poetry

haven’t blogged in a while


truth is, i haven’t felt much like doing anything as of late.  then i beat myself up over not creating or not doing the things i need to do.  it’s a vicious cycle. i’ve been reading and i got to make trips with my 3 youngest kids to visit my parents and then all the kids to my unofficial hometown.  then i spent time with some amazing people in Austin.

i really want to write more, but honestly, i don’t feel like it.  i know that’s not an excuse, but i don’t.

so in lieu of my own writing, i’ll post one of my favorite poems.

Funeral Blues by W. H. Auden

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead,
Put crêpe bows round the white necks of the public
doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last for ever: I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood.
For nothing now can ever come to any good.

 

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this poem spoke to me today….


Otherwise

Jane Kenyon

I got out of bed
on two strong legs.
It might have been
otherwise. I ate
cereal, sweet
milk, ripe, flawless
peach. It might
have been otherwise.
I took the dog uphill
to the birch wood.
All morning I did
the work I love.

At noon I lay down
with my mate. It might
have been otherwise.
We ate dinner together
at a table with silver
candlesticks. It might
have been otherwise.
I slept in a bed
in a room with paintings
on the walls, and
planned another day
just like this day.
But one day, I know,
it will be otherwise.

 

My latest verse


Discipline-Chuck Harris

Something I lack….
Wish I had more of….

The gumption to pull myself up by my bootstraps and do the things I need and want to do.

The ability to not view such things as tasks or work, but to see these moments as opportunities to serve, worship & create.

To do the good and beautiful work!

my poem from yesterday


Song Without Words-Chuck Harris January 10, 2011

Oboe, haunting in your plaintiff cry.  Calling out for love, true love

Pensive chords and melody that pull at me then push me away.

Counterpoint with a seductive countour that likens to my lovers curves

You end as sad as you begin with lost love….not found.

this one made me think a bit more


but i love the imagery.  i can see the sights and smell the smells.

The Life of a Day – Tom Hennen

Like people or dogs, each day is unique and has its own personality quirks which can easily be seen if you look closely. But there are so few days as compared to people, not to mention dogs, that it would be surprising if a day were not a hundred times more interesting than most people. But usually they just pass, mostly unnoticed, unless they are wildly nice, like autumn ones full of red maple trees and hazy sunlight, or if they are grimly awful ones in a winter blizzard that kills a lost traveler and bunches of cattle. For some reason we like to see days pass, even though most of us claim we don’t want to reach our last one for a long time. We examine each day before us with barely a glance and say, no, this isn’t one I’ve been looking for, and wait in a bored sort of way for the next, when, we are convinced, our lives will start for real. Meanwhile, this day is going by perfectly well adjusted, as some days are, with the right amounts of sunlight and shade, and a light breeze scented with a perfume made from the mixture of fallen apples, corn stubble, dry oak leaves, and the faint odor of last night’s meandering skunk.

a playful and flowing poem that i enjoyed today.


MORNING PERSON—Vassar Miller

God, best at making in the morning, tossed
stars and planets, singing and dancing, rolled
Saturn?s rings spinning and humming, twirled the earth
so hard it coughed and spat the moon up, brilliant
bubble floating around it for good, stretched holy
hands till birds in nervous sparks flew forth from
them and beasts—lizards, big and little, apes,
lions, elephants, dogs and cats cavorting,
tumbling over themselves, dizzy with joy when
God made us in the morning too, both man
and woman, leaving Adam no time for
sleep so nimbly was Eve bouncing out of
his side till as night came everything and
everybody, growing tired, declined, sat
down in one soft descended Hallelujah.

a wonderful poem i found…


John Berryman – Address To The Lord.

Master of beauty, craftsman of the snowflake,
inimitable contriver,
endower of Earth so gorgeous & different from the boring Moon,
thank you for such as it is my gift.

I have made up a morning prayer to you
containing with precision everything that most matters.
‘According to Thy will’ the thing begins.
It took me off & on two days. It does not aim at eloquence.

You have come to my rescue again & again
in my impassable, sometimes despairing years.
You have allowed my brilliant friends to destroy themselves
and I am still here, severely damaged, but functioning.

Unknowable, as I am unknown to my guinea pigs:
How can I ‘love’ you?
I only as far as gratitude & awe
confidently & absolutely go.

I have no idea whether we live again.
It doesn’t seem likely
from either the scientific or the philosophical point of view
but certainly all things are possible to you,

and I believe as fixedly in the Resurrection-appearances to Peter and
to Paul

as I believe I sit in this blue chair.
Only that may have been a special case
to establish their initiatory faith.

Whatever your end may be, accept my amazement.
May I stand until death forever at attention
for any your least instruction or enlightenment.
I even feel sure you will assist me again, Master of insight & beauty.

some thoughts…poems actually.


i wish someone would teach me how to get single spacing on wordpress.com

 

Empty journal page

Staring me in the face

I’ve got nothing to say

Though I desperately want to scream something

I want to be more than I am

I want to say more than I do

But yet, I still stare at this empty page

 

 

Why do lyrics have to rhyme?

I don’t really care if they do

It just seems like you have to find the right scheme

Or you’re not thoughtful enough

Or maybe you’re too thoughtful…and deep

Or maybe you’re crazy

I could stand for being crazy

It would explain some things

As in this conversation I’m having with myself

What was I saying?

Oh yeah, why do lyrics have to rhyme?

 

 

One thousand suns cannot outshine a mere glimpse of You

This same glory dwells in me, but I’m so blind I miss it

Mere words don’t seem to express all You are

Even at my most eloquent moments I simply fall short

Your glory shines in every color that we see

And we so often miss it because we’re bored and preoccupied with lesser things

 

all three poems by Chuck Harris 2010

another poem…


Why Pain?

Job wondered…

God said, “who are you to question”

Paul asked

God said, “My grace is sufficient”

We still want to know

Why is there pain?

How could a loving God allow such things?

Maybe the bigger question is…

Does love promise the absence of pain?

Even perfect love…

Maybe the pain pushes us to seek the Cure.

Without the  pain, we’d have no need of the Remedy.

Chuck Harris 2010

an original poem…


Depth

Heighth

Width

None can separate me from Your love.

These things that are finite can’t begin to touch the infinite

That which is measurable attempting to contain that which is not

No box can hold, no chain can bind

That which is so great that my feeble mind

Can’t even begin to fathom, feel, relate

I can only stand and let the wave of Your grace

Overwhelm me, consume me, recreate and change me

Chuck Harris 2010