Original poem: Thespian Claret

How now, fellow writers and readers? (Thought I’d revive a 16th century greeting for this post )

I know. I’ve been slacking majorly on updating this blog, and I know it is most certainly past time to post something.

SO, here is an older poem of mine. It’s pretty simple, by no means meant to compete on any level with Shakespeare, but I’ve been feeling rather theatrical lately, kind of missing a good old-fashioned play with beautiful language, or really just any opportunity to spend my energy in that way on stage. Actors give so much of themselves in their roles creating life on the stage, and somehow, no matter how old the material is, the themes always remain current and new for me as the roles and environments of Shakespeare’s masterpieces are recreated on stage.

Anyway, happy reading! … and fare thee well!

 

THESPIAN CLARET

The antique English ink drips afresh

in numerous boxes thrusts and rounds

‘round this terra firma,

their current blood drawn forth to paint

green-eyed tyrants

a widow’s swoon

disguises and guises

noble insanity

and a villain’s snatch

lovers and loners

tempests and may-poles

fools and Balthasars

an elysian champion

daggers and a swindled dynasty

Original poem: Doubt

Hello readers and fellow writers!

Today I have an original poem for you that sort of reflects an ongoing battle I have within myself, and it’s probably a struggle many of you can relate to as well. For those of you who believe in God, I hope you are encouraged and reminded that there is no need to doubt. He is there even when we can’t feel Him close or see the plan, and He will never abandon us.

Happy reading!

DOUBT

A desperate  shout tears the stuffy noise

a gruntal rip down the center of sounds

but no voice or echo roars back

or even acknowledges the calling with a comfort, sneer, or scold

 

Move forward.

 

Take the next step.

 

But behind there are no prints

no ripple of spotted pieces falling on a path to elsewhere

no rusty sign or dusty clue

or smack of impact

and for all the action, there is no equal or opposition reaction

aimless

eyes look down at a map devoid of paths

feet standing on hazy waters,

the cold unknown encroaching the knees

 

HELP.

 

Memory shows no mercy

but does it lie?

 

This tall neck cracks

and the fiery spirit breaks in watery collapse

 

Nothing will ever change.

 

Swiftly there is a firm fleshy hand locked around this ghostly wrist and fingers

a face sees me

sees me

sees me

 

Those molten honey eyes possess a tender knowing

“Why do you doubt? I was here the entire time.”

“I Am Not Yours”

Hello readers!

I think I might be getting a little personal today, but hopefully you won’t mind that terribly much. While I’m working on some new stuff that I’ll be posting soon, I came across this poem by Sara Teasdale and was immediately struck by how it seems to speak every romantic relationship I’ve ever had. It’s a little tragic, and there have been a couple of men that I have loved in my life, loved them because they truly were “a spirit beautiful and bright.” However,  for some reason or other, I haven’t met the person able to eradicate all the doubts in my heart and mind. There has always been something lacking that kept me from fulling being able to trust them with my heart. From what I’ve been told by many happily married women, when you meet the right person, it’s really doesn’t take very long to know whether or not that person is for you.

Anyway, I was just thunderstruck by how accurate this poem is my love life thus far. It doesn’t change the status quo (and by no means do I have any right to complain). We females just love to feel understood, and it was quite heartening to find a piece of beautiful writing that captures this sentiment of mine so accurately, that I remain women who longs to be “lost as light is lost in light” (such a great line!).

In the meantime, God is taking care of me, and I know He has my best interest at heart.

Well, as always, happy reading <3

I Am Not Yours

by Sara Teasdale

I am not yours, not lost in you,
Not lost, although I long to be
Lost as a candle lit at noon,
Lost as a snowflake in the sea.

You love me, and I find you still
A spirit beautiful and bright,
Yet I am I, who longs to be
Lost as a light is lost in light.

Oh plunge me deep in love — put out
My senses, leave me deaf and blind,
Swept by the tempest of your love,
A taper in a rushing wind.

