Some of my favourite poetry is that which wrestles, dances with the rich imagery at work in the Bible. It doesn’t preach. It simply tells a story. It helps us picture what the original authors might have been aiming for. This is a poem written as part of a homework assignment for a theology course I’m taking.
It plays around a bit with Psalm 8. Let’s dance. It’s always God’s idea.
God, you have scattered your way
among stars, heaped about in the easy
wonders of your winking eye.
Our small and stuttered stance, hands
perched on brows, we squint against
the brilliance and tuck our ignorance
inside curiosity, piqu’d at your
grand and noble gesture.
We shine bright inside your shadow.
From there, at your behest, we are noblesse oblige.
It is in the suppler clay of faces you
do your best work –
the weary eyes of fawning mothers,
the stretching yawns of nipple-fed wains,
tossed high by fathers and friends,
and high school herds, stalwart tribes
trumpeting tales of borrowed conquest.
Foe, fallow-field, and fission –
all made from the same stuff.
What careless shrug dares dismiss so noble a kiss?
Who would think it wise to cork this wine
so ably poured from heaven’s fire?
God, you have scattered
my way among stars.
February 14, 2021 ©Robert A. Rife