The Singing Bowl
Speech is something for which I no longer care;
my tongue is silent, so I may truly hear, but—
I long to speak! Shhh—still yourself; wait; breathe—
there—the Word which existed long before my words
appears and addresses me, in silence, before I can say
a word! and in that silence, in language dark and bright,
an invitation; a summons; a pardon; a command!
and each one bears, not another’s, but my name!
and yet my ears remain deaf to His Almighty Sound,
but in my heart the ringing of a bell! as if my heart
were an open singing bowl, whose chime is both
my refuge and my flight—but where would I go
if I were to run? I have climbed this mountain in silence
to seek His face, only to find He is the mountain and the sky!
On Acquiring a New Language
In life, one must let go
of habits which hinder
In the tall wet grass
a hare scrapes a mite
from its long-bent ear
In the shade of a rock
a brown snake wriggles
free from a translucent skin
In the shallows of a river
a gold and green flecked trout
gulps in the crisp morning air
In the grey sky, a bird of prey circles,
it’s shadow veiling and unveiling
the back of a small grey mouse
In the eaves of an empty shed
a brown owl leans back into shadow
to shield its eyes
from the lights of a stationary car
the driver hesitates—
before turning left, not right,
and heads home
A howling wind
whips up confetti.
White spaces for all!
Teeth in close-up.
full, scared, staring.
All is white.
Above it all,
in the eaves,
a beautiful black Spirit
over the chaos
of white America.
Enchant Me, Lord
Enchant me, Lord, so I may see your face;
this is the true magic, not some slight-of-hand.
For in your face, my face, truly as I am,
bent, but bending towards my Lord.
Jonathan Hoskin is a writer and educator. He lives in Auckland, New Zealand, where he coordinates academic support at New Zealand’s largest and oldest theological college.