Poetry as Prayer

notice, wonder, listen, lament, and praise

Explore poetry as a creative form of prayer. Discover how images, attention, honesty, and silence can draw us into a deeper presence with God.

Prayer and poetry begin in the same place: attention. Both invite us to notice what stirs beneath the surface—to give voice to grief and gratitude, longing and love, doubt and wonder. Poetry and prayer also make room for silence, mystery, and awe when words are not enough.

Let the words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart be acceptable to you, O Lord, my rock and my redeemer. (Psalm 19:14)

HONEST WRESTLING

The Psalms are full of the beautiful contradictions of being human: praise and anger, gratitude and abandonment, confidence and fear, love and doubt. Nothing needs to be tidied up before it becomes prayer. We are invited to come as we are.

Sometimes an image can convey what an explanation cannot—such as these evocative lines by the Victorian poet Christina Rossetti:

My life is like a frozen thing,
No bud nor greenness can I see:
Yet rise it shall—the sap of Spring;
O Jesus, rise in me.

Perhaps your soul has known this frozen ground—a season when nothing seems to grow. Rossetti’s poem invites us to imagine that even beneath what appears lifeless, something may be waiting. The sap may rise again. Spring may come.

WHAT WORDS DO NOT SAY

Sometimes our experiences are simply too large, too painful, too beautiful, or too mysterious for words. Scripture speaks of “groanings too deep for words.” Poetry and prayer both leave room for what cannot be said.

Rebbe Nachman poured out his heart before God as he wandered alone among trees, grasses, and growing things. As he prayed, the living world around him became part of the prayer. Trees and grasses, solitude and stillness—all drew him into conversation with the one to whom he belonged.

Perhaps we do not always need to make prayer happen. Perhaps we simply need to be quiet long enough to notice the prayer already unfolding around us.

WHEN THE HEART IS STONE

In her poem “Good Friday,” Rossetti asks:

Am I a stone, and not a sheep,
That I can stand, O Christ, beneath Thy cross…
And yet not weep?

She does not write what she thinks she should feel. She simply notices what is true and offers her question to God, who can bring water from stone.

What if we did the same?

Prayer and poetry make room for our unanswered questions, our numbness, our exhaustion, our doubt, and our fragile faith. Even ”I don’t know what I feel” can be the beginning of prayer.

FINDING NEW LANGUAGE

Poetry reminds us that words can carry more than their definitions. Hebrew offers a beautiful example: the word Baruch means “to kneel” (berekh) and “to bless” (barak). Suddenly, blessing takes on movement and imagery: a body bending in humility and reverence, God’s blessings both given and received.

Poetry invites us to play with language in this way. Images, metaphors, rhythm, repetition, and sound can help us discover what we did not know how to say. Poetry need not explain our suffering or resolve our questions. Sometimes it simply shapes them. Sometimes it helps us notice a glimmer of beauty or a whisper of peace.

Try completing this sentence: My soul feels like…

• a seed beneath the soil.
• a river searching for the sea.
• a desert desperate for rain.
• frozen ground.
• a garden surprised by spring.

What image comes to you? Stay with it for a moment. See where it leads.

FROM INFORMATION TO TRANSFORMATION

Poetry as prayer is ancient. The Psalms are poetry, prayer, and song woven together. Athanasius described the Psalter as a mirror of the human soul.

Perhaps that is why we continue to return to the Psalms. They make room for the whole landscape of our lives: wonder and fury, grace and shame, loneliness and longing, lament and delight.

Poetry slows us down enough to notice that landscape.

• A word catches our attention.
• An image unlocks an experience.
• A rhythm changes what we hear.

Prayer invites us to bring what we notice into God’s presence. Not everything needs to be understood. Not everything needs to be resolved.

Sometimes transformation begins with presence—with God, with ourselves, with one another, and with the astonishing world around us.

AN INVITATION TO POETIC PRAYER

Begin where you are. Look around. Notice:

• the tree outside your window.
• the light spilling across the floor.
• your weary body.
• a grief you have been carrying.
• a memory that keeps returning.
• something beautiful you almost missed.

Choose one thing and linger there. Then begin with a few words:

• I notice…
• I am grateful for…
• How I long…
• O God, how…
• My soul feels like…

Follow the image wherever it leads. Let yourself be surprised. God simply invites us to come—honestly, willingly, and with a desire to notice, wonder, deepen, and grow.

This is where poetry and prayer meet.

We say what we can and make
room for what we cannot.
We notice. We wonder. We listen.
We lament. We praise. We ask.
And sometimes, when the words
have gone as far as they can,
we let silence become prayer.

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