(if you are viewing this via email, the website has a recording of this poem and commentary; click the title above)
Commentary
This poem goes in my “After Fire” series. It was suggested by the frustration of unboxing all our “stuff” in an erstwhile clean and tidy restored house.
My father warned me against “using big words when little words will do.” So I apologize for “avaricious.”* “Acquisitive” is arguably milder, though still a “big” word. I’d have chosen that adjective if it fit the poem.
Let’s be honest, it doesn’t matter how much money we make…. Most of us in our U.S. culture DO struggle with avarice.
The notion that ancient cultures have patience to conquer was suggested to me by recent news of America’s conflicts with Persia and China.
________
*Dictionary.com defines avaricious as “an adjective meaning having or showing an extreme, insatiable desire for wealth or material gain. It describes someone who is aggressively greedy, grasping, and often miserly—prioritizing the hoarding of money or possessions above all else.”
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Do You Find This Offensive?
Please read my partial defense below*
Commentary
On a couple of occasions recently, I have seen short videos of myself walking—in checking the footage of security cameras I was setting up or reviewing church services I participated in. Seeing myself thus elicits embarrassment: “I look so ridiculous!” That response isn’t unusual. People often cringe to hear recordings of their own voice. As a photographer, I’ve had to put up with people rejecting perfectly representative photographs of themselves (“representative” isn’t always flattering!).
As I thought about this, it dawned on me that one could find ridiculous traits in just about anyone. We’re all just a little bit clownish.
From there my thinking went to that most profound event in the history of man: Jesus’ emptying himself, “by taking the form of a servant, being born in the likeness of man” (Philippians 2:7).
This poem is a prayer that Jesus will remind me of the glory He stooped to share with us despite our ridiculous state. ____________
*Although I wrote this poem very quickly, I hesitated to publish. It contains some words and concepts that are calculated to startle, to provoke thinking–in myself first and then in my readers. I asked seven of my very smart, theologically astute friends to comment, especially on the second stanza. Here’s what I wrote to one of them:
Ben,
I’m very interested in whether or not you see theological problems in the second stanza of this poem. Another friend (DTS prof) responded to me that “There are some implications that could be drawn from the second stanza that would compromise a classical understanding of Christology.” He didn’t elaborate.
If I understand Isaiah correctly, Jesus was not a classically beautiful human specimen. Per Hebrews, He learned obedience. You can probably think of other evidence of His thorough-going Incarnation. Can we go so far as to speculate that He might even have had some quirks like the rest of us?
I write poetry to plumb the depths of my confusion about man, including the Son of Man. I must confess being double-minded about the relationship of imperfection and sin. There’s a judgmental little jackass in my brain that always wants to attribute physical imperfection to moral imperfection. (It gets worse: I then take that inferred moral imperfection and use it as a basis for assigning relative authority. But enough about this dumb sinner….).
Thoughts?
None of the seven friends condemned me as a heretic. Most of them found the poem sufficiently thought-provoking to excuse some of its questionable wording.
One of the friends–a theologian and prolific poet–said that he’d grant me poetic license for “mannerisms odd.” But “merely God“? For him, that was a bridge too far. (His objection reminded me of my father, who protested when the word “awesome” was used to describe anything other than God.) My faltering defense: before the Incarnation, Jesus was “merely” God as opposed to God-Man.
Here’s my ultimate out: late in the writing process, I turned the whole second stanza into a question, not a statement: “Can I believe…?” In other words, is it appropriate to believe what follows? I hope you struggle a little with that, and that the struggle tips your heart toward loving God and loving your neighbor. That’s certainly what I hope for myself.
(if you are viewing this via email, the website has a recording of this poem and commentary; click the title above)
Commentary
I didn’t have forethought to provide for breakfast at home (moving back in a newly restored house is complicated enough!), so I had to grab breakfast at the drive-thru today. Have you ever watched the birds at a gas station or drive-thru and thought, “There’s something remarkable or sad about what I’m witnessing”?
