Down the stairs and up the red line
across the universe the music climbs
spirals of thoughts and a kaleidoscope
of lies
what now do you whisper in my ear
what now do you dangle before me
it’s deceitful and manipulative
you know it i know it
cease and desist
or else i shall come and be forced
to spin a new tale yet an old one too
one you’ve heard far too many times yet
you still refuse to believe it true
what shall i say my friend?
i love you yet i turn my face away
i weary of resting my eyes upon
lesser stories
i sorrow over beholding
thinner glories
why do i persist in delighting
in the manufactured
when the real thing is glimmering
in the corner of my eye
oh little child
keep yourself from idols
Tag: muse
Quite Right
She leaned on the balcony and strained to see the stars. That’s all she wanted in this moment. She wanted to rest her eyes on something beautiful this night but alas it looked as if it were not to be. The clouds hung low over the skyline and nothing pierced the veil save the twinkle of a plane’s lights every two minutes or so. There were nights Natalia loved living in the city, times where she couldn’t believe her fortune to be living here at the center of all things. Then there were nights like tonight, when her feet yearned to run through a grassy meadow and her heart longed to hear the laughter of a brook as it ran past. Tonight, Natalia wished she could rest her eyes upon the heavens and see the stars strewn across the sky in all their glory. But tonight her ears were full of wailing sirens and the lights from the building across the street trumpeted in her face and laughed in mockery of all her dreams. Natalia sighed as she folded her arms around herself. She closed her eyes and let her imagination take her far away, back to her girlhood home. She could see the cottage at the end of the driveway, she could see the garden that lay at the back of the yard. She could smell the woodsmoke ascending to the heavens and she could hear the clucking of the chickens too. If she let herself sit long enough with her sorrows, she surely would hear his voice next. Instead, all she heard was the drone of another plane across the city sky.
Longing
See how her feet traverse these
age-worn stone steps
and nimble dance from side to side
ocean sparkling in greyish green delight
and then you see the rocky cliffs
above you rise
of course her scarf blows in the wind
hear her voice singing that hymn
see the path ascend towards
the distant summit
do you see the flowers growing?
Hourglass
Oh how quickly they all turn against me, these treacherous thoughts of mine. I once predicted such a rebellion yet I never thought it would go down like this. My defenses down and my heart broken, I lift a glass to my lips as I ponder the train of events that has led me to this perilous cliff. But looking backwards does not bring much profit, to be sure. All it does is stoke the raging emotions and fears that even now rise in my throat and threaten to overwhelm all else. What could I have done differently? So many things cry the voices in unison. But how was I to know? I did my best. Too bad so sad. Now you pay the ferryman and hope. I do hope that the toll is not more than I can bear. It may be. Yet I fear to linger here in these perilous waters. There are warmer, sweeter climes ahead. Onwards, dear one, onwards. I forget what lies behind and press on. I take a swallow from the glass. Bitter on my tongue yet a song in my heart. My heart has cracks in it but forged anew I feel now in the melancholy of this night. I cry to the one who knows my name. I whisper a prayer to my Father and ask for mercy now. I cry to my Lord Jesus and say you know, you know. I whisper a bare groan to the Spirit and say oh please pray for me. Renewed my thoughts rise to the heavens as I look out over those solitary shores.
The Silent Years
sun beats down without mercy
oh for a glass of water
or at least a leaf tumbling down
a promise of what is to come
would do enough for me now
autumn walks and
a scarf snugged tight
a half poem written
power lines stretching past
tall brick buildings
and branches bare silhouetted
against the twilight sky
Grocery Store
She offers a smile as he walks past her in the coffee aisle. He half stops and half keeps walking in that way you do when you’re not quite sure if you want to take a moment to interact with someone not yourself. He didn’t expect to see her here today. He didn’t expect to see her anywhere for a good while longer yet. But here she was, in his grocery store and holding a bag of coffee beans. Was this fate or was this torture? Or perhaps both? God did have a sense of humor after all it seemed. He does end up stopping after all and gives her a half smile in return. They exchange a few tentative words. She reaches out. He pulls back. She tries one more time. His walls stand tall. She bites her lip and half turns to go. His heart skips a beat. And then. “Do you want to maybe go grab a coffee later this afternoon?” Her face lights up and her eyes dance. And then. “Well, I already have the coffee.” She playfully waggles the coffee beans at him. And he laughs and she continues. “But I don’t have you.” He smiles. “So, then, skip the coffee. Dinner for two?” She nods bashfully. He decides that’s the note to end on and turns around and fairly strides down the aisle. She sighs. Now that’s sorted. What was the next item on her list?
