Poetry & Made Things
“In the beginning”
There is a song in petals,
the rainsound of notes on thirsty
earth feeding spring’s new flowers.
There is a melody in the making
of a garden where silent, shriveled
seeds wait to burst, pushing
through wet soil with their magic
strength inside.
There is a harmony in the golden
leafwhisper and silent shout
of green dusting the tips of
dogwood and rose, tulip, lilac, moss.
The symphony grows as God
bouquets the Earth with color
and we hear that far off tune,
the resounding music that calls
us beyond this heaven to our home.
~*~*~*
I was reading Psalm 45 this morning; the Scripture that God spoke to me years ago when I began writing, “my tongue is the pen of a ready writer.” I noticed the text said it was written to the “tune of ‘Lilies'”, perhaps a song…and I wondered, what do lilies sound like?
I’ve been awash in words
of late, missing out on the
wind waving through steel
branches, blue and white
sky. Eyes too crowded to
take note of the weather
which goes on without me,
whether I watch it or not.
A glance through the dining
room glass speaks loudly
in all caps.
I am listening.
“There is no earth-changing
work worth writing that
can compare to the lines written
in the night sky on an early
March evening.”
Memory safely deposited for
another day, I bank on the Holy
Spirit’s call to tug at my downward
eyes next time I am consumed
with my own importance.
I will myself to remember–look up.
~:~:~:~:~
I’ve been soaking myself in poet/writer/editor John D. Blase’s poems in “The Jubilee”, a collection recently released for his 50th ‘jubilee’ birthday. Each piece packs a wallop in the words; if you enjoy poetry, may I suggest you run, click or drive to get yourself a copy?
I want to fly these dumbbells
up, down, up, down
quick! The momentum of each
lift rising at my side pushing past
perhaps what’s safe or wise
in the name of what? Speed
or yes, the checklist-exercise-
done! When I slow instead,
face the window and raise
these weighted arms slow,
slow, slow-up; slow, slow, slow-
down-the strain increases but the
work muscle-wise is longer lasting.
I feel the wait and wonder if speed
is highly overrated. Aware of the
answer, I rest into the process
lifting again, lowering at my leisure.
Repeat.Relax.Rest.Return.
And find a lesson in these weights,
an exercise written over taut skin,
reaching to my soul.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
I’m heading to the Cascade Mountains of Washington for a weeklong writing project (first draft of my little book!). I covet your prayers for this process–I’d like to speed it up, but God keeps reminding me He’s with me while I wait on Him for the words.
“Samara,” she said and the words
took flight in my hearing,
invisible windborne flora
soaring across my thoughts.
She spoke of wings, a divine
creation spinning towards
earth to plant itself like a
stubborn weed-fierce and stuck.
Imagination took root,
sending me flying home
towards Webster’s–
‘some-are-uh’ – and there
a black and white drawing of
a seed with wings
“an indehiscent, usually
one-seeded fruit, of the ash
or maple.”
Like that spinning tree-gift
may I fly holy words,
carrying the seed of my
Saviour to land, stuck
and stubborn, finally
splitting into silent roots
then skyward, bearing
fruit with wings.
~~~~~~~
sometimes a poem inspires a poem.
Thank you, Laurie Klein
I wish I could collect
the light, landing its shadows
on this page as it creeps
ever brighter through the gray.
Pour it out to wash my heart,
salve the wound of this
present heaviness, the sighs
that never end.
Hold it lightly aloft, praying
no sharp wind or
quiet, steady breeze
snuff it out, for we
need it so
Father, carry us,
ferry us through storms,
silent and proud as we
shine hope in the right
direction–people-ward
up ward.
Send us, spread us
like the daily sure rising
of your sun, that moves ever
on into the distant dark.