Posted by Tyler Kirkpatrick | July 2, 2020
I was recently inspired to write a poem for each day of creation–(which are written as poems themselves). I will be posting a new entry each day. Today: Genesis 1:14-19.
The Fourth Day
I am on my deck in early darkness when it happens:
The clouds, as if painted with liberal oil brushstrokes
by some Impressionist artist
turn apocalyptic pink;
a revealing of the world splashed with
colors forgotten by night
now irradiated by perfect golden hue,
the flowers and trees yawn and begin
their daylong photosynthetic stretch
toward this giver of life:
I am walking back to my dorm in cold alpine air
after a late shift in a summer job at
the Paradise Inn when I see it:
the mountain. Rainier is not hidden
by night but all 14,000 feet from my feet
to the slopes of the summit are seen in
unexpected luminosity: miles of glacier glowing
phosphorescent, a reflection of reflected light:
I am deep in a desert canyon miles
from manmade illumination of metropolis and city
The sky hangs above me like a porous black canvas
trying to hold back the very light of Heaven which
bursts through in millions of little places:
Gazing up into space I am transported out of time
into the fullness of this Present
unaware of growing awareness of my smallness,
warmed by the faint breath of eternity invading time.
No wonder so many worshiped
Sun, Moon and Stars in holy reverence!
What wonder that Ancient Hebrews living
under the brilliance of Middle Eastern sun,
gazing at the mystery of the moon
and spectacle of the stars did not bow
in worship, but knew even these are creation:
The Fourth Day.
 Snowstorm of Stars, from Art in the Christian Tradition, a project of the Vanderbilt Divinity Library, Nashville, TN. http://diglib.library.vanderbilt.edu/act-imagelink.pl?RC=56825 [retrieved July 1, 2020]. Original source: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:A_snowstorm_of_stars.jpg
Posted by Tyler Kirkpatrick | July 1, 2020
I was recently inspired to write a poem for each day of creation–(which are written as poems themselves). I will be posting a new entry each day. Today: Genesis 1:9-13.
The Third Day
In a few simple words, Dry Land is created:
wind and glacier worn flanks of
Annapurna, Blanc, Cerro Bonete, Denali
an endless alphabet of soaring ice and granite
River-carved canyons and caverns
Plateaus and plains
It is the afternoon's events
that receive the attention:
The third day of creation
yet the first day in which God saw
how good creation was
letting out a mirthful laugh
delighted at these creatures
capable of re-creating and recreating:
Mountain meadows awash with flowers
bringing a full palette of new color
into this new creation
Roses of Sharon and Lily of the Valley
and the lillies of the field
Cedars of Lebanon and Saguaros of Sonora
and Sequoias of California clapping their hands
and bursting into song
each one breathing, growing, alive
each one sacred, created and re-creating
each one very good.
The Third Day.
 van Gogh, Vincent. Olive Trees, from Art in the Christian Tradition, a project of the Vanderbilt Divinity Library, Nashville, TN. http://diglib.library.vanderbilt.edu/act-imagelink.pl?RC=56501 [retrieved June 30, 2020]. Original source: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Vincent_van_Gogh_-_Olive_Trees_-_Google_Art_Project_(Minneapolis_Institute_of_Arts).jpg
Posted by Tyler Kirkpatrick | June 29, 2020
I was recently inspired to write a poem for each day of creation–(which are written as poems themselves). I will be posting a new entry each day. Up first: Genesis 1:1-5.
The First Day
“God is not darkness, but in the darkness I saw God.”
The work of God begins in darkness
evening first, then morning.
While I slumber in subconsciousness
God works well before my waking
knitting neurons and leading them on right paths
“Our life is a faint tracing on the surface of mystery”
Unexplained abyss formless and void.
GPS pinpoints the coordinates of our routine transpacific flight
But neither person nor computer
the world that lies below the
surface of the deep over which we hover
Ferries filled to capacity jet confidently
and routinely across Puget Sound,
barely submerged into the unseen darkness below
They are water-winged children
Dog-paddling on the surface of mystery
God is light
…though the darkness hide thee.
The work of God begins
hovering over the darkness
of a world still uncreated.
In the unexplained abyss of
God calls forth light
evening first, then the illumination of morning.
The first day.
 Something I read years ago and a quote I’ve been able to track down. Rainer Maria Rilke, perhaps?
 Annie Dillard, Pilgrim at Tinker Creek.
 Featured image: Watkins, Carleton E., 1829-1916. Solar Eclipse from Mount Santa Lucia, from Art in the Christian Tradition, a project of the Vanderbilt Divinity Library, Nashville, TN. http://diglib.library.vanderbilt.edu/act-imagelink.pl?RC=56320 [retrieved June 29, 2020]. Original source: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Carleton_Watkins_(American_-_Solar_Eclipse_from_Mount_Santa_Lucia_-_Google_Art_Project.jpg.