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Commentary
This is not autobiography. Prophecy? Perhaps. Just give me a few more laps.
Hey, I read about a big scientific study that suggests eating eggs five days a week correlates with reduced chances of developing Alzheimer’s. (And now the algorithm will feed me all kinds of nonsense about dementia: “Does your back side itch? That may be a sign of dementia!”)
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Commentary
This morning, as I drove to work, I was reminded once again of a theme my mind keeps revisiting: pervasive conflict. I thought of literature classes in high school and college. There, I was taught to identify the conflicts in stories. What didn’t occur to me back then was that conflict is everywhere, at all times. At least for now.
Look, Ma… I Rhymed! Did you notice how the last lines of the first three stanzas have rhyming words in the fourth stanza? Wow! Well done, Bradley.
(if you are viewing this via email, the website has a recording of this poem and commentary; click the title above)
Commentary
I really have no idea how to explain this poem. But I felt it must be written. Merciful God knows we are but dust.
The Title I’m probably more expressive than your average 65-year-old male. But I doubt anybody would call me a “Drama Queen.” Nevertheless, I sense (more than think) “big emotions” just under the surface as I deal with a mad world and my own stressors. (background image by 鹈鹂 夏 from Pixabay)
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Commentary
I told my siblings about progress in the restoration of our house after the fire last July. My oldest brother, always the philosopher, wrote, “Soon it will seem like just a bad dream.” I’m sure he’s right.
Last week, the electrician sent me a couple of photographs after he did a test connection to the all-new light fixtures on the all new electrical system in the all new ceiling. It was the first time I saw the house thus lit in nine months.
Did I ever really despair? No. I suppressed that response. But does that really count?
(if you are viewing this via email, the website has a recording of this poem and commentary; click the title above)
Commentary
The apartments where we’re living until our house is restored (SOON!) has a great walking path around two ponds. It’s mainly young people there. The few older walkers make eye contact. The younger ones do not. Why?
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Commentary
SOMEONE REQUESTED DOGGEREL?
The last few times I went for a walk, I got an itch right in the middle of my back. As you can imagine, I was looking around for a sign post or someone’s tree to “give me a hand” in scratching that inaccessible itch.
Lebanon, Kansas: geographical center of the 48 contiguous US states. If our country had an itch in Lebanon, Kansas it would have trouble reaching there to scratch.
(Image supplied by ChatGPT based on my prompt, “Make a picture of a tree scratching a hiker’s back to relieve an itch.”)
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Commentary
Yesterday, I walked up at White Rock Lake with my dear new friend Rich Milne. When we encountered a spectacular patch of Grape Hyacinths, Rich did what any good photographer does: he got down on the ground and shot the flowers on their own terms. His photo is surely better than mine, as I didn’t lower myself to record their glory. What can we learn from this about JUSTICE? Seriously… What?
In typical fashion, Rich responded with a quick poem of his own (I’d encourage you to read his poem out loud yourself, as I may not be doing it justice):
Poem for Brad 16 March 2026
If we would do justice And we would love kindness Then we would walk humbly with our God.
We too must lay down, looking up To see even the underside of His glory. But then, we too are like the grass, Which today blooms and tomorrow is thrown into the furnace of affliction.
When we do justice, We treat things as they deserve Not as a reward for how they serve us. Yet it is He who withholds His justice from us, To treat us with grace, within the flow of His blood Which must cover us, until we know, even in the bud, Before the flower of His grace appears, That He too lay down His life Upon the Cross That in His loss He could do us justice.
(if you are viewing this via email, the website has a recording of this poem and commentary; click the title above)
Commentary
I’m trying to understand the Bible’s cosmology (esp. in Genesis, but also in the New Testament) as metaphor. Despite the fact that I’m a poet, that’s not easy for me. This poem is a pushing, a shoving, a determined attempt to see God’s loving.
