Progeny

I’ve got nothing, nothing for you
All was spent for others’ care
I dug deep, but I am empty
And such mines are everywhere.
Every gem and golden nugget,
Every sonnet, every song
I have given to the children
So, pardon, if I’ve done you wrong.

I’ve got nothing, nothing for you
I have paid a pricey fare
To tread upon a different planet
View the castles in the air
And yet I do not regret it
Though in poverty, I leave —
Of more worth than what I’ve given
Are the gifts that I receive.

Time Flows

The clock pours out its empty string
Of numbers - stringing me along with
Promised meaning - meaning I will know
Where all these strings of numbers go

Time flows like everything else
So slowly - else I’m swept away when it
Move quickly - quickly learn to breath
Whether I’m drowning or dying for the water to seethe

The clock is a paradox of purpose
Self-trapping - when we purpose it not to
It’s freeing - freeing us to learn to live
With the contradictions that its numbers give.

Lost

Loud music plays, punchy and proud
And I sit, nervous and cowed
Left in a world that doesn’t need me.

One wants to be seen, to be adored
Rather be hated than to be ignored
This is how I live when I’m losing.

Say, what is my true goal, if I have one?
For loves and priorities die with the sun
Sin and solace descend with the darkness.

The music plays, fervent and free
And I sit, and contemplate me, for
Thought is a world that will always take me.

When I'm Alone

Another haiku, because my brain is tired. 

Hopefully I’ll be
As sturdy as a pine tree
Dropping this large load

Rest Ache

The ice-stars rise to the surface of my heart and crack
Slowly, slavishly, crackling, they break and leave
Rivulets of tears in their place.
There are peeps of yellow blooms through my eyelids.
Golden-orange sun on blowing rivers of green.
This, my heartache. This, my symphony of rest.
Heartache. Rest ache.
Heart rise. Hope rise.
Chest fall. Rest falls.
Restful.
Let it be, as you called forth the blossoms,
Snowy on the mat of green and grey you built.
You built. So let it be
Eyes open all way, always
Upon the open field of
Eternal Spring.
Lord, I call out and
cry out and
sigh out, to
let it be.

and Soon.

Darkness Marching & Lullaby for Lovers

Hi, friends. Well, my poems this week are not great, but I said I would post them, so here they are!

The first one I scratched out while I was listening to The Hobbit soundtrack. You're allowed to laugh at it.

Darkness Marching

Blood-pulse steps --
Thump
Thump
Dark pocks above the parapets --
Stains upon the sky --
Thump
Here we come to die.


Okay, okay. I know. Catch your breath. This one you may also laugh at, though it's less funny. I find myself at a loss for how to write about real love. I was fine at writing saccharine verse about unrequited crushes (as I mentioned in the last post), but now that I'm married and it's twenty million times deeper than anything I've experienced before, the words don't want to flow as easily. So laugh with pity, at least.

Lullaby for Lovers

Sleep, my lord, a gentle sleep,
A silence deep where you can rest
Apart from churlish cares of day
Crouching, rock-like, on your breast

And I, beside you, heart awake
By edge of Dreamland, vigil hold
To ruin what weapons I bear -
My sins that slay with edges cold

In hopes that when the dawn peeps in
I will not further break what’s broke-
And be only a balm to you,
As worthy as my vow bespoke.

If in our sleep, love, I can kill
The things that make ring false this line -
“I love you most” - you know I will.
Until then, rest, by God’s design.

Poetry x4

Greeting, friends!

I've always loved writing poetry, and as part of my weekly time out, I've taken up composing verse again for the good of my soul. And it has been good for me. The main difference between my poetry now versus what I wrote in middle and high school is the breadth of content - where my old work consisted mainly of maudlin love poetry, my new work embraces the freedom of topic that is necessarily a part of writing. I'll post the last four weeks of poems here for your consumption, and try to update my blog with the weekly verse from here on out.

Also - Whoever can figure out what "Two-Faced Am I" is about wins a gold star and a smiley face.

Enjoy!


Distance

Odes to beauty are reserved for lovers.
And why must this be? For a beautiful heart
Is most bright to behold. And for beauty, I die.
The heart of my friend ‘cross a grey expanse.
Words I grasp for with eyes, but misty they are
Sans breath and sans form. And for beauty, I die.
What things life paints on the endless canvas.
Colors infinite! But the shades of my soul
Are too far to dip my brush in. And for beauty, for beauty,
I die.


Two-Faced Am I

Two-faced am I, wherefore I know well -
My true heart estranged, I shiver sickly inside
And exhale with ugly rattle, a pebble in a shell
Composing words while understanding I elide.

Devious I am - I, deviant, divisive, devise
Ways to exalt myselfishness, selflessness mime
Mud-blind with my defectiveness, let ailments arise
And call them harmless, as if ’twill buy me time.

Penitent am I, cowering ‘neath black cowl of sin -
Loving, brightening (trying) the corners of a little heart
My failing heart you can’t hear dully thumping here within,
Thereby mirroring hope I cherish, end to start.


