nhti presentation 10262010
DESCRIPTION
Poetry Presentation 10262010 for NHTI Christian Student Organization, Concord, NHTRANSCRIPT
Poetry Where You LiveRaymond A. Foss
Poetry Where You Live
160 Main Street
Suncook, NH 03275-1206
http://www.raymondafoss.blogspot.com
Writing Poetry• I read a poem I wrote at the April 17, 2000
school board meeting and I liked the response.• Poetry Where You Live is a state of mind,
believing that, like God’s grace, poetry is where you live, not something you have to seek out in some distant place.
• People say that a picture speaks a thousand words. With poetry, I can paint a picture, capture a moment, a smell, a scene in a handful of words.
Beach Sand
Maybe it is the memories
the change of pace that brings us there
the sense of vacation
maybe the smell of the place
the sights of the gulls, the dunes, the grasses
but oh it is the feel of it,
the crunch and slide of it
the feeling of beach sand
so different from dirt, soil, loam
no, not earthy, moist, rich,
but oh so granular and gritty
even when wet,
moveable paper spreading under toes
sliding beneath the soles
smoothing my skin
clearing my mind
unburdening me of the rest
drawing me to the tactile, the feel
of beach sand
Seeing the beauty
When We Sorrow
When we sorrowwhen we rail
the yoke of our walkour struggles heavy
sometimes seeming unjustyet God is still with us
walking beside our every stepFaithfully offering his peace, his grace
to persevere, to bring us throughto the other side
if we follow the way of Christ
Tears of Grace
The scene in heavenin God’s holy courts
water flowingshowering down on us
Tears of Gracein our Savior’s suffering
the pain of our Fatherin putting the Son to death
Letting the evilthe hands of men upon him
nailing him to the crossthe lamb upon the tree
Tears of Gracepouring out richlyloving us enough
to sacrifice for all mankindthough we are yet full of sin.
Needing to focus
Poetry
I have found my voice.Moments captured in word and rhyme.
Free form verseAnd stream of consciousness.
Spell check off, Why spoil the mood.
Where did the words come from.Where were they hidden.
Why now.
I am free.To share thoughts untold.
To open up.To live.
Dancing with God
A wonderful concept dancing with Godbut are we ready for him to leadto guide us through life’s passagesturning our freewill overto Himbecoming a followerdisciple of the Masterfeeling his hand on our hipour backsubmitting to his willthe yoke is easybut it is a yokenonethelesshard choicefor a society, a peoplewrapped up in Me
Sharing My Joy
Beach Sand – v2
Maybe it is the memoriesthe change of pace that brings us there
our sense of vacationmaybe the smell of the place
visions of the gulls, the dunes, grasses;moving in the air, the invisible breezes,
but oh it is the feel of it, the crunch and slide of itthe feeling of beach sand
so very different from dirt, soil, loamno, not earthy, moist, rich, wet mulch;but oh so granular and gritty, slippery
even when wet,moveable paper spreading under toes
sliding beneath the solessmoothing my skin
clearing my mind, peaceunburdening me of the restdrawing me to the tactile,
the feel of beach sand
In the Depths of Our Sorrow
In the depths of our sorrowin our torment of anguish and pain
God there with usevery step of the wayOnly through the fires
refined by the trials of lifesteeled for God’s purposethat we may share his loveStrengthened by the Spirit
going as we are ledguided by our shepherdwrapped in arms of love
June 10, 2010
The Other Disciple
Each of us journeyingfollowing the path
each of us gatheringcarrying our cross
We are the other discipleunnamed, on the road
walking with Jesusall the way home
He is beside uson our path, in this walk
sharing our struggles and triumphsall of our days
Christ is with usHis Spirit indwelling
calling us to go, to sharein service to our King
The Way of the Cross
In a state of love, of gracejoining the Spirit, our brother
following the call of our creatorshepherded, guided on our walk
in union with the trinitygoing the way of the cross
Seeking to be his servants
the children of our loving Godthe facets of his love for usrevealed in so many ways
like cascades of living waterwashing down over us
Wanting to share, to the whole worldto reach out, to the ends of the earth
that all would drink from these springsrefreshed, redeemed by our savior
led by the Spirit’s teachingscaring for our neighborsbringing us home to God
Living More PurposefullyNot to claim a victorynot our own validation
living more purposefullyto stay centered on God
Not drifting with the wind
not following the flow of the crowdwalking with my savior
on the road laid before me
Using my gifts, my talentshearing my master’s callpersevering in adversity
courage, committing my all
Sausage
Sausage
Forget the frank,Give me the Fenway sausage.