Here’s the passage I was looking at when I wrote the poem:
[1] As for you, you were dead in your transgressions and sins, [2] in which you used to live when you followed the ways of this world and of the ruler of the kingdom of the air, the spirit who is now at work in those who are disobedient. [3] All of us also lived among them at one time, gratifying the cravings of our flesh and following its desires and thoughts. Like the rest, we were by nature deserving of wrath. [4] But because of his great love for us, God, who is rich in mercy, [5] made us alive with Christ even when we were dead in transgressions—it is by grace you have been saved. [6] And God raised us up with Christ and seated us with him in the heavenly realms in Christ Jesus, [7] in order that in the coming ages he might show the incomparable riches of his grace, expressed in his kindness to us in Christ Jesus. Ephesians 2:1-7 NIV
Despite how it may sound, I don’t pretend to understand much of what I wrote in this poem. I’m playing by ear, attempting to work out God’s melody. When I was younger, I despised the pompous blather of “poets who, in fact, don’t mean a thing.” But I excuse it now as a “thinking out loud.” Pondering, not so proud.
ABOUT THE THIRD STANZA I’m not real happy that I resorted to just mouthing what Scripture says as though I understand it. The already/not yet, de jure status of believers is every bit as mysterious to me as how to deal with a cosmology that is foreign.
ABOUT THE LAST LINE I’m going to just admit…. I was pushing for a rhyme to “was.” But I do like the unintended puzzle that the last line presents, and it’s always possible that my subconscious was “on to” something.
(if you are viewing this via email, the website has a recording of this poem and commentary; click the title above)
Commentary
This is one of many questions I think of while listening to Michael Heiser’s “Supernatural.”*
Don’t worry too much about my hands. If I have arthritis, it hasn’t progressed very far. But there are plenty of other signs of aging!
______________ *Heiser is one of several Ancient Near East (ANE) experts I have been reading or listening to in order to better understand the Old Testament writers’ frame of reference. Some of Heiser’s ideas are “out there” but not without merit.
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Commentary
THIS MAY HURT YOUR FEELINGS
A few years ago, I started recognizing—and preaching to others—how profoundly we are influenced by culture. But it still surprises me to realize how blindly I accepted this or that propaganda as a child. The latest moment of clarity dawned on me as I was reading about the Indian Removal Act of 1830. Could this nation ever have been rich AND righteous?
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Commentary
This is probably true of everyone, but it has always pained me: I retain a small fraction of what I learn, and put an even smaller fraction to good use. What’s the solution?
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Commentary
In Adam’s race It’s an honored place To see another’s world
If you know someone who has a garden, or paints, or makes music, or decorates, or writes, ask them to show you their world. You’ll be glad you did.
March 11 Addition When I sent this poem to my friend Rich Milne (“Adam” in the title), he wrote a quick response (Rich writes poetry as easily as most of us breathe). His response exemplifies friendship and hospitality. In my book, “hospitality” includes a bending of one’s mind to another’s thinking. And that is what Rich did by writing of the same occasion in a similar and complementary style. Here, with Rich’s permission, is his response:
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Commentary
I was taught to leave off “I think that” in my writing. Supposedly, such qualifiers weaken one’s argument, and are—in any case—unnecessary.
Okay… sure. Too much admission of incomplete knowledge is annoying.
But consider this…. Thanks to the Dunning-Kruger effect, it’s likely that the people who are most confident and assertive in their proclamations are actually THE LEAST QUALIFIED to make those proclamations. So, for me at least, a teacher, preacher, writer or speaker of any sort who can SOMEHOW couch their assertions in an admission of incomplete knowledge or understanding is the person I’m most willing to listen to.
