My Inadequate Words

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Image by Francisco Javier Argel via Flickr

I try to write poetry about spirituality, my worldview, and philosophy/religion. Occasionally I am reminded that these are poor efforts on my part and that others have said the same thing in much better words.

The final two stanzas of Each in His Own Tongue, by William Herbert Carruth:

Like tides on a crescent sea beach,
When the moon is new and thin,
Into our hearts high yearnings
Come welling and surging in –
Come from the mystic ocean,
Whose rim no foot has trod –
Some of us call it Longing,
And others call it God.

A picket frozen on duty,
A mother starved for her brood,
Socrates drinking the hemlock,
And Jesus on the rood;
And millions, who, humble and nameless,
The straight, hard pathway plod –
Some call it Consecration,
And others call it God.

We sang this today in church (although with a different title, A Firemist and A Planet, and slightly different words). While I don’t agree with every sentiment in the poem, I was filled with love and gratitude for all our life here on Earth, and a sharp realization that my poetry is only a poor cousin to a creation like this.

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2 Comments

  1. becky

     /  February 7, 2011

    Great stuff!

    Reply
  1. Poetry Writing as Pretention | Lizbeth's Garden

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