Engaging the Life of the Soul
is a moose getting up late, I wonder
on my walk along a river’s edge, without another
human soul in sight, acutely aware
my shoes are not made
for running—relieved to find a bird, perhaps
as large as a grouse, rustling
in an abundance of leaves can make
a lot of fuss
this poem about the many ways we need peace to appear, appears in my book called QUIET WATERS
the alley is lined with pallet composters,
filled with this fall’s dumping
of flowers and trailing vines; a series of uniform
black plastic bins,
and ubiquitous overhead wires—
this is where we live
collectively, and individually
monotone garage doors framed with suspect cameras
suggest a wealth of items under wraps,
despite a hazard of things
left out
a blue chair—decked with dust—leans
against slabs of unused shingles,
a borrowed traffic sign, plus
gently used items marked “free” for anyone wanting
to fix a bike, clean a stroller,
polish off the paint
everywhere, fragments of stories appear at odds
with the frontage, prove irresistible,
become the reason why some of us walk here,
regularly
wondering at the declaration of trust in a side of life
that tends to thrive out back, content
with the unfinished
this poem appears in my book Quiet Waters
A hunger for liberty, a desire
to walk in the light of what is known,
a taste for truth, willing to say
yes and no in equal measure,
these are the basic
ingredients in spiritual
formation.
to be shaped into a person who walks in the light of truth: this might be a good enough summary of the disciplined path that is spiritual formation — this poem appears in my book, Quiet Waters
Did Jonah write his name on the wall
of the belly of the whale,
leave his mark,
press his flesh into the immutable
will of God
in this time the Bible says
he was shut up—
to become who he really was?
Is there somewhere I need to do that: embrace
the will of God in a deeper, more inside-out
way along the path?
We can risk mistaking ourselves for limited human beings. But because we are created in the image of God and because He is the creator of all, including these truly beautiful, mystifying creatures called whales; and because the Bible is full of stories that stretch our limited understanding past marked political or philosophical boundaries, we can rejoice. We can relax. We can take pleasure knowing there is much more going on than we can possibly see, tell or explain. And so, we make our mark. We live our lives. And we don’t really know how big a splash that will make, do we? Until someone reads our story, and asks – what about that? This poem appears in my book, Quiet Waters.
A medicant beggar
in a town square, a medieval figure
seeks charity and finds when people
give him the time of day,
a dollar or sandwich to get by on, something
shifts in their eyes, their face:
they walk away, or sit for a while, changed, more
at home with being charitable—
with rising hope,
perhaps, there is another way
to live, to love in the light that shines
both on this man with the gentle voice
and the glass towers
around him that he draws them from
like so much water flowing, running
to the well
a historical reversal, a moment at the crossroads,
as faith seeks its centre, asks for what
it needs—
comes into the open.
There are people who humble us by the way they live their lives. Their simple acts. They way they approach ordinary tasks with extraordinary patience and awareness of what might matter in that moment; the way they connect from their core, with the world around them and bless it with God’s love by doing so. This poem celebrates that. You can find it in my latest book of poems, “Quiet Waters.”