Sabbath

Posted on June 21 2014 by J.W. Richmond

Breathing in the stillness,
   inhaling refreshment
   tasting the thin
                   soft air
     and allowing my mind
           the freedom
               to wander
                   move
                   swerve
     where it naturally flowed,
           I drank in
               from all the senses.

With plum-scented wafts
   tickling my face,
      I would close my eyes
          and tune out the chaos
                         of the day,
             trading it for a calm dark
          and listen to the music
                         of the night
                             the quiet
                             the wind
                             the frogs
                             the bugs,
                taking it all in,
                feeling it
                enjoying it
                expressing it
           by repeating words
                               phrases
                               verses
                          until they were
                              ingrained.

Yet at some point
   that became
       unproductive
       trifle
       frivolous
   as if I should have
       grown out of it,
     because it would be ridiculous
         for anyone
            to bother with anything
                 that wasn’t clear
                                  resolute
                                  tangible
                                  quantifiable.

Did I leave silly things behind
          or
  did I leave part of myself back
       because I erroneously
            bought into the admonition
                that listening
                       feeling
                       pulling thoughts together
                                into cohesion
                           from where they had scattered
                                was just a waste
                                      of time?

By pushing myself
   to grow out of it
      be something more
      do more
         with every second,
      did I trade rest
                      fulfillment
                      joy
                 for productivity?

Did I just let go
             give up
       on refueling
       on what I need to sustain every day
               by inadvertently disregarding
                             or fully ignoring
                              what used to be
                                 my Sabbath?

Wondering

Posted on June 8 2014 by J.W. Richmond

He is left
  questioning everything
          caught
          between
       the anger
       the yelling
       the screams
       the uncertainty
          invading every day.

He is left
  searching
     for any stability
        in the chaos and
                 intense silence
                    between
                 the screams.

He is left
  alone
     forced back
        and forth
        and back –
          indefinitely,
     forced to become a man
        at five years old
     forced to choose,
          yet left
       with an impossible choice.

He is left
  wondering
     if he is loved
        by anyone.
  Not even sure
     if this Jesus
        this God
        this possible Savior
           is out there,
     he is left
       with a small hope,
           and he prays
             to the only one
           who might even hear him
                  anymore.


Left Series: Part 4

Remembering

Posted on June 1 2014 by J.W. Richmond

They were left
  devastated
  desperate
  dumbfounded
     over losing their son.

They were left
  in shock
  falling to the ground
     knees imprinted in the carpet
  calling out in the night
     for solace
     for strength
     for him.

They were left
  holding closely
     to each other
  wondering
     if their family
        would ever feel
     like their family again.

They were left
  seeking Him
     and
  seeing Him
   in a way they never had before.
        His power
          was more mighty
        His peace
          more calming
        His comfort
           more evident
        His rest
           more restorative.

They were left
  remembering him,
  cherishing the time
     they had with him,
  bonded together tightly,
     missing him.

 

Left Series: Part 3

Reaching

Posted on May 25 2014 by J.W. Richmond

He left her
  with three kids
          a mortgage
   and a gaping hole
       where their marriage
            used to be.

He left her
  with no real explanation
  without anything for sure
        except her God
     who she holds fast to
        knowing He may be
               the only one
           she can ever fully count on.

He left her
  confused
  lonely
  angry
  abandoned
     just as he
  abandoned his God
     he once claimed
     he believed in,
        as he once
          believed in her.

He left her
  desperately screaming
  reaching up and out
     for her God,
       the only man
         she ever knew
       who she could fully trust
           with her faith,
       the only one
           who deserved her devotion,
       the only one
           who would never lie
       the only one
           who would never leave.

 

Left Series: Part 2

Clinging

Posted on May 24 2014 by J.W. Richmond

She is left
     grieving
  with their two kids
       and
  without him.

She is left
     clinging
  to what remains
       of her family
    and to her God
       who allowed him
               to go.

