Notes on a poem that asks, "open my lips and I shall proclaim your praise"...
On rereading this poem, I see that it appears as three parts. There is the introduction that asks that "open lips and I shall proclaim your praise" with the remark of how the words of the mouth need to be cleansed.
The second part responds to the winter infinity of ultimate design and the silence of the mystery, like numbering the gentle points of a snowflake, of the ocean that is the vasteness of knowing this beauty that is a presence falling on us as grace--snowflakes so light.
The third part tells of the many people who offer their praise and adoration, their awe and acknowledgement in the great city by the golden light that is reflected in windows at dawn and that lights the tallest of buildings, even. The last line says the name that is the Word to tell of what it is that has come alive, as perceived and a light within so many just to be sure that this refrain is unmistakable the Lord's doing of an entire day.
Darkness is not dark to you, Lord is unspoken and unsaid in this testimony to people who arise or are in their moments of the day recognizing that they give attention to Your ways as is said in Psalm 119. This is a united in the spirit acknowledgement that came upon me and I came upon.Transfiguring, it allows an entry way, "Let your loving-kindness be my comfort..." "You are good and bring forth good; instruct me in your statutes..." for as in line 67 "Before I was afflicted I went astray, but now I keep your word." This if only for the shortest time is an amazing event that says, we, you, are accepted. This God does, has done. This is listening to God and a moment of hearing the Lord.
Here is that poem:
Listening to read aloud silently the NSRV, why do...I do
by Peter Menkin -- Jan 29, 2001
I wanted to hear about Lions,
Biblical Commentary, and things
that go my lips are unclean,
touch them with burning coal:
my words become praise.
Heaven raised, and humorous notes
of the sound of snow flakes
in their winter birth infinity.
How gold is the top of the building,
or the reflected same color
in New York City
by a thousand windows
awakening at dawn break.
In Christ, for Christ, before me
id="xspf_player" align="middle" height="170" width="400">
bgcolor="#e6e6e6" name="xspf_player" allowscriptaccess="sameDomain"
align="middle" height="170" width="400"/>
If memory serves correct, this poem from 2001 will appear on my new web site, slated for appearance in early March, 2006. Not long from now. (More on that later.) Usually, I keep from posting poems here that are to be website bound. This exception is made because the notes are very good, and they reflect something of the season. I note that in the poem, I remark on the gold reflected in windows in the buildings of New York City, when I lived there. That memory, and vision, is so strong that I recall it in this poem 30 years later.