canticle 130

i dangle my toes over
    the curb of my heart,
        my toes washed in
those tears racing
    towards the storm drain,
my keening words
        echoing through the
                empty streets;

if you wrote all my sins
on the blackboard
you would run out of schools,
    but the Spirit stays after class,
    banging dusty death out of the
        erasers
begging your pardon
for Crossing
        out your work;

more than those
who watch the clock
on the graveyard shift,
    i wait (we wait!) for hope
    to be the lyrics of
        the music of your heart,
more than a rooster
scanning the horizon
for that first glimpse of dawn -

we hope
    for you . . .

(c) Thom M. Shuman (from "Dust Shaker")

in the still of the night (Mark 4:35-41)

i can cross the t's
and dot every i
    in my doctrinal
    blue book
    during the mid-terms,
        but cast off
        into my dusky life
        as the storm clouds
        gather on the horizon?

i can (intellectually)
affirm certain teachings
    (though that predestination
    thingy has always bugged me,
    but you knew that before the
    foundations of the world
    were poured, right?)
        but calmly, without a whimper,
        resist crawling under the covers
        when lightning strikes
        and thunder rumbles
            through my heart?

i can memorize
all the creeds
and parrot every
confession of faith,
    but keep on steering
    through the waves
    crashing over my soul
        without looking over
        my shoulders to see
            if you have woken up?

what do you think
i am

        faithfull?

(c) Thom M. Shuman (from Dust Shaker)