Showing posts with label poetry. Show all posts
Showing posts with label poetry. Show all posts

Wednesday, August 12, 2015

unplanned, accidental 
(an allegory on abortion)

Someday, when Nick has fallen from a rock and is three months in a coma, I will pay someone to kill him.

That’s right.  The clean, white sheets will part and his beating heart will be stabbed into stillness. 

Once dead, I will move forward knowing that I am better off.  That he is better off—that new life devoid of purpose. 

Without his voice, his ideas, his physical participation, our relationship is meaningless.  

When we got married, I wanted something I could count on.  I wanted order.   
We made plans and those plans changed when he fell.   

We were going to raise our children, buy a boat and spend our winters sailing the Caribbean.  We were taking a year off to travel the world. 

When he fell silent, that tormenting beep on the monitor his only sign of life, it suddenly seemed so simple. He’d be gone and I could carry on.  

If Nick could only see it through my eyes, I’m sure he’d understand.  He’d probably do the same if the shoe were on the other foot.

He’d know I never meant to drop him: I could’ve sworn that knot was tight. 

Sunday, March 1, 2015

A Very Significant Sadness 







My heart aches at the news that my darling cousin, Matt, has passed away.  

Such a dear and precious person.  

Matt, I will miss your full and ready smile, your strong wiry hugs, your signature voice and sound and your never-ending patience and love for the rest of us. We, who could never really understand what it meant to live in perpetual silence.  

I think of the words to "Starry, Starry Night" about Vincent Van Gogh and they achingly remind me of you:

Starry, starry night
Paint your palette blue and grey
Look out on a summer's day
With eyes that know the darkness in my soul
Shadows on the hills
Sketch the trees and the daffodils
Catch the breeze and the winter chills
In colors on the snowy linen land
Now I understand
What you tried to say to me
And how you suffered for your sanity
And how you tried to set them free
They would not listen, they did not know how
Perhaps they'll listen now
For they could not love you
But still your love was true
And when no hope was left in sight
On that starry, starry night
You took your life, as lovers often do
But I could have told you, Vincent
This world was never meant for one 
As beautiful as you

Rest peacefully sweet cousin-- until we meet again. XO


Sunday, October 14, 2012


CONFLIGERE

Through burning eyes I contemplate the duality which is me
Passions smother principles as I sift through smoke and
make my way to the fire. It smolders and I am relieved.

Then I remember when I lay hurting in bed, it was he
who cracked a smile and gently raised me to take my pill.
He who filled my water and brought warm eggs and toast.
He who said I'll never judge you, I trust you.

He has never forgotten me and not for a flicker
of an instant made me feel less than
loved, cherished, adored.

The flame burns hot and I am always cold, my body begs
to draw closer. You don't want to get burned he tells me;
And taking my hand in his, my father warms me.

Sunday, July 15, 2012

The Book Thief
by Markus Zusak


"Even Death has a heart"

It's been weeks since I finished The Book Thief  and my memory being what it is, won't allow me the details to write a decent review, but still I can't leave it at nothing.  I don't want to forget the impact it had on me and somewhere down the line, at the very least, I'll remember that I loved it enough to feature it.  And who knows, I might even read it again--which I rarely do.  I picked this book up and put it down again because I didn't quite grasp where it was headed and my mind needed easy at the time.  Looking back, I can't believe that the first three chapters which eluded me would set the scene for the entire story and that when it ended I would go back to the beginning and cry at the brilliance of it all.  Needless to say, I love this novel and once death grasped me in his pincers I was eager to surrender. It is, without a doubt, one of my all-time favorite reads.

As I was googling the title for an image of the book I found these other covers.  I'm wondering what made Mr. Zusak decide on the cover he did, the one with the dominoes.  Maybe there are lots of different covers in print, but it seems to me the domino one is most prevalent. I guess it might be because the dominoes represent a deeper theme from the story rather than the other covers which are more straight forward and perhaps less thought provoking.  I do love them though, and wonder which one I'd choose if I were in charge.  Which one would lure me in..?

