by Ken Sehested
May you store up patience, for life is not always kind, and you need to persevere.
Remember that regret is not the last word.
Read more ›Other Poems
What a great time to be alive
On the first anniversary of the January 6, 2021 assault on the US capitol
Summon your nerve
A call to the Table on Pentecost Sunday
Hallelujahs and heartaches, too
On the occasion of a friend's retirement after more than four decades of pastoral ministry
by Ken Sehested
What a day! What a day! Not to mention a year,
4+ decades piled head-to-toe,
Read more ›The posture of prayer in light of Ukraine’s misery
Responding to a friend’s report on the harrowing violence in Ukraine
by Ken Sehested
After fumbling for worthy words, over several hours and much soul-shaking—and listening to “When You’re Broken Open” (from Dance:1, Anna Clyne, cello soloist, with Inbal Segev & London Philharmonic Orchestra & Marin Alsop https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=La22CjPFbIY)—here is what emerged.
§ § §
Read more ›Lamentation to adulation
Every psalmist’s perilous journey
by Ken Sehested
Blessed One, whose name we dare not speak, but of whose
Presence we dare not remain silent, we stand before you with
hearts in shreds and hands frozen.
We know that we creatures were made for praise and thanksgiving.
We recognize that gratitude is our natural home.
But these are unnatural days. Instead of Heaven’s jubilation at
Creation’s unfolding, most of what we hear are the arias of agony
and the cornet’s sounding of retreat.
Thanksliving
A poem for Thanksgiving
by Ken Sehested
Gratitude is surely among the precious few,
truly-renewable energy sources available. The
hearts of both giver and receiver grow larger
in the process. Saying thanks, especially beyond
the demands of simple etiquette, is among the
most accessible violence-reduction strategies.
It is quite possible, of course, that expressing
gratitude simply masks the desire to get in
line for future favors. Or fends off the
possibility that one is now in debt to the
donor. Or is simply a disguised form of
doing business (as in gratuities—tips—to
those who serve us). “Free” market values
have managed to commodify even our
most noble human values. Freedom language
has morphed into a cover for savagery.
Ah, grief, my importune friend
Prose poem in the face of electoral dread
by Ken Sehested
“You've kept track of my every toss and turn through the sleepless nights,
each tear entered in your ledger, each ache written in your book.”
—Psalm 56:8 (The Message.)
Ah, grief, my importune friend, who has brought you to my table,
spoiled my bread, tainted my cup, directed my eyes to the psalmist’s sigh
and the prophet’s lament?
Weather channelling prayer
Prayer in advance of a hurricane
by Ken Sehested
Written while thinking of a friend in Cuba
I am up late, glued to
the weather channel, tracking
Irene’s ruinous wake. Apparently
the storm is going north of you.
My furrowed face relaxes.
I do not believe in prayers
changing the course of hurricanes.
But that does not make me
cynical, or my prayers any less
urgent. It only means that
I love what God loves.
More is at work than passes for the news
Pentecost Sunday 2020 prose poem
by Ken Sehested
Almost every breakthrough begins with a breakdown. Goodness is not thereby assured; then again, neither is our breath, day by day.
We hope to be effective; but our perseverance is not hitched to efficacy. We insert ourselves, compassionately and intelligently, because that's who we are. (Or at least who we are becoming.)
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