She is left
     behind
        wearing thin
        growing weak
        reaching out
  to the God she loves
     throughout it all
        despite her sadness
        despite her despair
        despite the empty space
                around her
           where her husband
                used to be.

She is left
     learning
  how to live again.

 

Left Series: Part 1

Graceless

Posted on May 17 2014 by J.W. Richmond

She moves with a movement
Of clanky hanks
And clumsy clunks
Bumping into knocks
And knocking into bumps
Tripping over crashes
As she falls into slumps.

All bellowing elbows
And knobby knees
Gracing her graceless walk
She clanks along
Through stones and rocks
Thinking silly talk
And humming humbling songs.

Her shoulder smashes
Pure evil corners
With particular precision
As no one could ever
Prove her childlike mishaps
To be merely a scrimmage
Or mischanced vision.

Fleeting

Posted on May 3 2014 by J.W. Richmond

Over black ice
  and fresh snow
     on a country road,
  we drove
     that December night
         beneath the moon.

Snowflakes flying
  more than falling,
     we climbed
          the graffitied bridge
             over the river
     and sat in the cold,
          overlooking the water.

Hunched together,
  we waited
       stalled
  and cleared our thoughts
          in the brisk wind
       as we watched for a train
             that never came.

Our fleeting footprints
  quickly covered
     by the elements,
  we drove carelessly and
                 carefully home
         with hardly a trace
              that we had ever left.

Convergence

Posted on April 25 2014 by J.W. Richmond

It was strangely magnetic,
         a homeland
         a rite of passage
         a convergence
               of a time
     that was so insignificant
       while the timing
             was anything but.

There were the firsts
          and the never-agains.
I was insecurely confident,
   learning self
         and God
         and other people’s lies.

It was a period
         of acute change,
      regressing some
      becoming more.

I had nothing,
   yet I was keenly
         thankful.
I could enjoy the time
                  and place
                  and lack of distance.

Then the tides came in
   as the moon sunk
     from the sky.
I awoke
     from the real-life dream,
           and it was gone.

Finished

Posted on April 19 2014 by J.W. Richmond

Between
     friendship
        and betrayal,
     regret
        and forgiveness,
     final death
        and ultimate life,
   what a long few days
          it must have been.

More than normal
     and 
 more than lately,
   I keep trying
        to focus,
           intentionally
              thinking about
                 Him
        because this weekend
              is significant
           and should not be
                 forgotten.

But I keep getting
               distracted.
I have trouble
    just keeping my mind on Him
        for multiple minutes
                in a row,
   like a sleepy disciple
        in the garden
      who can’t stay awake
          for their best friend
                in the entire world
                     when He asked (Matthew 26:36-45).

Yet somehow
   I keep finding my eyes
                  wet
           as if I can’t not
              think about Him
                  in a deeper place
                       than thoughts
                            can go.

Maybe He
   keeps bringing me back
     to Himself
        in spite of me,
   amidst my carelessness
             and selfish choices
         to choke back
                       bile
                       tears
                       anger
                         and
                       outrage
        over His unfair death (Matthew 27:22-23)
          and everything He gave –
        all the things
           I live with
              every day,
                  so ungrateful for.

Because despite
   what I may recognize
                     acknowledge
                     feel
                       or
                     do
        He already finished
   what He came to do (John 19:30)
      when He died
                    forgave (Luke 23:34)
                      and
                    came to life again (Luke 24:6-7).

Spit

Posted on April 5 2014 by J.W. Richmond

If only
   he would have
     kept his mouth
          shut
     swallowed back the words
          that should have
               never been said aloud.

They would have
              or at least
         could have
              found their place
                    in a different
                       configuration
              twisted themselves
                    into each other
                      or
              dissolved
                    altogether.

Instead he spit them out
                blurted them
             and they
                lashed out
                    with slicing metal edges
                       all their own
             as they
                burned
                stung
                   and viciously
                tore apart
                    the sweet, starry petals
                          that had once been
                              in front of him.