a people’s history of prayer: gwendolyn brooks

The Preacher Ruminates Behind the Sermon I think it must be lonely to be God.  Nobody loves a master. No. Despite  The bright hosannas, bright dear-Lords, and bright  Determined reverence of Sunday eyes.  Picture Jehovah striding through the hall  Of His importance, creatures running out  From servant-corners to acclaim, to shout  Appreciation of His merit’sContinue reading “a people’s history of prayer: gwendolyn brooks”

poets against the status quo

Perhaps––who knows––He tires of looking down. Those eyes are never lifted. Never straight. Perhaps sometimes He tires of being great In solitude. Without a hand to hold. – the last stanza of “The Preacher: Ruminates Behind the Sermon” by Gwendolyn Brooks In Plato’s Republic, poets were only welcome if they wrote praises to the gods. No versesContinue reading “poets against the status quo”