the ever changing rivers flow westwards
emptying in the ever changing sea
and in a moment as I kneel above
i think of the differences between
you and me
and it is comforting to know that though
even though for peace i unceasingly strive
my mind is manic and not a bit static
much as the water falls from the mountains high
and crashes down below on rocks unyielding
the wet spray reaching even to my wet eyes
so too recognize the fact most strange
though i recognize my chaotic nature
that you yourself do not cannot change
this wonderous eternal truth blossoms full
your very divine immutability
and so i take a breath and sigh
and look out over the waves that dance in the sea
for indeed in gratitude i have no other choice
in you unshaking
still sorrowing yet
i rejoice
Tag: poem
Memory Falls
i sit down upon the precipice
lording over all my shattered dreams
for which i see now were simply pieces
of the road as it was meant to be
and see now say now why not now
would i write this song how
i heard it in my head that autumn night
so many years ago found
on the bench under the lamppost
as the snow came drifting down
for as the scars upon my back attest
my fear and shaking hands drove me harder
than the clinging to my innocence
and i cannot rest now even though
the wounds are not quite healed
but for example take a whiff of this
on my hands this rose i hold dear
and you’ll understand that even
in my darkest years
i clung to something greater
and still do so perhaps i can now sit
amidst the wildflowers
and watch the stream wind to and fro
perhaps i can now in subservience rest
upon this sacred mount where olives grow
Sychar
the sun dazzles above my head and i lean down
to look at the only source of relief i have
in this lost and abandoned age
down below far below perhaps below
is the water that i seek
does it dazzle or is it only a mirage
perhaps one day i will be satisfied with less
though now i can never get enough
always thirsty for more and more and more
so i come here again and bend my back and strain
for that which i crave yet never
enough
for that which i need or so i say
perhaps there is nothing more
and there is no new and dawning day
yet the song i sing turns
to the refrain
as i go back to that well once again
why do i thirst?
Yearning
one seeks to walk upon the shoreside
and gaze upon the chaotic sea
and in the meantime
hear the waves rhyme
somehow peace whispers in harmony
and if you wish to know their secrets
you may need to travel oceans far
yet listen closely
don’t yet ghost me
for in these fogbanks rises a star
and i hug my arms to myself and sigh
thrill to ancient revelation
in dawning anticipation
stand in the sand
tide tickles my toes
First Cup
she tiptoes down the stairs
trying hard to think only
of the warmth of
steaming coffee
not of the cold that lingers
in her bones
she sings a few bars
of the verses that even now
haunt her dreams
sweet ones to be sure
as that which sits on the downstairs table
a chocolate frosted doughnut
not quite fresh yet still not stale
sugar rush to the spirit
as one thinks of truths
beyond the veil
That Which We Confess
Would that I were not currently sitting in front of an empty desk centered in an empty room bathed by the sweetly luxurious outpourings of the fluorescent lights mounted in the recesses far above. I could wish for another fate this late winter day I suppose, but perhaps it is not a bad thing to be in the stillness and in the quiet when so easily might I be in a shrieking cesspit of calamity and chaos. Is this harshly sanitized environment in which I sit not a respite from the nightmares that howl in the greater world outside? Perhaps it would be desirable to sit in this cheery sanitorium if only I believed that the world outside was truly as uncontrollably monstrous as some cannot help but preach. Instead I think that perhaps I do wish my feet were falling in rhythm upon an old stone path as I ponder the fresh air that piles in from the sea and brings the breezes that so often soothe my weary soul. I cast my mind away from this vacant island of pretense and script that vision of reality that so often sweetly haunts my dreams.
In this staging I walk in an old and hallowed courtyard, one lined by brick buildings laced with ivy and a few nodding northern elms who stand proudly in their nakedness. I have an important appointment to keep with a dear friend and though I don’t particularly want to keep her waiting, I do stop for a moment to admire the way the early morning sun filters through the grey clouds above to grace me with a small slice of beauty. I would love to spend a bit of time sitting against one of the trees and writing in my little notebook, yet I cannot spare the time today. Perhaps tomorrow. I put my feet back on the stone path and urge them back into some semblance of pace as I resume my walk. I feel almost as if I could be alone even as I know there are many souls in the buildings that surround me. Yet in the windows that I peer up at I see no signs of life. Only old oaken furniture and a few fluttering curtains in windows that have been left open. Perhaps my friend was leaning out of one of these same windows earlier to watch the sunrise. I know that she likes to do such, even if the sunrise does not promise to be momentous. Ah but there she is now. At the far end of the green I see her sitting on one of the wrought-iron benches that line the path. She waits for me yet makes the most of the time. I see her scribbling away in a notebook of her own. A poem or treatise on theology? Sometimes they are one and the same. Is not a true poem a very reflection on the reality of God? I like to think so. And that’s why people find poets so pretentious at times, for the fact that we seek to impart the deepest of meanings to the most mundane of words. But what are our words but grasping after the most profound realities that our souls ache to know in full? We know how feeble our words are. Yet still we write, in futility and dreams. Now my steps slow as I crunch through the frosty grass. She looks up and smiles.
Let’s talk about all the things and reflect on what our God has revealed to us this day. Let our hearts sing in harmony with the song of heaven. Let’s fill our minds with thoughts of beauty, for vanity unfilled will tends toward chaos and I’d rather not have that. Instead of vacant half-acceptance of the tossing waves of this raging world, let’s set our course by the star we know and firmly with resolve look towards the horizon where the far country grows. We see it now yet dimly. Yet in faith we see it true.
Testimony
in shape of warped and unchecked hunger
grows a shadow of terror
that i claim as mine
in fact i serve such
a proud proclamation
dare i boast
perhaps better i die
and in the realization of the situation
in which i now reside
i look to that which i long scorned
scarred for so many years
by those pricks and rapacious thorns
yet now i welcome the blood which drips
and consider that which flowed
from deeper scars
precious now this fountain divine
how long shall i suffer for my pride?
i can do no other
i look to Jesus Christ
Nickel Tour
i walk across the flagstones
briskly wind teases my scarf
between these hollowed columns
and in this stark grey morning
i grip my coffee tighter
to feel the warmth filter through
and to satisfy the growls
i take a hearty mouthful
of my hot breakfast sandwich
piled high with sausage, eggs
and cheese
Why do we Labor So?
remember what it feels like to be at the bottom of that well
dug so long ago by Isaac and his kin in times of chaos
and you will tell me that i can’t imagine it because surely
in my safe and easy life when ever have i wept
and i’ll tell you that it’s when i knew i was loved not hated
so what so what you ask
have you not labored to earn the love of God
yes but in folly did i so strive for in folly was my heart bound
until at last i saw the ladder descend and looked upward
and knew at last the truth which my mother had so often told
that i was loved not for what i had said or done
loved before i was outside the womb
what have i done what have i done
then i worked and strived
for forgetting my name and prizing my pride
i put forth my own hand to the staff again and again
with strength grasped that for which i bowed to self
and yet at end of day when windows dim
and i succumb to that which my father before me did
i remember the truth of the word which was spoken
i was loved in sovereign love
and to my nostrils sweet came the smell of mercy
yet i remember how i worked
even for the crooked paths i walked
that i made so much harder than they had to be
and i remember that i labored so
seven years for Leah
she whose love i learned to treasure
seven years for your mother
she in whose love i never wavered
and seven more years for good measure
and all these years vanished as dust
along with these frail bones which i lay bare now
in fear and trembling remembering when my frame
was strong and able and i clung to him who loved me
and in fear i cried out but he simply said my name
i am loved in sovereign love
how or why i cannot quite know yet someday
all shall know in a new covenant struck by divine blood
in gladness of great joy i sing
of a great mystery that is now mostly hidden
of the song that someday i shall sing with all my children
why should i be loved and my brother hated
i weep now for divine and sovereign love
given for nothing good that i have done
watching for the one to bend and drink from that brook
running sure and swift with living water
no more shall i dig and labor
no more shall i cling to this staff and strive
instead let me simply bow and sing again
my eyes watering to know my maker
Someday
A couple unrelated (but are they?) scribblings.
evergreen even in february
winter dreams
half forgot
and hopes of spring
bloom
along
with strawberry skies
look!
a chrysalis
when will it open
the clock ticks
ashes to
fluttering wings
and Jerusalem calls
the river for feasting
the leaves for healing
how long?
Something Weird 