A Poem for George Herbert

(Not about him, of course!)

Peace he’d made by judging others
Accorded ignorant, dim-witted, bothered
Rued to persecution, he’d decided
Insult them, discard, artfully derided
That’s when rejoicing fuddled his being
Heaven’s reward tossed in a Frisbee fling

The poet forgot the kingdom of heaven
Comes to spirits intent for hereafter
Rather than here and now and laughter
Cuffed against divine’s ready pardon 
No cognition toward those who yearn 
Insistent hubris, “Why, heaven's easily earned!”

Pondering the Beatitudes 


http://www.usccb.org/bible/readings/061118.cfm
Acts 11:21-26, 12:1-3
Matthew 5:1-12


Herbert Homage
Not about, but inspired by George


The essayist sways while the poet woos
One peruses, the other pursues
God begins where poets eagerly reside
Persuading the poet to assay the essay
Poet God parlays, urging, “Do not delay”
Heartening poets to look up, to pray

The poet fell forward recanting the pen
Sword wielded, that pen pierced his heart
He’d read again, the umpteenth time,
The poetic mount sermon by Jesus
Each word, every phrase, painfully explained
The poet’s words lacked what blessings would gain

Not poor, his spirit, wealth’s what he wanted
Mourning evaded for comforts grabbed, lauded
Where meekness lived, he did not know
Nor hungry folk or thirsty fellow
His plate and vault and drawers were full
Reputation he'd calculated, desires he filled

The poet’s only mercy — stood hesitant
A check, some change, a muttered chant
Heart cosmetically cleaned, Fabreezed a bit
Hardened inner part, a rancid comfit
Rotted and awful, yet flowered for show
Heart scented, covered up, retarded just so

Peace he’d made by judging others
Accorded ignorant, dim-witted, bothered
Rued to persecution, he’d decided
Insult them, discard, artfully derided
That’s when rejoicing fuddled his being
Heaven’s reward tossed in a Frisbee fling

The poet forgot the kingdom of heaven
Comes to spirits intent for hereafter
Rather than here and now and laughter
Cuffed against divine’s ready pardon
No cognition toward those who yearn
Insistent hubris, “Why, heaven's easily earned!”

The pen drove sharp, deep into his chest
Fallen ragged ashamed, confessed self arrest
“What have I done?” Repent a-blubbered
Nothing and less than little; soul clobbered
He’d offered scant compense to meekness
Certain of sin, shocked awake, penitent 

Repentant, torn apart, discovering mourning
Dried mouth, soured tongue, both lungs burning
The poet chagrined admitted his folly
No blessings and comfort and visions of holy
Fallen upon his fountain penned foil
The poet hung distraught at vanity’s toil

Light of the world the poet was not
No salted taste for his heart caved in rot
He beat upon his head and bent knees
Chastised all he’d earned, stored, and seized
Dangerously he considered a door knob death
A rope to strangle the sin, muck, and filth

“Dear God!” as the pains amped and recognized
Prayer instead subsidized, suicide subsided
“My child,” heard clearly, “Know this. I do love you”
Banged head sore knees throbbed, heart beat anew
The words reverberated returning forgivedness
“Can it be?” rhetorically, accustomed to attack

The poet reviewed Christ’s immovable blessings
Designed into character, a litany of arrestings
From fallen, chastised, despised and distraught
So quickly? Awakening and next an embrace
Recants and submission reverses dies cast?
Yes, promise of blessings unwinds bolted pasts

Showered hope drowned him, assurances shifted
Washed rot, hardened despondency suddenly lifted
Selfish abandon gone, divine’s hold he did take
Child he’d been called, peace he should make
Righteousness desired, satisfaction hereafter
Penitence persued then holy blessings poured out

The poet stilled, heartened awake, immediate stout
To pen he returned inking words from the mount
Seek meekness and mourning and righteousness
For blessing and calling and holy rewards
Divinity delivered re-ripening rotting heart
Loved as a child called out now — God’s part

He sat among pages, his edits scratched over
Remarkably converting frightful words like a mother
The poet raced through old scribblings in fever
He rewrote most and least, a flowing word river
“Stay here, in this heart,” the poet called out
“Forever,” spoke Jesus, from him to a brother

“I am here,” arrived, moved in, “Have no doubts
Thank you for ingesting my love from the mount”
Poet, perused, pursued and won over
Rose above despondencies, mortised to Christ
Formed in essay, found and mounted in love
Poet’s gaze into self, blinked, then fixed above


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