‘GOOD’ AS IN FRIDAY
He fashioned from their cross
a throne.
He made of death a door.
He robed his nakedness
in love,
And needed nothing more.
For though they wrapped his
broken flesh
in linen crisp and white,
He left sin’s costly fabric
soiled
And cloaked himself in light
That shines the centuries
undimmed
to pierce earth’s dark despair,
By spilling scarlet car-
peting
Up Heaven’s radiant stair.
By Charles A. Waugaman
The Word Incarnate
Elin Grace Publishing, 2003
All Rights Reserved
reading poems
for Lent and Easter
light breaks through
clouds and shines on red
Christmas cactus leaves
I read this poem by Charles year-round, often aloud. There is so much wisdom in his poem, and it also was a great comfort after my mother’s passing in 2004. May God bless you this Easter and always. Thank you, Ellen
‘GOOD’ AS IN FRIDAY
He fashioned from their cross
a throne.
He made of death a door.
He robed his nakedness
in love,
And needed nothing more.
For though they wrapped his
broken flesh
in linen crisp and white,
He left sin’s costly fabric
soiled
And cloaked himself in light
That shines the centuries
undimmed
to pierce earth’s dark despair,
By spilling scarlet car-
peting
Up Heaven’s radiant stair.
By Charles A. Waugaman
The Word Incarnate
Elin Grace Publishing, 2003
All Rights Reserved
Charles edited Time of Singing for many years. Lora H. Zill has now been the editor for years. I know many people are grateful this poetry journal continues and grows. TOS is a part of my life.
Give me the lowest place: not that I dare
Ask for that lowest place, but Thou hast died
That I might live and share
Thy glory by Thy side.
Give me the lowest place: or if for me
That lowest place too high, make one more low
Where I may sit and see
My God and love Thee so.
by Christina Georgina Rossetti
Public Domain
Courtesy of Utmost Christian Writers.
morning light
forms part of a cross
on the old wood wall
my faith completes
the picture
Spring snowstorm
all day I watch
daffodils
disappearing like joy
in a swirl of might-have-beens
A blue sky
framed by budding branches —
this stained-glass window
holds another metaphor
of eternity
Pussywillows
in a green glass pitcher…
spring is late —
the one who used to pick them
lives in a different time zone
for Nancy
Good Friday —
hospital talk about death
and resurrection…
no butterflies yet
but here and there a crocus
Spring flowers
gay as those in the garden
where they laid His body —
to rest there,
they thought, forever
Easter Bread
warm from the hands of the new friend —
he reads poems
about the shorebirds I’ve never seen
and I hear their cry
for Charles A. Waugaman
Carol Purington’s latest book is MORNING SONG: Poems For New Parents. This is a poetry anthology edited with Susan Todd. St. Martin’s Press, New York, 2011. Their website is www.morningsongpoems.com.
Carol’s tanka are posted with her kind permission.
All Rights Reserved.
Images courtesy of antiqueclipart.com.
Poems From Psalms And Nature 