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.
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
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
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.