Give me the strongest cheese, the one that stinks best;
and I want the good wine, the swirl in crystal
surrendering the bruised scent of blackberries,
or cherries, the rich spurt in the back
of the throat, the holding it there before swallowing.
Give me the lover who yanks open the door
of his house and presses me to the wall
in the dim hallway, and keeps met here until I'm drenched
and shaking, whose kisses arrive by the boatload
and being their delicious diaspora
through the cities and small towns of my body.
To hell with the saints, with martyrs
of my childhood meant to instruct me
in the power of endurance and faith,
to hell with the next world and its pallid angels
swooning and sighing like Victorian girls.
I want this world. I want to walk into
the ocean and feel it trying to drag me along
like I'm nothing but a broken bit of scratched glass,
and I want to resist it. I want to go
staggering and flailing my way
through the bars and back rooms,
through the gleaming hotels and weedy
lots of abandoned sunflowers and the parks
where dogs are let off their leashes
in spite of the signs, where they sniff each
other and roll together in the grass, I want to lie
lie down somewhere and suffer for love until
it nearly kills me, and then I want to get up again
and put on that little black dress and wait
for you, yes you, to come over here
and get down on your knees and tell me
just how fucking good I look.
Showing posts with label Poetry. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Poetry. Show all posts
Friday, June 03, 2011
Sunday, January 04, 2009
I blaze forth in peace
I journaled this in Spring of 2007, but it holds true now, hinting at my state these days:Peace invades my life of striving
in the hurried rush of my mind
comes calm
Soothing waters rolling over my turbulent sea
and I am at rest
Still
Nothing but to be
no need to prove to you or to me
Earning is not possible
measuring worth, a joke
I flow with this calming stream
realizing it was always there
But other boats ran my waters
invaded my shores
demanded right of passage
One by one
I've denied them entrance
to now make way for what I need
and thus the passageways have begun to clear
horizons, widened
all in the name of freedom
Won by pain
effort
loss
and waiting
Most of all, by surrender
I see its approaching, no longer fearing, this freedom
It's claiming me for its own
and I blaze forth in peace
Currently reading:Finding Our Way Again: The Return of the Ancient Practices - Brian D. McLarenSunday, August 03, 2008
Two amazing poems that make me think of Dan...
A THIRD BODY - Robert Bly
A man and a woman sit near each other, and they do not long
At this moment to be older, or younger, or born
In any other nation, or any other time, or any other place.
They are content to be where they are, talking or not talking.
Their breaths together feed someone whom we do not know.
The man sees the way his fingers move;
He sees her hands close around a book she hands to him.
They obey a third body that they share in common.
They have promised to love that body.
Age may come; parting may come; death will come!
A man and a woman sit near each other;
As they breathe they feed someone we do not know,
Someone we know of, whom we have never seen.
TOUCH ME - Stanely Kunitz
Summer is late, my heart.
Words plucked out of the air
some forty years ago
when I was wild with love
and torn almost in two
scatter like leaves this night
of whistling wind and rain.
It is my heart that's late,
it is my song that's flown.
Outdoors all afternoon
under a gunmetal sky
staking my garden down,
I kneeled to the crickets trilling
underfoot as if about
to burst from their crusty shells;
and like a child again
marveled to hear so clear
and brave a music pour
from such a small machine.
What makes the engine go?
Desire, desire, desire.
The longing for the dance
stirs in the buried life.
One season only,
and it's done.
So let the battered old willow
thrash against the windowpanes
and the house timbers creak.
Darling, do you remember
the man you married? Touch me,
remind me who I am.
Currently reading : On Modern Marriage and Other Observations By Isak Dinesen
A man and a woman sit near each other, and they do not long
At this moment to be older, or younger, or born
In any other nation, or any other time, or any other place.
They are content to be where they are, talking or not talking.
Their breaths together feed someone whom we do not know.
The man sees the way his fingers move;
He sees her hands close around a book she hands to him.
They obey a third body that they share in common.
They have promised to love that body.
Age may come; parting may come; death will come!
A man and a woman sit near each other;
As they breathe they feed someone we do not know,
Someone we know of, whom we have never seen.
TOUCH ME - Stanely Kunitz
Summer is late, my heart.
Words plucked out of the air
some forty years ago
when I was wild with love
and torn almost in two
scatter like leaves this night
of whistling wind and rain.
It is my heart that's late,
it is my song that's flown.
Outdoors all afternoon
under a gunmetal sky
staking my garden down,
I kneeled to the crickets trilling
underfoot as if about
to burst from their crusty shells;
and like a child again
marveled to hear so clear
and brave a music pour
from such a small machine.