Lansdowne or Yawkey,Just give me the street, the crowds, the carts.
Sausage you shrug, you the readerOf this trifle, this whimsy
What do I mean, me the storytellerRead on.
Peppers and onionsTease the tongue
Bun and hot mustardSet the stage
The scorched and blackened piece of meatReminds me of every one
Eaten before
So much memoryOf family and fun
Of ballgames, tailgates, and the carnieA cacophony of moments
Drip with greaseDo you smell it too on the smoky hot grill?
My lips curl with a smirk
Writing these linesAs I laugh to myself
Of the pleasures of excessThe lusty gluttonyOf another one.
The Ripples ReturningIn casting the seedsthe stones, the words
into the ground, the searipples touching distant shoresbut sometimes returning to me
A wonder, in the sharingthe words finding fertile soil
reaching hearts opensending their love in reply
Returning these gifts from Godthat they would be planted deeper in me
Casting more stones out into seaseeds on the wind,
planted on distant shores
Feeling the peace of that moment Sensing their spiritsin this hallowed spacethe hallowed ground I walked onfeeling their warm embrace The stillness of the duskthe bright sun before its dyingsharing this moment with themthe saints who guard this space
My Starfish
Like the man, the star thrower,reaching down, into the warm skin of the water
touching the warming sand,throwing star fish into the sea
returning them to the living watersnot walking by, not ignoring their fate
to die in the receding tide
His calling, his urging,to save those he can
to act, not just observefollowing his purpose
his special gift
Like the man, each of usa special calling, a part of God’s plan
to reach down, to lift up,to serve one anotherto offer God’s love,
as we are especially able
Words on the page,an image of grace, agape love;
a picture conjured in the mind’s eyethese are some of my starfishcast into the ocean of the web
out into the world, sharing the hope, the assurance
the certainty of God’s handresting upon the waters, upon our lives
God doing a new thing, out of his infinite loveseeking us, pursuing us, offering himself for ushis limitless gifts, even in our times of struggle
offering hope for a futurebeyond our comprehension
By the Waters
Rest, given by the shepherdunder his protection
into that green pastureby the waters, living waters
clear, pure, calling our spirits
Peace within uswithin our beating hearts
abundant graceflowing over me, over
my head, down my beard, my collarwashing me clean, to that place of rest
Walking beside, following the shepherdthrough our journey of fait
once we too have heard His callanswered his offer of lifecleaving to our maker,
our savior, our allresting where he leads
into the fieldsby the still waters
Entering with Them
Walking beside meoffering me a bulletin
a welcome as I entered inentering with them
the saints resting herethose who have yet to stay
in heaven above
Walking beside meoffering me a placeas if at a wedding
seating behind the groomin the bride’s church
something special about my timein this hallowed space
A Christian in the throne room of God
Oh to be a Christian, in the throne room of Godto be like Isaiah, to be in awe, in wonder
to see the heavenly beings, to see the risen Christsitting at the right hand of the Father
to hear the heavenly choir, to be so graced
To walk, assuming that was how we move thereto approach the throne of our brother
to bow, to humble myself, in supplication and, oh yes, in thanksgiving
Oh if only I could find the words, in that very moment
to tell my brother, what his sacrifice, what his obediencewhat his gift of love means to me
If I but have this chance, to be a Christian
to have been yoked with my brother all the days of my lifeto be in the presence of God, to be before my Lord and King;
but especially to be able to thank him, to wash his feet,as he has washed mine, as he has poured out
grace upon grace, joy after joy
To be a Christian in the throne room of God,and to know what that means
