Curse

An ocean: reaction,
a dingy: satisfaction,
wind and wave upon its wooden side. 

We founder in deceit,
we curse our hands and feet,
and sink beneath the swell of Adam’s pride.

Tags: Adamic headship, brokenness, curse, deceit, pride, The fall

Lake

She rubs mist from her drab face,
yawns as the granite moon descends,

ripples and shivers while embers,
buried by night, are stoked and blown. 

    From ash a yellow lobe rises
    to pose in her broad reflection.
 
She joins leaf and limb, heralds
again daylight and birdsong,

flaunts her glints and ruffles,
gives the wind a reason to begin.

Tags: day begins, grace, rejoice, sunrise

Boulder

A dog, the brown boulder, waits behind chain link
for the sound of a friend.  A whistle—a call to greet
the open gate—and she bolts.

By an ogre of an oak a truck backs and stops—
a red dust flag unfurls over a mountain of tires.

A trailer…kudzu…ash on a cigar…lots of fenders,
hoods and bumpers that go nowhere. 

Nose down in her bowl, the boulder chomps.

Tags: junkyard, junkyard dog, kudzu, lonely, seclusion

Faith, Hope, Love

Faith awakes from ancient dreams,
Calms the winds, hears our screams,
Stands to reprimand the waves,
Speaks—you need not live as slaves.

     But we reside in holes and haunts
     And crumble ‘neath desire’s taunts. 
     Offered playground swings on chains,
     We close the sash and wait for rain.

Hope, a hungry fire starts.
Sparks fly to light our hearts. 
We long for heritage and glory,
To be the hero of our story.

     But pallid lips quaff bitter brews;
     We search the dregs for any clues. 
     The vestige of our stumbled path
     Winds through weeds and down to wrath.

Wearing bold and vital colors,
Setting blazing wild fires,
Love, though we may never say it,
Bests our fine and whited harlot.

     Yet we, our remedy, resist;
     We wipe away our Lover’s kiss. 
     We hesitate before the altar
     Scorning freedom’s final offer.

Tags: altar, brokenness, desire, dreams, Faith, Fire, freedom, glory, gospel, grace, harlot, Heart, hesitate, hope, Jesus Christ, kiss, Love, lover, playground, rain, remedy, scorn, Sin, slave, storm, story, weeds, wrath

Balance

A statement arrives, shuffles, and ascends.  It is opened;
a child assails it with a pen.  You find a moment and frown
a checkmark by spending activities that match your ledger. 
Black circles corral any numerical departures. 

By calculator I attempt to interpret the scrawl, to pierce
the marrow of figures, but previous and present balances
are stark like Picasso’s later work.  Don Quixote
on a scribble horse is a depiction more likely to be parsed.   

Tags: art, budget, budgeting, calculator, checkbook, Don Quixote, horse, ledger, Picasso, spending

Saturday Coffee

I press the chop-saw through a two-by-four
and Van Gogh glares dust down around him.
Just above his head the rim has a bad chip.

His expression says, I never asked for this
as if he knew fate would glaze him.
I make another cut: yellow dust flies and settles

on the last of the cold black in my mug.  I pause,
held by his steady gaze…then check my mark
and press the saw through wood again.

Tags: art, carpentry, coffee, continuity, discernment, fate, home, morning, pop-culture, project, Saturday, saw, self-portrait, surprise, Van Gogh, vision

Departure

She toddles over to the cat and sits
as if to place herself—a receptacle

for the parting kiss.  I bend lips
to her hair and whisper, I love you,

bye bye.  I believe she sends me
to gather fresh air, to harvest blue sky. 

From down there I reign in her like a king;
I turn in her like a door on its hinge. 

I depart, and she rises to remember:
a tower that bowed, breath, and prickly beard.

Tags: beard, daughter, father, king, kiss, toddler

Four Haiku on Hide and Seek

Out of breath
Into blooming shrub
Sister follows

 

In the closet,
a heap of shirts, shorts
and expectance

 

Blind count
Gritty fingers depress
The sneaky peeks

 

Fireflies
See you face down
In the periwinkle

Tags: children, Delight, glory, Haiku, hide and seek, Joy, Play, summer

Trampolines In Summer by Nathan Eells

I am bouncing.
Me and my brother,
we are bouncing
kangaroos in Australia,
our big feet pounding,
pounding the ground
as we race across the plain.

