Drink Up by Chet Hervey

In the days of Prohibition’s tyranny
Christian celebration suffered mightily.
Fourteen years of wilderness wandering
The damage done to generations, no telling

Wineskins bursting with Welch’s imposter
Tooth decay and apostasy fostered
True Israel saw a wet Jordan from afar
While dry pietists, true religion did mar

O glorious day when wine flowed again!
Coming to the Table was no longer “sin.”
“Christmas is coming!” the saints of God cried,
While the elect of God, grace imbibed

For what is Christmas without fruit of the vine?
Grapes and yeast ineffably divine!
Or the yuletide labors of trappist monks?
Barley, yeast, pungent hops!

Man a receiver of so great a gift
The Incarnate God repairing the rift
A torn veil mending a tattered Creation
Restoring glory and celebration

To Christian men with Christmas cheer
The libations flow as God draws near
Through malted goodness in glass and goblet
The pagan and secularist could not know it

One conjuring spirits and friendlier gods
To improve his brew and bring him laud
The other dismissing the Grand Winemaker
As a fraud or fantasy or even a faker

Foolishly thinking that yeast acts alone
As a pure mechanism, as worker, a drone
When in fact it is an actor on the stage
Given by God, written upon the page

So drink up dear Saints in celebration
Of the Word in His Incarnation
Despise not the world made by our King
Enjoy it with manly thanksgiving

Triune love spilling over to men
The Son with his eye upon creation
Speaking weighty words though only few,
“Behold I am making all things new.”

“1517” – By Chet Hervey

Clinking Coins
                  Trinket Thumbs
                                  Statue Saints
Empty Faces, Empty Hearts

Pen, Paper
          Beer Brashness
                    Cult Challenged
Frightened Flocks, Frightened Frocks

Knock of nails
              Tears of Terror
                          Made to Melt
Renewed Soul, Renewed Body

Blood bought Bride
             Washed in Word
                             Trust in Truth
Gloria, Gloria

                                 In Memoriam M.L.

“Omega” by Chet Hervey

The riddles of God are more satisfying than the answers of man.
– G.K. Chesterton

A tale woven from the dark days of the universe
Before form and substance flung their flight
An Author so masterful yet so veiled wrote
The story that both delights and deters depending
On the reader’s ability to see and hear and know
The back story and intentions of the One scripting it all.

A tale that kills and makes alive, separated by mere
Moments, unashamed and unapologetic to man or his kin;
Does the author know what he is doing? We ask,
Frustrated and faithless but also hopeful to see behind the
Curtain, so thick and swarming, preventing a good look
Or an insight into the details; and yet a standing bid to trust.

A tale that promises an ending with more twists than
The best of epics penned by man; where every thread is
Tied up and connected in perfect justice and mercy.
In the meantime, man waits; we wait and wonder at how
The Author keeps track of all the characters and plots and
Subplots, confounding and colliding in ways we can’t expect.

A tale that holds in perfect tension the deepest needs
And the deepest flaws of man just so that at the end of the
Story, the readers’ eyes are fixed upon its Creator and every
Demand for resolution melts in the presence of the One who
Knew the last line before he scripted the first; And yet the
Author resolves His tale because resolution still matters.

“Manmade Shade” by Chet Hervey

The sun struck by day,
Drying out skin and
Straw.

The woman looked at
Her blanket and smiled,
“Thick.”

No need for more warmth,
For cold is no where
Here.

Burning skin blisters;
No respite to be
Found.

Plowing and harvest;
Merciless, constant
Glare.

For a brief relief
The man would gladly
Trade

A week of corn from
Unforgiving ground
Seized.

Spitting and spiting,
Elements against
Him.

A vision: the wo-
Man, carrying a
Bowl.

Tongue darts over lip:
Anticipation,
“Water.”

“No,” she coos gently,
“From sun parched straw
Taken,”

“Woven like fabric.”
Mocking angry sun
“Hat.”

“Divine Gardener” by Chet Hervey

Rumble grumble, personal guillotine
Lopping off heads daring to rise above
The smell of exhaust and dirty moisture
There’s no time to let it wither and fade
O, rebellion and pride will beckon strong
Sweetly wooing with the promise of life
Fools, flourishing for a season only
To be cut down as Word triumphs with song

“I Never Raise My Voice” by Chet Hervey

Silenced with a slap
To extend a lazy nap
I speak nine minutes later
To the sluggard I will not cater

I will be faithful every morn
Though from sheets you be not torn
My screams you shall not duck
The beeps of a reversing truck

I patiently bear that load
Of daily resounding in man’s abode
Unmovable as a rock
I am your alarm clock

“Keep Trying” by Chet Hervey

Anything worth doing, is worth doing poorly – G.K. Chesterton

A little to the left.
A leaning monument;
   the ingenuity of ten- 
   year-olds with a hammer,
A bag of nails and
A dream

Version number seven,
   maybe eight or nine.
“I have an idea,” says George,
   my brother, the engineer
   making complex diagrams
Even then

The construction site,
Two doors down from
   my house, brimming with lumber
   and beer bottles made bombs in
The grubby hands of
Two boys 

Our initial efforts collapsed;
   I have a scar from
   the ordeal. “Did you not
   hear about the tower of Siloam?”
Or the plywood cube, mostly
Of nails?

Even you must repent or
   alas, likewise perish
   along with our attempts
   and a stiff-necked people.
Repentance and construction must
Repeat

“tenderness” by Chet Hervey

tenderness

“Significance” by Chet Hervey

“Suppose Harvard had set its rubber-stamp upon Mark Twain”
– H.L. Mencken

Life, dear children
   depends upon today
Letters, bubbles blacken
   just so, proving that
   years of books and desks
And lectures were not in vain.

Sweat and pulse start;
   scratching, sniffing, shading,
Pressure of performance;
   meaning and success
   determined for this
Time forth, and forevermore.

Sixteen hundred
   ways to prove you matter
To the Powers that be;
   chewing cheeks and cramped
   hands speak to the height
Of our folly and bluster

The scholastic
   aptitude of men
Is all the measure
   our scientific world
   can offer, in lieu of
The absent: Imago Dei

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