Home Page

Poetry Gallery

Poetry Contest

Poetry Collections

Writers’ Guidelines

Poetry Book Sales

Poetry Publishing

Poet's Classroom

Writers’ Markets

News & Events

Poet Laureate

Free Contest

Articles

about usresourcescommunitylinkscontact us

Andrew Kooman

About this Christian Poet:
Andrew Kooman grew up in Red Deer, Alberta and considers that city home, though he likes to hop around the planet. Regions of the globe stamped into Andrew's passport include Europe, Africa, the Middle East, and South East Asia. Presently, Andrew works with the University of the Nations School of Biblical Studies in Penang, Malaysia where he studies and teaches different books of the Bible. In his 'free' time he writes and dreams of writing.

I wrote this poem after recent teaching and revelation about the injustice and mercy of the cross. As I consider the cross, I recognie it does not mark the beginning or the end of God's suffering. The poem is part of a larger exercise and signifies a need to explore the repercussions divine grace has on a compassionate God who seeks to redeem a sinful world. Through it, and poems like it, I desire to become more unfamiliar with the God I think I know so well.  

Third Prize: 2004 Utmost Christian Poetry Contest

God

i.
he's a miserable being
stuck with the knowledge
of their secret sin
a doctor who
treats chlamydia
before lunch
when he closes his eyes
he cannot
shake
the image of the gunshot wound
to the head of their whole race
he cannot wash his collar
or chin
splattered as they are
with blood
he's an unhappy being
with a front row seat to
madness

ii.
love
what a dangerous thing
to put in their hands
that could
tear apart the world
with one small touch

iii.
from the looks of it
you don't seem a vulnerable
roughed-up God
one small bird fallen from its nest
feathers plucked
mercilessly
by the pastor's
son down the street

iv.
he could kill you with one short breath
snap your bones like celery
he could locate your heart
and give it a final, terrible blow

v.
he is capable of such kind things
a gentle hand that does not fear
the boundary of touch
he breaches cold pools of isolation
softly nudging the soul to hope again

vi.
and you put your
thumb on it
a strong
jointed thumb
turned it
deeply into
the grain of my
flesh
kneaded sore
muscle like
dough

vii.
what confidence
you must have
in your
name
that you
would allow
silence

Copyright ©2004 by Andrew Kooman