Paradise
I stand at the shoreline and relish the feel of the cool sand upon my bare feet. I look out over the early morning waters and take a deep breath. The breeze washes over me and reminds me of the long ago time on the Oregon coast when the birds sang low and the bonfire of roses burned. Now I have no such stark reminder of the sacrifice that has been made for me. Instead it is only my inner muse that chants the song and keeps my hands steady in anticipation of what comes. I lift the lamp to my eyeline and let it hang there a moment or two. It swings slightly and the flame bounces merrily to and fro. There is still oil enough. I have prepared. I have done what I can. Though nothing I have done matches what was done for me. I lower the lamp and shift my stance slightly. It has been a long wait, though not as long as the walk that came before. Over mountains and across prairies and on paths bordered by wild grass have I traversed this long night. Now for some reason I do not tremble. I have been given food to eat that has upheld me body and soul. My last sandwich is in the pack and I do not plan on eating it. It is a sacramental reminder, turkey and swiss and mustard on good rye bread. Now I do not need it. A gull cries. I open my eyes and see a boat break upon my sight. The waves lap against it and I need no further call. I step into the water as my eyes begin to fill with tears one last time.
Glimmers
Ah majesty! she sighs to herself and proceeds immediately to trip upon a loose rock in full sight of the rest of the tourists wandering about afore the castle. Well that will make me memorable at the very least. Thankful that no ankles had been sprained nor knees skinned, Emily gets up to her feet grateful that her pride had long ago rolled its eyes and withdrawn into some deep dark cave. She was a lost cause after all. A little bit of Irish dirt clung to her jeans but other than that, no damage done. And even the dirt was only a souvenir at the end of the day.
Now Emily walks off the path and onto the grass, approaching the edge of the cliff, the view that had caught her eyes moments before and so precipitously tossed her to the ground. There is something inherently majestic in the way the three realities collide. The solidity and gravity of the cliff and the ground under her feet sound forth in pompous solemnity. The whimsy and fanciful airs given by the sky and its train of clouds scurrying to and fro whistle jauntily in their place. And of course the sea. The wild angst and sheer power of the waves below her soar forth as strains of the violin, haunting in their beauty and aching in the rawness of their tears. So a symphony is born. The cliffs, the sky and the sea. All a part of something greater yet to be.
There is a sparkling in the air as the waves crash into the cliffs and throw up a spray into the sky and proclaims that this moment has arrived and that in its very temporal nature there is a beauty that signals the eternal of the divine. Emily doesn’t recognize all this in words, at least not in this very moment. Later she would write upon it in full, at least as much as her conscious mind can comprehend at a moment far removed. Yet now, though words escape her and only a silent exclamation hovers in front of her lips, Emily comprehends now more fully than she ever will again. The spirit within her resonates as if strummed by an invisible hand. And perhaps it has been. There is in this moment a knowledge that she has witnessed a creative act that is far beyond her. Emily stands at the edge of the cliff and whispers a prayer. It is good for her to be in this place and worship. It is good for her feet to stand upon this solid earth as she gazes upon the sky that stretches over her and the sea.
Haunted Moors
Hello friends! Writing a few words this Sunday evening. About to perhaps attempt to write something flowery and ridiculous and ethereal and grey in its beauty and majestic wonder. Shall I succeed? Who knows, who knows. While I write now, listening to an old playlist from a few years back – “windswept queens of the haunted moors”. One of my favourites, it is darkly beautiful even though its lyrics are at times agonizing in their pain. Yet, at times the melancholy calls to me and this playlist, while not for the faint of heart, still sings. If you want to listen…well, I’ll link it here. Only if you wish.
Leaving aside the dangerous musical madness of my past, what now stirs my heart? I feel as if the days and weeks have been busy of late and my heart is weary. Yet what does that signal but that I am still trudging on? I am grateful to my God for holding my hand as I walk this path. And I’m grateful oh so grateful that I am not alone. I wish I had more time. I wish at times the things of this world didn’t take so much time and that I had more time to write and dream and wonder. Ah my thoughts are too messy for this mundane of a post. I will attempt to channel into something creative. If I give up, will just move on to making dinner! Leftover meatloaf is the plan. Also going to fry up some broccoli and make some mashed potatoes. Will be a good Sunday dinner, so says I. Now, I’m off, to write. I hope. I sigh and roll my eyes as I think on the likelihood that little of the beautiful shall proceed forth from my pen. But sometimes a leap is necessary. Farewell, my friends.
Twenty Four
Heralds of Heaven – heed my Cry!
I sit down at the end of the row
bowing patiently before
storm approaching
stars bemoaning
all the raveling
these times are suffering
for the pattern groans
the lines deepen
upon her brow how long
oh lord how long
the corn’s a tasseling
lift up your heads
and keep the oil at the brim
not long now
will you sing with me oh stars
will you cry the chorus
the answer comes back cold at first
then clear as heaven’s night
we will sing yes we will sing
no one will be able to stay silent
the everlasting gates fly open
some will wail and some will shout
we the old ones tell this story
yes we will sing when comes
the king of glory
Alleluia Amen
