I LOVE getting commissions to write poetry and have done so to illustrate a point in a sermon, a metaphor in a speech, to enhance or to illustrate an article. Give me try and see what I come up with.
A sample:
AN EXHORTATION
Disabled and drowning
Your soul wrenches and thirsts.
Thorns, your mind a ‘crowning
Ideas released in bursts
Dexterous dialectic dissolves the demonic
Such is the power of testament
God’s pennies your riches to behold
Upon such little announcements
The gospel is sold
Grasping and savouring the miracle
Heaven’s manna is gathered
Pouring out His Spirit
God’s name is lathered
Witnesses bring out your dead
And scatter their bones
Surrender your head, and
End your groans
Take heart the wretched
Be still the weak
Proclaim your good tidings
It’s Him we seek
Mindless acts of vanity cease
Give glory now and be at peace
Copyright Matthew G. Campaigne-Scott 2011
I once did a three Sunday series of sermons on the Book of Ruth to coincide with the feast of Pentecost (Shavuot or the Feast of Weeks) as is the Jewish custom. I wrote a short series of poem to illustrate or express some of the story's nuances. Here is one of them:
Naomi: The introversion
The mirror enfolds the moment
I once did a three Sunday series of sermons on the Book of Ruth to coincide with the feast of Pentecost (Shavuot or the Feast of Weeks) as is the Jewish custom. I wrote a short series of poem to illustrate or express some of the story's nuances. Here is one of them:
Naomi: The introversion
The mirror enfolds the moment
Turned in toward myself
What is real and what is portent?
What news is more new than death
Each blow a gale
Each wind arrests my breath
Look within me and see
Hollow halls with treasures removed
Is what I see all that will be?
Nostalgia’s call beneath these ruins
Jehova’s rock unmoved.
Calling out from deep within.
Better a beggar in the house of bread
Than lost in these forbidden fields
Return to me the wasted words once said.
Copyright Matthew G. Campaigne-Scott 2011
The Fool’s lot
I wept for you
I wept for me
I lay in a desert beneath a 1000 suns
Your pain was mine
And I could not shed it
Every word that was said
I would not shed them
Every shame and shun
I held close
Too much angst
Too little space
I lie wrapped in a nightmare of thorns and thistles
I own your shame
I dared not forsake it
Every wound that was wrought
I would embrace them
Every wound and blow
I nestled near
I am fool for you
I am a fool for me
I played a part in a play about folly
I am responsible
I stake my claim
Every humiliation to which I yield
I acknowledge receipt
Every sin most foul
Is mine
Copyright Matthew G. Campaigne-Scott 2012
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