Original Poem: Daddy Eyes

Hidy-ho readers!

Well, it’s been exactly a week since I’ve posted anything, and today I decided to resurrect an old poem I started probably a year ago and never quite finished. It’s a little different style-wise for me. I don’t usually embrace the rhyme so blatantly (Ha! I just rhymed by accident), but when i started writing this, it just sort of happened that way at first … so i figured I’d give it a try.

While I don’t like to dictate the meaning of any poem I write for my readers, I’ve realized a lot through these past couple years how much our fathers have an influence on how we view God. If you had a bad father, an indifferent father, or no father at all, it’s probably difficult to grasp an accurate picture of God as a caring strong father who wants only the best for his children … but that is who God is.

Anyway, while this poem is pretty sentimental, that idea is sort of where this poem has its roots.

Happy reading!

DADDY EYES

This girl was young once,

a fearless, wobbly-legged thing

leaping off boats and hiding in trees

always a song to sing.

 

Smiling daddy eyes spy her at play,

a bob of brown hair, hidden toys in disarray.

“Can I play?” says he.

Timid looks say, “No,”

but she’ll run to him later, and then she’ll go

 

twirl in strong arms,

her own flung out wide,

meandering through a story,

daddy at her side.

 

This girl’s not so young now,

still daring, still wobbly,

leaps off less boats, hides in more than just trees,

songs being sung, but melancholy.

 

Still smiling Daddy eyes root for her each day

a woman’s long hair, hidden heart in disarray.

“Come with me?” say He,

“Together we’ll go. Trust me.”

She nods, “I’ll stop saying, ‘No.’ “

 

So twirl me around

through jungle and air,

through winding cornered streets,

both fair and unfair.

 

Wherever I go, whether I see You or not

Your smiling eyes, Father, are the reason I trot.

 

C.S. Lewis excerpt from “Why I am not a Pacifist”

Hello readers!

Today, I make good on my promise that this page would be a mixture of all different types of posts, not just my original writing, not just poetry or short stories, but posts featuring a notable writer or topic. In light of all the political developments surrounding the coming election, I’ve been in a bit of a mood, one that wishes to discuss important issues, not just sweep them under the rug and avoid them in conversation like so many would like to do simply to keep conversation light and uncontroversial. It is true than many people lack the ability to discuss politics in a scholarly objective manner, and so I very much understand the reasoning behind trying to avoid unnecessary tension in a group setting. I myself find it hard not to become frustrated with those who simply rufuse to see the truth. I know you all have encountered those described in this quote (also from the same address as the longer excerpt below by C.S. Lewis):

Every teacher knows that people are constantly protesting that they “can’t see” some self-evident inference, but the supposed inability is usually a refusal to see, resulting either from some passion which wants not to see the truth in question or else from sloth which does not want to think at all.”

When I encounter individuals with whom there is no discussing anything that differs with their own opinion, those who are not interesting in seeking truth for its own sake, but rather more interested in proving me wrong, there comes a time when one must simply be kind, understanding,  and patient (which many times is no easy task).

Anyway, the excerpt I have today is not meant to inspire any heated arguments that end in belittling tones or name-calling, but really just something that made me think. I am most definitely not a pacifist, but I hadn’t really found something that made such good points simply based on logic. I have my own personal beliefs, but not everyone shares those, so I simply wanted to share something that supports my views simply on the basis of reason.

With that, here is a little of C.S. Lewis’ lecture that was delivered to a pacifist society in Oxford sometime in 1940. I encourage anyone intrigued by this excerpt to read whole lecture found in The Weight of Glory, a collection of many of his topical addresses and sermons.

As always, happy reading!

