Beautiful Heart

Brooding dissonance of love despised,

Better to uproot and unwind the skies.

For perhaps on spool of heaven’s thread,

May penitence mend what innocence said.

By makeshift truth he tells his lies,

To answer her whats and wheres and whys.

His lingering glance, unable to sate,

The reckoning day, when sorrow’s too late.

The stars will fall and lightning shall reign,

And break the will of sordid heart’s vein.

Then will he know what’s won and what’s lost,

Then shall he pay his pleasure’s full cost.

Til then does she wait on tireless breath,

On hope and longing for agony’s death.

But stand fast and stand firm, beautiful heart,

To practice and master Love’s finest art.

Though injustice sears and malice grips,

Forgiveness flows from your lovely lips.

Heaping coals of unbearable flame,

Upon his shoulders in tormenting shame.

Take courage now, most beautiful heart,

You fear the end, but receive the start

Of life renewed in radiant hue,

And glorious joy, known by a few.

Your countless tears, a heavenly rain,

Their stinging embrace, held not in vain,

And for this pain, there is not a cure;

But beautiful heart, you shall endure.

The Author of Grace

     I usually do not preface my poems with any kind of commentary or explanation simply because I like for the reader to experience the poem however they so please, without any kind of presuppositions or notions that I may superimpose on them myself. I would hope that the form and the voice of each poem would speak for itself, if perhaps in different tones to different ears. However, I thought I might just interject a quick word about this poem beforehand because it was constructed with some intentions that I think add to the meaning of the poem as a whole.
     The intent of this particular piece is to relate a poetic retelling of the creation story found in Genesis. Consequently, I attempted to model some of the amazing literary parallelism, repetition, and overall structure found in this incredible story. This poem is written in separated lines of iambic pentameter (although imperfectly) to give a sense of rhythm and flow that I think is inherent in the story of creation. In the Bible, each creative act is beautifully followed by another, all the while being carefully orchestrated by their Creator into a symphony of harmony and unity. In addition, I began nearly every stanza (save the first and the last) with the voice of God. This was an attempt to remember the preeminence of God's words and the incredible power of a voice that can create a universe with nothing more than an utterance. Also, I have replaced the recurring phrase "and God saw that it was good," found at the end of each day in the Biblical account with the couplet, "Set now in place by the author of grace," simply to preserve the definitive bookmarks that the Bible provides for each creative act. It is important to note that the sixth day is the only day to separate two acts of creation, and I highlighted this by adding a four lines to the stanza relating the creation of man and woman. And while these literary devices may seem elementary or not quite extraordinary, I think it is important to remember the simple beauty of the story that ultimately tells who we are, why we are here, and Who is responsible for it all. So, without any further ado, The Author of Grace:

Hear of a time

When time was not,

Of heavens unmade,

And earth unwrought.

Formless and void

In chaotic deeps,

Hovered the Voice

Of love and peace.

“First,” then He said,

“Let this darkness be gone,

And bring forth instead

The light of first dawn.”

In brilliant array,

Colors ignited

In prisms of wonder,

Distinctly united.

Night and the day,

Wrest from the fray,

Set now in place

By the Author of grace.

 “Second,” then He said,

Let an expanse open wide,

And twixt the two waters,

Let there be a divide.”

Rushed then the waters,

One high and one low,

To its place in the heavens,

And to its kingdom below.

Aquarius beams,

Locked where He deems,

Set now in place

By the Author of grace.

“Third,” then He said,

“Let the dry land appear,

And cover it all

With fecund frontier.”

Sprouted then the land

From watery soil,

And gave forth in turn,

A garden most royal.

Each branch of them was raised

In silent song of praise,

Set now in place

By the Author of grace.

“Fourth,” then He said,

Let the light be contained,

And in serene bodies,

Let its rays be restrained.”

The light and the stars

Were fashioned as one,

And the moon was exhaled

As He breathed out the sun.

Beautiful signs

Of the days and the times,

Set now in place

By the Author of grace.

“Fifth,” then He said,

Let the water and air

Be filled with new life,

And no longer be bare.”

The flocks of the skies,

And swarms of the sea,

Banished the silence,

No longer to be.

From the chick’s first peep,

To monsters of deep,

Set now in place

By the Author of grace.

 

“Sixth,” then He said,

Let the fauna of land

Cover the world

And reveal My great hand.”

Of kind they were made,

In all shapes and size,

From imploring squeaks,

To bellowing cries,

Filling the earth

With stampedes of mirth,

Set now in place

By the Author of grace.

 

“Now,” then He said,

Let Us fulfill our plan.”

And thus He brought forth

The woman and man.

“As Us shall they be,

Our image to bear,

To dwell on the earth,

But Our glory to share.”

And all that was made

Passed into their hands,

From fish of the sea,

To beasts of the land.

Creation complete

With this final feat,

Set now in place

By the Author of grace.