I am bouncing.
Me and my brother,
we are bouncing
high into the air.
Astronauts in space
zooming past bright green trees,
suspended high above the ground.
Then we plummet to earth
like rocks dropped off a bridge.

I am bouncing.
Me and my brother
we are bouncing
rubber balls
on a sidewalk.
Down we go—
we hit the pavement
without a sound,
like feet on the trampoline.

O Christ, Our King, Creator, Lord by Gregory The Great

O Christ, our King, Creator, Lord,
Savior of all who trust Thy Word,
To them who seek Thee ever near,
Now to our praises bend Thine ear.

In Thy dear cross a grace is found,
It flows from every streaming wound,
Whose power our inbred sin controls,
Breaks the firm bond, and frees our souls.

Thou didst create the stars of night,
Yet Thou hast veiled in flesh Thy light,
Hast deigned a mortal form to wear,
A mortal’s painful lot to bear.

When Thou didst hang upon the tree,
The quaking earth acknowledged Thee,
When Thou didst there yield up Thy breath
The world grew dark as shades of death.

Now in the Father’s glory high
Great Conqueror, never more to die,
Us by Thy mighty power defend,
And reign through ages without end.

Gregory The Great, d. 604

Tags: Gregory I, Gregory The Great, hymn, Pope

You Can’t Punch The Clock

You can’t punch the clock—
clicking keys for poetry
throws time to the floor.

Instead, punch the dashboard
for this chance car radio
news alliteration,

sources in Sadr
city say certain sectors
of the city seem. . .

Happenstance hardly
hurries handy helps or hints.
Haiku hesitates.

Tags: clock, frustration, Haiku, happenstance, hesitation, inspiration, Poetry, Radio, time

Friends And Hard Won Enemies

Hard work, making enemies.
Slackers steal and cheat
And make much of their apathy
But fail to garner hate.

For surefire enemies
Look at whom you address. 
Listen till they’re human.
Consider them—digest, digest.    

Learn to spar-sing and wrestle-dance. 
Go bury your good deeds
And mock your own success.
Gather in the pieces for a bridge. 

Don’t quit!  Betrayers
Can’t resist!  Eager to despise
And eager to dismiss, they’ll set
their face against you like a fist. 

          But making friends is a cinch! 
Find someone who shares your fits,
Together, take aim…steady…
Bang!  Fast you will remain.

Of course, that friend is honey
That turns bitter in the belly. 
A true friend will always be
Your potential hard won enemy.

Tags: apathy, belly, betrayer, bitter, Bridge, cheat, dance, despise, dismiss, Enemies, Fist, friend, hard won enemy, hate, honey, human, humanize, mock, sing, slacker, spar, steal, success, true, work, Wrestle

Top 10 Poetry Finalist In Asheville’s Mountain Xpress Poetry Show

Mountain_Xpress_Poetry_Prize_Finalists_Announced

The Poem, Sleep And Dreams

Tags: Asheville, Finalist, Mountain Xpress, Poetry Contest, Poetry Show

Art Is Always Transgressive

"Art is always transgressive.  What I always say is, we need to transgress in love.  We, today, have a language to celebrate waywardness, but we do not have a cultural language to bring people back home."                                                                                                

—Makoto Fujimura, abstract contemporary artist and illuminator of The Four Holy Gospels, a manuscript published by Crossway Publishing in commemoration of the 400th anniversary of The King James Version Bible in 1611.

Listen to Tim Keller’s intro to The Four Holy Gospels.

Visit Makoto Fujimura’s website.

Tags: abstract art, art, Bible, home, illuminator, language, Makoto Fujimura, The Four Holy Gospels

On The Early Miscarriages Of Two Children

Death, 
          you are the enemy.
You took two children.
And if you can hold them,
you have seized the wind.

We long for the ones taken,
but we endure miscarriages.
We suffer family absences
though you are bleak.
   
          You show up
uninvited.

Still, we take our seats
for dinner with our living kin.
We pray with them.
We open our eyes together

and see each other’s faces.
We contemplate life
in a womb and form spaces
between our digits—

About like this?
Yes!  Can you believe it!?

