Rippling Words

I love words. I love playing with them; I love the challenge of finding the right word; I love the power words hold--to shape and define the world.

Rippling Words

sad, hard words that repeat
over and over
filling my mind, my heart
my soul

words whose meaning
I know only through pale
past ripples of the same

words which threaten
all the futures I have dreamed
words, repeating even still
repeating and mutating as I
dream nightmares of the
futures they could mean

words I cannot change
words I could not prevent
words that will define who I am
words repeating, rippling out

words already rippling out
into the future, my future
the sad, hard words

written 1/3/08

I've walked here before

Sometimes life is just unfair.

I've walked here before
this trip past the edge of the cliff
trusting in skilled bridge to carry me across

I've walked here before
the uncertain approach
the tedium of waiting
waiting for the edge
waiting for the other side

I've walked here before
I've seen these looks,
of fear, bewilderment, and
misunderstanding
misunderstanding placidity for courage
misunderstanding courage for faith
misunderstanding the fatalism
which I cannot stop
but use to inform my response

I've walked here before...

written 2/10/08

enough

Because we aren't. Enough that is. There is so much to do, so much that is needed, and so much that we could do, and we just don't quite manage. I've talked about this before, but it's something that is never too far from my mind. Because there is so much that I can't do--lack of time, lack of skill, lack of energy; and there are so many problems we talk about. Especially now. Especially when I am trying to figure out what the future should look like. Nationally and personally. There just isn't enough, of me, of time, of space, of options, of something.

enough

It is never enough
These small things we do
Acts of compassion and love
A smile, a gift
A house built, a life bettered
A law changed, a sentence commuted
Help extended, debt forgiven
Actions of love
The world still bleeds, and weeps, and dies
People are still sick, hurt, lonely, and hopeless
It is never enough
To end every pain, each sorrow
There is too much we cannot change
Each action, each bit of love
Changes us
And that is everything

written 9/14/08

we laughed

This poem was easy to write and is nearly impossible to lead into. I think it's because, the poem, the day, none of it was about me. So there is little I can say here. It was beautiful and I am delighted I was there.

We laughed,
in air made, however briefly,
thick and sweet.
Solemn words were spoken;
truth given voice and voices.
My friend with her friends knelt,
change indelible to be solemnized,
and then rose, different
and all the same.
And there,
in celebration of the journey,
in a moment stretched thin,
with the joy of the Spirit,
there we laughed.

written February 2008

tomorrow morning

One of the things I love about reflection is that time becomes more and more of a construct. The actual sequence of events is less important than how or why they are connected. The story that is important today can have happened yesterday or 5 years ago; what matters is that now it is important. This, though, is actually about tomorrow morning.

tomorrow morning

on tomorrow morning
two years ago
I barely had to wake up
the excitement
had kept me from sleep
it was still dark and quiet
as I gathered my things
and left for work
the outfit was new
and I had to learn
how to move in it
the work was new
and strange with
odd things I handled clumsily
on tomorrow morning, two years ago

tomorrow morning
I will rise early once more
the outfit is not new
and I find it comfortable now
a second skin, another identity
the work is familiar
the things common
the patterns beloved
and it will still be dark and quiet
tomorrow morning

and the morning after that,
it will be someone else's turn
for new clothes
and new patterns
and odd things
on the morning after tomorrow
someone else will rise early
while it is still dark and quiet
just as it should be

written 1/30/08

every now and then

So I'm actually not that big for 'causes', but this one I'll make an exception for. This isn't about morality. It isn't about when life begins. Morality and when life begins are important topics that are related to abortion, but Roe v Wade was about privacy and the right to choose. So today, for this post, I did something I never thought I would. See I have several folders for my writing. One is things I'm working on, one is things that are done, one for things I've posted, and one is for the poems I don't plan on sharing. This is from that folder. Every now and then we do things that surprise us.

every now and then
my arms will ache
for babe never cradled
my hands will stray to stomach, not flat
but not to swell with new life
I watch parents cuddle, chase, chastise
and think, "Not Me"

How empty the consolation
of another's child
How different the love for child
carried, caressed, tucked in
How I still love them, even though
I lack the chaotic clutter of parenthood

I can love every child
and see in them my hope for the future
I can go home to a house, empty and still
and not hear the clatter that isn't
I can know that this is right
and still wish for that other life,
every now and then

written 9/13/07

Coming Home

I don't know what to say other than, this is not a bad thing. It was time. It needed to happen.

