Tag: writing

That Shining Barrier

James HoganLeave a comment

G’evening, friends! I write to you now as Monday afternoon slowly bleeds into Monday evening…it has been a long day and I am wearied, yet now I am at home and it is time to rest. What a wonderful concept, rest! And I have been meaning to write this entry(or something like) for the past day or so now, but this is the first time I’ve had both the opportunity and the energy to do so. Of course, now that I start writing, my interest begins flagging(or perhaps that is my appetite speaking?). Nevertheless, I shall write.

Firstly, a small digression on commuting. I have a reasonable length commute compared to some(30 minutes in the morning, about 40 in the afternoon), but for Houston that’s not bad at all! But one of the most common complaints I hear from people here in Houston is the abysmal traffic(which is true) and the shockingly long time it takes to travel anywhere(which is also true). For some reason though, I really do not mind my commute that much and I started thinking on it recently…and it really is purely the fact that I quite love listening to my music(with the sporadic sermon!) as I drive. I make (far too many if you ask most people) mix CDs with my most favourite music…and I tend to buy CDs off Amazon now and again too…so I have a plethora of music from which to choose and freshen my rotation as desired. Am I odd? Most certainly – but I find the relaxing – and at times exhilarating – nature of the music I listen to is a boon to my soul. And of course – a gift from God. It’s odd, because I even find myself not wanting to talk to people while I drive anymore, because then I have to pause my music. This is probably a good thing, as distracting myself with my phone on the Houston roads is not entirely wise. Still – I wonder at myself. Why do I prefer music to talking to a dear friend or sister or parent at times? Possibly because my drive home tends to be my decompression time…as I slowly let the stresses of work bleed away as I drive on. The open road and a good tune. Quality combination, yes? Anyways, this digression is utterly silly, I acknowledge. I just wished to do a little self-reflection in a public forum, which is occasionally acceptable. Key word being occasionally.

Now secondly? The bittersweet ache that comes with nearing the end of a beautiful book. I am currently reading a book that is most remarkable in many ways and if I dare to try and name the numerous recommending qualities of it, I risk marring its beauty with my poor words. Maybe later I shall try. But this book…I started reading it approximately a week ago. Last Wednesday I believe? And now, I near its end(literally, all I have left is the epilogue!!) It is very short, less than 250 pages, and I have made my usual mistake of rushing ahead through a book as a bull rushes through the undergrowth of the meadow. But there comes that moment that I have faced many times before – when I am reading a book for the first time and realise that I am nearing its end. As often as I may reread a book, I can only read it for the first time the once. And that feeling…nearing the end…it is as if you were at the symphony, watching Tchaikovsky’s 6th being played to the height of its pathos and knowing you would never again experience such sublime beauty again. That piercing feeling of mingled grief and anticipation. Yet, while reading a great book – its promises are not yet fulfilled until the end is reached. So the end must be reached and so its finish comes. The end may linger, but it will come. Even with this book I am reading, I have been lingering these past few nights, trying not to let myself finish it, trying to stretch out the staggeringly beautiful read. But – do I not want the culmination? Do I not want that final promise fulfilled? Do I not want the boat to surge up the shoreline and touch that white sand? We linger, yes. But the joy will be greater when the book is closed. And now I have severely mixed the themes of this paragraph and I shall cease. To sum up though, I do have actual grief at nearing the end of this book. No more to read. No more to love. But without reading this book, its beauty would not be observed.

Thirdly? Because I did have a third random topic to talk about, but I for the life of me cannot remember what it was. Well, I will make up a new topic then. I recently have been much enjoying my communion with God…and I wish so much that all of you could be as enamored of Christ as I feel I am. Even this morning was remarkable. I usually set my alarm for 4, but almost never get up right away. I struggle and sleep for a while…before finally showering and grabbing a few quick minutes in the Word. Today though – I was wide awake by 3:55…you may think “horror of horrors!” but it was indeed a great gift that God gave me – it meant by the time I had showered and made my lunch and warmed my coffee, I had 38 minutes to read! (yes, I checked – so in awe was I). So 38 minutes to dive into the Word and enjoy a quiet few moments with my God. How shall I complain of the mundane worries and wearisome burdens that I bear…? This morning, I received that special gift of extra time with my God and it was beautiful. So unworthy am I. So loved am I.

Now…with such a shockingly random assortment of reflections…I shall take my leave and make my dinner. (Or rather…heat up my leftover meatloaf and mashed potatoes!!). My heart burns for the love of my Lord. Go under the mercy of God, dear friends.

Bedewed

James HoganLeave a comment

quickly now, look and see –
fast-fallen dusk lifts his head
and smiles tartly

but though the long-feared night approaches
there is yet hope of dawn
there is yet that hazily remembered
conceptual light.

Come rosy-fingered aurora!
Come and succor our gloom-filled minds
Come we beg thee,
Come and aid our flight from night’s embrace
and all shalt yet be saved.

Slowly now I do see –
smoldering night lingers yet
the sky breathes deep.

Landscapes, far Away

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The grey poles swooped past our car,
a bit in time with my beating heart,
brushed up next to her but we
were not together
not yet apart.

And as the train slowed to a halt,
I glanced at her,
she glanced at me,
and not a word was shared.

She apparently had nothing she cared to say to me
but that’s alright,
because I had nothing I cared to say to her.

Stepping onto the platform,
sticky with residue of shattered dreams,
I glanced once more at her
tear-stained face and
we walked together
we walked alone.

what Else is There to Follow, what Else is There to Love?

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A bit of honey upon the bread makes it oh so tasty and sweet
but oft times we forget the honey and the bread
and just grab a mouthful of cornmeal
instead.

And I can’t express what is in my heart, but then
when have I ever had that express desire
fulfilled?

And oh I’m waiting
as the autumn leaves float down around my head
and oh I’m waiting
for something more than promises of breathless hope to here remain
for something more than promises of fragile tea mugs in their alcoves
for something more than promises of lighted candles upon the windowsill
and oh I’m waiting
oh oh I’m waiting
for leaves of summer to crown my brow
someday soon
someday
and then shall I weep anew for fulfillment sweet
and so I’m waiting
for that crimson sunset
and in-drawn breath
before the silence
before the storm,
before the long
lost called home.

Meanwhile listen
for that true music,
echoing of ages past
echoing of age to come
echoing achingly
painfully
wonderingly
wonderfully
staggeringly
beautiful
and so
listen closely, for it still sings
faintly yes,
but it still sings.

And better now than scattered crumbs of mercury and steel,
the true bread rests upon the plate, invitingly warm and hearty,
even a little bit of honey drizzled sweet,
that worn old book sings to me anew,
not faintly now.
Sometimes yes,
but not the now.

Penstrokes

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Clearly I need to listen to classical guitar more often. As I drove to work this morning, popped in a CD of Christoper Parkening’s(Elmer Berstein – Concerto for Guitar) and was a bit surprised by how much I enjoyed it anew. I’ve had this CD for a while(I want to say – since 2002/2003??!) and I’m sure part of the enjoyment was due to the nostalgia factor and the good memories associated with it. Nonetheless, I now have a great desire to write more. Most likely because this used to be some of my best writing music back in high school! My problem now…what to write!? Frothy poetry? Gritty science fiction? Moody fantasy? I know not…I need some prompt, or a grand idea…or…something! Alas for my muse and the dearth of her song. Someday I shall write again. Someday.

Repose

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A crowning of clouds hugs the sky,
deep and lusciously does it lie,
a bit like a blanket atop the bed,
the type that makes you want to snuggle deeper,
never wanting to get out and up and start your day.

And as the eastern horizon slowly catches fiery light,
it seems to be an assumed fact that this day will
roll on like all the rest.
This may be assumed, I suppose – as most days do indeed roll on.
But what does this say of us that we have lost our sense of wonder
of the dawn?

And so now, see now,
we most diligently employ these fancy wrappers and this coiffed hair and these most proper accouterments
to carry ourselves as high and lofty persons,
but so now, see now,
though we style ourselves as a grand affair,
fragile and weak are we in and of ourselves for true,
and though we do a good job to hide that fact, our infirmities cripple us in a deeper sense
than merely what our eyes can see now.

Still I must acknowledge that our eyes lift to heaven and catch the dawning light
a bit like our flesh and bones and souls alike are crafted –
to the tune of that greater music
to the harmony of that more beautiful truth
to the song of that more truthful beauty.
and sweetly does that herald cry
of crowning glory from the sky.

of Early Mornings and Other Things

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The music pops and warbles,
crooning smooth tunes
over the corporate approved radio
and the woman near me –
you’d expect her to have a bob perhaps, but no –
her hair is a riot
of darker brown with lighter pink
and a few beaming golden tresses ties it all together
and as the espresso steams and the lights dim and
fragrance of peppermint fills the air,
her smile dazzles more brilliant still.
Let’s dance the charleston now and forget
what lies behind
what lies ahead is far better.
Let’s dance my love,
let’s dance.

Wind roars Over the Highlands now

James HoganLeave a comment

Hey all – happy Friday! I realise this is an odd time for me to post an update. But you won’t be surprised when I say where I’m writing this from…Starbucks! I’m meeting someone in about half an hour and this Starbucks is a very convenient place to wait at…so I simply couldn’t resist. Something else I just couldn’t resist was a hot chocolate. Even though it is approximately 90 degrees outside. I don’t care. It is creamy and chocolaty and delicious. And now it is mine.

In other news…I have been thinking about how I really am not a fan of the proliferation and prominence of social media these days. There are definitely some positive uses of online social spaces, but as I gaze into the void that is social networks(whether it be the facebook, the twitter, the tumblr, the instagram, the snapchat, the etc, etc, etc….), it seems the main goal and purpose is to project yourself into that void and indeed, to promote the idealized image of yourself. Of course I can understand the allure of presenting yourself in the most flattering of surreal light…indeed, I’m not always happy with my “real” self either, nay – may it never be! But too often, these online forums are used as mechanisms for propping oneself up atop the bones of all others. Our arrogance and pride is such that every action we take in the hyper-glare of the net is taken with the end goal of self love above all. And that self love comes in so many different forms…depending on the user’s preferred image to project to the audience…world-weary ideologue, earth-loving naturalist, quirky free-loving spirit, hyper attention-seeking adventurer, sarcastic filter-shunning individualist. There is a space for all and for all there is space. And each user feels self-righteously good about who they are…except for those who don’t. For there are those that drown in the maelstrom of lies and deceit, yet they too long to achieve a modicum of normalcy and so they too strive to be known – even if it is only as a depressed soul. And my time is quickly spinning away. I will write more at a later day. But for now, it is fascinating and not at all surprising – we all long to be known. And so these new media? That is what we use them for – to project the song of ourselves to the world. And we consume the songs of all others and out of these songs we revel and we despair and we are desperately, exceedingly envious. Are we now entertained? Oh so superficial. Oh humanity. We dance and sing in the marketplace, fearing to look to the sky.

A Cup of Water

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May I have some water?
Cracked lips and parched throat
and fevered, restless soul
toiling and spinning
and groaning e’er more –
what is this shadow I see?
The grass is brown and dry
and the flowers wilt
all for lack of water.

An autumn leaf
slowly spinning to the earth
in what seems
to be a very long moment,
but it is only a moment.

Boots crunching on the snow
and first flush of winter’s blast
reminds one of two conflicting points –
the terrible power of nature’s wrath and
the terrible beauty of the same.
All the flags and all the battleships of all the petty kingdoms of the world
are revealed for how small they truly are.

And in that long night,
as a tear gently traces the cheek,
there is a cry that rises.
Oh to lay this burden down
Oh to let this yoke be broken
Oh to leave this shadowed land
Oh to love forever.

And in that night,
there is remembrance brought and
there is peace and comfort wrought.
For surely rest is at hand.
Forever.
But not yet.
The scent of lilies on the wind
and through the doorway, open now –
I see a rising sun
and there is
a hint of jasmine.
Someday
glory comes.