A Still Small Voice

I.  A Still Small Voice

If ravenous winds didn’t claw your house apart
Turn it upside down
And shake everything loose–
Every dark crevice and dust-filmed corner robbed of their secrets–
Would you still, even now
Just be sitting there on the porch, cool evening,
Begging for a revelation
While a quiet breath brushed your hair,
Stroked your delicate neck–
Oh, LORD, please, LORD,
just one small sign.

K. Ashby

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Spring (Finally)

This poem lay dormant for months, seeded in the waning days of autumn, when I wrote Anthem.  Finally, spring is here with “A shout of triumph / An anthem of joy.”


Tight, verdant buds dot the naked limbs laid bare in winter,
and a chartreuse film covers the ground greened in new grass
raised from the teeming dark.

K. Ashby


Holy Week: Hope and Resurrection

How does the hard and frigid soil,
packed from winter’s brutal toil,
think that spring will ever show–
unfurl above, thread below?

What tiny hope stirs in the deep
to resurrection’s vigil keep?
What life beneath is waiting there–
renewal’s meat, drink, and air?

It’s Adam’s dust, from Adam shaken,
soil to flesh, the flesh then taken
back to earth for life above–
warmed, reborn by perfect love.

~K. Ashby


Previously:
Holy Week: Nature Tells the Truth
Holy Week: Perfect Love

Holy Week: Perfect Love

XV.

What cracks the husk
so that hope pushes its green head
up to the light,
and frail threads wend downward
to mine the rich dark decay
of yesterday’s life?

Previously:
Holy Week: Nature Tells the Truth

This I Know

XVI.  This I Know

Sometimes devastation pummels
from a charcoal sky at noon, but
a dark sky doesn’t change day to night.
Night will only come
when earth turns her face from sun.

Proverbs 3:5-16, Joshua 23:14

~K. Ashby
11/30/17

Silent Shout

XV.

Anyone can see
those pale curves were molded by a master.
No amount of dust, no darkened corner
can hide the same truth told by the sun
as it sinks into lavender mountains–
rustling, fragrant trees hug glinting streams,
uncurling ferns, a dragonfly wing–
the creation reveals its creator
with a silent shout.

K. Ashby

Anthem

XIV.

When the air chills and the light dims,
Autumn flames, then falls,
All that glory ground into the winter wet earth
With other dead things.
Because in winter
Life lies beneath, devouring death,
Transforming all the rot and worthless things
Until they cradle life, holding it in trust
Until warmth and light return
And the earth breaks open, greens and flowers.
A shout of triumph,
An anthem of joy.

~K

11/16