Here’s another poem by one of our participants in our Twitter Poetry parties (me). I posted it on my blog in October.

Glynn Young

http://www.twitter.com/gyoung9751

http://faithfictionfriends.blogspot.com

The Real Poet

All ministry begins at the ragged edges of our own pain.
• Ian Cron, Chasing Francis

Appearance: of quiet.
Silence assumed an
Acquiesence,
With, perhaps,
A slight touch of arrogance.
You know too much.
You do too many
Things well.
But more a silence
Of understanding,
Deep and prophetic,
Afflicting the comfortable.
Corporate rebel.

Substance: of doubt,
Self, faith, friends, God.
Not defining,
Not lasting,
But sparked by
A question, look,
An exclusion;
Tempered by
The gift of faith
In the face of doubt.

Substance: of longings.
A father’s touch,
A friend’s voice
A spirit’s breath
If ever so slight.

Substance: of words.
Shape-shifting tools
Of prophets,
Liars and kings.
Words for mouths
And ears,
Words to herald,
Words to remember,
Words to persuade
Or give the impression
Of persuasion.
Words to bury,
Words to apologize
Without admission;
Words to admit
Without apology.
A life constructed
Of constructed words.

Then, new words,
Unbidden;
A new way to lay
The road to Golgotha,
The street of sorrows
Paved with sharp,
Tearing stones
That bruise and
Pierce and hurt.
Words that redeem
Even a poet.