Where Earth Meets Heaven, a poem and a painting

Where does Earth meet Heaven?

After a season of illness that kept me weak and bed-ridden for an extended time, I wrote this poem.  The poem came to me because of a vision I received while in prayer one morning.  I saw Jesus walking on water.  Then suddenly the picture flipped.  I saw him upside-down, as it were, walking on water that was up and the sky was down.  I laughed at the thought, but I understood at that point that Heaven, not gravity, held Jesus to Earth.

 

Heaven Holds Me Here

 

Heaven Holds Me Here

The painting I call Where Earth Meets Heaven. It depicts two realms, and shows a man walking in both. It certainly goes with this poem because as we walk in this earth, we are also constantly confronted by the heavenly realm. We walk on earth and in heaven. We are offered the opportunity by God to bring His Kingdom to Earth by our involvement in it. Earth meets Heaven in the place where our feet walk.

My body may be feeble

Holding life by a thread.

As my Savior walked on water

I will rise from my bed.

 

He held to Earth by glory,

No need for gravity,

And when my work is over

I’ll ascend to God as He.

 

My feet daily walk this Earth.

I labor in His field.

Thirty, sixty, a hundred fold

I pray my work will yield.

 

It’s not Earth that holds me down.

Heaven holds me up.

My feet will ever walk this Earth

While Heaven holds me here.

 

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The River – a poem by George MacDonald

I have taken the liberty to name this passage from George MacDonald’s book At the Back of the North Wind and to call it a poem and to break it into lines.  It seems to me to be a beautiful free verse poem.  It occurs in chapter 15 as if it comes from a children’s nursery rhyme book.  The mother cannot understand a word of it and calls it nonsense, but the boy thinks he has heard it before in the river’s song at the back of the North Wind.  I think George was giving us a clue.   [EW]

I know a river
whose waters run asleep
run
run ever singing
in the shallows
dumb in the hollows
sleeping so deep
and all the swallows
that dip their feathers in the hollows
or in the shallows
are the merriest swallows of all
for the nests they bake
with the clay they cake
with the water they shake
from their wings that rake
the water out of the shallows
or the hollows
will hold together in any weather Continue reading

Some of Me- A Poem

A Poem for the Hurting and Abused:

What does he look like?
Does he come on with a smile?
Is he good looking?
Or, does he just think he is?
He says he wants you.
You know what he means.
His want has nothing to do with you.

What does he look like?
Does he want something from me?
I’ve seen their eyes
Roving, piercing, twinkling,
Sneering;
And hands, too,
Sometimes fists,
Sometimes groping,
Taking what I will not give.
They take me,
But they cannot have me.
The secret within,
Some of me is yet alive
Inside this death-stiff carcass.

What do I look like?
I have one face and many,
But you still don’t see me.
I am none of those you’ve seen.
I heard you crying,
And I have come.

The Ashen Altar – A Poem for the Day of Atonement

Let me live in the fire of the Ashen Altar,
Living sacrifice accepted above,
Laying my life down that others may live;
Just like my Lord has done.

“Follow me,” he calls, “in Death is Life.
The Fire has Resurrection power.
Your life laid down shall rise again
And multiply heavenly deeds.”

The title, Upon the Ashen Altar,  refers to the pile of ashes outside the camp of Israel where the ashes from the Altar of Sacrifice were dumped.  On the Day of Atonement each year, the bullock and the goat of Atonement were burned, outside the camp, upon those ashes.
(see Leviticus 4:12 and Leviticus 16:27)

Hebrews 13:10-13
We have an altar, whereof they have no right to eat which serve the tabernacle.   For the bodies of those beasts, whose blood is brought into the sanctuary by the high priest for sin [on the Day of Atonement], are burned outside the camp.   Wherefore Jesus also, that he might sanctify the people with his own blood, suffered outside the gate.   Let us go forth therefore unto him outside the camp, bearing his reproach.

The Warrior Maiden – A Poem

Brandishing burnished Sword
Transparent in armour of Light
There stands the Warrior Maiden
Prepared for the darkest of night.

A curtain sliced through;
A way opened up;
Enters the Maiden
And drains the bloody cup.

Her life on the Altar
Long now has lain,
But up she has risen
Atonement to gain

For those who have hurt her
By whom she was slain.
She calls to the Judge,
“Forgive them my pain.”

Light pierces through;
The Earth opens up;
Stands forth her Beloved,
“You have drunk of my Cup.”

The two who are one
All infirmities feeling
Now spread out their hands
In forgiveness and healing.

Ector Ward, copyright 2006

Thank you Thursday Poets Rally for the Perfect Poets Award.

I nominate Harry Nicholson for the next award.

Sarah’s Song – a Poem

Hollow skeleton, empty arms,
Cold pillow by my head;
Hot my face, – wet my tears, speak
Groanings deep from love-wrenched soul;
Pounding heart and anguished grimace;
Hope abandoned leaves love’s torture.

Fourteen years my soul has wrestled,
Watched another take my place,
Give him what my soul does long to,
Fill his comfort, soothe his needs,
Even given what I cannot;
His son suckled at her breast.

What was that? Someone believes it?
He said I would have my joy?
Can I hope when hope has faltered;
Can I give what died in me?
Furrowed brow and trembling torso;
Can I offer heart and soul?

Faith takes over where hope faltered.
I believe, now let it be.
Once again I’ll hold him to me.
Each our wells pour passion’s torrent
Flowing deep until, all given,
Lie we one, both soul and body.

From this spring comes laughter reigning.
Life from death brings life again.
Warmth and softness snuggle to me,
Fingers warm his tiny grip.
Here I hold what could not happen,
Son of Laughter at my breast.