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A sudden wind jars the small branch of a broken Aspen
It drops into a tiny puddle, and then
Sinks into it like Olive Oil
Soaked bread dotted with the spoils
Of crushed garlic and fine rosemary
Oh! This finest table of bread
Thou bakery, mighty crafter of finest goods
We praise thy produce which binds our world
As this Aspen reaches out and binds these woods
anthony forrest
From the corner of my gaze, I catch the spurts of newest pine-growth
Tender, softer than most
Like a lump of rising dough
Knead-ful hands will make it soon grow
And forge this Spring life into a Summer’s feast
Of freshly baked goods
A display of leaves and bark and trees and dawn
All spread out on this table
In these bakery-woods and beyond
anthony forrest
Underfoot, the leaves crunch and crack
—like the bread at my sister’s house
Flour on her blouse
Child at her feet
Counter all neat
With bakery things and Irish butter
But now, the timer!
She whisks away the sourdough
And lo
It crackles like the leaves
Of my trees
In these woods
anthony forrest
I hesitated to write the following post. The main goal of this blog is to entertain people, offer them joy, and give a glimpse of the world abroad. Most of the writings you find here are lighthearted and tell tales of travels.
What follows wanders slightly from the intended path. What follows shows the dark and light of what I do. I rarely write poetry or stories about my work as a paramedic. But my work life, travel life, personal life, and Christianity are actually all one. The overflow of these things produces my poetry. And though what follows may start in darkness, I promise it ends in light. I promise it ends in Hope.
He Prays at the Feet of a Dead Man
One moment standing, drawing breath
Heart pounding unaware of
Death
At the door
Breath
No more
-Our Father, who art in heaven-
Help is coming- “soon” is an eternity
But the caring-ones come
Hastily
They fight
Skillfully
For life
-Hallowed be thy name-
Yet, despite hopeful care
Death smiles
That Evil smile
And we despair
Battle done
No more trial
Death has won
-Thy kingdom come-
Mourning tears stain cheeks
Streaks down makeup
Of mothers
Of wives
Now alone
Family, minus one
-Thy will be done-
stop
Turn and notice the Cross
On the kitchen wall
House awash
With God
I think, “Not lost”
And wife gives a nod
-On earth as it is in heaven-
Here, a poorly kept secret
Of a faith till the end
This secret
A burning life
Alight
With Christ
and so…
Dabbing eyes now
And in sorrow, smiling
Knowing how
This man
This dead man
On the floor
No more
Drawing Breath
Can yet live
Death, you have no sting
For this man
Who had faith in a King
Was truly delivered from evil
-Our Father, who art in heaven-
anthony forrest
Oh, the pains of the searching
and seeking
to find
peace in a time
of chaos and fear.
Though life may appear
dark
and the evil stark,
fear not,
for the sun shall always rise.
Oh, the woeful tales cried in the streets;
they vie for attention,
and at their very mention
cause memory loss
of the Maker,
the Orchestrator,
of all the world in full.
Oh God, grant us clarity—
your charity, we beg
when dark grow the
skies.
Open our scaly eyes
to the Prince of Peace,
the Righter of ships,
from who’s lips
springs the Sword
of the Word—
the ruin of all evil things.
anthony forrest
Not for lights not for laughter
Not for feasts nor the fellowship after
Not for friends nor for family
Not for the gifts though given are many
Without all these things a reason there is none
Save that God sent His only begotten Son
He is the reason that Christmas is here
His Child should be the focus of our holiday cheer
Not for trees in the houses nor boxes on the shelves
Not for the time we spend shopping for somebody else
Without all these things a reason there is none
Save that God sent His only begotten Son
anthony forrest
Night after night I turn to my left
And raise my eyes
To the skies
Through the window
I raise my sight
And search this night
For the skyward evening traveler
And each night
He is there
Like a dare
Never to cease
And never seeking release
From his nightly travels
Horizon to horizon
He makes his trip
Being eaten bit by bit
Till gone
Only to be resurrected again
And take his place above men
anthony forrest
oh, the joys of the unknown
fear of not knowing
a growing concern
a stern
feeling of a loss not yet lost
like tearing a letter
open
and then, “what’s this?”
the opposite of the wish
junk mail—rubbish
and yet
the heart palpitates
anticipates
still the same
and goes on
anthony forrest
Though the sky should darken
on a sudden,
and the air grow sharp and chill.
The trees yield not their bounty.
Look! From the sky begins to spill
a new kind of bounty.
Though this time feels out of time,
and unexpected changes flow.
It’s through God’s crafted surprises
that He causes me to grow
and shift into the better shape of Christ.
anthony forrest
The path before his eyes
Led ever upward
His tunic oft-catching
On twigs and brush and bur
He pauses
Deep breath
And the upward climb
Begins once more
A drop of sweat falls
His heart pounds in his core
Skyward gaze
The sun is hot
His right hand holds a beaded string
The Crucifix
Left hand pulls the tunic
Catching once more on a stick
The top
Done climbing
And falling to his knees
At the tower of stones
“Deus meus,” he begins in hushed tones
Crying to God on His eternal throne
anthony forrest
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