In any case, I think this novel is completely profound. With Death as narrator,  I found myself literally gasping, every chapter or so, as Death so cleverly and eloquently describes his experience with the human race; his voice was so unexpected, his observations so acute and offbeat, I was mesmerized. Mr. Zusak said in an interview that he believes every page must contain at least one gem and I can say for certain this is the case in The Book Thief.  This book encapsulates everything I love in a novel:  a unique concept, humanistic themes, thought provoking symbols, endearing characters, and a believable plot and voice.



The story is set in Germany during World War II and focuses on a young girl, Liesel, her foster family, and their neighbors who live on Himmel (heaven) Street. Very often I've read books from the opposite perspective, and I found it very interesting to view the war from the eyes of non-Jewish families. As I mentioned before, the most unique aspect of the book to me was the narration told from the omniscient viewpoint of Death.  I thought this choice was brilliant. Who better to describe a war than Death himself, who has to collect the souls of the war's casualties.  Furthermore, Death was not what you'd expect, he was funny, sarcastic, poignant, depressive, eloquent and extremely wise.

One example from the book is a quote from Death as he witnesses a bonfire/book burning. He mentions that the enthusiasm of the crowd invited a lot of "Heil Hitlers!", to which he says:



You know, it actually makes me wonder if anyone ever lost an eye or injured a hand or wrist with all of that. You'd only need to be facing the wrong way at the wrong time or stand marginally too close to another person. Perhaps people did get injured. Personally, I can only tell you that no one died from it, or at least, not physically. There was, of course, the matter of forty million people I picked up by the time the whole thing was finished, but that's getting all metaphoric (93).
Once I had determined the narrator, I expected a grim, unforgiving voice, but this paragraph illustrates that his tone was anything but. I loved thinking of Death in terms of an observer and as someone who still, after thousands of years, remains mystified by the human race.  


“I wanted to tell the book thief many things, about beauty and brutality. But what could I tell her about those things that she didn't already know? I wanted to explain that I am constantly overestimating and underestimating the human race—that rarely do I ever simply estimate it. I wanted to ask her how the same thing could be so ugly and so glorious, and its words and stories so damning and brilliant. (419)


With all of this death talk, I'm not giving enough credit to the plot and characters themselves which are unforgettable.  The story is captivating, raw and gripping and Leisel, Max, Hans and Rudy (darling Rudy) will be tucked in my heart for a good, long time.  His descriptive language is beautiful and there are so many vivid images and touching moments in this novel that I cannot compliment the incredible mind of Markus Zusak enough.  This is where I simply give up because I cannot do this story justice.  


The awe lies in discovering for yourself.  


"The words were on their way, and when they arrived, Liesel would hold them in her hands like the clouds, and she would wring them out like rain.” 


"She did not say goodbye. She was incapable, and after a few more minutes at his side, she was able to tear herself from the ground. It amazes me what humans can do, even when streams are flowing down their faces and they stagger on...” 

"Sleepy air seemed to have followed her.The scrawled words of practice stood magnificently on the wall by the stairs, jagged and childlike and sweet. They looked on as both the hidden Jew and the girl slept, hand to shoulder.  They breathed. German and Jewish lungs.” 


"The desperate Jews—their spirits in my lap as we sat on the roof, next to the steaming chimneys."


“A human doesn't have a heart like mine. The human heart is a line, whereas my own is a circle, and I have the endless ability to be in the right place at the right time. The consequence of this is that I'm always finding humans at their best and worst. I see their ugly and their beauty, and I wonder how the same thing can be both. Still, they have one thing I envy. Humans, if nothing else, have the good sense to die.” 


“Please believe me when I tell you that I picked up each soul that day as if it were newly born. I even kissed a few weary, poisoned cheeks. I listened to their last, gasping cries. Their vanishing words. I watched their love visions and freed them from their fear.” 


