Mary's Story
by: Jen Jacobs
damp mud floor, no windows,
locked in
darkness
You came to let me live
placed your hand on my head
forced the evil out,
light
brilliant sun
filled the place
I was kept away
beautiful savior
I will follow you
you continue
miracles
blind see, cripple walk, deaf hear
we love you
broken-hearted, broken-bodied
we love you
they hate you
I’ve seen the way they whisper
I recognize those demons
white washed tombs
open-throated graves
why such patience for them?
they have you now
I saw from a distance
I followed you from Galilee
I will follow you
cover my eyes with clammy hands
still I see your bloody body
the cross too much for me;
how dare they crucify my Lord!
I try
to come to you
to wipe your face, give you drink
their bodies hold me back
drag me to the dirt
I watch.
I listen to curses and cackles from the crowd
I sink.
head in hands
I howl.
My
Jesus.
On the
Cross.
Don’t leave Lord,
Live!
I know you can get down
call on Him.
Do it.
I touch your toiled feet
full of black and blue
and red and rust
from the nail
It is finished?
No Lord, let it never be
done!
Darkness in the day
In my heart
I will follow you
to the tomb
They lay down your body
wrapped in white linens
they roll the stone
you are locked inside
darkness
no Hope
I stay to keep away thieves
I will follow you
in sleep, in death.
I awake and the stone is disturbed!
My majesty is missing!
Two bright-eyed men ask why I weep
It is for you Lord.
You have gone away and
I cannot follow you.
And then your voice…
falls on my ears
the sweetest song
Mary
you say—just as when you called me
for the first time
And I know it is you!
I run to you, my feet cannot
carry me fast enough
my mourning is removed
replaced with rejoicing!
I could not cling though,
you spoke of ascension
I did not understand yet.
I will follow you
I will tell of your glory.
You are my forever king and
I will follow you.
Showing posts with label poems. Show all posts
Showing posts with label poems. Show all posts
Sunday, April 24, 2011
Wednesday, August 18, 2010
Brueggers 6:02am
Sitting in this booth
watching slowly as sun lights up
skyline shadows shift
clouds move along brightening blue
out of whole wheat bagels
just coffee this morning
Psalm 100
overflows with thanks
a nurse scurries in scrubs
to get a quick cup
Somali men fill the Starbucks
next door voices talking
over one another
a new day
new mercies
every Friday this is what Josh does
I should join him
phone call from Justine
just got back from India
paper cup is empty
heart is full
it is good to make a joyful noise
for this sunrise
Tuesday, August 3, 2010
The First Year
September
was filled with wide eyes and wet cheeks,
pointed pencils and shiny shoes.
We sang name songs and learned
how to line up,
how to raise our hand,
how to sit criss-cross applesauce.
We learned about our sin and our Savior.
October
We observed as God changed the leaves to
red, orange, yellow, and brown.
We worked on the ABC’s by
singing songs and playing games.
We counted gems, marbles, unifix cubes,
and anything else we could get our little hands on.
We dug in the dirt to find beetles and other decomposers;
we walked through fall in the forest.
November
finding patterns in colors, calendar, and creation.
We learned how to make predictions and draw connections.
We made turkeys from tiny handprints and wrote thankful
words on feathers.
December
We frosted Christmas cookies with our high school buddies.
Our handwriting became more careful.
We learned two finger spaces between words and
how to write sentences.
Luke 2 was in our hearts and on our tongues.
January
We kept on counting
by 5’s, 10’s, and 2’s.
We learned about coins and their value
through poems and play.
February
Olympic games built camaraderie.
We Graphed and sorted Valentine m&ms.
100th day was celebrated with hats, books, and eating 100 snacks.
1 Corinthians 13 teaches us of love.
March
we were focused on weather.
We learned about the water cycle
and could tell you about any cloud.
April
new life was growing and we watched.
We planted bean seeds and other things.
At the farm we baked bread, pulled up parsnips,
and felt fur and feathers.
May
On a 90 degree day
we walked around the zoo.
Otters played in the water,
bears lounged in the sun,
and we were as happy as could be.
Psalm 23 taught us of sheep and of
our great shepherd.
June
We cleaned out our cubbies
and took projects home.
We’ve grown in height,
in knowledge,
and in friendship.
We’ve grown in love.
We will always remember our first year.
Written: Spring 2010
was filled with wide eyes and wet cheeks,
pointed pencils and shiny shoes.
