HeyJaredHoly Poetry
Each Sunday an original poem inspired by Christian scripture. Each Wednesday an original poem in the key of spirituality.
- Indexed issues, last 90 days
- 14
- Latest publication
- Sep 30, 2026
- Audience
- Checking…
- Earliest in this view
- Aug 26, 2026
Latest issues
Thank You For My Creaky Body (opens the original)
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Text within this block will maintain its original spacing when publishedTo the God of all gifts, both the good and the grave, I give gratitude for my creaky body, its aches and one good eye. I offer prayer, the first act of self-care; a necessary humility chosen for petition and connection. Prayer, the taproot of the true self that grows all the way to whatever sky my imagination places the Divine’s throne. To my fantasy that veils the reality of true divinity I offer my weak entreaty not for he
Empty As Space (opens the original)
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Text within this block will maintain its original spacing when publishedMy friend, sit with me and let me listen to the crashing waves in your shot glass. Tell me about the uproar you keep stashed in your beautiful brain-bound prison, and I will tell you my soul’s agitation. We can talk down our outraged emotions and perhaps rise above this mess and glimpse the still horizon. It’s time to raise the white flag. Hand over, let go is the way to go. Surrender is the only way to win. The way we won’t
Public Prayer (opens the original)
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Text within this block will maintain its original spacing when publishedWhen it’s official: a chaplain before the opening session a coach in the middle of a huddle a father’s grace at the wedding banquet it’s one thing. When the street pilgrim in hospital slippers clocks the pigeons in flight and yells at the creator praise that sounds like battle rap when the “Oh, my God” on seeing the cherry blossom trees in full bloom by a pre-teen girl sounds sincere when an everyday believer’s heart
What We Call Mercy (opens the original)
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Text within this block will maintain its original spacing when publishedAt the back table of the charity fest the detractor spoke behind a closed fist about the man who gave to the least, the undeserving. It just wasn’t just. “Who does he think he is, the braggart. If you ask me, he’s just an egotist posing as big-hearted philanthropist.” From the dais, that day’s honoree said workers deserve a decent salary so their families are fed and they can earn a breadwinner’s dignity. He ended
Hilt of My Worth (opens the original)
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Text within this block will maintain its original spacing when publishedShoo! I banish the vultures circling my bed, and hit the snooze button on imagined misfortune. I stare at the crucifix instead of at my fantasy: catastrophe. I pray for the grace to get out of my head, the darkroom for developing negatives. I pray not to be the person with a problem for every solution. Rather, to co-create this day free of false prophecy or, future casting, or doom scrolling or jumping to the worst conclusio
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