On the seventh day,

The Voice did not call,

For any new thing;

He created them all.

While six did He work,

Today did He rest,

And now is that day,

Eternally blest.

The wonders of glory,

Forever this story,

Set now in place

By the Author of grace.

Tears of Heaven

Sonnet soft of sifting thought,

Riled to rage against the night,

Sigh to see what eyes cannot,

To know the depths of heaven’s might.

Perchance to see the eyes of God,

Witness bequeathing of the rain,

But forget not most bitter rod,

Constrained contractions of Love’s pain.

Tainted eyes see tainted skies,

The fallen stars illuminate,

The darkest lie, a darker cry,

To hinder hinge of wisdom’s gate.

In anguish writhe our thoughts below,

But of heaven’s tears, cannot know.

Love?

Love is never so sweet as the one unrealized.

Untainted by reality’s scars and natural warping,

Pristine within imagination’s curation and care.

Where you and I have never known another,

Where our hearts are whole and untouched

By a depraved and hungry world,

And dreams are never so sweet,

As the love we have for each other.

No, there is no love sweeter than the one unrealized.

Love.

Love is never so sweet as the one realized.

Healing and caressing two hearts,

Mangled and torn

By a dark, cruel world.

Where you and I have struggled all our lives,

Simply to find one another in the end.

No, I will not find an embrace,

More perfect than your own,

And dreams will never aspire to be as sweet

As the love we have for each other.

Yes, there is no love sweeter than the one realized.

An Introduction

So this is the place where I will share some of my poems, thoughts, and maybe even a little short story every now and again, who knows? In all of this, my only purpose is to share some of the curiosities and emotions that have impacted me through writing. Some of what you will read was constructed very carefully over a span of weeks. Others were simply scrawled on a post-it note at 4:17 in the morning when I woke up and had some idea I needed to write down. In either case, however, my intention in writing is to take literary snapshots of this crazy thing we call life. I think one of the most beautiful aspects of the written language is its ability to preserve a moment of joy, sadness, revelation, or any other human experience in the confines of our words. I hope in reading this blog, you will not only gain insight into some of my experiences, but also see your own life reflected in some form or another. Thanks, and enjoy.

Moon in a Bottle

I put the moon in a bottle,

And I don’t want to let her go.

She sits there in my room,

Beautiful beyond her glow.

She sifts and shimmers in ambient grays,

She kisses me goodnight,

If life and joy were in her rays,

I’d want to be their light.

To haunt in there together,

We phantoms of the night,

To laugh and wane away,

On rivers of starlight.

But alas, she calls to me,

With purest shades of mirth,

To once again let her free,

And hover over earth.

But what of our adventures?

What of you and I?

She tells me not to worry,

She will not pass me by.

With reluctant hand and aching heart,

My tears wrap around her own,

And with final kiss of timeless breath,

To the night sky she has flown.

Sometimes I will remember,

As I walk along the shore,

The times we had together,

Of love I know no more.

But silver light of my darling lost

Beckons me above,

And amidst the stars I hear her call,

“For you I shine, my love.”

99

Ninety-nine and less than fine,

Hour like the second strikes;

Half of eye and whole of tongue,

From the rag of bliss is wrung,

Drop by drop a seething flood

Marked by hopes and sealed by blood;

Morning beats in crimson red,

Breaking hearts of troubled bed.

See you now why the birds soar,

Knowing death knocks at our door?

Watch a way to fall so high,

Learn you well, plunge to the sky,

See you there the stars collide,

Passing where the darkness hides;

Fill a life with empty space,

Watch it run an endless race;

Batting eyes on sandy shore,

Beat, to bear, to shine no more.

The Hours are Ours

The hours are hours my dear, and nothing more.

They tick away with the monotonous certainty of a measured and quantified drone;

plodding on in a somber procession,

never-ending as they urge us on to old age and dusty retirement homes.

But let's break from this desolate parade;

let's be free of the odious yoke of the clock.

Let's run free in the sunlight that is a life lived apart

from the reign of regulation and the tyranny of time.

Come with me

and find joy in the little things.

We'll walk every path we come across;

we'll stop and wonder at every marvelous work of art nature has to offer

and never give a care to how or when we will return,

or perhaps, if we ever want to.

We'll cross a thousand streams and see a thousand sunsets,

each one more beautiful than the last.

All the while,

your hand in mine,

we'll experience wonders which we had never before dared to dream.

Each step we take brings a new adventure,

each breath we breathe, new life.

We'll remember what it's like to live.

We'll remember what it's like to love without reserve.

We take our journey through the streets, to our homes;

it follows us so long as we allow it,

so long as we pursue it.

A life lived how it was created to be lived:

in love, in hope, without fear, through pain, through joy, through the dull.

The decrepit remains of a measured life fall by the wayside

as we stride on to a life lived in full.

Take hold of the life you've been given and make time the instrument of change for the better.

The hours are ours my dear, and nothing more.