Sunrise over Green Canyon (poem)

The dawn draws a long yawn of yarn along the canyons of my room,
a strong comet on the southern wall,
a freefall. It starts out small, horizon-like
and becomes a lawn of ocean glow
beneath a starry sky.
The sky is white paint pushed up into a corner, gray heights;
the stars are donut sprinkles scattered
in the fog of reflected light.

Foam (haikus)

In this blue sweater,
my chest is muffled, heavy
beneath the spring sky.

Eucalyptus leaves
whisper poems like wind chimes
behind a bird's song.

The white Nissan truck
and the navy blue Honda
reflect the June sun.

The spring sky clears out
the fleet of clouds; the ocean
clings onto its foam.

The birds' songs follow
a night of vacant dreaming;
I forget them both.

The June sun beckons
me outside, where I will hear
birdsong in spring skies.

40 (song)

Tonight during Bible study, we sang the hymn "He Brought Me Out," #381 in the Nazarene hymnal. It alludes to Psalm 40. The words express how I've been feeling lately.

1. My heart was distressed 'neath Jehovah's dread frown,
And low in the pit where my sins dragged me down.
I cried to the Lord from the deep, miry clay,
Who tenderly brought me out to golden day.

Refrain: He brought me out of the miry clay
He set my feet on the Rock to stay
He puts a song in my soul today,
A song of praise, hallelujah!

2. He placed me upon the strong rock by His side.
My steps were established, and here I'll abide.
No danger of falling while here I remain,
But stand by His grace until the crown I gain.

3. He gave me a song; 'twas a new song of praise.
By day and by night its sweet notes I will raise.
My heart's overflowing; I'm happy and free.
I'll praise my Redeemer, who has rescued me.

4. I'll sing of His wonderful mercy to me;
I'll praise Him till all men His goodness shall see;
I'll sing of salvation at home and abroad,
Till many shall hear the truth and trust in God.


And, here's U2's version of Psalm 40.

"Holy as the Day is Spent" by Carrie Newcomer

Holy is the dish and drain
the soap and sink, and the cup and plate
and the warm wool socks, and the cold white tile
showerheads and good dry towels
and frying eggs sound like psalms
with bits of salt measured in my palm
It’s all a part of a sacrament
as holy as a day is spent

Holy is the busy street
and cars that boom with passion’s beat
and the check out girl, counting change
and the hands that shook my hands today
and hymns of geese fly overhead
and spread their wings like their parents did
Blessed be the dog who runs in her sleep
to chase some wild, elusive thing

Holy is the familiar room
and the quiet moments in the afternoon
and folding sheets like folding hands
to pray as only laundry can
I’m letting go of all my fear
like autumn leaves made of earth and air
For the summer came and the summer went
as holy as a day is spent

Holy is the place I stand
to give whatever small good I can
and the empty page, the open book
redemption everywhere I look
Unknowingly we slow our pace
in the shade of unexpected grace
and with grateful smiles and sad lament
as holy as a day is spent

And morning light sings “Providence”
as holy as a day is spent

Lowly (poem)

The spinach is finally growing!
You can see the leaves sticking out
like lengua del rez on a styrofoam carton
and already with holes, where roley poleys, ladybugs, and perhaps scorpions have trespassed.
Correction--it's always been growing,
just

slowly

like
a cocoon becoming a butterfly (or
so I've heard) or
a bus ride home when you've given up walking.

Only, Popeye would not for one second think of eating a butterfly