          Death,
we do not want for grief;
you made us weep.
But there is a Wing
you may not reach beneath.

Your hand has lost strength.
Though you would have
fragile forms,
your grip has ceased
to keep even these

tiny
living human beings.

Tags: child, children, death, dinner, enemy, Faith, Family, fragile, frailty, grief, hope, kin, Life, Love, miscarriage, parenting, peace, prayer, promises, protection, salvation, strength, suffering, The Lord, unborn, wind, wing, womb

Cashier

Sunday morning,
after church shopping list:
bananas
bread
bologna
tomato soup
diapers.

At the register
the cashier
runs to grab a flier,
plucks the coupon
for five dollars off
any size Pampers. 

We make our way
toward home—
plastic sacks,
hungry kids,
full air in all four tires.

Tags: cashier, children, coupon, Family, grace, hope, Joy, Pampers, Shopping List, Sunday

Conversation

I flop across your lap
feet up, in the big chair,
sunshine in my hair.
I love you Daddy.  
(Be still, don’t bump my hand.)

I pluck a shiny strand
and finger spool the thread
till the tip turns red.
Lookit Daddy.
(I see, hop down now please.)

I make an earnest plea
to cast off every doubt:
poochy lips and a pout.
Why, Daddy?
(Yes, why.  I…why indeed.)

Tags: Daddy, Daddy time, distraction, doubt, hair, lap, lips, Love, plea, pout, questions, spool, sunshine, thread, why

Delicious

Shovel dirt on a crisp day
in your sweatshirt.
Sit to rest and, with a sharp knife,
quarter and core a granny smith.

Peanut butter and honey each bit.

Chew magnificent
and pity the two great tastes
of peanut butter and chocolate
as they trip just shy of delicious.

Tags: apples, chocolate, delicious, Delight, eating, food, grace, honey, knife, peanut butter, pity, rest, shovel, taste, winter

Outside by Caleb Eells, age eight (and Dad)

Miserable, miserable sad cats,
uncomfortable and depressed,
their ears are damp and folded flat;
their tails are limp and wet.

The day is cold as it is long
and makes their faces frown;
their bodies huddle in a throng
and snow keeps coming down.

They sit—their thoughts are on the dog
where fire warms his hide;
they think, if he gets up to go,
we’re locking him outside!

Tags: cats, dogs, Fire, pets, snow, winter

Dad’s Journal, Saturday January 1st

Arose, made coffee, oatmeal, and a list.
Hugged and kissed spouse, and prayed.
Discussed a canoe, a massage—a birthday.
Chased, regained, attempted to retain
next door neighbor’s pet, crazy.
Climbed up and down attic staircase,
then folded stairs away.

Exercised paintbrush on desktop
and taught third grader a bit
about how to paint.  Made a lap:
dressed toddler in pink boots
and green shirt.  Went out to help
with fifth grade science experiment
before it rained—got damp anyway.

Brushed and rolled here and there.
Watched fifth grader play computer game.
Watched Popeye and the gang.
Cleaned up for dinner.  Sat down
with family and ate.  Beheld faces,
took up the graces, read books…
then wrote, and hit the hay.

Tags: children, Dad, day, Family, grace, journal, new year, pets, rain

You Were Given

 

You were sewed into me, like initials Mother fastened to my childhood sweater;  even beneath a pile of scarves and mittens, the garment remained my own.

You were sealed within—a poking package wrapped in skin, a growing tremor,
a terrifying wonder—and I was your living envelope, your place of origin. 
 
You adorned me, stretched me, and I was never happier.  But I made a lonely decision: you would be given; my arms would scarcely hold you.  Before then,

          we walked among blooming apples: green leaves fringed in pink,
          discreet and prudent bees.  We were never questioned by the trees.

          I spied a wedding at the pavilion: bridesmaids and groomsmen smiled
          and smoked cigarettes by the colonnade.  They were pictures to be taken.

          I pined to reach and pinch them—to stretch their skin and beat them,
          to syncopate their laughter with my wisdom—but we kept our cadence

          and our rhythm, like the rain that fell as your due date came and went.
          Then you appeared—and the rising river crested—my hidden-to-me girl.

          Your charcoal eyes lit and gripped, then left me wrestling your trace.
          Your vestige burned where you leapt down to my boughs.   