What makes the engine go?
Desire, desire, desire.
The longing for the dance
stirs in the buried life.
One season only,
and it's done.
So let the battered old willow
thrash against the windowpanes
and the house timbers creak.
Darling, do you remember
the man you married? Touch me,
remind me who I am.
Currently reading : On Modern Marriage and Other Observations By Isak Dinesen
Saturday, August 02, 2008
Kronos Quartet and Ammons weave together in my consciousness
Last night Dan and I sifted through a dreamy Kronos Quartet concert: "Music without Borders" - music from Iran, Pakistan, Kazakhstan, Palestine and more. Free orchestra seats through work - man, I love my job!
Kronos is one of my long time experimental classical favorites (especially their "Performs Philip Glass" CD from 1995 - still kills me every time). I wish there was a CD of this show... very avant garde or completely different sounds for our Western ears. The variety and experimentation was inspiring.
As I describe a few favorite pieces, I'm reading A.R. Ammons, "Sphere: The Form of a Motion", and somehow both the concert and his poetry weave together in my spirit this week. The quotes are from Ammons:
33: "Order is the boat we step into for the crossing: when we/ step out, nothingness welcomes us: inspiration spend through..."
Kronos started the concert with the rousing, if brief, North African/Lebanese tune by an unknown artist: "Oh Mother, the Handsome Man Tortures Me", a title that amused both Dan & I.
57: "...everything in moderation including moderation..."
A traditional Iranian 1976 lullaby was haunting and soft. Glenn Branca's "Light Field (In Consonance)"? A revelation! Coupled with the slowly changing lights on the curtains... mesmerizing, unique, dreamlike.
70: "...I am terrified of my/ arrogance and do not know and do not know if the point in the/ mind can be established to last beyond the falling away/ of the world and the dreams of the world: but if we are small/ can we be great by going away from the Most High into our own/ makings, thus despising what He has given: or can we, accepting/ our smallness, bend to cherish the greatness that rolls through/ our sharp days, that spends us on its measureless currents: and/ so, for a moment, if only for a moment, participate in those means/ that provide the brief bloom in the eternal presence..."
"Nihavent Sirto" by Turkey's Tanburi Cemil Bey made me want to get up and dance.
143: "...by the time you amount to something,/ the people you meant it to mean something to are dead and you/ are left standing there, your honors in your hands..."
The Kazakh tune by Kurt Shildebaev, "Kara Kamir", is heartbreakingly sad and chilling.
153: "...lately, we've left out the high ranges of music,/ the planetary, from our response... not homogeneous pudding but/ united differences, surface differences expressing the common,/ underlying hope and fate of each person and people, a gathering/ into one place of multiple dissimilarity, each culture to its/ own cloth and style and tongue and gait..." YES!
The weaving, multi-layered, surprising web of Aleksandra Vrebalov's, "Hold Me, Neighbor, In This Storm", was an epic finish to an utterly unique and vibrant concert.
126: "...you can sit around/ and talk about it all day but you will never walk the tightwire/ till you start walking... fall off a few times to see it won't kill you..."
Currently reading: Revelations: Personal Responses to Books of the Bible
Kronos is one of my long time experimental classical favorites (especially their "Performs Philip Glass" CD from 1995 - still kills me every time). I wish there was a CD of this show... very avant garde or completely different sounds for our Western ears. The variety and experimentation was inspiring.
As I describe a few favorite pieces, I'm reading A.R. Ammons, "Sphere: The Form of a Motion", and somehow both the concert and his poetry weave together in my spirit this week. The quotes are from Ammons:
33: "Order is the boat we step into for the crossing: when we/ step out, nothingness welcomes us: inspiration spend through..."
Kronos started the concert with the rousing, if brief, North African/Lebanese tune by an unknown artist: "Oh Mother, the Handsome Man Tortures Me", a title that amused both Dan & I.
57: "...everything in moderation including moderation..."
A traditional Iranian 1976 lullaby was haunting and soft. Glenn Branca's "Light Field (In Consonance)"? A revelation! Coupled with the slowly changing lights on the curtains... mesmerizing, unique, dreamlike.
70: "...I am terrified of my/ arrogance and do not know and do not know if the point in the/ mind can be established to last beyond the falling away/ of the world and the dreams of the world: but if we are small/ can we be great by going away from the Most High into our own/ makings, thus despising what He has given: or can we, accepting/ our smallness, bend to cherish the greatness that rolls through/ our sharp days, that spends us on its measureless currents: and/ so, for a moment, if only for a moment, participate in those means/ that provide the brief bloom in the eternal presence..."
