My Poem The Scars of God’s Hands G.K. Chesteron’s Poem The Hunting of the Dragon If you are looking for more from the Westminster Confession of Funk, check out my blog hosted by Cross Politic. Check out my books at amazon.com/author/jason_farley. And visit Jovial Press for more.
My soul clung to the dust, now dust clings to my soul. Your life-breath, once blown up the nose of my father, once exhaled in fruit-statutes, once blown across the dry bones until they could get up and dance; breathe life on me. Speak again the six stanzas that climb up to rest. Speak them […]
Blueberry bushes brush bungling hands. Hands heavy with age —quivering unhelpfully— gather taste gushing gems of tang. No rot. No root-break. The ripped branches are simply savaged off by shaking old hands. Hands tired of being bound- back for decades. Held mute by manners monastic and proper. Held still by habit and a fury hell […]
Check out the poem Pied Beauty from Hopkins. If you are looking for more from the Westminster Confession of Funk, check out my blog hosted by Cross Politic. Check out my books at amazon.com/author/jason_farley. And visit Jovial Press for more. Thanks for joining me and keep it funky people.
SONG OF YOUR OWN People take on the shape of the songs and stories that surround them, especially if they don’t have a song of their own. Neil Gaiman, Anansi Boys Like the slender-ankled daughters of ocean shaped by the banks that decide their path, we are shaped by our songs and our stories like potions. Each […]
Having recently had The Rev. Joseph Carlson as a Guest on the recent episode of CrossPolitic, I thought it might be nice to get one of his sonnets before you. This is for the 24th Sunday of the Trinity Season in his book of Sonnets for the Church Year. Waiting Four hundred years – the […]
Wing Lift Psalm 91:3-4 Death-wrenched, life-drenched, each pinched soul fledged to soar on raptorial sails. A fowler-freed fire-bred goldfinch, carols unhitched, stretching and reaching, on wind-held wings. Held in glide and lift, windhover pinion, piloted upwards, against the pull, against the pitch, rich wind hovers over the face of the waters fixing and fastening the […]
The Christian Church is in exile. Not that we are living in tents (though many church buildings may qualify as temporary). Instead, there is a deeper exile. The soul of the American Church is in the plot point of the epic poem in which the protagonist becomes a homeless wanderer Like the exiled warrior of […]