Poetry

By Dennis Drake


Interstitial

He stood this way
And watched how hawks
Hang, circling out of sight,
The blue shelter of sun
Bronzing his shoulders
Till they shined.
His feet were the color of clay,
His hair wore any weather.
His face was any man’s
Who wished it.
He knew enough to sleep storms
Or write in dust,
And when he stretched forth his arm
Butterflies played upon his muscle
While we watched and waited.

Growing

Lord,
I am
a tender plant
within
Thy vineyard.
I yearn
to be fully grown,
but I see
I cannot reach
up
alone.
With thy Blazing Sun,
warm
my heart.
With thy eternal light,
whiten
my thoughts.
With thy mighty wind,
blow away
my fears.
With thy pure rain,
cleanse
my spirit.
Then,
when the weeding
and feeding
are done,
watch closely, dear Father,
for my harvest to come.

Simple Communion

In the matter of prayer,
I often kneel
to reach
across an unknown void
to God who seems to dwell beyond the stars;
and straining thus,
to thrust my spirit,
across immensities
of time and space,
I find myself at last benumbed,
all my thoughts scattered,
wandering pointlessly.
But now and then
my urgent need
combines with love of God,
and I forget the notion of
a dark and endless void
that I must cross.
My heart cries out;
my spirit stays upon its knees;
I feel that God remains
within his great eternal range,
but suddenly I find that
time and space no longer are
for God and me!
He is with me.
I kneel indeed within the circle
of his love, before his feet.

[photo] Photography by Eldon K. Linschoten