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Jim Cox

About this Christian Poet:
I'm from California. The idea for this poem came from something we used to do in my Christian music group in the 70s. We had leather and wood Cuban and African percussion instruments that used to play off each others intricate rhythms in solo fashion. The instruments "talked" to each other, the way jazz instrumentalists do. Thus I concieved of the idea that Gods heartbeat might have a hip, finger-snapping beat that a percussionist could play a counter rythym to as personal worship.

First Prize: 2004 Paraphrased Praise Poetry Contest


Dancing molecules twist and shimmy
hip-bumping in the air above my skin
as memories of your faithfulness fill me.


They stretch my emotions like the tight skin on a
sweaty Cuban drum that's eager to pound out this
aging hipster's praise.


The feathered wing of an
inquiring angel brushes against my arm.
It's getting crowded in the cleft of the Rock.


Under its echoey pebbled ceiling I can hear
your heart's finger-snappin' beat. This
percussionist's praise will sizzle to its rhythm.


The conga bug has bitten me. I worship in this
place of shelter, as loose shale and rocks do a slow
syncopated shuffle into a boiling sea.


                   Copyright©2004 by Jim Cox