Poetry Retreat

It's finally here! God bless St. Timothy's, Andy Parker, and Surfside Beach for nurturing the poet in us.

Our 2nd Annual St. Timothy's Poetry as Prayer retreat got underway last evening with king ranch chicken, diner cake, coffee, Richard Osler, and 13 shiny expectant faces. And, o yes, pen and paper.

Our first assignment? Where am I from?

And this is my first poem of the weekend.

ROOTS
(In order to discover new lands, one must be willing to lose sight of the shore for a very long time. Andre Gide)

You ask me where I’m from?

Why, I’m from the Promised Land,
the land of June Cleaver and Father Knows Best,
and “Anyone north of Dallas is a damned yankee.”

I’m from the Piney Woods,
the Rose Capitol of the World,
dogwoods,
and the Azalea Trails.

I’m from that little white brick church on Front Street,
“gimme that old time religion”,
Billy Graham Crusades,
and the Great State of
“Those women libbers are nothing but trouble”.

I’m from tiny boxes,
ask me no questions and I’ll tell you no lies,
truncated dreams,
big mouths,
and submissive wives territory.

My roots lie deep in red dirt,
playing dumb,
getting my MRS Degree,
God (forever and always only male, of course),
the American flag,
and the Republican party…

But one day...
One day I was invited to pack my bags,
and leave my father’s house in the land of Ur.
One day, the Holy One spoke, “Get out of your father’s boat and follow Me;
come sail away with Me on the bottomless sea”.