Tuesday, March 11, 2008

A Poem Draft and a Re-Draft

Before the Ravens

No rain and no bread
for long endless days;
the land is half dead
from idolatrous ways.

The prophet is hid
from the wrath of the king;
to do as God bid
was a dangerous thing.

By Kerith a brook
flows in trickle and stream,
to those who might look
like a mirage and a dream.

By Kerith a man
now covers his head
as he lies on the sand
and waits as if dead.

Colt of an Ass

I am nothing special,
I only bear my Lord
through Zion's dusty gates.
They sing vain Hosannas,
cloaks spread on the earth,
palms triumphantly waving,
none seeing or knowing me;
but in all this chanting crowd
I alone serve the one they hymn.

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