Sacred Sound – a poem by Stephen Kingsnorth

Sacred Sound
(Reflecting on Painting: Ephphatha)

Aspic, he must preserve sound.
Twice makes mark,
telling bound, his man sighs –
suspires long,
deep and earful pining breath,
a groan of lung,
yearning aches for sympathy,
pathetic echo from within.

Neither whisper, rustle, murmur, sough
as wind in trees, poor mimicry
for breathing God, when languishing.
Neither sad, relief, or tired
in the exhale, bullied air,
but exasperated cry
find release for one in need.
Beyond the gulp sings Aramaic tone,
telling six, repeated live.

So why, tell me, should Mark retain,
expressing heard as Peter told,
from healing death and rising girl,
nickname brothers, dedicating bless,
father’s talk, desolated cry?
Greek-speak pique, stark memory,
bold word horde hold, stored history.
And gospel journalist spots need
to colour tale own palette code –
no treatise, but recalling trade.


Stephen Kingsnorth (Cambridge M.A., English & Religious Studies), retired to Wales from ministry in the Methodist Church, has had pieces accepted by over a dozen on-line poetry sites; and Gold Dust, The Seventh Quarry, The Dawntreader & Foxtrot Uniform Poetry Magazines.

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