The Writing Excuse

The curse of fatigue
Is the atrophy of art
Says wife and mother


Sonnet of Ink

Upon meandering, brimful brooks of light
And rampant tempests breaking at the seams
And hov’ring over mellow shades of night -
The mediocre, sick for morning’s beams -

Scrolls outward, line of black for beauty’s birth
And inward, gentle curve for linguist’s life
And skyward, transcendental in its worth
Into the depths of hell for dormant strife

Some souls it scratches out with patient nod
And some it outlines, present but unknown
And some it grabs with passion of a bawd
To claim the lusty fare for it alone

The latter one am I, ne’er to be free
Perhaps you saw ink-colored blood in me?

A Swirl as of Feathers

I rediscovered a curious poem that I wrote a year ago. It's a love poem, but it's sad, and I was and am happily married. I think someone or something else inspired it - maybe it was actually just a swirl of feathers, who knows -  but I can't remember:

A swirl as of feathers
A swoop and a bend as if to kiss
A tenderness and breathless passion
Like a lily field aflame
But softly rises smoke and fire
And naught left of lilies but lies
A swoop of a ghost and a gentle kiss
And all that's left of remembered bliss
A swirl as of feathers

A Heavy-Hearted Poem Written in the Park

There is no guilt that I can bear,
For Holy God has given me
A final way to meet him, where
Christ Jesus's love brings sanctity.
Though pain and suffering I deserve,
Peace and fulfillment I receive;
And though my heart feels naught of verve,
My spirit nothing can bereave.
For hope is mine for all my life
And bliss secure in Christ's abode;
Companionship to bear the cross
And resting place to drop the load.

A Song, in Sadness

Special thanks to Emily Dickinson and William Ernest Henley
---

I’m like a bird that is losing her path
In the sky
I’m getting hurt by the same winds that helped me
To fly

And none of the things that have feathers
Perch in my soul
Singing the tunes without words,
Never stopping at all

How awesome is the darkness—
How deep the hopeless holes—
That shadows all the pathways
That barricades the roads!

They never quench my thirsting
Or wrap me up at night
So why does sitting in them
Still make me feel all right?

This is my turn, but the road’s looking long
Up ahead
How can I walk when my heart and my feet
Are like lead?

And sometimes the gates there look straight,
And no sins mark the scroll
Yet I do not master my fate,
Nor captain my soul

How awesome is the darkness—
How deep the hopeless holes—
That shadows all the pathways
That barricades the roads!

They never sate my hunger
Or tuck me in at night
So why does singing of them
Still make me feel all right?

All right...
All right...

Hope is a thing with feathers
With feathers, with feathers
Let these words fly, I’ll feel better
Feel better, feel better.
Hope is a thing with feathers,
With feathers, with feathers
Now it can land, and I’ll feel better
I’m better, I’m better...

The Jar of the Body

If you break the jar of the body
You will find blackness inside.
So cleverly hidden, black string in the water
Dispersing rapidly, infecting everything
Inside the jar of the body.
Outside the jar of the body
Beguiling beautifully, deceiving sweetly
So perfectly aligned, these jars on display
Though you would find blackness inside
You will never break them to find it.
You will never find what you seek
If you seek whiteness inside.
So hard to accept, a truth half-realized
Desire for good, good not fully manifest
Inside the jar of the body.

21-22

Dear friends,


Again, I want to feature the work of another writer that I think you will enjoy. My husband wrote this poem for me not too long ago, on my 22nd birthday. I think it's beautiful.


What? Do you dare to suggest that this is an excuse for not writing myself? Well, maybe the tiniest bit. :) Mostly, though, I want to share the art. Hope you like it.


---

21

Though darkness came this year, and pain
it has not cast us down nor any battle won,
and clouds there are that gather still
but cannot kill the sky nor hide the rising sun

Through trial, tempest, shadows, rain,
we jogged like dogged marathoners 'gainst our fears
though road was turned to mud and mire
our feet we pounded, raised again against the year

Though murk and gloom around have lain
it has not conquered you (nor us) nor overcome
and mighty though its bluster be
this sorrow is but fog, by daylight soon undone

Through canyons, valleys, crevices,
we hiked like mountaineers against the rocks and shame
though path was crumbling dust and shale
we unimpressed pressed on, though wearied, wounded, lamed

22

Another year awaits your tired, lovely soul,
But I swear again you will not walk these months alone.

My hand in yours, your beauty still my sword against the night
until we two shall set the world alight, aright, aflight

For Brentley

Blue eyes like stars landed
In a blanket of snow
Look world, look! The Lord rules the earth!
A smile that breaks gently
Like the water on sand
Sense world, sense! He moves His right arm!
Formless words - no sound prettier
My ears have yet heard
Hear world, hear! Our creative God speaks!
Oh, fair little creature,
Here, beauty I see
That makes the world tremble -
A hint of God's glory!

Photo courtesy theinspiredroom.net

Feeling Un-beautiful

We do not craft our own reality,
but usually, I feel we do.
If I feel one way,
That way it must be.
If I feel another,
The first is obsolete.
And all the while, the way it is
Is written in invisible ink
On the wall.

