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Ruan Wright

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Member Since: Dec, 2007

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by Ruan Wright

Tuesday, December 18, 2007
Rated "G" by the Author.
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Recent poems by Ruan Wright
•  Sparrow
•  We Played Monopoly (for my brother, in England)
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           >> View all 8

an advent poem, first published in Windhover, a Journal of Christian Literature


I was kneeling,
at my prayers,
as I do every day at this sun-tired hour.

My head hung low.
My undressed hair
made me
a shady grove
where it fell.

My hands, tightly clasped
at my bosom,
budded and bloomed
like night-scented jasmine
as I breathed my intercessions

touching my head, my heart,
the fray-edged shawl around my neck
which was heavy
this day. I fingered it,
watching the shadows lengthen across the room Ė

they reached like vines
or serpents. I could smell the little world around me,
the scent of dung and pain and human toil

and earth
and death
something else
new birth, heaven,
spring-flowering apples
through the haven
of my hair.
My room was dark by then.
Alone, as always,
I heard the wind in the palms, the animals bleating,
the men bickering, the women gossiping
and my Lord calling

My dreams before this were different.
My eyes were open wide;
I wasnít sleeping.

It was like a great light filling the room
filling me.
Terrified, I dropped my head
covered my eyes, but a warm presence
enfolded me.
Words whispered and rang:
Hush, Mary, donít be afraid.
The Lord is with you.

I raised my head and looked.

I saw the Angel standing
like a tree before me burning
wherever I looked wheeling
in front of me
behind me turning
moving, yet
I never saw him move!

I heard his words but didnít see him speak.

I will, I said.

Then His touch
like moths
lighting on my body.

I was small

Let it be, I prayed.


like a fruit I opened.

And here is my child.

(First published in WINDHOVER: A journal of Christian Literature, 2007)

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Reviewed by Cryssa C 2/26/2008
I am a little speechless... in awe, really... This is a beautiful, reverent work of art. Absolutely superb!
Reviewed by richard cederberg 12/24/2007
Wearying at times from the beaten path one navigates on this site, there is something to be said about surfing aimlessly around Authors Den that, at times, results in the most magnificent of finds. Reading this I felt the peace of mountain breezes embracing my harried weary heart. The soul of your writing reminds me of (aside from your obvious love of the Christ) a wide-eyed Monet' painting. Truly a geode that when broken open reveals a most wondrous gift.
Light and Wisdom ...
Reviewed by Charlie 12/18/2007
It's so near perfect, I dare not touch it. Wow! What a write! I can't help but think about a Spanish idiom-- (I love idioms, my favorite Eng idiom is: You're welcome-- break it down. You, my dear friend are well- come. You picked the right person to come to, and your timing is no imposition-- okay, enough of Eng right now)-- anyways, there's this idiom in Sp. that means to give birth: "dar a luz"-- broken down it means "to give to light" -- I just think that's so beautiful, and your poem reminds me of this.

You somehow captured the wonder of the moment-- the light, the sacredness of the event, the touch-- it's very well written. --Gave me goose bumps!
Reviewed by Karen Palumbo 12/18/2007
A lovely offering and very spiritual, nicely written...

Be safe,
Reviewed by Art Sun 12/18/2007
This is a nice poem...

enjoyed, Art Sun...

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