“His soul sat up. It met me. Those kinds of souls always do - the best ones. The ones who rise up and say "I know who you are and I am ready. Not that I want to go, of course, but I will come." Those souls are always light because more of them have been put out. More of them have already found their way to other places.” 


“I carried him softly through the broken street...with him I tried a little harder. I watched the contents of his soul for a moment. He does something to me, that boy. Every time. It's his only detriment. He steps on my heart. He makes me cry.” 



"I am haunted by humans"

Wednesday, April 13, 2011

The King's Singers

While I'm recommending, I thought I'd share one of my best finds this year, The King's Singers. Our wonderful friends, Scott and Kari, invited us to their concert in early December which put me in the Christmas spirit like nothing else. This vocal group from England, takes their name from King's College Cambridge where some of it's early members were scholars. It's a little different, and I'm mostly partially to listening to their Christmas stuff, but if you love incredible harmonies and a crystal clear sound, you'll probably like them. I literally have never heard a more impressive live performance. Their voices were unbelievably clear, spot-on and beautifully blended--not to mention they performed entirely a cappella. The song that blew me away for sound and exceptional lyrics was Born on a New Day which was written for Christmas and is an adaptation of their most well known song, You are the New Day. I have a playlist called "relax," where I put all my new age and instrumental stuff that I love. Look below for some of my favorites--old and new-- then go visit itunes and see if you feel the same. I really believe you can't judge anything fully, until you put it loud in your earphones and give it 2 or 3 tries...but that's just me. For my very favorites go here.

What do you relax to?

King's Singers favorites:
Born on a New Day, Always a Woman, Lullaby, Home, You are the New Day,

More new favorites:
The Voice of Angels-- Ademius (amazing-crank it!) Pie Jesu (beautiful)
Cocteau Twins--Carolyn's Fingers (recently rediscovered--ethereal)
How to Train a Dragon--Forbidden Friendship (awesome)
Natalie Merchant--My Skin (old but love the melancholy sound)
Slumdog Millionaire--Latika's Theme (lovely)


BORN ON A NEW DAY

You are the new day,
Meekness, love, humility,
Come down to us this day:
Christ, your birth has proved to me
You are the new day.

Quiet in a stall you lie,
Angels watching in the sky
Whisper to you from on high:
'You are the new day.'

When our life is darkest night,
Hope has burned away,
Love, your ray of guiding light,
Show us the new day.

Love of all things great and small,
Leaving none, embracing all,
Fold around me where I fall,
Bring in the new day.

This new day will be a turning point
For every one,
If we let the Christ-child in,
And reach for the new day.

Christ the Way, the Truth, the Life,
Healing sadness, ending strife,
You we welcome, Lord of Life.
Born on a new day,
You are the new day.

Friday, October 29, 2010

Persona

can't escape the desire

to slip my skin

in search of one

who does not fear

the coming undone

Everyone is a moon and has a dark side
which she never shows to anyone.
~Mark Twain


Tuesday, September 22, 2009

Freshman Boyfriend

The best of her life

bordered by mountains of childhood

where they made a first home

with fast friends up the street

The boys of this house
they changed life forever

reminisce, reacquaint
beside a new generation

She waves to sweet places

and forgotten spaces

it's fast and it's fleeting

but change, it is fixed.

She leaves all behind

but for one thing.

Saturday, September 12, 2009

True Confusion begets True Colors


Look at the time.  I've been sitting here since 9:30 trying to write a YW talk, the theme being "Personal Progress Colors Your Life."  I got nothin.  But I did write this poem about the values they probably won't get.  Let me know which ending you prefer and if you think the girls will look at me with the queer eye...

TRUE COLORS

My true colors run deeper than my skin
they tint my soul and reside safe within

My true colors incumbent from the start
with their splendid hues they reveal my heart

White, it whispers of an infinite plan
as a child of God, I know who I am

Blue like the sky with its sun and it's shine
my mind is assured my nature's divine

Red, rich in power it speaks to my will
I have a mission I'll strive to fulfill

Green it is ripe with new life and yearning
like earth where I grow, seeking for learning

My true colors run deeper than my skin
they tint my soul and reside safe within

Orange is fluid and burns like a flame
presenting a choice, a will I must tame

Yellow it grows as it sweeps-wide and lifts
nurturing others I gather the gift

Purple births awareness of right and wrong
my actions are steady, my courage strong

Gold in it's splendor brings joy that is pure
a pathway of virtue, love that endures

My true colors run deeper than my skin
they tint my soul and reside safe within

My true colors are Gods gift of beauty
to set them free, my innermost duty

OR...

I'll set them free, it's my sacred duty


Sunday, September 6, 2009

Stream of Life

I know you've seen it but watch it again.
It makes the world feel small.  
And kindred.


Here is a translation of the poem that was the original basis for the song. 
Read it until you understand it is my suggestion.  "Beauty is truth, truth beauty."

Stream of Life
by Rabindranath Tagore

The same stream of life that runs through my veins night and day
runs through the world and dances in rhythmic measures.

It is the same life that shoots in joy through the dust of the earth
in numberless blades of grass
and breaks into tumultuous waves of leaves and flowers.

It is the same life that is rocked in the ocean-cradle of birth
and of death, in ebb and in flow.

I feel my limbs are made glorious by the touch of this world of life.
And my pride is from the life-throb of ages dancing in my blood this moment.

Monday, April 6, 2009

Good Morning, Spring


There is pleasure in the pathless woods.
There is rapture on the lonely shore,
There is society where none intrudes,
By the deep sea and the music in its roar;
I love not man the less, but Nature more.

~Lord Byron

Thursday, March 26, 2009

"It Couldn't Be Done"
(by Edward A. Guest)
OR...

April's looming large for about a million different reasons none of which I desire to go into at the moment--only cause I'm tired--not cause they're secret.  I've been repeating the following poem in my mind over and over cause it gives me a reasonable amount of motivation and determination when I'm on the verge of overwhelmed.  It's one of the the first poems I ever remember memorizing.  I got it from a poetry book my Gma Miller gave me when I was about eight.  She had gone through and starred all the ones she loved.  This one got two stars...and it's come in handy throughout the years....thanks Gram.

Somebody said that it couldn’t be done,
But, he with a chuckle replied
That "maybe it couldn’t," but he would be one
Who wouldn’t say so till he’d tried.
So he buckled right in with the trace of a grin
On his face. If he worried he hid it.
He started to sing as he tackled the thing
That couldn’t be done, and he did it.

Somebody scoffed: "Oh, you’ll never do that;
At least no one ever has done it";
But he took off his coat and he took off his hat,
And the first thing he knew he’d begun it.
With a lift of his chin and a bit of a grin,
Without any doubting or quiddit,
He started to sing as he tackled the thing
That couldn’t be done, and he did it.

There are thousands to tell you it cannot be done,
There are thousands to prophesy failure;
There are thousands to point out to you one by one,
The dangers that wait to assail you.
But just buckle in with a bit of a grin,
Just take off your coat and go to it;
Just start to sing as you tackle the thing
That "cannot be done," and you’ll do it.

Don't expect I'll be doing much singing 
or grinning--but hey one can always hope....

Wednesday, February 18, 2009

The Wreck of the Hesperus

A guest post from Jennfro's better half.