We sang name songs and learned
how to line up,
how to raise our hand,
how to sit criss-cross applesauce.
We learned about our sin and our Savior.
October
We observed as God changed the leaves to
red, orange, yellow, and brown.
We worked on the ABC’s by
singing songs and playing games.
We counted gems, marbles, unifix cubes,
and anything else we could get our little hands on.
We dug in the dirt to find beetles and other decomposers;
we walked through fall in the forest.
November
finding patterns in colors, calendar, and creation.
We learned how to make predictions and draw connections.
We made turkeys from tiny handprints and wrote thankful
words on feathers.
December
We frosted Christmas cookies with our high school buddies.
Our handwriting became more careful.
We learned two finger spaces between words and
how to write sentences.
Luke 2 was in our hearts and on our tongues.
January
We kept on counting
by 5’s, 10’s, and 2’s.
We learned about coins and their value
through poems and play.
February
Olympic games built camaraderie.
We Graphed and sorted Valentine m&ms.
100th day was celebrated with hats, books, and eating 100 snacks.
1 Corinthians 13 teaches us of love.
March
we were focused on weather.
We learned about the water cycle
and could tell you about any cloud.
April
new life was growing and we watched.
We planted bean seeds and other things.
At the farm we baked bread, pulled up parsnips,
and felt fur and feathers.
May
On a 90 degree day
we walked around the zoo.
Otters played in the water,
bears lounged in the sun,
and we were as happy as could be.
Psalm 23 taught us of sheep and of
our great shepherd.
June
We cleaned out our cubbies
and took projects home.
We’ve grown in height,
in knowledge,
and in friendship.
We’ve grown in love.
We will always remember our first year.
Written: Spring 2010
Wednesday, July 28, 2010
They Will Not Go Naked into the Night
The body is not a prison
it is a temple
not a cage from which the soul escapes
but a holy place built
for sanctification, redemption
on that Day
bone and ash will rise
from graveyards and cisterns saints
swirling upward like smoke
re-creation of fingers, palm, wrist
glowing gloriously in light
toe by toe, a foot, a leg
dancing as they rise
a people resurrected
lips sealed from life’s last kiss
open to holy, holy, holy
for they did not feel
the sting of death.
written: Spring 2007
it is a temple
not a cage from which the soul escapes
but a holy place built
for sanctification, redemption
on that Day
bone and ash will rise
from graveyards and cisterns saints
swirling upward like smoke
re-creation of fingers, palm, wrist
glowing gloriously in light
toe by toe, a foot, a leg
dancing as they rise
a people resurrected
lips sealed from life’s last kiss
open to holy, holy, holy
for they did not feel
the sting of death.
written: Spring 2007
Louis Prosper
drove with us in a van
to New Orleans
a displaced person
from Katrina,
overalls every day
white beard
black skin
eyes that actually twinkled
said he felt closest to the Lord
fishin’ in the Bayou
said it made him feel
small, could hear nothing
but water against wood
could hear
God’s voice;
he loved Louisiana
loved his mama and papa
his neighborhood
when the storm started
said that God wanted
him to stay
so he waited
for water to kick down
everything that wasn’t
nailed down
floated by his thighs
overalls heavy
weight of the water,
he remembered his wood boat
got in, started rowing
hands waving from rooftops
families sinking slowly
he paddled groups of two, three
the nearby levy,
took twenty minutes for the old man
to get back there
get more
saving sisters and brothers
with the wooden boat
just one oar
Louis Prosper said he felt
closest to the Lord in water
written: Spring 2007
to New Orleans
a displaced person
from Katrina,
overalls every day
white beard
black skin
eyes that actually twinkled
said he felt closest to the Lord
fishin’ in the Bayou
said it made him feel
small, could hear nothing
but water against wood
could hear
God’s voice;
he loved Louisiana
loved his mama and papa
his neighborhood
when the storm started
said that God wanted
him to stay
so he waited
for water to kick down
everything that wasn’t
nailed down
floated by his thighs
overalls heavy
weight of the water,
he remembered his wood boat
got in, started rowing
hands waving from rooftops
families sinking slowly
he paddled groups of two, three
the nearby levy,
took twenty minutes for the old man
to get back there
get more
saving sisters and brothers
with the wooden boat
just one oar
Louis Prosper said he felt
closest to the Lord in water
written: Spring 2007
Tuesday, July 13, 2010
Born Again
Hairpins hold her together
her cheeks are decorated with
chandelier earrings,
she walks with quiet shoes
and smiles with no sound;
you can smell the soap
on her skin
so smooth with the
sprinkle of freckles.
