Poetry is one of those things that I admire because I am aware that I could never, ever write it myself! Nor do I feel qualified to comment on it. Suffice to say that the succinct use of words to capture a complex emotion and to convey in just a line or two a whole range of impressions is an art that, unfortunately, totally eludes me.I particularly liked one in this collection, the first verse of which is -
poems are dangerous
they slip their heresies into the world
while we busy ourselves
with prose
Copies are available from Interactive Press.
A cheery quatrain!
ReplyDeleteThis morning I heard and was delighted by a new sonnet:
Today we feel the wind beneath our wings
Today the hidden fountain flows and plays
Today the church draws breath at last and sings
As every flame becomes a Tongue of praise.
This is the feast of fire,air, and water
Poured out and breathed and kindled into earth.
The earth herself awakens to her maker
And is translated out of death to birth.
The right words come today in their right order
And every word spells freedom and release
Today the gospel crosses every border
All tongues are loosened by the Prince of Peace
Today the lost are found in His translation.
Whose mother-tongue is Love, in every nation.
Source- http://malcolmguite.wordpress.com/2012/05/26/a-sonnet-for-pentecost/