Wednesday, September 6, 2017

The Garden of Verse: Matthew's Great Teaching on Charity and Hospitality, in an Age of Plastic




My poem on the difficult issue of living charitably and hospitably, as moral authorities such as the writers of the New Testament say we should, is appearing in the September issue of the online poetry journal, Verse-Virtual.
            The poem is titled "Food, Drink, Love" and responds to the often cited and beautifully phrased verse from the Book of Matthew in the New Testament. Here's the verse:
"For I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me." Matthew 25:35
             I'll post the first four stanzas of my poem here:

Food, Drink, Love 
If I were one for food and drink,
I'd never stop to mull and think
But fill the pail up to the brim
And bid good cheer to her and him

Now I keep nought of drink and food
For a plastic card is just as good
Its heart lies on a printed sheet
Accept this page, it's good to eat

Somewhere, my lad, your face I've seen
Perchance about the cash machine,
An oasis and a landscape green
With dates and palms and hands so clean

I knew you, Matthew, long ago
Your hair was long, your speech was slow
One of love's tribe, an innocent
Whose glory now is long since spent

If I were giving food and drink
I'd never have the time to think
For urchins with their empty cup
Would line my door to fill it up

             To read the rest of this poem and other work by the 55 poets in this issue, see  http://www.verse-virtual.com/poems-and-articles.html
 

            The September 2017 issue of Verse-Virtual also includes one poem from my chapbook "Gardeners Do It With Their Hands Dirty," published in May.
            Here's the poem:


Waiting for the Perseids
 

No stars, but fire
And a guitar,
knock-knock-knocking on the soft diplomacy of clouds, visibility poor

A surge of smoke lunges like a ghost,
then twists back to the lake's black mirror
The weather worker builds a tapered temple of wood,
an offering,
draws flame from his hand

An instrument is procured for the master
The strings wind upward, songs
A few syllables hummed, rise to the diminished sky
From the dark below to the mottled cushion of the stars

The loon calls to the morning light
 

            That chapbook, my first book of poems, is available from Finishing Line Press at
https://www.finishinglinepress.com/product/gardeners-do-it-with-their-hands-dirty-by-robert-knox/




 

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