We do not craft our own reality,
but in the mind, I think we do.
If my eyes see one thing,
That alone will register in my brain.
If they see another,
The first one fades away.
And all the while, the way it is
Is written in invisible ink
On the wall.

We do not craft our own reality,
but in a way, I wish we did.
If I wanted one thing,
That I could call to being.
If I wanted another,
The first would cease to be.
And all the while, there would not be
Invisible ink on the wall
For me to ignore.

My Heartcry, Today

How I long to please you with my life!
How I long to bring you glory!
How I long to live by your Spirit and Truth.
How I long to know you holy.
How I long to know you wholly.

Father, Father

Father, Father, help me Father

Never have I known a man

Who could take me as his daughter

Wrap my failures in his plan

Who could see such holy beauty

In a street child beat and worn

Who could call me his Creation

When the threads of hope are torn.

Father, Father, help me Father

My songs ask to see your face

My songs sing about your goodness

My songs praise your gift of grace

They are words when death draws nearer

They are words when hope’s shot through

They are words when I can’t hear

And ask “why?” is all I can do.

Father, Father, help me Father

I want to sleep for days or years

Is it true you have a bottle

Filled with my frenetic tears?

Is it true you love me strongly

Even though my love is small?

Is it true you’ll read this verse

And it won’t change your love at all?

The Battle is Not Romantic

The battle is not romantic.
How it hurts to live the war!
More sure in books; more tame in scenes:
God and the devil,
Keeping score.

The battle is not romantic.
As a child, you better knew
its black and white; how white will win:
Meanwhile, though, black obscures
What's true.

The battle is not romantic,
But we look to the end!
The victor sees, the victor comes:
Bronze bows are easiest
For him to bend.


Dear reader,
Fighting the battle today.

Worthy Promo for Stephen

Dear reader, 

I have a friend named Stephen Carradini. He is a talented writer, a good friend of my husband, and a very cool person to know.

I am writing you this letter because I don't usually promote sites, but I'm promoting this one!

* Have you every been bugged by the utter cheesiness of Christian art, writing, etc? 

* Did you agree with my earlier article The Flannery Factor? 

* Are you a temperamental artist?

* Are you alive?

As a favor to me--and to Stephen, of course--check out "Gospelized." It won't be a waste of time, I promise. Subscribe to the RSS feed and/or drop Stephen and comment. And if you haven't clicked the link to "Gospelized" yet, I cannot post it seventy times seven times, so I'm going to stop forgiving you at  five...

My song to anyone once shafted by love.

I pulled out my 6th grade journal yesterday--a detailed chronicle of my life from 2001 to 2005. It laughed hysterically at my melodramatic accounts of the rambunctious boys who called me "cutie" and put crickets in my locker to the girls I code-named because they were my tacit enemies or who drew comic strips with me and loved me like a faithful sister.

I'm an emotional person, so the stories resurrected vivid memories. It won't surprise you to know that the memories about disappointed love were most clear.

I revel in the love of my husband now. It's a more beautiful love than I had a concept of at age 12, that's for sure! Finding him wasn't the ending of a fairy tale like I thought it would be. Instead, it was the opening of an adventure more grand and awesome than any story my writer's mind ever contrived.

I have a background of heartbreak, but look where God has taken me.
This song is an example of where I used to be.
Hopefully, it will encourage anyone who is disillusioned and ready to give up on a God-sent love story.

This was penned in my journal after the final sentence of the entry: "Perhaps, one goodbye isn't good enough..."

What Went Wrong
written June 16, 2004

I thought that for sure all the wounds had healed up/and nothing would disturb me anymore
But I opened up my journal yesterday/finding that your name was written on the cover
I turn the page, and a picture that I drew/traces lines of adoration in your smile
I turn the radio on and music floods my mind/and it just happens to be our song!

Oh, quit haunting me, baby!/What have I ever done to you?
I'm dying to retrace our steps and find out
where we went wrong!
Oh, quit haunting me, baby!/Your eyes are more than I can bear
I'm dying to retrace our steps and find out
if you miss me!/Oh, where did we go wrong?
Where did we go wrong?

Viewing running commentaries everywhere that I alight/of lovers who are on the path we took
A passage strangely familiar to me as I read at night/is turning up in every single book
I close my eyes, maybe sleep will kill the pain/but I only get a vision of our stars
And when I open them, I daydream for an hour/of running into warm and open arms!

Oh, quit haunting me, baby!/What have I ever done to you?
I'm dying to retrace our steps and find out
where we went wrong!
Oh, quit haunting me, baby!/Your eyes are more than I can bear
I'm dying to retrace our steps and find out
if you miss me!/Oh, where did we go wrong?
Where did we go wrong?

the Hero's Gun

My hero pulls the gun on me
And sends a bullet to my knee-
I trusted him
I trusted him
I guess I trust too easily.

And oh, the chorus laughs at me
In mocking, harsh antistrophe-
I thought them fair
I thought them fair
I guess I think too graciously.