This World’s Work
Calm yourself. Listen.
What you’ll hear is the sound
of a world you did not make
but have been invited to join.
If you hear innocence then
you’re still not listening for
this is not an innocent place.
But once you hear the singing
of underground miners picking
toward the prize then you know
you’re on the right track for
there is work to be done, hard,
filthy, oh-my-aching-back labor
to find the veins of hope and
then carry it to the surface.
This has long been this world’s
honorable vocation, the work
that both satisfies and sustains.
honorable vocation, the work
that both satisfies and sustains.
yes.
and thank you. thank you.
If today you hear his voice
Good to hear your voice John, keep on keeping on,we need you
…to find the veins of hope and then carry it to the surface…
Beautiful picture! Thank you!!
Oh, my yes. To ‘”find the veins of hope and then carry it to the surface.” Thank you for the mining, John.
Have been waiting for another poem. Worth the wait. Thank you.
Amen.
Good words. Thank you.
Shared this today at my spiritual directors’ retreat – perfection. This is the kind of work I try to do — mining for hope and grace and goodness and love. Thank you.
John, your metaphors leave me sighing at their beauty.
This is a new favorite.
You offer up so much here.
grateful, very grateful
Wow. Thank you.
Thankful for this.
Somehow, it also makes me think of Robert Morgan’s “The Grain of Sound.”
A banjo maker in the mountains,
when looking out for wood to carve
an instrument, will walk among
the trees and knock on trunks. He’ll hit
the bark and listen for a note.
A hickory makes the brightest sound;
the poplar has a mellow ease.
But only straightest grain will keep
the purity of tone, the sought-
for depth that makes the licks sparkle.
A banjo has a shining shiver.
Its twangs will glitter like the light
on splashing water, even though
its face is just a drum of hide
of cow, or cat, or even skunk.
The hide will magnify the note,
the sad of honest pain, the chill
blood-song, lament, confession, haunt,
as tree will sing again from root
and vein and sap and twig in wind
and cat will moan as hand plucks nerve,
picks bone and skin and gut and pricks
the heart as blood will answer blood
and love begins to knock along the grain.