Poetry

I don’t want to be a tour guide 
at the nature reserve called Abba, 
directing others’ attention 
to that cliff-face over there…
that ravine…
that bush…
that vista, 
fabricating wonder for guests 
but having in my soul 
completely lost touch 
with the landscape of my Father’s heart. 
I want to see you Lord. 
Fully. 
I want to feel the texture, heat and cold. 
To breathe your air and discover 
the unseen tracks of who you are. 
I don’t want to live a life that points to you. 
That’s not enough. 
I want to live engrossed in you. 
Sweat on my brow. 
Dirt under my nails. 
Flowers in my hair. 
Utterly lost in the wild wonder.
-Antonette Weatherly

She is a human catapult
Propelling us to Heaven’s space
Unlocking worlds of wonder
In the curves of Father’s face
A Psalmist and a poet
Weaving words to robes
Wrapping hungry hearted children
In their Papa’s finest clothes
She moves and chains are broken
Both unrestrained and wild
Dances her heart’s ballet
With the passion of a child 
Brings revival like a bee
Pollinating hope
With songs of Father’s love 
Like honey for the soul 
She will not be denied
She will search and find the more
Then pour it out like wine 
To teach what worship’s for
Prophetic voice like fire
Setting souls ablaze
With desire for His secrets
With desperation for His gaze.
-Antonette Weatherly