"Nihavent Sirto" by Turkey's Tanburi Cemil Bey made me want to get up and dance.
143: "...by the time you amount to something,/ the people you meant it to mean something to are dead and you/ are left standing there, your honors in your hands..."
The Kazakh tune by Kurt Shildebaev, "Kara Kamir", is heartbreakingly sad and chilling.
153: "...lately, we've left out the high ranges of music,/ the planetary, from our response... not homogeneous pudding but/ united differences, surface differences expressing the common,/ underlying hope and fate of each person and people, a gathering/ into one place of multiple dissimilarity, each culture to its/ own cloth and style and tongue and gait..." YES!
The weaving, multi-layered, surprising web of Aleksandra Vrebalov's, "Hold Me, Neighbor, In This Storm", was an epic finish to an utterly unique and vibrant concert.
126: "...you can sit around/ and talk about it all day but you will never walk the tightwire/ till you start walking... fall off a few times to see it won't kill you..."
Currently reading: Revelations: Personal Responses to Books of the Bible
Monday, July 07, 2008
Sonoma Redux
This Summer has meant a few excursions to Sonoma for Dan and I. Funny, since I hate Wine Country's scorching Summer weather, and prefer all other seasons (Fall!!) Yet somehow, it's been calling, and we've responded: exploring Sonoma Valley in particular (in the past, we often focused on Russian River and Healdsburg regions). I didn't think our near perfect June day trip could be topped. Yesterday, it was.
Starting in Santa Rosa with a pleasant lunch at Kabab and Curry House (Mango Chicken Curry, the one real highlight), we meandered through a number of lovely wineries, tasting little, but wandering grounds throughout Kenwood and Glen Ellen. After lazy hours exploring the countryside (including a stop for our favorite Wine Country Chocolates), we ended up late afternoon on the square of idyllic downtown Sonoma.
We peeked in historic, gorgeous Ledson Hotel's open-air lobby: Harmony Lounge. Though the heat was oppressive, confronted by crisp air conditioning within. One misstep in this lush room was two flat screen TVs, though discreetly placed. Diana Krall (live in Paris) played on both, and though not a huge fan (I prefer her repertoire of standards sung by jazz greats), the lilting calm of the music was just right...
We ordered a refreshing cocktail and a glass of fabulous Schramsberg Brut Rose as we sat by an unlit fireplace in big chairs, with dainty tables holding our drinks. We were startled as the grand piano next to us suddenly began playing along with Krall's piano, perfectly timed! The effect was one of live concert, reverberating through this opulent room of marble, velvet chairs, and chandeliers.
Dan read a novel, and I, my dear T.S. Eliot. It's been awhile since I've revisited old friend, "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock", so today I did. As always, his poetry envelops. Add sexy jazz, sultry heat clashing with crisp air, the tingle of fresh mint in my cocktail, and my senses were awake, my heart alive with love for Dan... for our life.
Eliot's atmospheric words added to the mesmerizing tapestry of gratefulness holding me. My favorite part of the poem is my favorite passage still, much as I adore the rest:
How can one part with such perfection? Only to move on to more... we made reservations for dinner at a gorgeous, stately 1800's home we stumbled upon on our last Sonoma visit, housing an elegant Southern restaurant, The General's Daughter. The meal was as good as we'd hoped, including the best Mint Julep (blissful fresh peach! with the mint and bourbon), a rich Cauliflower Risotto (with aged gouda and maple vinegar) and addictive Shrimp and Grits (with andouille sausage and leeks).
Satiated and satisfied, we took our wine out to the front (wrap-around) porch, which we had to ourselves, and sat down in rocking chairs. Just past sunset (8-9pm), this last hour was the most blissful of all. Dan smoked a special cigar and we talked, sat in silence, ruminated, reflected. I read some of Eliot's poetry aloud. We dreamed. We were alive.
The drive home embodied our day: the hills were outlined by remnants of Sunset's pink, melding with Night's dark blue... the gentle Wine Country breezes on a cooled down (though still warm) Summer's night... the soothing voice of Ella serenading us in the car... I caressed his neck, he held my hand as he drove... smiles of complete happiness... Together. Unified in beauty, living, tasting and seeing, love.
Indeed, there IS, and will be, time.
Starting in Santa Rosa with a pleasant lunch at Kabab and Curry House (Mango Chicken Curry, the one real highlight), we meandered through a number of lovely wineries, tasting little, but wandering grounds throughout Kenwood and Glen Ellen. After lazy hours exploring the countryside (including a stop for our favorite Wine Country Chocolates), we ended up late afternoon on the square of idyllic downtown Sonoma.
We peeked in historic, gorgeous Ledson Hotel's open-air lobby: Harmony Lounge. Though the heat was oppressive, confronted by crisp air conditioning within. One misstep in this lush room was two flat screen TVs, though discreetly placed. Diana Krall (live in Paris) played on both, and though not a huge fan (I prefer her repertoire of standards sung by jazz greats), the lilting calm of the music was just right...
We ordered a refreshing cocktail and a glass of fabulous Schramsberg Brut Rose as we sat by an unlit fireplace in big chairs, with dainty tables holding our drinks. We were startled as the grand piano next to us suddenly began playing along with Krall's piano, perfectly timed! The effect was one of live concert, reverberating through this opulent room of marble, velvet chairs, and chandeliers.
Dan read a novel, and I, my dear T.S. Eliot. It's been awhile since I've revisited old friend, "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock", so today I did. As always, his poetry envelops. Add sexy jazz, sultry heat clashing with crisp air, the tingle of fresh mint in my cocktail, and my senses were awake, my heart alive with love for Dan... for our life.
Eliot's atmospheric words added to the mesmerizing tapestry of gratefulness holding me. My favorite part of the poem is my favorite passage still, much as I adore the rest:
How can one part with such perfection? Only to move on to more... we made reservations for dinner at a gorgeous, stately 1800's home we stumbled upon on our last Sonoma visit, housing an elegant Southern restaurant, The General's Daughter. The meal was as good as we'd hoped, including the best Mint Julep (blissful fresh peach! with the mint and bourbon), a rich Cauliflower Risotto (with aged gouda and maple vinegar) and addictive Shrimp and Grits (with andouille sausage and leeks).
Satiated and satisfied, we took our wine out to the front (wrap-around) porch, which we had to ourselves, and sat down in rocking chairs. Just past sunset (8-9pm), this last hour was the most blissful of all. Dan smoked a special cigar and we talked, sat in silence, ruminated, reflected. I read some of Eliot's poetry aloud. We dreamed. We were alive.
The drive home embodied our day: the hills were outlined by remnants of Sunset's pink, melding with Night's dark blue... the gentle Wine Country breezes on a cooled down (though still warm) Summer's night... the soothing voice of Ella serenading us in the car... I caressed his neck, he held my hand as he drove... smiles of complete happiness... Together. Unified in beauty, living, tasting and seeing, love.
Indeed, there IS, and will be, time.
 | Currently listening to: Fight With Tools By: Flobots Release date: 2008-05-20 |
Thursday, March 20, 2008
My dream last night
fun house maze
back door hallway entrances
to Disney-esque rides
stretched faces
hilarity, noise
mockery
eerie state of unreality
within this nightmarish universe
a revolution churns
roaming the elongated hallways
hovering behind the torture
an old book is sighted
illustration of a medieval knight and lady
leading an army
"battle, war, fight"
words sickening to my ears
and to the ears of those
overtaxed by Christendom
glorifying violent victory
"not a battle of flesh and blood,
but of principalities"
this unseen war
lies beneath all aggression
behind every physical fight
behind prostitution,
gossip, torture,
top-heavy corporations,
ridicule, exclusion,
human trafficking,
behind every government in the world
beneath all
lies power, greed, lust,
pride, dominance
behind every seemingly obvious evil
there is the root of that evil
also at the core of every one of us
though we may deny
sick, i am, of all this talk of war,
slaying "the enemy"
killing "them" off
"they" will never be completely removed
governments will remain corrupt
abuse will rage on
we'll still reject one another
until the miracle
of the death of everything
brings life to all
i burn to see the secret revolution arise
not in the form of battle
of blood
of killing
but in facing and slaying our own demons
learning the ever agonizing,
sacrificial way of love
then, only then, can we see a bloodless war won
like the Berlin Wall coming down
riotous
joyous
unreal
nonviolent
complete
Currently watching : Sunset Boulevard
back door hallway entrances
to Disney-esque rides
stretched faces
hilarity, noise
mockery
eerie state of unreality
within this nightmarish universe
a revolution churns
roaming the elongated hallways
hovering behind the torture
an old book is sighted
illustration of a medieval knight and lady
leading an army
"battle, war, fight"
words sickening to my ears
and to the ears of those
overtaxed by Christendom
glorifying violent victory
"not a battle of flesh and blood,
but of principalities"
this unseen war
lies beneath all aggression
behind every physical fight
behind prostitution,
gossip, torture,
top-heavy corporations,
ridicule, exclusion,
human trafficking,
behind every government in the world
beneath all
lies power, greed, lust,
pride, dominance
behind every seemingly obvious evil
there is the root of that evil
also at the core of every one of us
though we may deny
sick, i am, of all this talk of war,
slaying "the enemy"
killing "them" off
"they" will never be completely removed
governments will remain corrupt
abuse will rage on
we'll still reject one another
until the miracle
of the death of everything
brings life to all
i burn to see the secret revolution arise
not in the form of battle
of blood
of killing
but in facing and slaying our own demons
learning the ever agonizing,
sacrificial way of love
then, only then, can we see a bloodless war won
like the Berlin Wall coming down
riotous
joyous
unreal
nonviolent
complete
Currently watching : Sunset Boulevard
Friday, February 15, 2008
"Imperative" - by Scott Cairns
A poem I read (and liked) this week by Scott Cairns:
"The thing to remember is how
tentative all this really is.
You could wake up dead.
Or the woman you love
could decide you're ugly.
Maybe she'll finally give up
trying to ignore the way
you floss your teeth as you
watch television. All I'm saying
is that there are no sure things here.
I mean, you'll probably wake up alive,
and she'll probably keep putting off
any actual decision about your looks.
Could be she'll be glad your teeth
are so clean. The morning might be
full of all the love and kindness
you need. Just don't go thinking
you deserve any of it."
Currently reading : Born Standing Up: A Comic's Life - Steve Martin
"The thing to remember is how
tentative all this really is.
You could wake up dead.
Or the woman you love
could decide you're ugly.
Maybe she'll finally give up
trying to ignore the way
you floss your teeth as you
watch television. All I'm saying
is that there are no sure things here.
I mean, you'll probably wake up alive,
and she'll probably keep putting off
any actual decision about your looks.
Could be she'll be glad your teeth
are so clean. The morning might be
full of all the love and kindness
you need. Just don't go thinking
you deserve any of it."
Currently reading : Born Standing Up: A Comic's Life - Steve Martin
Tuesday, December 11, 2007
Winter's Chill
Shifting through dreamy otherworlds of culinary bliss
Roaming the streets of Londontown as it once was
Singing free like Maria on the peaks of Austria
Transported back to Switzerland's pine wood warmth
Hobnobbing with those who might shed some light,
drinking with those whose names I cannot know
Southern goodness with laughter so hard it becomes tears
Dinners with those without homes
who reflect refreshingly tender humanness
Plants of the world, breathing in the dead of winter
Running the moors of England
through their imprisoned passion
Drinking eggnog in an 1800's tavern
Befriending exotic birds on a farm
Picking out our own little tree of green
Staring into eyes that accept me fully
In the glowing blue light of our home
Warmed from Winter's Chill by love
Currently watching : The Lives of Others
Roaming the streets of Londontown as it once was
Singing free like Maria on the peaks of Austria
Transported back to Switzerland's pine wood warmth
Hobnobbing with those who might shed some light,
drinking with those whose names I cannot know
Southern goodness with laughter so hard it becomes tears
Dinners with those without homes
who reflect refreshingly tender humanness
Plants of the world, breathing in the dead of winter
Running the moors of England
through their imprisoned passion
Drinking eggnog in an 1800's tavern
Befriending exotic birds on a farm
Picking out our own little tree of green
Staring into eyes that accept me fully
In the glowing blue light of our home
Warmed from Winter's Chill by love
Currently watching : The Lives of Others
Wednesday, September 05, 2007
YES
confines of boredom
lack of challenge
or inspiration
or human spirit
make up the world
we must be ruled by
while our core fights
wrestles within... for more
beyond the mundanity
beyond the shallowness
beyond the irrelevant importance
of what matters not
as we rot
will we care that the bottom line was met
or that people who's souls are dead
were not pleased
the sky screams... blue
the clouds whisper...run
the breeze caresses... now
the sea roars... YES
 | Currently listening : Exit By k-os |
Monday, June 11, 2007
Well
the wind has stilled on this starry night
our star glowing bright over the twin peaks tower
confirming
sign of home
sign of hope
lost though we are, we feel your caress
your whisper
your vision emblazoned across our minds' eye
woven skin to skin
tender intimacy following wild devouring
we pray private prayers
in the aftermath of the storm we find quiet
acceptance
safety
then, surrender
we fall into you
recklessly
nowhere left to turn
nowhere we want to be
our last... and first... resort
like our bodies, exposed
we are raw
we are yours
simple children
unable to forge our path
emblazon our trail
leave our mark
but that you make way
tension of desire
seeps into trust
we accept
and dare to ask
for the moon
all of it
then step onto the roof
witness our star
find confirmation
that you heard the brutally honest words
uttered from our cozy cell
taking simple abandon
to build that long-awaited masterpiece
we may see it
or we may wander till death
yet we know in this instant
that all manner of things shall be well
Currently reading : The Baron in the Trees By Italo Calvino
our star glowing bright over the twin peaks tower
confirming
sign of home
sign of hope
lost though we are, we feel your caress
your whisper
your vision emblazoned across our minds' eye
woven skin to skin
tender intimacy following wild devouring
we pray private prayers
in the aftermath of the storm we find quiet
acceptance
safety
then, surrender
we fall into you
recklessly
nowhere left to turn
nowhere we want to be
our last... and first... resort
like our bodies, exposed
we are raw
we are yours
simple children
unable to forge our path
emblazon our trail
leave our mark
but that you make way
tension of desire
seeps into trust
we accept
and dare to ask
for the moon
all of it
then step onto the roof
witness our star
find confirmation
that you heard the brutally honest words
uttered from our cozy cell
taking simple abandon
to build that long-awaited masterpiece
we may see it
or we may wander till death
yet we know in this instant
that all manner of things shall be well
Currently reading : The Baron in the Trees By Italo Calvino
Friday, June 08, 2007
resolution
oh, ache of endless aches
flesh burning for all-consuming purpose
radical explosion of unmistakable truth
dreams woven together since girlhood
into a woman's complex desire
craving outlet, seeking release
yet the world cannot encompass my passion
my body cannot create my visions
my mind sees larger than what reality shows
my heart holds more than compassion reasonably allows
my soul knows its immortality
as i burn for all
i look to the sky, my stars and radiant moon,
and see you.. the resolution of all that is only hinted at here
Currently watching : Babel
flesh burning for all-consuming purpose
radical explosion of unmistakable truth
dreams woven together since girlhood
into a woman's complex desire
craving outlet, seeking release
yet the world cannot encompass my passion
my body cannot create my visions
my mind sees larger than what reality shows
my heart holds more than compassion reasonably allows
my soul knows its immortality
as i burn for all
i look to the sky, my stars and radiant moon,
and see you.. the resolution of all that is only hinted at here
Currently watching : Babel
Tuesday, March 27, 2007
building a kingdom
yes, the scars still show
remnants of brutal crushing of ideals
of faith that words reflected the heart of its utterers
years past and present
collide in a sea of well-meaning, yet shattered promises
brushing over a willing servant for flashier, needier souls
but the call must be solitary
before it can ever be for all... corporately
to lead, one must act in the middle of a sea of rejection
to forgive... the path of freedom
to create what was lacking before
making space for those who want just what you could not find
the ever-present wounds are watered
by the few who at core remain true
who dream big but take the small steps we frail humans must take
together
to reach a land bigger than we can realize alone
Currently Listening to:The Milk-Eyed Mender - By Joanna Newsom
remnants of brutal crushing of ideals
of faith that words reflected the heart of its utterers
years past and present
collide in a sea of well-meaning, yet shattered promises
brushing over a willing servant for flashier, needier souls
but the call must be solitary
before it can ever be for all... corporately
to lead, one must act in the middle of a sea of rejection
to forgive... the path of freedom
to create what was lacking before
making space for those who want just what you could not find
the ever-present wounds are watered
by the few who at core remain true
who dream big but take the small steps we frail humans must take
together
to reach a land bigger than we can realize alone
Currently Listening to:The Milk-Eyed Mender - By Joanna Newsom
Friday, February 09, 2007
And yet...
Reading Wendell Berry poetry again today and this passage from his "Sabbaths" series (2000) hits me powerfully, capturing the hope on the other side of despair:
XI
Days without strength or hope,
days that pay the cost
of the always losing battle
that is never lost, and yet
in no foreseeable lifetime
is ever to be won. "And yet,"
I say again to myself,
"And yet.. . "
Currently watching : Conversations with Other Women
XI
Days without strength or hope,
days that pay the cost
of the always losing battle
that is never lost, and yet
in no foreseeable lifetime
is ever to be won. "And yet,"
I say again to myself,
"And yet.. . "
Currently watching : Conversations with Other Women
Wednesday, December 06, 2006
sharing the ache
his tears
are my tears
his ache for family
for childhood, the past
also mine
in the comfort of our bed
we cry together
we feel the hole
of incompleteness
the swift approach of death
united we hold the eternal ache
and wait for its fulfillment
Currently reading : Leaving Church: A Memoir of Faith By Barbara Brown Taylor
are my tears
his ache for family
for childhood, the past
also mine
in the comfort of our bed
we cry together
we feel the hole
of incompleteness
the swift approach of death
united we hold the eternal ache
and wait for its fulfillment
Currently reading : Leaving Church: A Memoir of Faith By Barbara Brown Taylor
Thursday, November 30, 2006
two nights
a cottage of wood-paneled walls
garden views and cozy intimacy
like a mountain retreat in the city
strung with lights
redolent with coffee aroma
warm with the bodies of friends
surrounding the table
feasting while Elvis sings about Christmas
sharing stories tender from our past
laughter uncontrollable
understanding familial quirks
bonding as family ourselves
in another night, repeated regularly,
we three congregate in our living rooms
giddy with wine
finding each other hilarious,
witty, delightful
simmering with jokes and possibility
sharing the confusion of waiting
the pain of loss
is as acceptable as laughter
and both happen
over "Sex and the City"
over martinis and chocolate
on a simple weeknight
where we accept all that we are
and love it completely
garden views and cozy intimacy
like a mountain retreat in the city
strung with lights
redolent with coffee aroma
warm with the bodies of friends
surrounding the table
feasting while Elvis sings about Christmas
sharing stories tender from our past
laughter uncontrollable
understanding familial quirks
bonding as family ourselves
in another night, repeated regularly,
we three congregate in our living rooms
giddy with wine
finding each other hilarious,
witty, delightful
simmering with jokes and possibility
sharing the confusion of waiting
the pain of loss
is as acceptable as laughter
and both happen
over "Sex and the City"
over martinis and chocolate
on a simple weeknight
where we accept all that we are
and love it completely
Wednesday, August 30, 2006
in silence comes truth
In silence comes truth
Not necessarily revelatory or eye-opening
(though at times, certainly so)
Most often it is simple clarity
About how things really work
In silence we peer behind the veil
Wake up from the haze of busyness
our current age (and especially our country)
have purported as the norm,
even in spirituality and faith
If we keep going fast enough
We'll conveniently miss life and not have to deal with its
immense, unending sadness and ecstatic beauty
But if "the word was made flesh and dwelt among us"
and "the kingdom of heaven is here and now",
As Jesus claimed, then the incarnation
Means experiencing God in the flesh
In our flesh, which God hand-crafted and is not for disdain
In this breeze, the sound of birds, wind chimes, distant planes
In the brightness of sun and the laziness of mid-day
I wait... hear, smell, feel you
When focusing in stillness, even for a moment,
Suddenly the world comes alive with sights and sounds
Normally seen as ordinary, mundane
Now insights into the Creator
Usually overlooked as too obvious for contemplation
Now the portal straight to a living God
Not necessarily revelatory or eye-opening
(though at times, certainly so)
Most often it is simple clarity
About how things really work
In silence we peer behind the veil
Wake up from the haze of busyness
our current age (and especially our country)
have purported as the norm,
even in spirituality and faith
If we keep going fast enough
We'll conveniently miss life and not have to deal with its
immense, unending sadness and ecstatic beauty
But if "the word was made flesh and dwelt among us"
and "the kingdom of heaven is here and now",
As Jesus claimed, then the incarnation
Means experiencing God in the flesh
In our flesh, which God hand-crafted and is not for disdain
In this breeze, the sound of birds, wind chimes, distant planes
In the brightness of sun and the laziness of mid-day
I wait... hear, smell, feel you
When focusing in stillness, even for a moment,
Suddenly the world comes alive with sights and sounds
Normally seen as ordinary, mundane
Now insights into the Creator
Usually overlooked as too obvious for contemplation
Now the portal straight to a living God
Tuesday, August 29, 2006
calling for back-up
The South calls
with moss and bbq and shrimp boats
representing romance or reality
The journey will soon tell
But fog now envelops my vision
and the milky way promises
given by glowing firelight
seem taunting, shallow
In the shadowy murk
of forging calling alone
Kindreds are nowhere to be found
in these craggy hills
Many could sympathize
Few would share the burden
of crying out for sonorous life
in the midst of decay
with moss and bbq and shrimp boats
representing romance or reality
The journey will soon tell
But fog now envelops my vision
and the milky way promises
given by glowing firelight
seem taunting, shallow
In the shadowy murk
of forging calling alone
Kindreds are nowhere to be found
in these craggy hills
Many could sympathize
Few would share the burden
of crying out for sonorous life
in the midst of decay
Friday, June 09, 2006
taize
Light squeezes through vivid stained glass dioramas
candles dot the darkness
limbs spread out on a sea of carpet
pews lining the horizon
order and chaos combined
silence ushers in the reality behind the veil
violin and piano break the silence...
gently, soothing...
bringing clarity
pure and simple, her voice leads us into melody
weaving in and out of this mass
every age and color, melding into one
around the foot of the cross
we grasp it's edge, bow our head
weep or reflect or cry out
and thus unify
as one people
returning to their source
recieving the mystery of hope
candles dot the darkness
limbs spread out on a sea of carpet
pews lining the horizon
order and chaos combined
silence ushers in the reality behind the veil
violin and piano break the silence...
gently, soothing...
bringing clarity
pure and simple, her voice leads us into melody
weaving in and out of this mass
every age and color, melding into one
around the foot of the cross
we grasp it's edge, bow our head
weep or reflect or cry out
and thus unify
as one people
returning to their source
recieving the mystery of hope
Tuesday, March 07, 2006
Springtime Prayer
A poem of beauty shared with me recently (I did not write it, though wish I did):
A Springtime Prayer
We look down on all that is
Broken, stifled, worn
And see the huddled embryonic seed
Afraid of letting go
Unable to become
Until . . .
The sky opens
The rain soaks the waiting earth
The sun warms the possibilities within
And we see once again
That which feels new each year
The entire earth proclaims
Our resurrection!
The Sun looks on us with conviction
We are not meant for barrenness
That was only preparation
Our names are lush, verdant, growing
Our spirits push out
Away from these earthen caskets
We reach
We blossom
We drink the rain
And claim the Sun's rays for our lives
The entire earth proclaims
Our resurrection!
Our strength surprises us
Growing in shadows
Winding between the weeds
Nothing can stop our becoming for
The entire earth proclaims
Our resurrection!
A Springtime Prayer
We look down on all that is
Broken, stifled, worn
And see the huddled embryonic seed
Afraid of letting go
Unable to become
Until . . .
The sky opens
The rain soaks the waiting earth
The sun warms the possibilities within
And we see once again
That which feels new each year
The entire earth proclaims
Our resurrection!
The Sun looks on us with conviction
We are not meant for barrenness
That was only preparation
Our names are lush, verdant, growing
Our spirits push out
Away from these earthen caskets
We reach
We blossom
We drink the rain
And claim the Sun's rays for our lives
The entire earth proclaims
Our resurrection!
Our strength surprises us
Growing in shadows
Winding between the weeds
Nothing can stop our becoming for
The entire earth proclaims
Our resurrection!
Wednesday, September 21, 2005
Wonder... and the Night
Wonder is not precisely Knowing
And not precisely Knowing not ~
A beautiful but bleak condition
He has not lived who has not felt...
- Emily Dickinson, poem # 1331
Wonder... how often I have known it. It permeates my life. Just the sight of the moon alone is enough to send me into ecstasies, soaring the night sky.
Dan once told me years ago, long before we dated, that I had the depth of a midnight sky behind the stars: endless, unfathomable. His poetry sang to me and I knew that though my depth may be inifinite, alas, so, too, are my faults.
Glimpsing the fog rolling in front of a full moon the other night made my heart leap with the possibility, romance, adventure, and beauty of life. As always, seeing the night sky restores the strong urge in me to get lost forever in the depth of night. Darkness does not depress me. I come alive in the night time hours and respond to melancholy. It brings joy, not despair to my soul. Here's to lush, profound melancholy.
And not precisely Knowing not ~
A beautiful but bleak condition
He has not lived who has not felt...
- Emily Dickinson, poem # 1331
Wonder... how often I have known it. It permeates my life. Just the sight of the moon alone is enough to send me into ecstasies, soaring the night sky.
Dan once told me years ago, long before we dated, that I had the depth of a midnight sky behind the stars: endless, unfathomable. His poetry sang to me and I knew that though my depth may be inifinite, alas, so, too, are my faults.
Glimpsing the fog rolling in front of a full moon the other night made my heart leap with the possibility, romance, adventure, and beauty of life. As always, seeing the night sky restores the strong urge in me to get lost forever in the depth of night. Darkness does not depress me. I come alive in the night time hours and respond to melancholy. It brings joy, not despair to my soul. Here's to lush, profound melancholy.
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