sacred poetry
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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 fight. But I am his father!Guilt stabs at me like a knife,But how can I defend him whenThe enemy, the invaderMakes war from within? My own flesh and blood,My beloved, Continue reading
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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 foodOr loose coins. It is light that I am starving for—The light of a presenceA light to show me outOf this eternal, internalDarkness. My heart yearnsEach morning and evening—Both are Continue reading
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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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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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Lack to Love: a sonnet
Inspired by C.S. Lewis’ The Four Loves: My moon-sick eyes I turn from Sun above; Too brilliant, let me see yet silhouettes And trace them on my heart lest I forget These shades that show the shape of Light, my love. Permit that I might feel those phantom limbs Of One I neither see nor now Continue reading
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Hallow Hill
The hill was ghostly. Even before finding an old sign revealing its history as an early Christian burial site, I could sense the tension between life and death in the air that chilled my face. It was a place pulsing with potential, yet quiet and lonely as a sleeping giant. Insignificance and eternity confronted me 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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Immediately: Eight Poems Based on the Gospel of Mark
In reading through Mark, I was struck by the recurring use of the word “immediately.” It is used to characterize many aspects of Christ’s ministry on Earth, but I was especially drawn to its use in relation to instances of healing. As I pondered this motif and these stories, I found myself understanding them with Continue reading
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Ryanne Molinari 