When fall arrived, the park blustered.  The oaks hardened and released
their bright leaves.  I bit my lips and salt dried on my cheeks. 

I prayed for autumn to depart without pity.  I prayed to be like fired pottery. 
I prayed…and an unforeseen reply rolled toward me.  From the sidewalk

an infant cry scraped me.  I shuddered at the sudden flash and strike,
but stayed and waited until a distant rumbled comfort finally came.

Somehow, I asked the baby’s name.  A tiny hand raised.  The Mother
hushed her parcel.  And I stretched myself over the stroller—like a canopy.

Tags: Adoption, apples, Autumn, baby, bees, birth, cadence, canopy, Childhood, Comfort, decisions, due date, fall, first-time-mother, grief, hidden, infant, laughter, Love, Mother, new mom, new mother, origins, park, pity, pottery, prayer, Pregnancy, regret, rhythm, sewing, shard, sidewalk, single mom, single mother, Spring, stroller, sweater, trees, wedding, wisdom

Let A Rose

Let a rose be all things beautiful and true; let the rain be you.
Let a button be forbearance; let your blouse
be faded blue. 
Let a shoelace be repentance;
let me stop and tie my shoe.
Let a rose be all things beautiful and true.

Let a rose be all things beautiful and true; let a sigh be you.
Let a button be forgiveness; let your fingers
push it through. 
Let a shoelace be a promise;
let me double knot my shoe.
Let a rose be all things beautiful and true.

Tags: associations, beauty, blouse, blue, button, Delight, forbearance, forgive, forgiveness, hope, intention, Love, metaphor, patience, pursuit, rain, Repentance, rose, shoe, shoelace, sigh, truth

The Graceful Rider

I recall the asphalt—a blur
beneath—and my days
at the school of tachometry.
All my dreams had chrome
tailpipes and handlebars.
They shone like a vision.
I leaned into the turns
until the foot pegs scraped.
Hardtop suited me just fine.

I evoke the throttle’s spirit—
the twist and release—
and the engine’s heat.
They moved me, but pavement
takes a toll; ditches are replete.
All those close calls,
falls, and crashes hurt,
but I never refused the road.
I crossed the double line

before I slowed.
Then came the graceful rider.
He rode from days of old
on everlasting tires
because the time had come.
When he spoke I shattered,
but he whispered to each piece;
for every shard he shouted.
His voice was bread and wine.   

Pursuit was his standard
and he tattooed me with fire.
I ducked and dodged
and rolled with bent desire,
but he planned my course.
He pierced and purchased—
broke my bones and mended—
then caught me with a look…
He saw a man born blind.

When my will failed, he gripped.
He healed my road-rash knees,
rebuilt my make and model;
he saw to parts unseen
and my gears made changes.
Rubber on the street
moved me to new places.
Beneath chain and sprocket
I saw narrow roads unwind.               

Tags: Delight, desire, engine, Failure, fate, fight, gospel, grace, healing, hope, humility, Love, motorcycle, pride, pursuit, redemption, rescue, rider, street, tattoos, throttle, voice, wheels, whisper, will, wreck

Three words are stuck

when I stand by you in the lot at the end of the night.
Oh, to be the man who need not say it right,

but the creases of my speech are neat.
     Three words could put wrinkles in the sheets,

could put some spice in the cream of wheat—
then the flavor would release;

then you’d taste my feast and want more—
but I fumble my keys; I reach for the car door

and lift.  My heart revs, as if about to race,
but three words are stuck in this parking space.

Self portrait in pencil by Caleb Eells

Tags: cream of wheat, dating, feast, flavor, fumble, Love, race, speech, spice, stuck, three words, Wrinkles

A Mighty Fortress Is Our God by Martin Luther

A mighty fortress is our God, a bulwark never failing;
Our helper He, amid the flood of mortal ills prevailing:
For still our ancient foe doth seek to work us woe;
His craft and power are great, and, armed with cruel hate,
On earth is not his equal.

Did we in our own strength confide, our striving would be losing;
Were not the right Man on our side, the Man of God’s own choosing:
Dost ask who that may be? Christ Jesus, it is He;
Lord Sabaoth, His Name, from age to age the same,
And He must win the battle.