It hardly happens but
I’ve seen her
flesh disturbed,
blue mascara dripping
from brown eyes,
nails polish picked
and picked until a small
sparkle of pink is left
on the thumb;
Blonde hairs stuck
to the back of her neck
as she lays on my pillow
crying
about how she has fallen apart
and can’t keep it
together
we talk about
redemption
written: Spring 2007
her cheeks are decorated with
chandelier earrings,
she walks with quiet shoes
and smiles with no sound;
you can smell the soap
on her skin
so smooth with the
sprinkle of freckles.
It hardly happens but
I’ve seen her
flesh disturbed,
blue mascara dripping
from brown eyes,
nails polish picked
and picked until a small
sparkle of pink is left
on the thumb;
Blonde hairs stuck
to the back of her neck
as she lays on my pillow
crying
about how she has fallen apart
and can’t keep it
together
we talk about
redemption
written: Spring 2007
Last Night in Delhi
Hotel Shiva hid amongst street vendors,
street sweepers, and street children
bulbs burnt out looked like otel Siva
between the bank sign
and a tailor shop, we nearly missed it
walked in with water marks on pants
no notice, it was monsoon season
blue fluorescent lighting in the lobby
the front desk littered with petals and small cakes—
an offering to Lord Ganesh
the smell of sandalwood incense followed us
up the stairs to our room
no air conditioning
hotter in there than the Indian sun
relentless, suffocating
the bell boy said he’d get it fixed
took a bucket bath but
it didn’t matter
my hair was always the same—
slicked back in a sweaty bun
you said I looked beautiful
we met Sarah from church at the McDonalds
took two auto-rickshaws to get there
the chicken sandwiches were the same
and they had chocolate dipped ice cream cones
we smiled silently as we licked the salt off our fingers
I don’t even like McDonalds
all of the girls got their noses pierced
left nostril, no questions asked
he used a stone to sharpen the point of the stud
he sterilized it all with alcohol
you made sure
a pop of tissue, a clench of teeth
we all had a sparkle now with red around it
a sweet souvenir from India
back at our room
you opened the door
the heat poured out,
covered us like a quilt in summer,
you muttered something under your breath
as you went down the stairs
he switched it back on before you lost your temper
said the power went out
Remember that room?
psychedelic plastic conch shells covered the lights and
shone on cracked walls that could not be covered by paint,
the bathroom window would not shut so
you propped open a book while I bathed
so no one would peek
the sheets and comforter had strange stains and holes,
and these beds were harder than before
but this was not the worst
Remember that smell?
at first we thought it was coming from outside
sewage seeping in from under the window
but no, not even the toilet, not even in the bathroom
after sniffing around for a few we found it—
the bed
I gagged I took in such a deep breath
It smelt like sour milk, but not the kind we were used to—
buffalo milk, the kind used in chai
a mixture of that and urine, and something else unfamiliar
we tried to cover it up with cologne, with two more sheets,
with an extra blanket, but it persevered
and would not let us sleep
I was about to cry when
you made me laugh
you made a joke about how we could breathe
if we had extra long straws that would touch the ceiling
that way we could catch fresh breaths and plug our noses
we laughed so hard my stomach hurt
I had tears in my eyes
I woke up several times from my cheek resting
too long on the pillow and the stench
shaking me from my dreams
but I would look at you
with your face toward the ceiling
your hands folded peacefully on your stomach and
I would smile and fall back asleep
written: June 17, 2009
street sweepers, and street children
bulbs burnt out looked like otel Siva
between the bank sign
and a tailor shop, we nearly missed it
walked in with water marks on pants
no notice, it was monsoon season
blue fluorescent lighting in the lobby
the front desk littered with petals and small cakes—
an offering to Lord Ganesh
the smell of sandalwood incense followed us
up the stairs to our room
no air conditioning
hotter in there than the Indian sun
relentless, suffocating
the bell boy said he’d get it fixed
took a bucket bath but
it didn’t matter
my hair was always the same—
slicked back in a sweaty bun
you said I looked beautiful
we met Sarah from church at the McDonalds
took two auto-rickshaws to get there
the chicken sandwiches were the same
and they had chocolate dipped ice cream cones
we smiled silently as we licked the salt off our fingers
I don’t even like McDonalds
all of the girls got their noses pierced
left nostril, no questions asked
he used a stone to sharpen the point of the stud
he sterilized it all with alcohol
you made sure
a pop of tissue, a clench of teeth
we all had a sparkle now with red around it
a sweet souvenir from India
back at our room
you opened the door
the heat poured out,
covered us like a quilt in summer,
you muttered something under your breath
as you went down the stairs
he switched it back on before you lost your temper
said the power went out
Remember that room?