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Commentary
A friend was lamenting that he has met Christians who think the Sermon on the Mount does not apply to Gentile believers. Such people are sometimes emboldened by the KJV rendering of 2 Timothy 2:15, where orthotomeo is translated as “rightly dividing.” For them, that apparently suggests “chopping up” and effectively “cordoning off.” Modern translations are probably better with the idiom: “rightly handling” (ESV), “correctly handles” (NIV), “correctly teaching” (CSB).
What happens when you set aside Jesus’ teaching and example as if it doesn’t apply? We’re seeing so-called Christians in the U.S. throwing around the strangest term: “the sin of empathy.” How could anyone who claims to follow Jesus be so oxymoronic?
ABOUT THE POEM I gave some thought to the three instances of orthotomeo in the Bible. Two are in the Septuagint (Proverbs 3:6 and 11:5), and the third is in 2 Timothy 2:15. Thinking about how the word is used in its context made me break out in poem.
AN ASIDE: “trailblazing” is a word whose etymology I had to study before using it here. I was surprised what “blaze” refers to in the word. It isn’t fire; it’s marking. If you have ever hiked on a path through the woods, you likely have seen “blazes” consisting of cuts in bark. They were left there by someone who wished to lead you in the most direct path possible, NOT in a meandering, circuitous path.
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Commentary
This naughty little poem celebrates good coffee and great hospitality.
True story! Our hostess had run out of regular coffee, but had a small bag of this VERY expensive coffee, called Kopi Luwak. So she brewed a pot and served it to us. I was suitably impressed… by the coffee and by her generous hospitality.
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Commentary
[This is an early morning response to Genesis 30]
More than likely, the author WAS winking. The mandrakes story gets us thinking how man’s devices are laughable in light of God’s sovereign choice. With or without fertility enhancers, God was going to grow Jacob’s family.
My lingering question is, where does Scripture comment on this and other stories to clearly indicate, “The moral of this story is this or that”? Some will pontificate while others will ponder where the truth is at.
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Commentary
Every morning when I read the “Daily Office” (an Anglican thing I’m learning to use), I’m presented first with Malachi 1:11
For from the rising of the sun to its setting my name will be great among the nations, and in every place incense will be offered to my name, and a pure offering. For my name will be great among the nations, says the Lord of hosts.
I love passages like this, and hints in John (and elsewhere) that Jesus’ being glorified was tied to an ingathering of people from every nation.
I’m impressed that God cares for the foreigner, and wants believers to follow His example.
But nowadays, there are Christians(?) in the United States who think righteousness includes hating foreigners. I wonder if they read about God hating Esau and feel none of the tension that inspired my little poem?
NOTE: I know that teachers will generally downplay the “hating” of Esau as merely God *choosing* Jacob instead of him. But mere choice doesn’t describe what God does to Esau and his descendants (see the first few verses of Malachi).
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Commentary
I’m struggling with mental and emotional exhaustion caused largely by being hyper aware of current events on the national and international stage. And I’m torn…. As a citizen in a representative democracy, I have some responsibility to be aware of what’s happening and to exercise what little power I have to influence the course of events. But just how much do I need to know? How often should I check the news? I strongly suspect the world—and certainly I—would be better off if I concerned myself less and prayed more, if I occupied myself more with beauty and less with ugliness.
(background image, from Wikimedia Commons, is of radar tracking of the Rolling Fork, MS EF4 tornado)
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Commentary
RETHINKING LOSS AND GENEROSITY
In my childhood—and somewhat to this day—I assumed that coins I found on the ground, or in a bubble gum dispenser, or in a telephone booth represented someone else’s loss. But could it be there are people who leave or drop their change not out of forgetfulness, but generosity?
My grandfather comes to mind. When he came down to visit us in Mexico, he took me on a walk to the summit of the hill where we lived. I was delighted to find money beside our path. Grandpa had been there before.
A friend–and fellow missionary kid–immediately responded with three passages from Scripture, including this one that I also had in mind:
And at your reaping the harvest of your land you must not finish reaping the edge of your field, and you must not glean the remnants of your harvest.
