Three Jesus poems

1 Comment
Knocking

Behold, I stand at the door, and knock...
Revelation 3: 20

If I could ignore this Man
Who stands at my door and knocks,
I could parcel the rest of it up

And put it away in a box,
Like the clothes that are now outworn,
The shoes that no longer fit,
The books in childhood loved
When I was content to sit
And hear of Aladdin and Jack,
Hansel, Gretel, and Faithful John,
Before falling asleep with magic
Pillow to dream them on...

Though I busy myself for a while
With the daily ebb and flow
Of things that have 'got ot be done'
Nevertheless, I know
That if I imagine that time
Will end this whole affair,
When I open the door, behold,
He'll still be standing there!
Then, what must I do (although
The lights in the house may be dim)
But invite Him to enter and at last
Be honoured to sup with Him?

– Bruce Dawe


seeing all fish

if Jesus was
a swimmer he'd
be you, blue flip-
pers for sandals,
sinewed torso
arrowing the
surf, bearded lips
sucking at now,
at one in the
sea's wilderness,
smoothing the thrill
and ripple, you,
seeing all fish,
dreaming of loaves

– Kevin Gillam


The Thirteenth

Matthew 4: 17-22

He kept the shell
afterwards
showing the fluted puzzle
of its coil

in an ancient but complicated
journey
a spiral of intent
to a convoluted heart

the legacy of sea-flown days
the perplexity of tides
torn nets
and the caprice of fish

four in the afternoon
still a dilemma of deep water
with all of them resigned
to the silence between the words

from him with lures for eyes
sure footedness for ships and sand
bent on collecting
but more than beachcombing

leaving him with a dock of boats
worrying at a broken shell
in his palm after the dejection
of not being called.

– Jeff Guess

 

 

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Existing comments

Thanks. Inspiring. Soul provoking. Thanks.
G Marque R | 12 September 2007


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