark 3:1-6)
My bones ache with hunger.My eyes strain from seeking.But seeking what? Waiting for what?For nothing,For who would help me today?This is the sad irony of the Lord’s Day. Synagogues bustle and pockets are heavy,But hearts remain empty—Even more empty than my hand, For at least I would seek to fill mine. Another sad irony.I cannot.I Continue reading
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Conjunction
Unlike that lone first star of Christmas nightThis union burns expectedly above, But like that light, this, too, shines highest, brightAnd may still testify of searing love. Drawn closer by the work of innovation,Man captures and contains this far-off flare.How like and unlike the flame of incarnationThat, inverse, came to earth to draw us near. Continue reading
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A Blessing for Identity
May I never say I was once a singer,But only ever that I was and am. And may I never say I was a runner, But only that my racing just began. And may I never be a former writer,But know instead my story has no endThan that I may be now, always and ever, Continue reading
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Half Cadence
An audio recording of this article is available here: As an accompanist, one of my favorite things to do when a rehearsal needs some comic relief is to begin a cadence but stop before the final chord. Hearing a dominant chord ringing without resolution drives my fellow musicians insane. I revel in this small rebellion. Continue reading
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Carol Contemplation
My favorite carol this year is one that few people have heard of and I myself did not know until this advent season. It’s title alone sets it apart from the more popular carols, which I love as well. Can you guess which it is? Joy to the World O Come, All Ye Faithful O Little Continue reading
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An Advent Poem
Empty, the sanctuary waits beneath a tree, beneath a cross— the branches a burden and trough to bear body and newborn king. White wails of a storm without are vespers whispered warm within, And yet echo infant, age-old cry — of beginning and of end. In the lonely silence, all is dead, yet all holds living Continue reading
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Three Principles
As I was practicing piano the other day, I wrote a series of three questions to ask myself as I worked on each detail: Is it clean? Is it beautiful? Does it mean something? First, I work technically, listening even to exercises to discern if they are played with clarity and precision. Are they clean? Continue reading
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Mariners
We are mariners, mariners we, made for the land, parted from sea from that second day and still – striving as on the earth to fill- drawn by its alluring, billowy waves- we drink down the depths to find watery graves. . We hear the call, that age-old call, a whisper first, a breeze enthralls, Continue reading
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“Easter morn rose grey with fog”- A Poem for Easter Sunday, 2018
Easter morn rose grey with fog -anticipation hid- No dawn’s light to testify to what the Savior did. . Still we know and sing aloud of the Risen Son And yet the part that strikes me most was that on Friday done. . Rising up is natural; the sun never stays down. What is more Continue reading
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Ryanne Molinari 