Whose will be done?

To my country America, consider whose “Word” we are listening to right now. Consider what it sounds like—and what it ought to sound like instead.
 

“Whose will be done?”
 
You have heard it said I am a God of love and mercy, 
     but I say to you, rip the babies from their mothers 
          and bring them to me for proper salvation.
Truly I say to you, follow the law blindly and take no responsibility.
Blessed are the ones who live with closed hearts, and
     Blessed are they who misuse my name for fear and power,
         for theirs will be a snow-white country.
Love the Lord your God when it is convenient,
     and do unto others as you see fit.
And your mortal kingdom come, your will be done,
in America as it is in darkness.
Amen.

 
 
 
Creative Commons License
Whose will be done? by Briana Batty is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.

Advertisements

March

Hello everyone – after a lull in activity, I am trying to get back to posting every 2 weeks, on the weekends. Keep an eye out for new poems!

And now, for this week:

This poem is written in support of the March for Life. May God bless the marchers’ courage and open the ears of all people in this discussion so that we may listen to each other and act to protect our country’s children.

God bless,
Morgan

“March”

bright blood stains classrooms
the hateful lost wield terror
broken hearts march brave
 
 
 
Creative Commons License
March by Morgan Waad is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.

People of America

For my hurting nation, I still hope.
God bless,
Morgan
 
“People of America”
 
Let us hold our hands high above turmoil
like waving autumn treetops in a storm.
We will weave our colors together into new understanding
of love that beats as deeply as giant drums of change
in the mountains we must climb.
Hand in hand, we will share faith and hope for what waits
at the top where our people, our nation,
dance like stars beneath an open sky.
 
 
Creative Commons License
People of America by Morgan Prettyman is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.

Rooms

With God’s grace and strength, we do not have to be frozen in fear, hurt, and anger for ourselves and our brothers and sisters. Let us take action in our broken world.
 
God bless,
Morgan
 
“Rooms”
 
Fire is blowing and here
I am knowing I must move.
Before me there is a house
where crimson chews on the walls
until they fall in, their gaping wounds glowing
in a furnace of war.
 
I must move.
 
the fire has been set—it can’t be rewound
like an old VHS. This film only rolls forward.
But while the drama unfolds,
I am caught staring. So many windows cracking,
so many rooms burning, so many cries rising.
The answer is rescue, but I cannot choose a room.
There are too many, this is too much.
 
I must move.
 
Will I say years from now that my master was
indecision and my chains were indifference?
Apathy floods these onlookers
like poison gas. I could breathe it
in and float, aimless, in my own mind as darkness
takes us, as I wonder: which room?
 
I move.
 
I will pick one room, you pick another, and you
still another. We will pull hope out
of the flames.
 
We must move.
 
 
Creative Commons License
Rooms by Morgan Prettyman is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.

Lilac Nation

I am shaken by the events of the past week in America, but I remain encouraged by the many people to whom I’ve spoken who are ready now more than ever to fight for unity and justice in this country. I still choose to believe that we as a people can seek wholeness. We do not have to let the dark and divisive rhetoric of this year be the norm. Instead, let us strive to heal through communication, love, and open hearts.
 
God bless,
Morgan
 
“Lilac Nation”
For unity
 
Young one, how fear has grated
your branches into brittle fingers curling
inward, terrified to embrace the wind of todays and
tomorrows. Your leaves are meant
to shade and shelter, your red, white, and blue flowers
to surprise the earth with fruitful promise. Yet in storm’s
wake I see your proud colors crying out
in red pain and blue smoke,
as your trunk parts
down the center, flowerless.
 
Young one, let your leaves return.
Soak in wind and water and courage, and
let your branches bloom anew with all
your colors as one:
a vibrant, lilac nation.
 
 
Creative Commons License
Lilac Nation by Morgan Prettyman is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.

Reminders

This is a poem for my mom, who taught me so much about what love is. This was written for Mother’s Day the year she moved to Arizona.
God bless,
Morgan
 
“Reminders”
 
as you step onto the desert way,
you leave lessons
like painted handmade beads
I string into deepest memory.
 
They are reminders:
to love all the people around me,
no matter what they look like
or who they are,
to keep an open home,
dig deep roots of faith,
fear no doubts,
always ask questions
and know where
to look up the answers,
to ask forgiveness
and to give it,
find good stories
and live them,
be myself,
strive for my dreams,
seek adventure,
keep learning, and
to stand up,
stand strong.
 
The spun threads through each
reminder gleam timeless silver:
your pride in me
your welcoming arms
your overflowing love
 
 
Creative Commons License
Reminders by Morgan Prettyman is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.

Rabbi

This poem was inspired by the story of Zacchaeus, the short tax collector who climbed a tree to see Jesus in Luke 19:1-10. Sometimes we think we can see Jesus best from high above in the trees, when truly he is best seen in action among the people down below.
 
God bless,
Morgan
 

“Rabbi”
 
Rabbi, Rabbi,
     I listen to you from treetops,
          imagining myself a little closer
        to sky-soaring righteousness,
but my vantage point has made me
       the fool.
the classroom in the branches
        taught me desperation, how to cling to
twigs.
hundreds of hours of study and
       not a jot learned until
         You called me down to open
                   my home.
Rabbi, Rabbi,
      Your teaching is in the meal.

 
 
Creative Commons License
Rabbi by Morgan Prettyman is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.

Previous Older Entries