Wind

Day 18: Harmattan

/ joethewaller / Leave a comment

In life, we’re met with gentle breezes, signs
That life is full of movement. Summer heat
Is broken by a cool front, and the pines
Carpet the earth with needles, catching sweet-
Est melodies as wind sings through their limbs.
But not all winds blow gently. Some appear
With power unapproachable, like hymns
Writ out of holy fear: we turn the ear
And close the mouth. We know our smallness well
Before the hurricane and Harmattan,
And like the sailors frightened by the swell,
We run for help to power’s paragon,
The man who has become our hope and peace,
The God in flesh who makes the storm-winds cease.

Photo by Caleb Woods on Unsplash

With a Storm

/ joethewaller / Leave a comment 
How do you respond
     (w)hen t(h)e w(i)nd (s)hakes your tem(p)orary dwelling?
     when the thund(e)r b(r)eaks your sense of calm?

     (w)hen t(h)e l(i)ghtning (s)trikes your storehouses?
     when all around you is (p)urifying floodwat(e)r and fi(r)e
          life-giving,
          all-consuming?

What do you do
     when the Father answers your prayers with a storm
          and a whisper?

Do you run away?
Where else would you go?

There is a response
     when the w(i)nd sh(a)kes your te(m)porary dwelling.
     when the thunder (b)reaks your sens(e) of calm.
     
     when the lightning (s)trikes your storehouses.
     when all around you is purifying floodwa(t)er and f(i)re,
          (l)ife-giving,
          a(l)l-consuming.

This poem would not be what it is today without the contributions of Andrew Wilson. He helped with both the structure and the content, improving the rough draft immeasurably and guiding the poem to its final form. I’m incredibly grateful for his feedback.

Photo by Victor Rodriguez on Unsplash

Words for the Wind

/ joethewaller / Leave a comment

Words for the Wind.jpg

I take up pen and page to point to truth
And pray my purpose is not rendered vague.
I recognize my mind reveals my youth;
Lord, let me neither tarry nor stravage.
I am a humble runnel of your reign.
Use these my words like water to refresh.
And when I feel my writing is in vain,
Remind me that I do not write for flesh.
These poems need not please the multitude.
These words require no mortal praise nor fame.
These messages may never earn my food;
I pray they ever glorify your name.
I write to please the one who knows my end.
I offer these, my poems for the wind.