ancient craft of the hearth
weightless vessels of reeds
heavy laid with comestible time
hunter gatherer provender
stored against inhospitable
seasons of winter and drought
humble finger weaved heirlooms
served cave and encampment
arranging prehistory neatly
by light of domestic red fire
asylum for civilized impulses
nurtured by small worlds of
family and clan within still
savage spheres of existence
where pharaohs drowned babies
but missed one new basket-borne
son in the bulrushes he of the Levite
cloth grown to be shepherd for
one humble nation of men become
lawgiver unto all nations all men
for the rest of all God-given time
Reblogged this on OUR POETRY CORNER.
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thank you for sharing my poem with your readers
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Well that Sir is a bit special! Superb.
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glad you thought so
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Nice. I like the segway from this-is-an-old-way-of-carrying-stuff to Moses leading the Israelites to God.
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thanks, Cheryl
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Ohhh, I SO LOVE this one.
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so glad you do
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Reblogged this on Poesy plus Polemics.
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Can’t resist it! A basket case. Try my ebook Maree and the Prince on Amazon.com you seem like a kindred soul.
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I will give it a look
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jeeze … so much information/history …
awareness, learning, knowledge, lessons in
life contained within one, simple object … so many
realities to see if we
take the time to look below the
surface … thanks for the
reminder … ks
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it was my pleasure, Kurt
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Oh I love, love, LOVE this.
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aww – you are so sweet to say so
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I think the “Baby Moses in the bulrushes” story was probably the first Bible story I ever heard, at least as I recall–what a warm memory you’ve afforded me today; I’m still awed at how God’s hand moves in people’s lives–and that He continues to see the great potential in man.
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I’m so glad to have sent you some warmth
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