Coming Home
I was coming home but found
a house not my own
familiar people, places, things
but not where I belong
not my room,
not my kitchen,
not my church,
not my town
home had moved
though all else stayed
I came home and found
just another place
beloved, fondly remembered
but just another place
so I'm still
coming home...

written 1/15/08

Truth

Final word count from last week was over 16,000, or about 32 pages. And the good news is that now I'm done.
Some reflections about the blog are still upcoming. I have a draft sketched out, but some serious revising is called for. Also, I'm still considering Christine's Invitation to Poetry this week. We'll see.
So, until then, here's a poem about truth, which is almost always appropriate.

Truth

truth
words that strip bare
my heart, my soul
full of fear and doubt
fear of how my
weakness will be met
doubt that I can ever be
whole or strong

truth
words that rattle in my mind
challenging how I know my world,
my self
seeking out the fire
in my bones
sounding out the skeleton
that compels me to act

truth
words I let fall reluctantly
words of pain and fear
words of joy and hope
words grounded somewhere else
words that must be spoken
passing between
you and I

Written 12/5/07

tears of the world

So, in the often forgotten but incredibly wonderful church calendar (see an online version here), today is the feast of the Holy Innocents. Horrible, sad part of history. Even more horribly and sadly not alone in history.
Christmas is beautiful and hopeful and I love it.
Holy Innocents reminds us that there is still change to be worked in the world around us.
We fail too often.
And we are too often blind to this fact.

tears of the world

the world weeps
giant tiny tears
tears of sorrow
grief and loss
tears of pain
hurt and ache
tears of hell
lived on earth
tears of death
come too soon
tears that must
be more than
the grains of sand
and than
the stars in heaven
tears enough to flood creation
so weeps our world,
and we in it

written 11/19/07

These Days

So today is slushy--we've been getting a mixture of snow and rain. Not my favorite weather.
There's a lot about the entire world that I don't like. There are a lot of things that don't seem to work correctly. Things much bigger than the weather. We all have those things.
From the BCP:
What is the Christian Hope?
The Christian hope is to live with confidence in newness and fullness of life, and to await the coming of Christ in glory, and the completion of God's purpose for the world. (page 862)

These are the days…

Days when wars will rage
When illnesses come
When families are torn apart
These days are now

Days of pain and sorrow
Days when tears roll down cheeks
And sobs consume our breath
These days are now

Days when joy seems to pale
As we peer around defenses
Erected in metal and mind
These days are now

These are the days
When our lives are not as we would choose
When the world seems cold and cruel
These days are now

The days are surely coming,
Says the Lord, the Holy One,
When will justice will roll like a river
And the Wise King will reign with
Righteousness will never to fail,

In those days that are coming.

Written 12/1/07

Are we there yet?

Advent is a tricky season. As Sophia said, it is eschatological (about waiting/hoping/believing in the realization of God's promise). It's also about Christmas and the baby in the manger. It's a season that seems to belong entirely to the Church, as merchandizing and marketing pushes Christmas itself (only 12 liturgical days) back before Thanksgiving. And what does that mean? I would offer that we as a church are really bad at claiming Advent. I wonder how much of that is because we don't know what to do with it as individuals.
Advent is about waiting and preparing (Mary), it's about doing and changing (John the Baptist), it is (as all liturgical seasons are) an aspect of daily life. But what is it we are getting ready for? Anybody?


are we there yet?
is this journey over?
for the road is rather long
and the scenery repeats

are we there yet?
can we stop now?
my feet are getting sore
and I'm ready to be done

are we there yet?
is this labor over?
I'm growing weary,
feeling a bit worn down

are we there yet?
are we even close?
'cause here's another one hungry
and they suffer still

are we there yet?
will we ever be?
the poor are still among us
and never seem to leave

are we there yet?
where are we?
the blind don't see,
we only guide them

are we there yet?
are we even moving?
the lame don't walk,
but my 'carry' is getting good

are we there yet?
can you see the end?
I don't know where we are
And I'm waiting for a sign

are we there yet?
and how will we know,
this end we keep on trying for
when we finally arrive

written 11/07

Words on Fire

The problems of the world are many and complex. There is no simple solution. But there are simple places to start. Or at least to start thinking.




Found at Snow on Roses, who occasionally posts amazingly beautiful poetry. (sidebar link to come)

Flimsy Words

You know those times when what is being said in the conversation goes right past the other person?
The break-through moments when you realize that the friend you thought you were arguing with was just using a different word?
All of the words we have are amazing, and powerful, and tricky. Because they are also flimsy and tough to hold on to or pass around.

Flimsy Words
These flimsy words,
struggling to create pale imitations
at best
of the truth we know and love
truth of who I am
of who you are
truth of the world around us both
truth of Truth itself

These flimsy words,
created, imbued with meaning
barely able to hold together
building blocks of smoke and mist
paints of mist
but we have so little choice

These flimsy words
the only bridge
which may yet bind
you and I, mind to mind

Written 6/17/07

A good reminder

If you asked me (which you didn't), I would tell you that good poetry is much like prayer, it is somehow out of time, applicable in more than one setting, and at the same moment, entirely relevant and set in the moment of it's creation. For more thoughts like these, go back and reread the first poem I posted, On Writing. But this is what I was thinking when I reread today's post. I remember writing it. I remember how good it felt to finally have those thoughts on paper. And as much as my life has moved from that moment, this is still true.

How do I praise God from my life?

I know how to cry to you
I know how to collapse before you
I know how to cling to you
I know all this and so
I struggle.
How do I praise you?
How do I lift my voice,
_____My weak and trembling voice,
_____My voice which has been hoarse from shouting,
_____My voice which has so often protested the facts of my life
_____My voice,
To you in thanksgiving?
How do I stand in the face of all my wounds,
Wounds which never disappear,
And proclaim your great grace?
You didn’t stop the wounds
You didn’t ease the pain
There were tears you cannot redeem.
They were. Nothing changes that.
Not grace, not love, not beauty
And still I do.
Because pain was not all or the end.
For all the pain,
for all the sorrow
There was always love.
Not to redeem or to drive away the other,
But to stand beside, to contradict
To hold out hope for more, for better,
And so I practice:

God of Gods, God who calms storms, God who counts the hair on our heads,
Thank you
God of my life, God who heals (though not me), God knows even the sparrows,
I bless you
God who stays, God who loves (even me), God who sees all beauty and all pain,
I love you.
Amen

Written 5/26/06

Eternal temporality

things I think while looking out the window...

Sunlight

playing on

Molted leaves

greens, once shiny

browns, soon to crumble

now, resplendent

Perfection

I can't capture

now

words fade away

images outlast their first cause

the world spun, spins, will spin

and this perfect imperfection

which we love

is forever now

written 10/22/07

picture from in the open space: God and Culture

Discernment and truth

Although this is written in a call and response format, it is also inner dialogue. Both at the same time. Multiple layers of truth. Just like so much else.

Truthful Discernment
They say: You are too young.
I say: God has always called the young.

They say: You are too idealistic.
I say: Great vision is the product of faith.

They say: What about your gender?
I say: God called me, for who I am.

They say: You don't know enough.
I say: Teach me.

They say: Can you lead?
I say: Will you follow?

They say: You are too strong.
I laugh with the knowledge of my weaknesses.

They say they speak the truth.
I know the truth to be greater than either of us.
Written 9/14/07

I've been remiss

I have recently realized that on September 11 I posted something that was personal and important to me, which is fine, but in no way acknowledged the anniversary.
Editorial Note: (feel free to skip right past this to the poem) I am not pleased with the actions my government has taken in the last 6 years. But September 11 isn't about that. It is about the death of so many and how a world mourns and marks the tragic passing of men and women who were daughter or son, husband or wife, mother or father, friend, and generally beloved of someone. In their memory and to honor this loss I offer this poem, which was written for reasons in my own life, but which I hope can describe some part of that loss.

