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Saturday, May 2, 2020

Out of Joint: A Poem


Many mornings I've been waking up around 4:30 and as I pray and read the Bible, I'm inspired to write. This was born out of just one of those days when something very odd happened. It's all true! (We've also been visited by many finches lately as the painting depicts).

Out of Joint

All the world is out of joint

I’ve seen more dark mornings now than ever before.

Early hours before dawn, the house lays quiet

with the incandescent glow of light bulbs.

As I shuffle to prepare my tea.



Half the world is sleeping, it’s 4 AM.

Out of nowhere a noise explodes in the laundry room.

I hurry to investigate —-the washing machine has turned on by itself!



I look inside, filthy rags soaking.

 Why is the lid open?

Surely this is the problem.

I try all the knobs and buttons.

They won’t turn off the electronics, so I struggle to unplug it.

And I am reminded,

I wrestle to unplug myself from this world and its technology.



Trapped in these four walls

Technology is my portal of communication.

Yesterday I spoke with a woman from Australia at noon

It was 3 AM for her and out of bed.

She too is out of joint.



No one knows what day it is.

I still have snowflake lights hanging.

Nature doesn’t know the month.

It blows the icy winds of February

though the calendar promises hope.



April died on the vine, her cruel frosts killing

our gentle magnolia blooms and pink hyacinths.

We are all in morning and out of joint, out of step with normal.

Who is no more?



Some say God ordained it, but I know

a loving Father who conquered all this death.

And washed my filthy rags.

For out of the tomb his Son arose in a world

sorely out of joint.





As we all await the dawn,

to put an end to this endless night,

I hear the first bird call pierce the dark.

My heart flutters,

Is it true?


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