psychedelic plastic conch shells covered the lights and
shone on cracked walls that could not be covered by paint,
the bathroom window would not shut so
you propped open a book while I bathed
so no one would peek
the sheets and comforter had strange stains and holes,
and these beds were harder than before
but this was not the worst
Remember that smell?
at first we thought it was coming from outside
sewage seeping in from under the window
but no, not even the toilet, not even in the bathroom
after sniffing around for a few we found it—
the bed
I gagged I took in such a deep breath
It smelt like sour milk, but not the kind we were used to—
buffalo milk, the kind used in chai
a mixture of that and urine, and something else unfamiliar
we tried to cover it up with cologne, with two more sheets,
with an extra blanket, but it persevered
and would not let us sleep
I was about to cry when
you made me laugh
you made a joke about how we could breathe
if we had extra long straws that would touch the ceiling
that way we could catch fresh breaths and plug our noses
we laughed so hard my stomach hurt
I had tears in my eyes
I woke up several times from my cheek resting
too long on the pillow and the stench
shaking me from my dreams
but I would look at you
with your face toward the ceiling
your hands folded peacefully on your stomach and
I would smile and fall back asleep
written: June 17, 2009
Where I'm From
I am from grandma’s cross-stitch framed in hallways,
clipped coupons and clean countertops.
I am from old country music on the stereo every Sunday
after church, after big breakfasts.
I am from hanging potted plants,
family pictures by the fence
antique rose hydrangeas and
daylilies in spring.
I am from a porch full of
painting toe nails, waiting for dates,
laughing on the phone,
crying when she died.
I am from St. Pius X, Schmige’s Junkyard, and the
original 3,2,1 Video.
I am from dipped cones at the DQ.
I am from great grandma Elsie’s
handmade dolls and polka.
I am from Bearcat’s float plane,
diving off the dock, and
water so clear you can see the bottom.
I am from Aunt Robyne’s real ghost stories
and dad’s biker brothers,
Harleys and long hair
and Uncle Rick’s rock band.
I am from honest to God, no things count, and
rock, paper, scissors
I am from strong coffee
and Butch’s carmel rolls at family reunions.
I am from grandma’s Christmas cut-outs and
counting on mom’s apple crisp in fall.
I’m from a closet filled with half finished scrapbooks,
boxes of eighth grade notes, plastic gold trophies, and
on a lonely hanger is that navy dress I wore to too
many funerals of friends.
I am from sweet dreams, tuck me ins,
and never go to bed angry.
I am from bedtime prayers, night lights,
and never too old for hugs and kisses.
clipped coupons and clean countertops.
I am from old country music on the stereo every Sunday
after church, after big breakfasts.
I am from hanging potted plants,
family pictures by the fence
antique rose hydrangeas and
daylilies in spring.
I am from a porch full of
painting toe nails, waiting for dates,
laughing on the phone,
crying when she died.
I am from St. Pius X, Schmige’s Junkyard, and the
original 3,2,1 Video.
I am from dipped cones at the DQ.
I am from great grandma Elsie’s
handmade dolls and polka.
I am from Bearcat’s float plane,
diving off the dock, and
water so clear you can see the bottom.
I am from Aunt Robyne’s real ghost stories
and dad’s biker brothers,
Harleys and long hair
and Uncle Rick’s rock band.
I am from honest to God, no things count, and
rock, paper, scissors
I am from strong coffee
and Butch’s carmel rolls at family reunions.
I am from grandma’s Christmas cut-outs and
counting on mom’s apple crisp in fall.
I’m from a closet filled with half finished scrapbooks,
boxes of eighth grade notes, plastic gold trophies, and
on a lonely hanger is that navy dress I wore to too
many funerals of friends.
I am from sweet dreams, tuck me ins,
and never go to bed angry.
I am from bedtime prayers, night lights,
and never too old for hugs and kisses.
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