Excerpt from “Why I Am Not a Pacifist”

First to the facts. The main relevant fact admitted by all parties is that war is very disagreeable. The main contention urged as fact by Pacifists would be that wars always do more harm than good. How is one to find out whether this is true? It belongs to a class of historical generalisations which involve a comparison between the actual consequences of some actual event and a consequence which might have followed if that event had not occurred. “Wars do no good” involves the proposition that if the Greeks had yielded to Xerxes and the Romans to Hannibal, the course of history ever since would have been perhaps better, but certainly no worse than it actually has been; that a Mediterranean world in which Carthaginian power succeeded Persian would have been at least as good and happy and as fruitful for all posterity as the actual Mediterranean world in which Roman power succeeded Greek. My point is not that such an opinion seems to me overwhelmingly improbable. My point is that both opinions are merely speculative; there is no conceivable way of convincing a man of either. Indeed it is doubtful whether conception of “what would have happened” — that is, of unrealised possibilities — is more than an imaginative technique for giving a vivid rhetorical account of what did happen.

That wars do no good is then so far from being a fact that it hardly ranks as a historical opinion. Nor is the matter mended by saying “modern wars”; how are we to decide whether the total effect would have been better or worse if Europe had submitted to Germany in 1914? It is, of course, true that wars never do half the good which the leaders of the belligerents say they are going to do. Nothing ever does half the good — perhaps nothing ever does half the evil — which is expected of it. And that may be a sound argument for not pitching one’s propaganda too high. But it is no argument against war. If a Germanised Europe in 1914 would have been an evil, then the war which would have prevented that evil would have been, so far, justified. To call it useless because it did not also cure slums and unemployment is like coming up to a man who has just succeeded in defending himself from a man-eating tiger and saying, “It’s no good, old chap. This hasn’t really cured your rhuematism!”

On the test of fact then, I find the Pacifist position weak. It seems to me that history is full of useful wars as well of useless wars. If all that can be brought against the frequent appearance of utility is mere speculation about what would have happened, I am not converted.”

An original poem: Purge

‘Ello fellow writers and readers!

*sniffle*

Today, I am sick … but thankfully my day home from work has served as a lovely book-filled cocoon of reading and writing, hobbies that I always seem to have to squeeze into my day in between obligatory activities. While some would view this energy-depleting ailment as a real downer (and believe me the amount of used tissues that surround me is no laughing matter), I have needed to just … slow down. If sickness is going to serve that purpose for me, so be it.

Ironically enough, the original poem I have for you today was written in a time a few months ago when I was absolutely fed up with the stillness and complacency.  I won’t say any more than that about its meaning; and it might be a little wordy, but I love the rich sounds of words

Hope you enjoy it.

Happy reading!

PURGE

Gentle wind that speaks a warning

cries over the lifeless glass.

The smell bears a message

telling of a thunderous exchange,

and a curl strokes my lips.

Too long have I seen stagnant waters,

green carpets brittle in the shining beams

meant to bring grins.

 Grim, I say, a sham.

I long for the soundless flash,

the grumble of a menacing sky.

Waters, churn.

Be freed of vacant smiles.

Rage against the shores, mirages, barricades,

and revel in the moments when the sky and you are one,

when gusts give paths amid the clouds

and dance

among the trees of light,

however brief their brilliance.

Be free when the whirlwind brings the purge,

when true colors are tested and birthed.

An original poem: A Bird May Love a Fish

Hello readers and fellow writers!

Today (like many days), I’m sitting here at my desk at work wishing I was sitting by a body of water. Whether it be a peaceful beach with that numbing roar that chases away the cluster of thoughts constantly parading through my mind, or a river, witnessing the constant steady movement just seems to remind of me home and translate a stability so scarcely found in every day life, either way,  I love to sit and watch the movement of water.

SO, today’s poem is from one of those times.

Happy reading!

A BIRD MAY LOVE A FISH

listen to the only whisper that betrays a cosmos below

dwellings made in crevices, crags, shady shells,

diamond-curved swirls containing crusty-clawed lurkers

only seen through the fun-house mirror façade

along these bespattering knolls

textured water limbs occasionally

reach

for the flyers

only to plummet back into the dewy blanket

with a doleful

splash

Sir Walter Foss – “A House by the Side of the Road”

Hello readers!

