Prepositions-A Poem of Praise

Overcome by the quaking 
power of God’s sweet presence
Around the shoulders of 
friend-draped worshippers
Across the room to the children raising, 
praising, lifting small hands
Surrounded by incarnations of God 
in these multi-colored people
Next to sweet-voiced sisters 
and deep-throated men,
I’m looking~~eyes up and over
and through the windows, 
past the summer-waving trees
to a lidless blue sky
where my soul 
longs for home
and I sing
while I can
’til He comes
for me.

 

Similar Posts

  • Heart Work

    Lovely Lydia dipped cloth  in indigo dye, dressing royalty in the Kingly color of the day. I am wrapped today in color  of another hue~ scarlet red~ covering me in impossibly  laundered linens purchased by the Savior King who died descending into darkness, bursting forth in a blaze of Color That is Not– Purest White.

  • Whether System {a #poem}

    Texas Sky April 2011   Thunderclouds are roiling on the horizon, stacking up East-wise, threatening to move in– move in and dump. But they’re whiter than white can be and only so much vapor. I imagine their rumbling high over distant mountains, molecules leaving mess and mayhem, headed this way. But there’s no running for cover….

  • Smashed to Pieces

    I’ve just finished reading Jennifer Dukes Lee’s new book “Love Idol”** and am becoming more aware each day of how I fashion my own not-gods out of man made materials. Last week I wrote and published (for less than 24 hours) a post about World Vision’s decision regarding same sex hiring practices.  I wanted to add…

  • Birdsong

    The noisy birds squawk and squeal, an out of sync chorus bent on harmony as discordant as a traffic jam. In between the garbled avian speech I hear a finch and a robin  announce, “It’s morning!” In my very vague 4:30 a.m. brain  I succumb to the sounds of Creation’s alarm clock and I am…

  • English Lesson, Kindergarten

    Across the pencils pointed skyward like so many word-wielding swords past the gray and steel of overflowing desks filled with orphaned papers stashed, crumpled askew over the carpet-bland, sturdy, useable home to small and hopeful feet to the doorway–closed. Through it comes life and noise and limbs, any moment now– eager hearts, chattering faces, souls…

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *