Leaning across the chessboard
that even she can’t see
moving pieces shrouded
by the remnants of their
humanity
the board is in shadows
and the queen topples
in silence
i wonder who moves
the other side
Tag: poetry
Lute Song
A few random writings on this cold December night.
oh some days he wants to
dance
and others he simply desires
that others understand
that he cannot be the joy
today
only he wants maybe a hug
and to sit
and think
and write
and pray
can you feel the sparkles she asks
or is it only me
he smiles and replies
i can
but only when i look into
your eyes
a cup of tea and a big thick book!
give me an hour or two
and i shall be finished
oh no she says
i know better
you may very well be done
with this one
but then you’ll just
grab another
why do we think that fire is so miraculous
the way we stare entranced into
the dancing flames
is it that we both love and fear it
and that perhaps this feeling
echoes something deeper in us
than we now understand
Incarnation
the shadowed alley lies quiet and in wait
where the void sneers and chaos swirls all about
and darkness coats the face of the cobblestones
but then sounds a word spoken
and light paints new creation down crumbling path
upon which walk the feet of the promised one
peace and judgment held in both his outstretched hands
soon shall that day come I pray
when lion lies down with lamb
Dreams of Paris
Some unconnected stanzas – enjoy or not, it’s all the same to me. I enjoyed the process of letting my thoughts spill forth on this day bursting forth in all its glorious reality.
shivering she pulls the blanket close
and cries out for that second cup of tea
and i cross the room and turn on the kettle
soon my darling soon
she smiles and says with bleary eyes
just make sure to put in the lemon
and lots and lots of honey
Drops of twilight on the canvas
unsatisfied he sighs
i meant to paint the sunset
instead look
it’s just another dreary urban sky
i remark unfavourably upon these stanzas
grumbling as i usually do
but look she comments it’s ok really it is
at least some of them
have the slightest ring of truth
let’s read deep into the evening
as the soup bubbles upon the stove
and perhaps our thoughts will be sparked
by the black and white on the pages
or if not
at least we’re cozy here at home
i seek that far country that i’ve sought so many times before
and yes i’m reassured to know there is written above the doorframe
a name that i will one day call my own
but that is not the name i cry now
for this country is only treasured for the name of its king
and so I sing it in all my songs and all my poetry
and ask that no one look to me
for one day i’ll walk across the river and up to the doorway
and smile to know i’ve found that land for which my God’s destined me
once more let’s climb the tree of abstract philosophy
she whispers in my ear or let’s not
and instead open the book
and taste and see
i tried to climb the sunset
i tried to reach the second night
yet all my tears and all my fears rang louder
in the absence of your light
so what my heart grumbled
so what my soul bemoaned
so what
my eyes trembled
so what she says
come home my love
come home
she balances upon the curb and laughs to see me walk comfortably upon the sidewalk
come over here and join me
there’s enough room for two!
but only if you stand in front of me like this
nose to nose
just as you love to do
the green light flickers a bit ill at ease
and i smile as i pull my jacket closer
content to walk beneath the neon sky
for though the night is cold
and rain drips down my neck
metaphorical dreaming swirls inside my soul
for i know my home is nigh
Mornings I Look Up
the blank piece of paper calls out to be filled
and though the pen drops slowly from my hand
in trembling terror that it cannot be
good enough
it is ok
for look up to the one who is
who draws me ever more into
sweeter communion with himself
the God who knows my name
who in himself is sufficient
for all purposes my feeble mind can summon up
not to claim that i have any part in defining God
it would be with fear that i approach
and in reverent posture fall and kneel
for now at last my empty heart is filled
this morning i walk with God in prayer
moments counting
Many stanzas unrelated yet not perhaps entirely
We walk down those faded corridors
marked with water stains
and faded ink
and broken promises
hand in hand we go
with light steps
and broken hearts
the light shines down on your face
and your eyes tell the story
that your lips never would
as they move to count down
i raise a finger to shush
i already know the time
yet you move closer
She stands upon the doorstep
tilting her head curiously
and as i raise my hand
and start to pretend
i change my mind and say
let’s have a nice long talk
as we go for a walk alongside
the sea
hello my darling let’s not pay the toll today
for it’s been paid so many times before
surely it counts for something
the frequency of our visits
maybe a loyalty program of sorts
instead spread some jam and butter upon that scone
and i’ll pour you a cup of tea
and let’s open the book and dive deep into what we’ve read
and talk lit and art and most of all what it means
to be immersed in this systematic theology
Reading upon a sofa sprawled out all comfy in my way
and upon the table burns a candle marking the time since
and she walks in and stares at me and says
really have you moved at all?
and of course not i say although that’s not entirely true
for i may have gotten up to change the music once or twice
but in sentiment she understands and smiles and rolls her eyes
and leans over and pats my leg and tells me to relax
i wish i could fall into a book like that
how does theology affect our lives i wonder
and though some may say it really doesn’t
i would argue then what’s the point
for then your theology’s bereft
and all your thinking has no merit
true true they answer back and so why bother?
i turn to them and say consider this
if God’s real and true and all that?
and if furthermore he’s written to us of himself?
well i’d like to understand
at least in such feeble way as this mind dares to grasp
understanding they say is futile for how can what is finite
comprehend the infinite
it can’t
truly
for only when the infinite and finite has somehow married
can there be a listening to the radio that is now tuned
but how – there can be no such
and yes i also wondered until i considered that this question
has been answered
hence why i’m reading theology
and seeing the poetry of God
this strange, wonderful symmetry that is god made man
and sent down from eternity to walk this earth
and then die upon a tree
this sweetest simplest theology
of God who made a way to be known by feeble, finite, little ol me
she tenderly caresses the cover of the book before her
wondering if she dares to open the cover
will the writing match the gorgeousness of the artwork?
she hears a whisper
yes
taste and see
One more girl hangs out the 3rd floor window
and shouts down to me of what she’s found
what is that i say
cry louder!
and she says i won’t but i’ll do you one better
i’ll come down
the sunset ripples through the sky
and i breathe in deep the last remnants
and wait for my God to draw me nigh
Penstroke
A morning where a
darkness reigns throughout the land
and yet there is a wind that blows,
a return of sweetness and decency
mayhaps.
A morning where a
bowl of oatmeal upon worn table sits
and brown sugar swirls in dreamy paths,
a return to first love and hopes fairest
maybe.
A morning where a
moonlit herald sings in quiet wonder
and I hear a call to that far country,
a return to truest tales of yore
perhaps.
First Blush
A mount untraveled,
a tree not blooming,
a flag yet unfurled,
and the sweet colour
of the pale of dawn.
I look upon a crescent moon
and I sigh
in unbridled wonder
that there could be such
beauty.
And behold
tulips blossoming in purest white,
stars singing sweet and strong in dazzling night,
fields of wheat rippling in warm sunlight,
that music bliss and those blue eyes bright
oh behold!
Beauty
that there could be such
in unbridled joy now
and I sigh –
I look upon a waxing moon.
The path is winding through the wild moors,
The trees stand tall and kiss their brethren,
And upon the terrace of brick and stone,
look and behold the aching sweetness –
oh the tale of dawn.
Unwilling
Dirty feet and
dirty floors,
See how all the
filthy money pours
across counter-tops and
tables stained,
not a cent is clean
or rightly gained.
Who dares overturn
our ways,
crack the whip
and halt our days?
Who dares let his eyes
grow sharp in rage
Who dares shout aloud
and then say,
This was to be a house for prayer,
but upon this holy ground
your dirty feet quick into wickedness
have trod;
This was to be a house of love,
but upon the poor and weak
your dirty feet quick and merciless
have trod;
This was to be a house for peace
but now comes near a sword and flames,
oh how I weep,
return, return,
come nigh to God.
Soul Power
Morning all!! It’s Monday morning once again – the beginning of another (hopefully busy and exciting!) week. I’m sipping on my hazulnut mocha and enjoying the slow lightening of the western sky as the dawn continues its inexorable march. I really don’t even have that much to write about(since I just posted two days ago…two posts in three days – shocking!), but thought I would at least say hi.
A slow and ponderous turn of earth,
seems so heavy at times,
so full of nickle and iron
and far too many broken dreams.
Yet soaring through the not quite vacuum,
Soulful dance of nebulae and stars,
Not so heavy now, see?
Tapestry of space flutters,
dreamily.
Something Weird 