Sunday, July 8, 2012

past Sunday

there is nothing here past Sunday, not here
no baptismal blessing, no
nothing but a wash bin and a soaking of callus
for here walks the failings
of my soul, the measure of my greed
as flesh eats of flesh
and a furrow produces fertile
or is long laid forgotten
my God is hand and muscle, my God is the pouring of sweat
cocked for earthly lust amid
the heat of a summers day - this is the God
i need - i leave prayer
for Sunday people, for all the long lost souls
lazy and fruitless -  for it is a heart
that groans that gives, that keeps you
come a godless winter
and quaffs the taste of forgiveness
as the taste of good a whiskey

copyrighted 2012

posted for Magpie Tales 


  1. I love how you made the picture work by allowing us to feel your point of view.

  2. faith and works go hand in hand...each has their own place...some to provide, some to pray....

  3. "It's a heart that groans that gives." Very nice writing...

  4. Whence comes love?
    From that heart which you speak!

    OOO-LA-LAA. This post should garner some commenting!

    PEACE! to all, workers, Pray-ers, in the summers and winters of life

  5. And no punches pulled. Enjoyed the strong voice here.


  6. Strong write...and nicely wrapped ending...

  7. I like this. I was out of church for a long time, and this reminds me that that time was, in its own way, sweet.