St. Mark Reformed ChurchPoetry

Grace before Dawn

Joe Thacker — Tue, 26 Apr 2011 17:03:29 +0000

Wife and baby
Peacefully sleeping.
Pictures of blessing;
Mercies incarnate.

Journey of the Magi

Joe Thacker — Wed, 29 Dec 2010 19:19:39 +0000

Journey of the Magi
by T.S. Eliot

A cold coming we had of it,
Just the worst time of the year
For a journey, and such a long journey:
The ways deep and the weather sharp,
The very dead of winter.
And the camels galled, sore-footed, refractory,
Lying down in the melting snow.
There were times when we regretted
The summer palaces on slopes, the terraces,
And the silken girls bringing sherbet.
Then the camel men cursing and grumbling
And running away, and wanting their liquor and women,
And the night-fires going out, and the lack of shelters,
And the cities dirty and the towns unfriendly
And the villages dirty and charging high prices:
A hard time we had of it.
At the end we preferred to travel all night,
Sleeping in snatches,
With the voices singing in our ears, saying
That this was all folly.

Then at dawn we came down to a temperate valley,
Wet, below the snow line, smelling of vegetation;
With a running stream and a water mill beating the darkness,
And three trees on the low sky,
And an old white horse galloped away in the meadow.
Then we came to a tavern with vine-leaves over the lintel,
Six hands at an open door dicing for pieces of silver,
And feet kicking the empty wineskins.
But there was no information, and so we continued
And arrived at evening, not a moment too soon
Finding the place; it was (you may say) satisfactory.

All this was a long time ago, I remember,
And I would do it again, but set down
This set down
This: were we led all that way for
Birth or Death? There was a Birth, certainly,
We had evidence and no doubt. I had seen birth and death,
But had thought they were different; this Birth was
Hard and bitter agony for us, like Death, our death.
We returned to our places, these Kingdoms,
But no longer at ease here, in the old dispensation,
With an alien people clutching their gods.
I should be glad of another death.

The Innocents

Joe Thacker — Thu, 23 Dec 2010 11:43:40 +0000

The Innocents

Peacefully sleeping, without a sound,

Wrapped in blankets all around,

Lies my daughter, sweet and mild;

A joy. A gift. A precious child.

Tiny fingers. Tiny toes.

Of these things she is composed.

Soft and pudgy in her frame;

Amazed the Savior bore the same.

She lies there safe and undisturbed;

Was it the same for the flesh-made Word?

A tyrant’s price placed on His head;

The King of the Jews Wanted: Dead.

With Him to Egypt His parents fled

Obeying what the angel said.

Old Herod’s sword in fury stirred,

On Bethlehem’s boys his wrath conferred.

Lamentations hardly tame

By mothers whose sons they’d ne’er reclaim;

In Ramah’s streets their grief arose,

No comfort found or calm repose.

Thus it was for the Promised Child,

Who came to save a world defiled.

Sleep on, little girl, in His grace wound,

For He is life and peace unbound.

Haiku

Joe Thacker — Thu, 07 Jan 2010 08:28:12 +0000

“Beer”
Easy
Going down
Dark and smooth chocolate tones

“Invitation”
The cement was wet
I need to wash my hands
Lasting impressions