Poetry – Page 4 – sethlewis.ie

Thorn Bush (a poem)

This week I have a short poem for you about a plant in our garden. It’s about more than that, really, but I’ll let it speak for itself:

Thorn Bush

The bush in our garden
Is covered with thorns

A Personal Update

It’s been a year and a half since I put up a personal update on the blog. That’s a long time, so today I’m sharing some of our recent news:

School is back in session for our children this week, which means summer is officially over. We didn’t get to go to America to visit our families this year, but all four of our parents did get over to visit us (and a niece as well). This was especially significant because both my mother and Jessica’s father had heart surgeries early this year. We are thankful that both have recovered well, and it was wonderful to have them here in Ireland. Our travel this summer was to take a ferry over to England for a Christian conference. It was one we’d never been to, and we barely knew anyone there, but that was soon remedied. It shouldn’t surprise me anymore, but it really is amazing how quickly our connection in Christ can override every area of difference and turn strangers into friends. We left refreshed and encouraged.

The Weeds (a poem)

You don’t know how bad the weeds are until you try to plant and keep a garden. In a similar way, as C.S. Lewis put it, “no man knows how bad he is till he has tried very hard to be good.” These are the things I was thinking about when I wrote this poem:

Slowly (a poem)

Sometimes it’s better to slow down to stay with someone else.

I see him walking

Slowly

Across the field
He’s old
But not so old
To move so slow

My eye follows
The lead he holds
That leads to
His companion—
Whose tail is wagging

Slowly

The End

Yesterday my wife and I attended the funeral of a friend that we will miss dearly. We still hear the echo of his deep voice in our ears, singing to the God he loved and served so well for so long. We will carry the memory of his smile and kind words with us as a precious treasure for the rest of our lives.

It’s hard to say goodbye.

It’s hard, but we need to do it. We need to remember, and grieve. We need to look back with thankfulness and look forward with hope.

But who can dare to look forward at a funeral?
Who can see beyond the finality of death?

Anyway (a poem)

Sometimes beauty is found in the most unlikely places.

Where Ireland’s green
Meets ocean’s blue
In jagged cliffs
With sweeping views
I walked until
The thick grass ended
Down onto the
Rocks descended
Down where wild
Wind and sea
Play tug of war
Continually

The Last Wall

Two weeks ago I wrote about how easily I can go blind to the world around me, forgetting to look at the familiar things I see every day. Sometimes it takes effort to really look at what I’m seeing, but the effort is worth it. I have found that the tangible world around me can often help me regain a proper perspective on my life. The ocean reminds me that my worries are smaller than they feel. The flowers remind me of God’s provision, the birds remind me of his care (Luke 12:22-31). In the following two poems, I tried to capture what a ruined wall behind our village and the couch in our sitting room reminded me of:

Walking Home

Richard Baxter lived 400 years ago, but he still was able to help me recently with some good advice. He wrote that God’s people should “take one walk every day in the New Jerusalem.” He meant that we should intentionally remember God’s promises, and live right now in the light of them. But I love the way he said it, and that’s where this poem came from:

Everything You Touch

I have a simple poem for you today, inspired by the beginnings of Spring that I’m starting to see around me:

Everything You Touch

Your hands
Flung stars
And stretched out space
Your fingertips
Shaped Earth and placed
A garden on
This small oasis
Bursting full of life

Burdens

I’ve been surprised many times at how strong the connection is between my mind and my body. Thoughts may not be tangible, but there is no denying that they have tangible effects on how my body works (or doesn’t work, as the case may be). My doctor told me years ago that the symptoms I described to him were not a disease—they were the natural (and quite common, he assured me) results of stress. The cure was not medicine, but a quieter mind. Easier said than done. The good news is we’re not alone: Psalm 55:22 and 1 Peter 5:7 invite us to cast our burdens on the Lord, who cares for his children. Galatians 6:2 also encourages God’s people to imitate their Saviour and “carry each other’s burdens, and in this way you will fulfil the law of Christ.”