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Commentary
I know there are people who feel this far more than I. My pains in life have been few and slight. All the more, may we long for the One who will make things right!
I’m starting to see that our house fire was an inflection point. The process of recovery has forced me to evaluate possessions and my use of them. At many points, I ask myself questions like, “Do I need this now? Will I ever use this in the future?” One example I have mentioned elsewhere is the replacement of my desktop and laptop computers. The replacements are both more powerful than what I had before the fire. I can do more with these new computers than I could do with the old ones. But the excitement of creativity, e.g., of making and editing videos, has largely died away. I’m writing poetry more now than ever before. That’s creative, but low-tech. In general, my years before the fire are different than what I anticipate after the fire. I’m being forced to recognize and acknowledge that.
Living in an apartment has made us ask the question, “How much do we really enjoy home-ownership?” Yard work has lost its charm. Home maintenance in general has lost what little attraction it ever had. That change had already begun before the fire. But now I realize it all the more keenly. The fire was in early July. Even though we were living in an apartment, I still had to go over to the empty house and mow the lawn in Texas heat. That made me feel the futility of yard work: water and mow, water and mow. Although I cannot go into it here, the house still feels like a war zone, and I am engaged in daily skirmishes.
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Commentary
This poem may not age well. Ten years from now, I may look back and laugh at the troglodyte I was in 2025. That has happened before. I recall complaining to my brother-in-law Don back in the late 1990s or early 2000s that clients were pressuring me to accept 50 MB files OVER THE INTERNET! Why couldn’t they just drive over with their files on portable media? Don was in a business that benefited from–and enabled–growth of the Internet. He wisely–and correctly–advised me to crawl out from under my rock.
So now, we are witnessing the rapid emergence of Artificial Intelligence. This poem is an expression of my struggle with how AI threatens a creative like myself. When AI can write three versions of a poem in the time it takes me to set down the first line of my own poem, I have to question the relevance of my work.
The poem is a protest. AI’s power comes at great expense. The data centers where AI performs its magic require vast resources–especially in terms of electricity and water for cooling. This is an expense born by all, but possibly rewarding just a few.
Artificial Intelligence pumps out poems with no regard for the costs. But we human poets work within limitations guided by decency and compassion. We have a conscience. Here’s some good news: in the exercise of that conscience, we can bring glory to the God who made us as we are. Our very limitations have value.
(CONFESSION: the background image was produced by AI based on my prompts)
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Commentary
Last night, I worked late. Driving home on a busy road through this sprawling city, I saw the crescent moon low and big in the sky. It was fuzzy, which made me think there must be some high thin clouds. As I drove, I thought, “I have to describe this.” My first attempt was horrible: “A thin slice of moon, poking through the herniated sky.” Lovely, right?! That was clearly NOT going to do. How to describe the sky in a tasteful way?
Once I got home, I parked and stepped out to take a better look at the sky. It was cloudless! Here and there was a clear, but lonely star. It was just the light pollution of a big city that had given me the impression of clouds.
So I slept on it.
This morning, while I was waking up before sunrise, I thought of the night sky, and set out to describe it in this poem.
I suspect the last line of the first stanza is going to throw some people. Don’t settle too quickly on one picture in your mind. It’s the moon I’m describing, comparing it to that little flash of shoulder or leg showing through an elegant and modest gown.
By the way…. I wrote this quickly, trusting my brain to choose words well. That’s my approach to becoming a better poet: not belaboring any one poem, but pumping out many poems quickly. My theory is that I’ll become fluent in poetry, simply by speaking the language.
