Tin Tabernacle, Pembroke
I’m waiting to go in
to that little, homely, stable-of-a-place
where nothing could be simpler than the grace of God.
On hot days, the large fan whirrs softly overhead,
the narrow, high, windows are opened and,
outdoors, you'd hear the free streaming of praise.
On cold days, someone lights the stove
and we come just as we all already are.
Nobody dresses up
or down. The same familiar friends talk openly
to God: His Spirit gathers everyone
with a small voice.
Sometimes, a nutshell cracks:
a man weeps, tenderly;
an old woman finds a secret joy;
the quiet peace sinks into
the hearts' beats and lungs
of every body’s breathing. Jesus
in these warm-hearted meetings.
We drink tea, later: there's a kitchen,
mugs and kettle out the back.
Old friends, around a table,
catching up with God:
and all of us plain
folk go home easy.
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Comments about this poem (Tin Tabernacle, Pembroke by Jacqui Thewless )
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Edgar Allan Poe
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
- mai venn
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
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(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(28 November 1757 – 12 August 1827)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
- The Road Not Taken, Robert Frost
- Still I Rise, Maya Angelou
- Daffodils, William Wordsworth
- If You Forget Me, Pablo Neruda
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- If, Rudyard Kipling
- After a Death , Tomas Tranströmer
- Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night, Dylan Thomas
- Invictus, William Ernest Henley
- Dreams, Langston Hughes