In the midst of grief
All sobs are silent,
Words are gone,
Tears fall without noise

For one cannot describe the abyss
From within
Word and thought are part of life,
Not chaos

To write, to ease
To speak, to comfort
Have no place there

We look in,
We look back
We remember
We try to forget

But when we are there,
We are again mute
Alone.

Written 6/25/06

Yesterday's Sorrow

So, not so long ago a professor assigned my class the task of writing a poem using the same starting line as Czeslaw Milosz used in one of a selection of poems we had read. This is what I wrote. I am posting it this week because of what is going on this week is about Invisible Illnesses. Next week I will post the second poem I wrote using this same first line.

Yesterday’s Sorrow
A Day so happy it could only be a dream
An interlude filled with hollow gifts
No pain, no pills, no needles,
No shadows in my family’s eyes

In my mind I can name it: Normal
Yet I cannot speak this name for fear,
Dreams dissolve you see

My Heart names it also: False, Forbidden, Lost
For Time cannot be spun backwards

My days are now marked with pills
My years with doctors visits and tests
And it is easy to get lost in wanting the dream

So easy to miss the wind in the trees, children’s laughter,
The Sun on the lake and the stars at night
To forget the welcoming hugs

But sometimes yesterday’s sorrow is still too great
Too tempting, too easy to fall into
But even then the gifts of dream
Are hollow, shattered by today’s realities, necessities

And I know that here is where I must make my peace
Between the dreams and the endless tomorrows
Here today, every today
Again and again and again
Written Spring 2005

For those of you who want to find Milosz's original poem (because I really did take the first line and go somewhere very different), I recommend New and Collected Poems: 1931-2001 . It's a large book, but I promise, he's really good. For more info on Milosz check out wikipedia's page on him .

How Long

I like this one. It's probably not one of my all time favorites, but only because most of those are something I wrote in response to a significant event. This one just came. And I like it. I also thought it might be irreverently appropriate as many people go back to school somewhere around now.
Formatting note: the way I wrote this every line that doesn't begin with 'How' or 'Have' is indented. This is both small and important because poetry, as I write it is visual too and formatting matters. I can't figure out how to make this happen here. Instead I've tried to create a similar effect through capitalization. But I wanted you to know how it should be. Any helpful hints from the more experienced?

How long O God, How long?
How long, O God, have you listened to this cry?
from Children in Egypt
and those wandering in the desert
from Children without a king,
and those with unjust kings.
from Children living in Exile,
and from those who have no home
from a Child crying from a Garden
and from those who loved him
How long, O God, have your Children waited?
for the answer left unspoken
for the action left undone
for the comfort held unseen
How long, O God, have there been tears?
did they begin outside the garden
or did Adam and Eve trip on the root of a beautiful tree
How long, O God, has there been pain?
did you name it good
or were you the first to feel it,
when your children ate what you had forbidden
Have mercy, O Lord, have mercy.
number our tears,
note the shaking of our sobs
record our cries to you
Have mercy O Lord have mercy
for we are mortal
and fear what the future brings us
Have mercy my Lord,
For you seem to love us.

Written 3/30/06

Accusation

So, I've actually been trying to write something in response to the recent mine cave ins and the bridge collapse, but it isn't working the way I want it to yet. However, I was going through old stuff and found this and figured it was equally appropriate.

Accusation
We construct beautiful worlds with ordinary words
To imitate a Paradise we’ve never known
Sometimes we reconstruct reality
And are saddened
Sad that things are so ordered
Sad that we cannot improve them
And so we grieve the conditions of our life

But You, You who created us
You who lets us live this life
A life of pain and sorrow and joy and beauty
Do you feel powerless when tragedy strikes?
How do you grieve the things you will not change?
How do you hear our cries?

Written 8-11-06