Luci Shaw

POETRY: It is as if infancy were the whole of incarnation by Luci Shaw

January 30, 2019

One time of the year the new-born child is everywhere, planted in madonnas’ arms hay mows, stables, in palaces or farms, or quaintly, under snowed gables, gothic angular or baroque plump, naked or elaborately swathed, encircled by Della Robbia wreaths, garnished with whimsical partridges and pears, drummers and drums, lit by oversize stars, partnered with lambs, peace doves, sugar plums, bells, plastic camels in sets of three as if these were what we needed for eternity. But Jesus the Man is not to be seen. There are some who are wary, these days, of beards and sandalled feet. Yet if we celebrate, let it be that He has invaded our lives with purpose, striding over our picturesque traditions, our shallow sentiment, overturning our cash [...]

POETRY: The Foolishness Of God, by Luci Shaw

October 5, 2016

1 Corinthians 1:20-25 Perform impossibilities or perish. Thrust out now the unseasonal ripe figs among your leaves. Expect the mountain to be moved. Hate parents, friends, and all materiality. Love every enemy. Forgive more times than seventy- seven. Camel-like, squeeze by into the kingdom through the needle’s eye. All fear quell. Hack off your hand, or else, unbloodied, go to hell. Thus the divine unreason. Despairing now, you cry with earthy logic—How? And I, your God, reply: Leap from your weedy shallows. Dive into the moving water. Eyeless, learn to see truly. Find in my folly your true sanity. Then Spirit-driven, run on my narrow way, sure as a child. Probe, hold my unhealed hand, and bloody, enter [...]

POETRY: Poet: silent after Pentecost by Luci Shaw

May 27, 2016

I who was thirsty, drank, was satisfied, became myself a secondary source of bubbling water—why was my mouth still dry? Brushed by dove’s feathers heart and winging mind— I who had felt flight dared to ask when will my words fly? His burning oil from crown to feet had covered me. I was a torch for lighting, for light yet was my throat still dark. The overwhelming rush, the mighty wind wide-spread the blaze. Yet from my tinder tongue came not one spark. Breasting the gusts of praise, filled with the singing Word and words, and still no sound would come. That Holy Breath, promised, to teach lungs, larynx, lips in a needed hour, told mine until today, “Be [...]

POETRY: The Words of God

February 20, 2013

After Leviticus Philip Levine The seventeen metal huts across the way from the great factory house seventeen separate families. Because the slag heaps burn all day and all night it’s never dark, so as you pick your way home at 2 A.M. on a Saturday morning near the end of a long winter you don’t need to step in the black mud even though you’re not sober. You’re not drunk either. You’re actually filled with the same joy that comes to a great artist who’s just completed a seminal work, though the work you’ve completed is “serf work” (to use your words), a solid week’s worth of it in the chassis assembly plant number seven. Even before you washed up and changed your shirt Maryk [...]