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Commentary
At first, I thought I’d title this poem “Gordon’s Not.” Let me explain….*
On a vacation day last week, I luxuriated by “sleeping” in. Before making my celebratory breakfast of biscuits and gravy, scrambled eggs, and pork sausage, I lay in bed watching a documentary about Gordon Lightfoot. The opening of that documentary is startling. An aged Gordon Lightfoot is explaining why he deeply regrets the words of one of his early hits: “For Lovin’ Me.” He explains that he was young, naive, and chauvinistic when he wrote it. As the documentary continued, I came to realize that I had never thought deeply about Lightfoot’s words in this and other songs. I had always just been mesmerized by his voice. That voice made everything he sang seem wholesome and true. But the man who wrote the words and sang them was not so wholesome, not so true! The documentary didn’t ruin his songs. But it was a reminder that a “a man may smile and be in pain” (Proverbs 14:13).
So, I finished the documentary, fixed my breakfast, and sat down to eat. That’s when I reflected on what I had just learned: Gordon’s not what you may have thought.
Does that shed light on my little poem?
_______________
*I make the common mistake of misremembering “Gordion Knot” as “Gordon’s Knot”
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Commentary
This was two poems, but I decided to combine them. The idea that there is an unseen realm interested me long before my current read: “The Unseen Realm,” by Michael Heiser. Thus far, Heiser’s book has not inspired me anywhere near as much as fantasies by George MacDonald. The Wise Woman is one MacDonald book that I should read again soon.
I’d be interested to know what comes to mind when you read that last line: “And there the past will go.” If you’re reading this on my website, comment below!
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Commentary
Something’s gotta change. My brain is turning to mush, and my heart isn’t far behind. Fortunately, I recall better days, so I know what’s possible. The One who walked with me then is merciful and kind. So, to Him goes this heartfelt prayer…. (the photo is one I took back in 2019, on one of my frequent long hikes)
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Commentary
The jury’s out on this one. I woke up the morning after posting it and thought, “Did I really write that?” For lack of a better category, I have put it under the themes “Experimental,” and “Self-Examination.”
Part of the problem is that I do not recall the context of this passing thought. Clearly, it struck me with enough force to elicit some lines of poetry. I think I must have been worried by the thought’s emptiness, its meaninglessness.
When you attend the theater of the absurd, then exit and encounter more absurdity outside, it warrants mentioning… or writing a few lines of poetry.
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Commentary
I have friends whose writing I sometimes don’t understand. Nor do they always understand my writing. I can’t blame them. In some cases, they may be pushing me for more clarity. However, just because something doesn’t make sense YET, that doesn’t mean it won’t make sense some day. Is the author good? Assume he or she will one day make sense. WORK at understanding, or—if it’s too hard—just wait. Your work—or patience—will be rewarded.
I think this way about the Bible… and about myself and fellow writers. Or at least I try.
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Commentary
I know that the second stanza is weak. But I felt a certain urgency in publishing it on the night when I wrote it. I wrote on Facebook, “I felt an urgency in getting this out there. Is it for you?”
A wise person would probably respond, “Make sure your ambitions align with God’s purpose.” More easily said than done.
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Commentary
On the one hand, there is self-awareness. On the other, there is theological conviction. This poem is a confession that the two are in conflict. I believe. Help Thou my unbelief!
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Commentary
After the fire, we had a break-in at the empty house. The burglar seemed intent on finding some valuable document amongst the files we had stashed in my workshop. That helped us realize that we should pick up the pace of shredding old documents. Between paper shredding and file deletion, I have destroyed a lot of old documents in the last few days. The process leaves me feeling melancholy. Why? This poem explores that question.
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Commentary
Tonight, I’m feeling ennui, hopelessness, a sense of futility. The feeling started intensifying yesterday as I set up a new, powerful computer, and explored how well it does with video editing. I noted to myself how I was doing this in a perfunctory manner, devoid of the excited expectation I once would have had that “I’ll do amazing things with this new capability! I’ll be creative and yet precise in communicating something via this medium.” That’s not likely to happen. People don’t turn to old men for fresh new expressions.
What did “The Preacher” do when he was feeling this way? He wrote Ecclesiastes. And Robert Browning wrote “Rabbi Ben Ezra”:
