Only Speak

Just a question,
more a restless thought;
some might say a doubt.
Faith, doubt;
no longer convinced
there is any clear distinction.
A request in the midst
of uncertainty,
holding desperately the line
against fear
and hoping.
Just a doubt,
a fear,
a hope;
a seeking after grace.
Only speak
the word,

© Ken Rookes

Does not Wisdom call?

Does not wisdom call,
and does not understanding raise her voice?
Proverbs 8:1

Divinity, in her infinite wisdom
gave to us mortal beings the capacity
for conceptual thought,
and for dreaming.
From among us have come Edison,
Einstein, Escher and Ernst;
creating, challenging, confronting:
the capacity to reason is a precious gift.
We build, we wrestle,
we imagine worlds within worlds,
we make beauty and we make peace.
There are dark thoughts, too,
opposing Wisdom and denying Truth;
such as these Divinity risks
for freedom’s sake, forever calling,
calling, with an invitation of light.
There are some who loudly declare
that they are servants of Divinity,
but who submit to fear.
Choosing the doubtful joys of Ignorance;
they sweep Reason aside,
along with Truth and Understanding.
Their’s is a retreat to security
and comfortable darkness,
where raucous slogans are embraced
fear and outrage cultivated,
and Wisdom’s call is reduced to a whisper.

© Ken Rookes





Grasping after the ungraspable
mysterious God,
who allows God’s-self to be glimpsed
touched, known and argued with
in the very human Son of Man,
as he walks dustily and hungrily
along lonely paths;
stepping among anxious people
who press insistently and demand answers.
Reaching after elusive meaning
in a world that weeps, mourns,
confounds and hides;
in which the surprising Spirit
of a strangely gracious God
emerges from human shadows
to disturb and shake.
She affirms the doubting,
lifts the faltering
and breathes stillness into the fear.
Always this servant Spirit comes
to brush tender tingling life,
hinting at the mystery
of the three-personed God
in whom all things have their beginning;
and their end.

© Ken Rookes



God’s Spirit tugs, sometimes,
at others she tears at my insides,
saying: Come.
Come from this place of weary comfort
and grey coldness,
where the living is by halves
and sweet sameness cloys;
where edges are dull,
and blunted living safe;
where contentment is exalted and worshipped
and adventure and uncertainty
are disdained and distrusted.
Come to where life is sharp
and uneasy, the aching is strange,
and nakedness honest.
Let surprise and unexpected
delight warm your depths.
I promise you
there will be friendship to match the pain,
joyful wonder to accompany fear’s uncertainty,
and much tear-soaked love.
let rushing wind
and Pentecost fire be your home.
© Ken Rookes