Category Archives: Poetry
Ever upward
The lighthouse is massively tall
Tall beyond imagination almost
As it reaches up through the clouds
And from its summit (I’m told)
One can see not only all
The oceans of the earth but indeed
The entire cosmos – nova, nebulae,
Quasars as well as rainbow reefs,
Soaring terns, and breaching humpbacks
Internally, the lighthouse is like a narrow silo
Stone steps wind around, twisting upward
Pressing against the towering walls
Periodically, randomly, there are external
Doors along the way – doors that offer escape
Relief, that open to warm sunlight and thrilling,
Exhilarating invigorating slides which
Elicit squeals of laughter and delight until
Each invariably terminates
Into cold filth
Stench, despair, darkness
Door after door bids me stop climbing
Along the way
On my left is a shear drop into darkness
Enticing doors to my right
Steep steps beneath my feet, presenting
Three choices, no four – not to climb at all
(The path most choose, for no one must make the ascent)
To leap with impulsive stupidity from one of the many external doors
(Which, alas, I have done many times)
To become disoriented, dizzy, hopeless and
Fall off into the darkness to my left
(I wonder with grace and gratitude what prevents this)
Or, (help me, O, Lord)
To climb upward, ever upward
More often than I can admit
I have opened one of those doors
Of deceptive escape – They are numerous:
Immediate satisfaction,
Distractions of mindless entertainment,
Self-concern, the Siren call of mammon,
Busyness, worry, self-rejection,
Judgmentalism
(to name a few – there are many doors)
Laughing with false joy on the decent
The thrilling plunge into
Regret and despair, yet
Each time, every time,
Angelic arms have lifted me by
Silken ropes, showered me clean
Clothed me afresh, and I found myself
Miraculously ascending once more
Not, as one would expect, from
The bottom, but picking up
Nearly where I left off
As when I by grace climb step after steep narrow step
There are not only enticing doors
To my right, but also
Periodic windows from which I can gaze
At the beauty of the clouds and sea
Through which I can feel cool breezes on my face
Windows of love that invite me to catch my
Breath and refresh my soul
There are occasional soft benches
To rest weary bodies and rub sore muscles
Before resuming the upward climb
Not infrequently, as I round the upward
Spiral, I reach others, some in need,
Some determined, some in despair
Some I can perhaps help – the
One with the sprained ankle, the
Little girl I can carry, the one about to
Leap from an enticing doorway, the
One too tired to go on
Others help me
Closer now (yet never close enough)
New vigor, pressing on the upward
Way where there are encouragements,
Along with windows of grace and
Benches of shalom, I find
Bubbling fountains of fresh clear pure spring
Water here, a bowl of steaming
Clam chowder there, a soft chair in which
To rest, virtual goggles filled with visions,
Smells, sounds of mountain streams, singing
Wrens, and pileateds flashing red, chickadees
Chasing sapsuckers around sugar maples
The journey itself is wholeness, succor
Renewed, refreshed, I climb
And what draws me upward?
Why keep climbing?
Few do, many mock and call me fool
What is it above that bids me on?
Far above is the multifaceted lens
The rotating light
The promise of a view that cannot be elsewhere found
Yes, all of that
But more so, he is there,
Next to the lens, tending the light on
The culminating platform
From which he surveys and guides
The stars and conducts the
Hymn of the universe
I hear him call, reassure, he knows
My name
I catch occasional glimpses of him far above my head
As I climb, step after weary step
Jesus awaits
My heart yearns for
His smile
His embrace
His welcome
His friendship
Born to the sea
I was born to the sea.
How old was i?
Maybe six or seven
The first time I was out on the lake fishing
With my dad and one of those
Sudden storms that descend without
Warning over the mountains
Hit us, transforming a relatively
Placid lake into a boiling
Tumultuous death trap of
Darkness. But dad knew what to do
And skillfully brought her about
(no easy feat in a tempest)
And, even-keeled and out-hauled
We ran her back into the shore
From which we came
But this was different –
The Master told us to go
To the opposite shore and we
Were determined to do so or
Die trying, so we kept her headed
Into the wind
Sails reefed, straining on the tiller and
Oars to keep her on course
At first it was amusing to see the lubbers
Amongst us terrified – especially
Matthew who couldn’t swim
But as the storm intensified
We were all frightened, even
Those of us who grew up
On this very lake
Hands skinned by the lines
Bleeding, every muscle ached
When I was a young man,
I met a Philistine fellow who plied
The sea that has no end and
Heard tales of an ocean
Void of light that
Swallowed whole ships, and of
Sea monsters so horrid as to
Defy description that gobbled
Men and ships like a thrush
Scarfing up insects.
Now it seemed that Gennesaret
Was possessed by devils intent
On destroying us.
Did not the Master say that the accuser
Stalks about looking for people to
Rob, kill, destroy, and were we not,
We followers of the Master, the
First buds of a new kingdom?
If satan were to seek any to destroy
Would it not be us?
And if he did, all is lost.
I admit, my instincts locked in
And I shouted to come about, but
The others rightly insisted
We obey the Master, so on we
Struggled in the darkness, sheets of
Cold rain, howling winds, stinging surf
Fog so thick you could almost grasp it
Unable to see the bow if you were amidships
The top of the mast lost in greyness.
Survival seemed impossible.
Then it got worse.
An apparition, specter, phantom
Walking on the water, and
Fear turned to horror.
Now it’s been, what, 35 years?
And each time
Every time
Storms threaten
Gales of heartache
Tempests of hunger and thirst
Squalls of persecution
With chains and whips and
Dungeons; cold and loneliness
Every time
Every single time
He has come
Walking over the
Very things that threatened to
Undo us, destroy us
Smiling, reassuring, calming
The seas.
