Poems from 1 Samuel (stories of Samuel, Saul, and David)

Peninnah, the Other Wife
“…[Hannah’s] rival kept provoking her in order to irritate her (1 Samuel 1:6)

I have a friend who named her pet dog Penina
after Elkanah’s other wife.
Penina was a small dog and, like her namesake,
yipped and snipped at people she didn’t like.
She didn’t seem to like anyone.
A mean-spirited fur-ball of bitterness
only my friend could love.
I live in another country now
and don’t know what happened to the dog.
Surely dead by now. Peninnah, the spiteful wife,
also disappears from the story
No one sings any songs about her.

Two Mothers, One Song
1 Samuel 2:1-10; Luke 1:46-56

Hannah and Mary,
both mothers of miracle babies,
praise God in public song,
and treasure the mystery,
knowing all along
to whom these babies belong.

Sometimes It Takes an Eli
“… if he calls you, say ‘Speak, Lord, for your servant is listening’” (1 Samuel 3:9)

Samuel had no idea
who wanted to play hide-‘n-seek
in the middle of the night.
Who else but Eli
would wake him in the dark,
strange behavior even for him.
He went to his mentor,
confused but trained to obey.
Eli, also confused by the interruptions
of his sleep, sent his ward
back to bed, until he finally understood
that God was on the move.
Wise mentor, he instructed Samuel,
and the young boy began
to hear the voice, began
to know the Lord.
Sometimes it takes an Eli.

A Focus for Anger
“Samuel was angry and he cried out to the Lord all that night” (1 Samuel 15:10-11).

An angry Samuel
cried out to the Lord
all through the night.
Was he angry at Saul
for forsaking the letter
of the law, falling short
of unreasonable brutality?
At God for his incomprehensible
command, his apparent desire
to destroy beast and baby alike?
Or did he aim his anger
inward, frustrated at letting
himself be pressed
between Saul’s incompetence
and God’s intractability?

More poems from Ecclesiastes

 Under the Sun
Ecclesiastes 4

There be dragons
on the margins of old maps,
warning not to venture near the edge.
But perils also threaten
within the borders.
Under the sun there be

--the disposed in southern Gaza
and the armies that keep them there
--bombed out villages
and the scorched fields of Ukraine
--homeless in Portland
and refugees on the border with Mexico
--urban loneliness
--politicians whose ambition
robs them of integrity

Meaningless, the preacher tells us.
All misery on the third planet from the sun.

I half believe him.

Be Quiet
Ecclesiastes 5:1-2

The monks and the Quakers
have it right.
Best not to disturb the silence
of holiness. Be like a squirrel,
tail in the air, stone-still,
alert. Worship is dangerous.
A lot is happening
on the forest floor.
Above your head
more than the leaves are moving.
Be quiet. Listen.
He's coming.


After the Dissertation
Ecclesiastes 6

I wonder why I did it.
All that work. All that money.
All that time. And for what?
I briefly became the world expert
on an infinitesimal piece
of human knowledge
that became obsolete
within a year.

I now have a title
which, Quaker
that I am,

I never use.
Stupid.

Party
Ecclesiastes 7:1-2

Instead of a baby shower
I’d host a death shower
except that I know
my dead friend
won’t bother to come.

Meaningless! Poems from Ecclesiastes

What a Way To Start
Ecclesiastes 1:1-2, 12-14

Teenage angst and naïve hopes
converge as I enter the classroom.
Philosophy 101. Not a prerequisite.
An elective I freely elect.
I want to unravel the strands
that tangle the universe.
I’m a serious, if young, scholar,
an earnest seeker after Truth.
A freshman with dreams.
I sit in the second row,
not wanting to be obvious.
I wait, notebook and pen
on the desk. Ready.
On the brink of wisdom.
At 10:00 on the dot
he walks in, looking the part
in jeans, turtleneck, and beret.
He adjusts his glasses, looks us over,
and, without introduction,
enters the heart of all things.
Utterly meaningless, he tells us.
Everything is meaningless.

Timing Is Everything…
Ecclesiastes 3:1-11

when it comes to beauty.
The patterns shift
in God’s choreography.
There is, we’re told,
a season for everything.
In its time, note the loveliness
of war—the splendor of explosion,
the precision of plans of destruction,
the music of lament, and the cleansing
of the earth. Hatred wears its apparel
magnificently—storm-cloud tones,
stark colors of spite, dark and terrible.
Beautiful the timely exchanges
of laughter and sobs, of having
and losing it all.
Physician and terrorist take turns.
As the wise ones say,
Wherever you are, be there.
It might be your time.

Three Perspectives on Chasing the Wind
Ecclesiastes 4

1. The preacher

Why chase the wind
if you can never catch it?
Go ahead. Become a follower
of tornados, camera in hand,
after the big story.
But know that the wind
is not to be trusted.
Even a small flower-ruffling
breeze will betray you
in the end, leave you holding
a fistful of nothing.

2. The poet

Why not? I’m not a grabber.
So much loveliness flies
out in front, ineffable, flirting
teasing promising nothing.
Nothing is fine with me
as long as I can keep reaching.
Believing in someday.

3. The fool

Holy or not,
I’m the fool.
I’m giving my life
to chase the wind
until she finally
catches me.