Author Archives: Matthew Pullar

And all the books in all the worlds Could not contain his words, And all the paper of all the trees and All the ink of every pen Could never capture all the Word, And all the waters of all earth’s Imaginable seas could not Stretch far enough to show us how Far and deepContinue reading “All the Books of the World (Lent Poems 40)”

When I was a child, you said, I would dress Myself, and then go where I wanted to go. But when an old man, they would dress me in clothes Of torment, stretch my arms out to take me Where I’d not want to go, And in the grains of the sand That we walkedContinue reading “Stretching, Bending (Lent Poems 39)”

I. All night we’d been fishing Though the sea was dry and our nets empty, And all our local knowledge told us only That we were fresh out of luck. Then the stranger came and bolstered his way Into our ears: Put your nets, he said, on the other side. Raving mad, or foolish, hisContinue reading “The Firmness of Rock (Lent Poems 38)”

Now somehow still hiding, we gather, Afraid of the words that the women have said, yet Hearts swarming with all the things we have heard, And into the padlocks and chains of the room, Walks now a stranger who knows all our names And sparks in us a dangerous, snow-melting hope, Like the sound ofContinue reading “The Upper Room (Lent Poems 37)”

Mary, don’t hold me. I cannot yet stay. Quickly, go tell them; I prepare now the way For you to the Father, Your father and mine. Go tell all the brothers. It soon will be time For me then to send them As I now send you. Mary, go tell them. Will they believe you?

Why do you cry? the strangers asked, As if it were unclear, the tomb gaping wide While beasts and marauders Took Him who-knows-where! And my eyes like rivers flooded grief While my voice strained into words: Please, they have taken away my Lord; Another choke. I do not know where. Then behind me, a newContinue reading “The Gardener (Lent Poems 35)”

Strange, on approaching, the details we notice: How the stone itself, pushed to the side, Makes less of an impression than the hole And the light shining into the tomb; How, breathless from running, pausing on entry, I see first the grave-clothes, so neatly arranged, The head-cloth and linen strangely untangled (Whoever would pause forContinue reading “The Tomb (Lent Poems 34)”

When the morning sun rose, we went To the garden with our aloes and myrrh, To the garden where lay our dead Lord, To the tomb where they laid him, With our aloes and myrrh. As the sun glinted around the rock of the tomb, We looked and saw no stone there before it, WeContinue reading “Trembling (Lent Poems 33)”