The Unnamed Disciples With Cleopas, walking homeon the Road to EmmausLeaving Jerusalem, on a journeytraveling from the city of Davidwondering what is to become of His ministrynow that the Master is goneSo much pain, so much confusionnot truly understanding these things Walking on that roadjoined by a stranger, seemingly unawareunaware of the events which have dominated our daysfrom the triumphant entrance, hosannas and palmsto the cross, to death, to the graveReports of the empty tomb, of his risingbut emptiness mainlyThe stranger sharing, what is this he saysthe prophecy of the Messiahin the life of our Masterthe scripture fulfilledWalking homewardentering inOur savior lives!in the breaking of bread We are the unnamed disciplewalking with Christso unsure, so troubledwhen we should have joy insteadBelieving, if we but walk with himlook to the scripture, to the words of oldhis life, his ministry, all of this foretoldThe words he shared with Cleopas, with us as wellas true today, as on the road to Emmausthe road home, to our Fatherwalking with our savior, with our brotherSharing the good news with the othersuntil all of us have heard, to the ends of the earth
Red Sox Win Red Sox winYankees loseA story so bigIt led the news
Bumped politicsDown the pageIt may even reduceNew England road rage
A-Rod and JeterWhat can be sweeterOh look,We caught a cheater
Taking two from themIn their parkBig PapiWas our spark
Down and outA three-oh slideNot the end for thisTeam with Pride
Red Sox NationDeliriousThis whole World SeriesWill be just as serious.
Reverse the CurseAll these agesSo this club’s historyWill fill more pages
A Servant’s Hands
He lifted me, saved mefrom my old broken lifeHe lifted me, carried mewith a servant’s hands
Taking his arms, nailed to the crossso long ago, for me
reaching down, with arms open wide
to bring me closethe love of his fathershared by his sacrifice
a servant’s handssaved me
A Beat in Concord I was sitting there in the traffic, waiting for the lightthe heat and humidity building in the van,one window open to the moist air after the flooding I saw a character, a caricature, a man out of time on the sidewalk, under the underpass, half in shadowHe was a beat,not a Ginsberg, no he wouldn’t Howl,a modern day Kerouac, or someone who aspired to be It was his walk, his gait, his hair, his clothesa slouched walk, bath sandals that had been worn outside too longhunched shoulders, time spent in dim lit libraries, before glowing computer screens, shaded lampsan oversized blazer from the thrift storeover a frock prom shirt, frilled and with cranberry edging I could sense the latte on his breathsmell of clove cigarettes in the wool of the coattoo warm for the day around hima mop of coarse black hairthat hadn’t seen a brush or comb in dayssunken eyes, and a certainty he’d written lines far darker than thesewords that would confuse and provokethe unfairness of the mundane, the bleakness of his bourgeois existence unaware of his place, his role in the intelligentsia A yawn at the coffee house, or maybe a demigodhard to say across the street, as I wasdriving by his path for those few momentsbefore my light went green and I went on down the roadaway from the college-aged, but no longer in college beaton the street in Concord
The First Lamb The first lamb,the first volunteerbefore all others“Here I am; send me!” Christ’s sacrificebeginning before timechoosing to descend as a manto suffer and to die Knowing all he knewof how we would reject himhow he would know human painhow he would die in shame The first lamb, the first volunteerhumble before Godwas the precious saviorour Lord and our brother Giving his all for usthat we may see our fatherredeemed by his precious bloodpoured out on the altar of the cross
Walking My Dreams In each step forwardacting out my faithgoing furtherwalking my dreams One more stepa victorywalking in the wayfollowing my brotherevery single day Trying more and moreto heed the spirit’s callgoing where I am ledanswering my father’s call Here, I am, send meever to do your workusing the gifts given to meto spread your message of love
Together We Danced
Together, we dancedthrough my day (so far), my work, my lifeDancing with my creatorthe potter to my clayspinning, whirlingto the tune he would playmoving through the momentsthe choices I would makeA dance for the dayhis hand upon meguiding my steps along the way
The Dance of the Clay
the potter moving,his hands, bodydrawing the claypulling the clayfrom the inert earthlife in the dancethe twirling, spinning upwardcreation happeningour lives created,evolving, growingliving, alivein the dance of the clay