Shiggaion

© September 20, 2008 by Norman Stolpe

So Isaiah,
you see your great vision;
you get your great call.
“Send me,” you tell God.

What does God say?
Dull hearts –
shut eyes –
ears that won’t listen:
They’d rather not be healed.
Did God even want to?

Could have saved a lot of trouble,
if God let you stay home.
Surely God could have found you a more responsive audience,
people who’d appreciate
your eloquence,
your insight,
your style,
your piety.
Doesn’t God know how important
satisfaction,
fulfillment,
affirmation
are for effective ministry,
for mental health?

Who am I to be exempt?
not Joseph –
not Moses –
not Samuel –
not Jesus.
They complain about God –
not me.
As they go astray,
I love this people.

With Stringed Instruments

© September 1, 2008 by Norman Stolpe

After autumn’s abundant gorge
she bear hibernates to birth her young
in solitude. The spring forage
assures the next generation.

Drained and weary, famished of heart,
I seek retreat in monastic
solitude. Gorging on Sabbath,
emerging to offer a drink.

Sheminith

© September 1, 2008 by Norman Stolpe

“I’m going now,” my Dad whispered,
aware we had all assembled.
No patriarchal death vigil –
he’s still teaching by example.

My wife listened to her mother’s
faltering and uneven breaths.
Briefest break trying to be there –
final privacy without fear.

Grief tears
burn and sting,
cleanse and soothe.

Tearless grief
numbs and protects
probes and anchors.

Modulating into minor
refines the core
where pain and joy
fuse into hope.