Na h-Eileanan Siar

 The granite face

still stands

but every year

does crumble,

attacked by gales

and salt-haired billows,

nursed and cradled

by the cold black deep.

At the precipice stands,

no wait, now kneels,

a son of clan MacLeod.

Behind the cliff

the sheep run down

to shelters,

smelling heavy water

on the rivers of the air. 

The wind knocks

MacLeod back

into the grass below,

he recoils in Gaelic

with a shout

and takes the hill

again.

Clinging to

an outcrop,

the wind begins

to whisper rain,

until the torrents

overtake

 the herald

with resounding force.

The boy's eyes

battle the sky

and at last

they are rewarded.

Slamming 

with defiance through

a wave,

up comes a sail.

The ship.

Ship in Fog

Ship in fog.

A thick grey office-like fog

a monotone horizon

with the deep blue

blankets of water for a bed.

The ship don't move

it's paused from time

away from clocks

and schedules.

On the bow

a raven leaps,

obscurely viewed

and wondered at

by mariners ancient

on the ship in fog.

Below the serenity

miles of cold black water

down to the miry slopes

of slumbering mountains

forgotten by the air.

A shout

and further silence.

Jesus on Every Page

Sometimes when we read from the Old Testament or hear a sermon on it, it feels like something is missing. Or rather: someone. Where is Jesus? In this book by David Murray, he reminds us that in some way or form Jesus is actually on every page of the Bible! In fact, Luke 24:27 says that "beginning with Moses and all the Prophets, he [Jesus] interpreted to them in all the Scriptures the things concerning himself."

This book has two parts. The first answers the question about what and who the Old Testament is really all about, showing the answers given by Jesus himself, as well as the apostles Peter, Paul, and John. The second part takes us into a more in-depth look at where Jesus can be found in particular parts of the Old Testament such as creation, the covenants, the proverbs, and the poems. In the poems section, Murray writes that we sing to Jesus with the Psalms, sing of Jesus in the Psalms, and sing with Jesus in the Psalms. Sometimes it's a combination of those within one single psalm. With this in mind, singing the psalms becomes even more meaningful and joyful. 

I would recommend this book to anyone who wants to see more of Jesus in their Old Testament reading. Learning more about Jesus will help us better love him, praise him, and serve him. 

Growing Older

Another poem I wrote off an internet prompt a few years ago.

It seems my days of youth are over.

The next generation continues 

the heritage,

praising God 

and making it the best they can.

Alas, I can no longer join them, the sap of my bones

has seeped 

and my muscles are weak like 

a frayed rope.

It gives me great joy to see 

the children play 

under a shining sun 

and laughing 

as they tumble and talk.

My rocking chair continues to sway on my ancient porch,

and I thank God for letting me

 live to see them. 

Autumn Homecoming (Mother's Perfume)

Wrote this poem in high school off a writing prompt website. Tried to put myself into the shoes of a young American college student coming home for a southern Thanksgiving with the family. 

Back in the old family home,

turkey in the oven, and laughter ringing,

and amid it all my mother's perfume.

Campus life offers no comfort

compared to a mother.

The scent wafts through the air like

a paper airplane, bringing with it tones

of oak and rose, spices, and apple pie.

T'is nice to be home. 

Descent

Journey's end.

The plane

glides down

like a swan

from its place

among the stars.

Those who look up

in the night

become an audience

to its twinkling lights.

Where are those people from?

Why do they come here?

The questions

draw to a close

as the plane lowers

further,

out of the horizon

window frame.

Sleeping passengers

rouse themselves,

opening their eyes

to see a city

of constellations,

man's lights reflecting the

higher galaxies beyond his world.  

Seat belts are fastened

and suspense grows

as altitude diminishes.

The dark ground

below grows closer 

and closer.

Lone cars move fast

on quiet highways,

indifferent to any watchers

in the black sky above.

Airport runways

come into focus,

then fences,

then terminals,

other planes

from other places.

Finally...

impact.

The blast,

the shock,

the thrill.

The massive bird

comes to a calm

and struts proudly

to its gate.

Billowing

Weightless

this tube of metal

floats upward

through turquoise skylight.

The passengers inside

prepare for the haul,

some sleep,

some read,

some watch the clouds

in their picturesque parade.

 Soon enough,

the first food

will arrive

with the smile of a steward.

Outside the coast

begins to shrink,

the ocean taking up

more and more

of the circular picture,

its waves invisible,

its blueness vast.

The land disappears

from gaze,

and soon there is

only the two great blues

and this lonesome tube of metal.

The hours roll by,

music is played,

movies begin and end,

food is served,

naps are conducted,

cross puzzles solved.

Just when it seems

the journey will never end,

a destination 

comes vaguely into view,

a new shore,

welcomed with both apprehension

and the gladness of homesickness relieved. 

Wall of mountains

arising from the deep,

in a place once unexpected.

The sun shines on jubilant snow,

while the lowlands boil in summer heat.

"Ladies and gentlemen"

the pilot begins to say,

enthralled by the happy success 

of another delivery.

 

Retreat

The land lies deathly quiet

under cold's hard hand.

The sun, he still visits

but his heat is elsewhere.

And so that season winter

drags on...

And on...

And on.

But as the moons pass by

slow change,

the slowest change

occurs.

The sun visits longer,

he's had his fill

of the globe's other side. 

And with the sun

comes the wind.

Transformed from cold to cool

and from cool to warm.

She comes up back from

her equatorial lodgings.

The sea sends her on her way,

and she herself bids the snow depart.

Winter is beautiful in its own way

but yet the people smile again to see this

Retreat.

Seven Three Seven

The final turn on the asphalt

and then the sudden pause.

The pilot waits,

the suspense grows.

Just when it seems

like it'll never happen,

the engines begin to sing in unison.

The hum gets louder,

a crescendo of moving metal.

The plane begins to move,

the wheels start to turn.

Brakes released,

and the bird can't hold back,

can't refuse the beckoning sky.

Barrelling down the runway

the grass becomes a blur

as the hum turns into a roar.

And then...

weightless.

"The captain has now

turned off the seat-belt sign."

What a view.