Adagio: A Christmas Poetry Project–Black Night Of Hope

blades of grass adagio project

Adagio: A Christmas Poetry Project

We are writing together. As we did a little while back( click the Adagio Poetry page tab at the top of the site’s home page). And we would love for you to join us. Holly and I and each one of you. There is a beautiful hymn, a song, sung by a  friend of Holly’s. This is our inspiration for Adagio: A Poetry Project, here in this Advent Season. Here, with Christmas upon our hearts. Listen here to Born In The Night Mary’s Child.

Holly’s offering can be found here, at A Lifetime of Days. 

It would be our hope, our desire, and it would bring us joy if you would allow us the privilege of reading your words, poetry or prose. Just add your link to your art in the comments here and at Holly’s. We are all travelers toward this Christmas Day in this Christmas Season with expectant hearts.

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Black Night Of Hope

Walk us, with us
Pray we now
Fabric frail our worn out covering
Wind howls through thin flesh

World’s cold wind blows cruel
But He, was born of you
To shield in love, save from cruel sin
Bone tired weary we and you

Cradled Him , sheltered Christ
Under covering black of night
Though radiant beams from
A Child’s face would tell of Holy

Graceful Mother out of town
Traveler on a road of dirt, dust
Let us grasp your servant heart
And sing of Holy Sacrifice

Sacred offering in the night
Reconciled hearts, gloria in excelsis deo
We proclaim the birth of King
From your very mother’s womb

And Hope was birthed in stall with muck
On cold, in winter, still of night
That when the sting of death and sin
Would weigh us down

A broken fragile mankind now is
Changed, we walk free with
Broken chains
You birthed our Hope

One still dark night
Black night of Hope
We, weary
World rejoicing

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A Funny Thing Happened On The Way To Poetry

A funny thing happened on the way to poetry. And humor is long over due. Or due. Or something that involves laughter and joy. Because the world has a weight of its own and a heaviness that is expressed in phrases like the weight of the world.

And then there is the path to poetry. Which had some funny haha and funny odd things happen along the way to it.

There is a long story there that would wind you down a path you would rather not travel on. Should you choose to go there. You would likely feel lost and having not laid bread crumbs along your way, you may be a little mad at the writer and say I never really intended to walk down that long and winding road with you though I do love Paul and The Beattles.

And as much as I love a good story and you probably do too if you are reading, you are prone to like writing. Somehow the two seem to go together like sweet tea and mason jars. i know you thought I was going to say like hand and glove. I almost did. How did you know. But liking a good story as you do you may not be ready for a very long one.

And brevity is possibly a reason for embracing poetry. Though writing about brevity can actually be rather long and cumberson and tiring. So when writing about brevity and poetry it is important to keep it on the brief side or you may in fact lose your reader.

And if there is anything you don’t want to do when writing it is lose your reader. Oh, perish the thought of a lost reader along the way.

But there is a funny sort of thing or two that are worth telling in a short and sweet matter because the matter is sweet. So that would add a touch of the ironic which is always or almost always good to add to keep the reader interested. Irony is just so darn ironic.

But when you set upon a path and you don’t know where you are going, its a bit like being lost in the Hundred Acre woods like a bear and his friends and a  young boy named Christopher Robin who probably wanted to be lost because of the weight of his world. But he had his friends to keep him company in a wild and wooly world in those woods. Yes, he had a friend to hold his hand.

So when on this path of unknowing that involves poetry you may find that what you discovered all along was simply not really poetry at all. Though poetry was a byproduct. Or maybe you found poetry plus a large red cherry on top. Though not as laden with sugar as those cherries. But maybe it was sweeter and richer, in fact.

Because writing is a solitary endeavor, often. Most often. Which is good, because God is close by. But there is still the deep craving for another.

And writers can be lonely sometimes if they are not careful. Unless they turn on the music of the world, not the heavy world but the crisp and light and beautiful noise of the God-creation.

God had the brilliant idea that we live in community and breathe in community and in so living and breathing,  perhaps also writing in community.

So a funny thing happened on the way to poetry. I found a beautiful friend along the way. And you may too if you were to write with a friend, new or old.

You just may find the eternal on the path to your writing.

You may find a treasure. A friend.

This post is dedicated to Holly A. Grantham at A Lifetime of Days for stepping out in faith at the invitation to write in the unknown. She is a gift, she is a beautiful writer and she is now a friend. Her writing home is found here at www.walkingintheslowlane.blogspot.com. She has taught me more than words can express. But one day I will try. For now this is my offering of thanks.

linking with Emily and Michelle