Blog Archives
Prayer Poem of Hope
Copyright by Bob Rogers.
Lord, may I not be dismayed, even when I feel betrayed.
May my heart be re-fired, even when I feel so tired.
May my praise be fresh and bold, when I feel timid and old.
When I struggle to cope, fill me again with Jesus’ hope.
Amen.
Poem: “Awake in Bed”
Copyright 2014 by Bob Rogers
Note: I wrote this poem originally as a teenager in 1975, but to this day, I continue to struggle with the same feeling that it expresses.
When I plop wearily into bed
Lights out at the end of the day
I suddenly begin to remember
All of the things I forgot to say
All of the things I forgot to do, too.
The simple reason for my every view
I remembered I had left unsaid
What later popped into my head.
These thoughts come slowly, like
the gradual approach of a far-off light.
And they always manage to come to me
in the midst of the night.
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Poem: “Pinned and Wriggling”
Copyright 2014 by Bob Rogers
“I am pinned and wriggling on the wall.” – T. S. Eliot, The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock
Oh! Beastly burdened groan
Piercing pain in my side
Blood dribbling from my mouth.
I shot the arrow and missed the mark
Boomerang cutting back at me
I am pinned and wriggling on the wall.
Eloi, Eloi, lama sabachthani?
The incomprehensible creature comes
To pull our arrows out
But what will it be like?
I have grown accustomed to chopped flesh
No! I will keep my arrow
How else can I keep close contact with the wall?
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Poem: “Going Away”
Copyright 2014 by Bob Rogers
Red leaves
falling
in the silver moonlight.
I saw your face
in the moon.
Descending
from the limb
drifting
through black-stained clouds
flat
onto the damp brown earth.
Easter light
chasing the moon.
Still
I know your silver rays
will return another hour.
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Poem: “Ballad of the Frustrated Sleeper”
Copyright 2014 by Bob Rogers
Daring to be deceased
I climb in and cover the top.
Ah, but early it is and foul
As animals are on the prowl.
A cat toys with my tomb
Trying to roll the stone away.
Go on! I’m not the Christ–
Nor is it the third day.
Hearing fades to seeming
Seeing fades to dreaming
Time rots and relaxes my body
Though anointing oil smells strong.
A skylark screaming outside
Loud enough to wake the dead.
A thunderbird thunders by
Joyfully jolting my head.
Resurrection is not my request.
From awareness I wish release.
Animals, go back to the zoo
And let me rest in peace!
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Poem: “Meditations Under a Tree”
Copyright 2014 by Bob Rogers
Gentle brown leaves on the ground
Stout trees proud of tradition
Supported by eternal grass
Crisp cool wind caressing me.
Back against the oak
Tradition supports nicely
A squirrel darting by
The world races on
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The shotgun house on Desire Street
Copyright 2014 by Bob Rogers
Lillie Mae Lanier leaned on her wall
In her shotgun house on Desire Street.
Missing her husband, afraid of it all
In her shotgun house on Desire Street.
Her heart hurt, her head broke
Open the truth that she spoke
To her wall– as it wondered if it could stay still
When such painful emotions were written on the wall
In the shotgun house on Desire Street.
Katrina had come, Katrina had gone
To the shotgun house on Desire Street.
Waters had risen, families washed away
But Lillie Mae Lanier never wandered away
From the faith she had on Desire Street
Why? You may ask. Why lean on that wall
In your shotgun house on Desire Street?
Lillie Mae still leans day after day
In her shotgun house on Desire Street
For she knows the wall will never give way
And one day will take her heart far away
From her shotgun house on Desire Street.
When all that you have has melted away
And Monday’s food must last till Friday
You need a wall to lean on
You need a foundation to stand on
Lillie read the words written on her wall
That keeps her faith strong
That moves her along
She knows that one day He will take her away
And she’ll never again live on Desire Street.
For she’s a princess in hiding
And she’s waiting for her King
To smile on her heart on the day she departs
From her shotgun house on Desire Street.
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Juggling Sunday
Copyright by Bob Rogers
A hymnal in my left hand, a Bible in my right
Tossing a communion cup on a one-foot hop.
Cascading with a committee on Sunday night
Spinning a budget, now what will I drop?
A juice-stained Bible by my foot on the floor
Heart cut on the cup, fingers shut in the door
I thought diabolo was a juggler’s trick
But I ended up falling on the devil’s stick.
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The Closet of Mirrors
Copyright 2014 by Bob Rogers
I was comfortable in a dark closet
Thinking dark thoughts
Doing dark deeds.
Then a brilliant burst of light revealed
That I’m in a closet of mirrors
I see my ugly, naked body everywhere
I cannot escape in any direction
Every wall is a mirror.
Outsiders can see me through the mirror
But I cannot see them
I wonder what they think and what they see
But I can only see me—
The one person I do not want to see.
I want to cover myself
But I have nothing.
I want to drive a nail through the mirror
But I have nothing.
I fall to my knees, curl into a tiny ball
Wailing, whining, whimpering.
Oh, God, kill me! I have nothing! I need you!
Ting…ping…ping…ting…
Softly a nail falls by my side, skipping on the glass
Then two…three…ten…fifty…a hundred…
Nails crash down, crack open
Cutting me — and covering me.
But now I have something
I have a covering—a covering of rusty nails.
And the mirror is broken at last.
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Bob Rogers 