Category Archives: Poetry

Lightning Strikes…

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Lightning strikes Vatican

Lightning strikes Vatican

“An apparent photo of a lightning bolt striking St. Peter’s Basilica in the Vatican Monday night — the same day that Pope Benedict XVI announced his resignation, stunning the world — has gone viral.” Click HERE for one of the accounts and the source of the photo.

Here is Steve Shoemaker’s Verse:
“Lightning Strikes…”

There are no short Anglo-Saxon words
that will describe a coincidence.
Long Latin-based circumlocutions
are required. To state the facts, yes:
Pope resigns. Lightning strikes Vatican.
Then whispers begin superstitions.
…
The first gay marriage that I blessed as
a Pastor was barely over when
a bolt of lightning struck the stone cross
atop the church. The limestone chunks fell
on the steps below where the happy
couple had just walked. Not an evil
omen, I believed…not even an
exclamation point! Purely random.
…
Love wins. Ignore all speculations.

– Steve Shoemaker, Urbana, IL Feb. 15, 2013

Verse – 1505 Anno Domini

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The Pope asked Michelangelo to make
his tomb. A grand statue of Moses soon
emerged from stone–each whisker clear, each vein
distinct, emotions boiling free–quite like
a man who had encountered God, who had
been changed, whose head had horns. “Whose head had horns?”
…
The Latin Bible for a thousand years
had said it. Yes, it’s true the Hebrew word
was later learned to mean that Moses’ face
“shone,” “glowed”…was illumined by holy light.
But either way, folks seeing such a sight
cried, “Cover up your head!” We all want grace,
forgiveness, mercy–not ten laws that show
our flaws–that, we don’t really want to know.

– Steve Shoemaker, Feb. 12, 2013

Click HERE for more on Moses statue.

Yearning

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A prayer for our time by George Matheson, the blind preacher from Glasgow, Scotland (March 27, 1842-August 28, 1906):

I am wary of my island life, O Spirit; it is absence from Thee. I am weary of the pleasures spent upon myself, weary of that dividing sea which makes me alone.

I look out upon the monotonous waves that roll between me and my brother, and I begin to be in want; I long for the time when there shall be no more sea.

Lift me up to the mainland, Thou Spirit of humanity, unite my heart to the brotherhood of human souls. Set my feet “in a large room” – in a space where many congregate. Place me on the continent of human sympathy where I can find my brother by night and by day – where storms divide not, where waves intervene not, where depths of downward distance drown not love.

Then shall the food of the far country be swine husks; then shall the riot and the revel be eclipsed by a new joy – the music and dancing of the city of God. Amen.

Click HERE for more on George Matheson.

The still, small voice of calm

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We live in a pandemic sea of fear and rage. We are ridden on all side by anxiety. Our hearts are anxious, easily stirred up, annoyed, and angry.

I remember the calm that would come over me as we sang this quietly during Vespers in my boyhood church. Even then, it calmed my troubled spirit. It calms me still. John Greenleaf Whiittier’s lyrics and Frederick Charles Maker’s music combine to calm me down to listen quietly for “the still, small voice of calm” that speaks through the social earthquake, winds, and storms. “Lord, breathe through the heats of my desire Thy coolness and Thy balm.”

The Kennel-Mates

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When they join paws and dance together, friends

laugh at the dog and cat–they live apart

.

so much of their old lives. She mews for sport;

he barks for art, for music. When the bands

.

play at the games they both attend, his tail

begins to wag. She purrs at concerts when

.

at halftime other sports-nuts share the win

the home team pulled off with the final goal.

.

He thinks coaches are insane–all lean

and hungry for a win–who cares who gets

.

the bone? She catnaps sometimes in the seats

when all is pianissimo. He’ll lean

.

and stroke and pet her till her eyes are wide…

then they walk slowly home, still side by side.

.

– Steve Shoemaker, Urbana, IL, Feb. 8, 2013

 

EDITOR’S APOLOGY: the blog doesn’t like poetry this morning. It won’t allow spaces…so periods are inserted to maintain the integrity of the verse.

Nothing

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I have wrestled through the night after a packed church gave voice to highly charged emotions and views of guns in America. I’m asking how in the world we move forward…together…and confess: I don’t know. I just know that we have to try. But I’m weary this morning. I have no answers. This poem could not have arrived at a better time.

Nothing

I have nothing…

nada…zilch…zero…

no thoughts, no ideas,

no inspiration.

 

Worse, only clichés

crowd my mind:

stock images,

standard phrases,

or remembered words

wielded by real writers.

 

Feeling only frustration,

tempted by alliteration,

or worse, rhyme…

Theft?

Is it worse to plagiarize 

than to leave a blank page?

– Steve Shoemaker, Urbana, IL Feb. 6, 2013

It occurred to me that we’re not alone.

Ecce Homo - "Here is the Man" Albrecht Durer

“Ecce Homo” Albrecht Durer

The Worm

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the worm

unknown insinuated itself in-

side the mind of the communicator,

insistently removing all the in-

formation that was thought to be secure.

…

the end

of facebook, youtube, ibm and e-

mail now is certain:  malware winning o-

ver anti-virus systems– the old e-

vil adam-lurking where there is no prayer.

…

[Chinese Hackers Infiltrate

New York Times Computers 

Jan. 31, 2013]

– Steve Shoemaker, Jan. 31, 2013

 

NOTE: Click HERE for the NYT story.

Verse – “Nothing Is Like Anything Else”

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Similes are lies.

Metaphors mislead.

This is not like that.

Nothing moves or melts,

jumps or flys or feels

as another does.

…

One is one–unique.

Note the differences:

individuality,

singularity,

smell, location, sound…

Concentrate, honor each.

– Steve Shoemaker, Urbana, IL, January 27, 2013

Poet sides with dog in Shoe War?

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“Dog Strikes Back at Cyberspace” brought this reply, or so I thought, from good friend Steve Shoemaker (aka “Shoe” ) in Urbana, Illinois. He seemed to have taken Sebastian’s side in the Shoe War.

Verse  —  “Heal”

I taught my dog to heel,

not so she’d be a slave,

but so she’d always be

safe to walk alongside of me.

…

When first I used a lead,

a leash and collar, she

would pull and jerk and try

to run away.  She thought that I

…

was cruel and mean to make

her suffer so.  But now

she leaves her pen with glee

as we, a team, explore the world.

– Steve Shoemaker, Urbana, IL, January 26, 2012

NOTE: The word “my” was not bolded or italicized in the Steve’s email.  “Views from Edge” bolded and italicized “my” on the assumption that the Verse’s author was holding himself up as a man of virtue in contrast to the bad dog owner who hadn’t trained his dog properly. It turns out that “Dog Strikes Back at Cyberspace” wasn’t anywhere near his radar screen when he penned his Verse. Follow-up email from Steve: “Stop being so self-centered–I was not thinking of you and your sodden shoe at all when I wrote this. I wrote this for ___________” (who had asked him for a poem on healing in preparation for a sermon). 🙂

I think I’ll take a trip to Urbana for training… as a dog trainer…and healing.

The clouds ye so much dread

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The line of Tuesday’s reflection on a nearly disastrous Martin Luther King Day celebration fell on the ears of a parishioner in hospice care yesterday during a pastoral visit. Lorraine is sitting in her chair. She can no longer see.  But she can hear when the visitor speaks clearly with some volume, and she is fully alert and ready for more than entertainment or platitudes. The text was written by English poet and hymn-writer William Cowper in 1774. They give voice to faith’s trust in providence…without denying the clouds.

“Wonderful,” she said with a smile at the end of the reading. “I really like that.” Turn the volume up and see what you feel and think.