Monday, February 10, 2014

Random poetry


Not the one who takes up his bed and walks
But the ones who have known him all along
And carry him in

Their shoulders numb, the ache and stoop deeplocked
In their backs, the stretcher handles 
Slippery with sweat. And no let-up

Until he's strapped on tight, made tiltable
And raised to the tiled roof, then lowered for healing.
Be mindful of them as they stand and wait

For the burn of the paid-out ropes to cool,
Their slight lightheadedness and incredulity
To pass, those ones who had known him all along.

Seamus Heaney


  1. Did they hope it would work or did they know it would? And if it did not work, then what?

    1. Bonnie, I think Heaney was speaking of the real miracle of community -- that the miracle was love or Love -- those that carried Lazarus, the sick man. Not so much Jesus -- but the miracle of those that care and believed -- I think, but I don't know.

  2. I agree with your interpretation, Elizabeth. We are our own miracles.

  3. This is one of my favorite poems...



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