Other Poems

Lamentations’ call to arms

A poem inspired by the book of Lamentations (especially chapter three)

by Ken Sehested

Turn off (what passes for) the news.
Boycott the season’s electoral charades.
Don’t give in to Pokémon’s promise of
“augmented reality.” Attend instead to
unmitigated reality: bloodied, stricken
and strewn. Offer grief the hearing it
demands, the voice it obliges, and
the risk it assumes.

When not even Wendell Berry’s “peace
of wild things” will suffice—the wilderness
itself being salted and assaulted—turn to
the Lamentator’s naked confession for
uttering the heart’s howling confusion
amid terror’s ambush.

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Prayers while throwing stuff

Pondering grief from Baghdad to Baton Rouge, Medina to Minneapolis, Dhaka to Dallas (and points in between)

by Ken Sehested

We each pray for different
reasons in different seasons,
too often steady-headed,
manners-minded, when
indelicacy is now needed
        —prayers while throwing
        stuff against the wall—
whether in rapture or in rage,
banging against the cage of
knock-off propriety,
boorish pleasantries,
self-referencing piety
when it is precisely this
self-bordered life
that must be breached
if blood-soaked streets
are to stand a chance
in the light of
Judgment Day’s inquest,
crippled heart recoiling
from what it fears,
jaundiced against all
it cannot control,
cheered by death’s leer
and sacred call to arms—
        lest justice be denied!—
but brutal arms they be,
assaulting arms, separating
tissue from bone,
breath from lung,
hands from caress,
babies from breasts,
words from truth,
hopes from healing,
vision from revealing
the ties that bind
        but do not strangle,
the lover’s reach which
        does not entangle,
the wing that shadows
        but never wrangles.

Dare to rave within
Heaven’s hearing!
Scorch the roof of your
mouth with incantation.
Hurl your disquieted heart
at every tranquil caution.
Risk unpleasantry in the
company of angels.
Demand a hearing with
the Most High.
Journey with Job into
the whirlwind’s gale.
Demand an answer:

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This Is My Song

New lyrics to an old song

by Ken Sehested

O Truth Untamed, all boundaries bow before You
All borders bend according to your Word
O grant that every bitter heart be harbored
In sheltered cove, with Mercy’s flag unfurled
Hearken and haste, Desire of every nation
Refresh the heart of hope too long deferred.

Let every mountain call to meadowed valley
And every stream, to ocean grand and wide
Let fertile ground announce the new creation
When all shall come, ’cross every great divide
O bell of liberty ring out for freedom
Break every slaver’s chain, with hope confide

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My Country, ‘Tis of Thee

Alternate lyrics

My country, ‘tis of thee, sweet land of liberty, of thee I sing.
Land where my fathers died, land of the pilgrim’s pride,
From every mountainside, let freedom ring!

We are a people free, joining in liberty our many throngs.
Through much diversity, grant solidarity,
Turning from enmity in joyful song.

Guiding us in the past, God’s hand has held us fast, God’s pow’r we feel.
May righteousness be claimed, true justice be sustained;
Spirit, with us remain, Christ’s love reveal.

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Agnus Dei, qui tollis peccata mundi

Lamb of God, that taketh away the sins of the world (John 1:29)

by Ken Sehested

Does the Lamb of God truly take away
the sins of the world? The question is
more than a forensic exercise. The
question brings us to a momentous
fork in the road.

§ If so, then how can we who affirm this
conviction fail to live into its consequences—
promised though not yet prospered—of
withdrawing from and standing against
the logic of retaliation and every
bloodletting endeavor. It is not
                JUST WAR.
                    It is
                 just war.

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Summon your nerve

A call to the table on Pentecost Sunday

by Ken Sehested

I would love to think approaching
this table conferred visions of
leisurely picnics in green meadows
beside gentle bubbling streams,
with cooling breeze matched by
warm sunshine and birdsong in
nearby long leaf pine and hemlock.

Truth is, it’s more like unleavened
bread, hastily prepared under dark
skies when death angels rout the
countryside, on the eve of betrayal
and the cusp of terror, in a land on
the brink of ecological collapse and
lead-lined water pipes poisoning
the young and an infestation of
woolly adelgid leaching the life
from majestic forests.

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Earth’s habitus

A meditation on creation

by Ken Sehested

“All of creation is a song of praise to God.” —Hildegard of Bingen

Creation is not simply the props and drops,
the costumes and orchestra,
the catwalks and footlights
on the stage of salvation’s drama.
Rather, creation is an active part
in history’s narration.
Without the cosmos,
Salvation’s story
cannot be comprehended.
Without earth’s habitus,
the play’s opening is obscured,
the storyline confused,
the finale unintelligible.

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My Shepherd Will Supply My Need

New lyrics to an old hymn

by Ken Sehested

My Shepherd will supply my need; Beloved is God’s name
In pasture’s fresh now I shall feed, Beside the living stream
You bring my wandering spirit back, When I forsake the Way
You gather me, for mercy’s sake, In paths of truth and grace

When shadows cast the shade of death Your presence is my stay
One word of Your supporting breath Drives all my fears away
Your hand, in sight of all my foes, Does still my table spread
My cup with blessings overflows, Your oil anoints my head

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Easter’s affection

May Easter’s affection
spawn many children
who know
            despite the trouble
            the toil
            the rubble strewn soil
the way of the cross leads home.

©Ken Sehested @ prayerandpolitiks.org

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