And though this world, with devils filled, should threaten to undo us,
We will not fear, for God hath willed His truth to triumph through us:
The Prince of Darkness grim, we tremble not for him;
His rage we can endure, for lo, his doom is sure,
One little word shall fell him.

That word above all earthly powers, no thanks to them, abideth;
The Spirit and the gifts are ours through Him Who with us sideth:
Let goods and kindred go, this mortal life also;
The body they may kill: God’s truth abideth still,
His kingdom is forever.

songsandhymns.org

Tags: battle, God, hate, helper, Jesus Christ, kingdom, Martin Luther, power, rage, Spiritual Warfare, The Prince Of Darkness, The Spirit, The Word, triumph, truth

Quotations: Anger

“The gospel frees us from the need for people’s approval and adoration so that we can confront and anger the people we love, if that is what is best for them.  And although it does not always work, this is the kind of communication that really changes people…(more)

Tags: Anger, quotations, The gospel, Tim Keller

Elephant

The elephant, the thick-heavy wrinkle,
Shows no movement. 
He stands in the room like a defendant.
Like boots put in a box, he may not walk again. 

I’d like to read, or watch TV, but there he is. 
The crushed sofa, the love seat—
There’s no place to be. 
So, busily, we make the elephant a pet;

Busily, busily we ignore and he remains. 
Once, I reach around him.
Twice, you try to find me and (I know)
There’s almost-absolutely-no-one there. 

The ghost of my shadow tells you
To not worry the beast,
To not even think of mice or make a move
That might disrupt the elephanty peace. 

And though we want to forgive,
We cannot forget HIM. 
So, we go on tiptoe while he stands there:
A sad sturdy brow and four enormous feet.

Tags: beast, burdens, busyness, communication, Conflict, feet, forgetting, forgive, forgiveness, forgiving, ghost, ignoring, mice, peace, pet, reconciliation, sad, shadow, strife, stubbornness, stuck, tiptoe, unresolved conflict

Sleep and Dreams

No crime, keeping watch for couplets or half-lines
to cut through the alley or gather at the street sign.
They arrive as I usher my daughter to bed,
as I doze by her side.      And no surprise

to see them when I stay up after midnight…
but to find them at the trigger of a drive-by
is a hard rhyme.  I have no wish to testify

when the shooter is close—when he is the son
of a neighbor; when I pass him on the sidewalk
on his way back from the Short Stop—then I think,

No!  I didn’t hear a gunshot; I had a dream
that ended with a pop.  I tell myself
      I never had the gift; I need more sleep.
      No living poet would choose this street.

Tags: alley, congruence, couplet, crime, daughter, doze, dreams, drive-by, gunshot, honesty, ignoring, inspiration, midnight, muse, poet, Poetry, reality, refusal, Rhyme, self-disclosure, shooter, sidewalk, sleep, street, street sign, surprise, transparency, trigger, Waiting, watch, writing

Quotations: Violence #2

We must, in our hearts, live through Abraham’s harsh and bitter experiences if we would know the blessedness which follows them.  The ancient curse will not go out painlessly.  The tough old miser within us will not lie down and die in obedience to our command.  He must be torn out of our heart like a plank from the soil.  He must be extracted in agony and blood like a tooth from the jaw.  He must be expelled from our soul by violence…(more)

Tags: A. W. Tozer, Abraham, blessedness, blood, experience, God, Isaac, renunciation, Soul, the curse, The Pursuit Of God

An August Night Sky

Watched by stars,
We lay reposed
Upon the summer sod

With quiet breeze
And clouds that grow—
A planet for a prod.

Now and then
A truck goes past,
Unheard above our thoughts;

We lounge—absorbed,
Pulled up, pressed down—
Upon our star flight mats.

…The breeze upon our toes,
An owl consults the moon…

We ponder
Our significance—
Our breath and yawn—a while;

You think aloud:
Is smallness good?
I nod and start to smile.

Specks of sand
Burn blue and white—
They fit our bones with awe;

And I regain
A boy who played
In culvert holes with frogs.

Tags: Astronomy, Awe, bones, boy, breath, breeze, culvert, earth, environment, flight, frog, meteor, meteor shower, night sky, owl, planet, regain, repose, sand, shooting stars, significance, sky, smallness, sod, Star Gazing, stars, thoughts, toes, yawn