I came across a lovely poem just now by Sir Walter Foss, and I love that it speaks to mankind’s need for community. I’ll say little more than that it warmed my heart reading it, because it reminded me of how we all wish to live in a place where we can call on our fellow neighbor, a friend, or even a stranger for help. Whether it be to ask  for that cliche’ cup of sugar (if we’re being real, sometimes a plunger ), or in my case, some shampoo and conditioner when running late for work and there’s no time to run to the store, regardless, whether you wish it or not, we all need other people in our lives … and they need us.

Personally I’m also reminded of Romans 12:15-16a , “Rejoice with those who rejoice, weep with those who weep. Live in harmony with one another. Do not be haughty, but associate with the lowly.”

Alrighty… as always, happy reading!

THE HOUSE BY THE SIDE OF THE ROAD

“He was a friend to man, and lived

In a house by the side of the road.” ~Homer

 

There are hermit souls that live withdrawn

In the place of their self-content;

There are souls like stars, that dwell apart,

In the fellowless firmament;

There are pioneer souls that blaze their paths

Where highways never ran –

But let me live by the side of the road

And be a friend to man.

 

Let me live in a house by the side of the road,

Where the race of men go by –

The men who are good and the men who are bad,

As good and as bad as I.

I would not sit in the scorner’s seat,

Or hurl the cynic’s ban –

Let me live in a house by the side of the road

And be a friend to man.

 

I see from my house by the side of the road

By the side of the highway of life,

The men who press with the ardor of hope,

The men who are faint with the strife.

But I turn not away from their smiles nor their tears,

Both parts of an infinite plan –

Let me live in a house by the side of the road

And be a friend to man.

 

I know there are brook-gladdened meadows ahead

And the mountains of wearisome height;

That the road passes on through the long afternoon

And stretches away to the night.

But still I rejoice when the travelers rejoice,

And weep with the strangers than moan,

Nor live in my house by the side of the road

Like a man who dwells alone.

 

Let me live in my house by the side of the road –

It’s here the race of men go by.

They are good, they are bad, they are weak, they are strong,

Wise foolish — so am I;

Then why should I sit in the scorner’s seat,

Or hurl the cynic’s ban?

Let me live in my house by the side of the road

And be a friend to man.

An original poem: Reliance

Good evening readers and fellow writers!

Today’s post is one of my own original poems, and I know it’s late in the day. However, I know that tomorrow is going to be extremely busy at work, so I will not have much idle time to post something new. Originally I was going to try to post only every so often, but I think my new goal is to post something every day, whether it be my own work or fabulous writing I encounter by other notable writers. This, I think, will not only keep me writing, developing that discipline as a writer in order to improve with practice just like any other skill, but also it will keep me searching for good material to read.

Anyway, to the poem. As always, I shall let you take from it what you will as far as interpretation goes, but I absolutely would be delighted to share with you my own inspiration or intention with this piece.

Happy Sunday!

RELIANCE

Perched on a parapet

teetering,

quivering.

Rubble on the right,

even those infamous tropical trees

withering,

my lucky number on the address plate

of a ghostly stack

of uninhabited boxes.

On the left,

feet are

hanging,

the beckoned track

ready to be pounced.

The wall is

shaking,

fading.

With a leap, my mind

hopes to hear the sound

of a divine

catch.

Emily Dickinson’s “If I Can Stop One Heart from Breaking”

Hello again readers!

I know I’ve already posted once today, but I was just reading through a book, Best Remembered Poems, and saw this little treasure of a thought. Emily Dickinson can be really hard to understand sometimes, but in this poem, she makes it easy (not to mention echoes the sentiments in my soul!)

Happy reading.

IF I CAN STOP ONE HEART FROM BREAKING

If I can stop one heart from breaking,

I shall not live in vein;

If I can ease one life the aching,

Or cool one pain,

Or help one fainting robin

Unto his nest again,

I shall not live in vain.

♥