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Glenn B. Atkinson

First Prize 2007 Christian Publishers Poetry Prize $300

Many years ago I became a Christian, then linguist, computer programmer, husband and father, grandfather and, lately, a poet.

While I have been writing short stories and poetry most of my life, I have been keeping them to myself. Largely, the cloistering of my poetry has been for the better. However, in the cases of a few works, I find the outlets for creative Christian writing are desperately limited. I am delighted to have discovered utmostchristianwriters.com and thechristianpoet.org.

This poem suggests spontaneous praise, yet it did not flow ecstatically from my soul in overwhelming divine inspiration: it was conceived over seven years ago, and has suffered rewrites impossible to describe or count. As I wait for the perfect work to spring full-grown from my fingertips, I accept my current work process as a gift of God intended to provide insight to his working on me.

Hosanna

Gravel, go silent. Boulders, hold your praise.
You shards of condemnation cast by unjust
Judges, drop wordless: lie mute in the dust.
Utter no honors, fieldstones. Not one phrase.
You angel's perch, your broken seal conveys
Unspoken awe: agape, ponder your trust.
Likewise, you ridge who berthed the remnant must
Refrain. Let all Earth's crust restrain its displays.

For my wonder erupts: no mountain usurps my place.
Give way then, you crag who watched as glory passed,
To one who'll commune with that radiance face to face.
Don't gush with streams of psalms: your song won't last.
But I breathe ceaseless grace you'll never know.
Hear me shout the love I delight to owe.

Copyright ©2007 by Glenn B. Atkinson