Lydia

Lydia – the inked lady

Stained my fingers, palms and wrists,
Hues soaked in from inky vats.
My business funds the faith of many,
Hope and promise, gladly shared.
Praised by people and Apostle
We cannot know the life we birth.
For centuries, this Asia Minor,
Will sing the songs we teach them now.
How many generations follow?
Reading our mail and telling our tale?
How many will take their fabrics of colour
To teach of the seasons and learn of the Way?
Return on investment – not yet to be seen,
But in gathered disciples in Heaven they’ll be.
Let the ink seep into my skin,
Like the writing of names into my being.
Let unknown names be written within
So I may bear witness with clouds to them.


© 2017, A.Koh-Butler

Samaritan Woman

Woman of Sychar

Between the mountains of curses and blessings
We hold the memory of prophets and kings.

I follow the footsteps of Dinah’s shaming
To draw water for cooking and washing small-things.

Like Dinah, the men in my life led to naming
That I could not wed a husband of mine.

Yet lonely I’m not for I live with another
I survive with whoever is there at the time.

For such is the life of Samaria’s woman
That during the day I would go to the well.

I am met and conversed with – by a Messiah!
My story he details and chooses to tell.

We joust with our words in long repartee -
A dialogue given for many to comment.

His wisdom and care lightens my spirit.
Somehow I know I am called to speak out.

I run into town to tell all and sundry –
Here is good news – let there be no doubt.

I follow Him now – and will do so forever
Join with me in song – Join with me to shout:

Hosanna! Hosanna! The Lord is come!

(Samaritan Woman at the Well – John 4)  

© 2017, A.Koh-Butler