Also Featured On

Indiana Voice Journal

This site is free for all to use and enjoy. Donations are appreciated and will be used to maintain the site.

© 2o16 Spirit Fire Review.  All Rights Reserved.

Three Poems by Peter C. Venable: Light's Waves", "Seven Miles from Home", and "You Were My God"

February 22, 2017

 

 

 

 

Light’s Waves

 

Located 1.3 billion light years from earth, gravitational waves were detected, caused by the collision of two black holes, 100 years after Einstein predicted them in his theory of general relativity.

           —NASA

 

Twenty centuries ago—

a quake quivered Judean soil

and nova energy rolled, a boulder leapt aside.

Light collided with death’s black hole

 

and pneuma waves rippled outward

as He strode to numb followers, then

passed through their door easier than

gravity waves and photon beams

cross spacetime curves.

 

For weeks, He strolled, taught, blessed, laughed, and ate

until He rose, a phoenix with arms outstretched,

and faded through smoky Galilean skies.

 

Evermore, Light’s pneuma waves

swell and crest silent and warm as rays

 

into all who want to see

through dark energy,

dark bodies, and our dark minds.

 

Lux Perpetua—light perpetual.

 

 

 

 

Seven Miles from Home

 

As this evening dims,

cherry blossoms swirl into drifts roadside

and blow pink flakes on my windshield.

 

A voice hidden between thoughts

murmurs of Him veiled, of those

ancient two walking on a pebbled road

who failed to know the stranger

as they dried their eyes.

 

He spoke of Sinai and I did not come to destroy

but to fulfill1 but His words barely pierced

their plugged ears and scaly eyes. Later, at table,

their hearts stood still: after He blessed bread,

their eyes unscaled.  He vanished in a blink.

 

Driving on that road nearing dusk

as shades and shadows shroud this evening,

His words slow of heart to believe2 pierce deep—

as they did to them.

 

1Mt. 5:17, 2Lk. 24:25

 

 

 

 

You Were My God

 

You were my God when I was still in my mother’s womb

           —Ps. 22:10

 

On the S-shaped, metal patio rocking chair,

a slight nod on this oversized spring nudges

grandpa and Emma up and down, up and down,

buoy-bobbing on green seas.

 

Her eyelashes flutter still as

she swoons into a baby dream

on my chest, milk

curdling on her lower lip.

 

As wisteria fragrance crests through porch screens,

 

during     each     bob     I     silently     whisper

 

Abba          Abba          Abba

 

 

© Peter C. Venable

 

 

The writer has written both free and metric verse for over fifty years. He has been published in Ancient Paths, Time of Singing, Windhover - A Journal of Christian Literature, The Anglican Theological Journal, Apex Magazine, Kingdom Pen Magazine, and others. But poetry is merely a hobby; he is a retired clinician, volunteers at a prison camp, seniors’ center, and food pantry; sings in the annual December Messiah, and is graced with a happy marriage, daughter, son-in-law, granddaughter, and Yeshua.

 

 

 

 

 

Please reload

Please reload