This past Christmas I received one of the most thoughtful gifts I have ever received. A memory that was forgotten and thought to have been lost forever came in a form as a book / audiobook entitled Childrens Tales put together by my mom. This takes me back 30 plus years when I would spend countless hours listening to audiobooks narrated and produced by my Grandfather. Each of us kids had a personal tape recorder (mine was blue) and audiobooks w/ illustrated booklets to read alongside .... Tom Sawyer, Huckleberry Finn, Wizard of Oz, Land of Oz, Rip van Winkle and my favorite..Hiawatha. They are all  too long to post, but  along with the stories were some additional poems with another favorite by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow “The Wreck of the Hesperus”. This poem haunted me as a child and even now as an adult I find it hard to not tear up as I hear  the voice of my estranged and deceased Grandfather. He definitely was a talented narrator. Enjoy...

It was the schooner Hesperus, 
That sailed the wintery sea; 
And the skipper had taken his little daughter, 
To bear him company.

Blue were her eyes as the fairy flax, 
Her cheeks like the dawn of day,
And her bosom white as the hawthorn buds, 
That ope in the month of May.

The Skipper he stood beside the helm, 
His pipe was in his mouth,
And he watched how the veering flaw did blow 
The smoke now West, now South.

Then up and spake an old Sailor, 
Had sailed the Spanish Main,
"I pray thee, put into yonder port,
 for I fear a hurricane.
"Last night the moon had a golden ring,
And to-night no moon we see!"

The skipper, he blew whiff from his pipe, 
And a scornful laugh laughed he.
Colder and louder blew the wind, 
A gale from the Northeast,
The snow fell hissing in the brine, 
And the billows frothed like yeast.

Down came the storm, and smote amain
The vessel in its strength;
She shuddered and paused, like a frighted steed,
Then leaped her cable's length.

"Come hither! come hither! my little daughter,
And do not tremble so;
For I can weather the roughest gale
That ever wind did blow."
He wrapped her warm in his seaman's coat
Against the stinging blast;
He cut a rope from a broken spar,
And bound her to the mast.

"O father! I hear the church bells ring,
Oh, say, what may it be?"
"Tis a fog-bell on a rock bound coast!" --
And he steered for the open sea.

"O father! I hear the sound of guns; 
Oh, say, what may it be?"
Some ship in distress, that cannot live
In such an angry sea!"
"O father! I see a gleaming light. 
Oh say, what may it be?"
But the father answered never a word,
A frozen corpse was he.
Lashed to the helm, all stiff and stark,
With his face turned to the skies,
The lantern gleamed through the gleaming snow
On his fixed and glassy eyes.

Then the maiden clasped her hands and prayed
 That saved she might be;
And she thought of Christ, who stilled the wave, 
On the Lake of Galilee.

And fast through the midnight dark and drear, 
Through the whistling sleet and snow,
Like a sheeted ghost, the vessel swept 
Tow'rds the reef of Norman's Woe.

And ever the fitful gusts between 
A sound came from the land;
It was the sound of the trampling surf, 
On the rocks and hard sea-sand.

The breakers were right beneath her bows, 
She drifted a dreary wreck,
And a whooping billow swept the crew 
Like icicles from her deck.

She struck where the white and fleecy waves 
Looked soft as carded wool,
But the cruel rocks, they gored her side 
Like the horns of an angry bull.

Her rattling shrouds, all sheathed in ice,
With the masts went by the board;
Like a vessel of glass, she stove and sank,
Ho! ho! the breakers roared!

At daybreak, on the bleak sea-beach,
 A fisherman stood aghast,
To see the form of a maiden fair, 
Lashed close to a drifting mast.

The salt sea was frozen on her breast, 
The salt tears in her eyes;
And he saw her hair, like the brown sea-weed, 
On the billows fall and rise.

Such was the wreck of the Hesperus,
In the midnight and the snow!
God save us all from a death like this,
On the reef of Norman's Woe!

I find this poem fitting as it describes the poor decision of a skipper, his stubborness and pride, and the horrific consequential destruction of a ship, his crew and his lovely daughter. I find it sad because listening to these stories make me long for a relationship that was missed and misunderstood. It really is a tragic story (both the Hesperus and the McEwen family). My only comfort lies in a hope that an afterlife brings forgiveness and reconciliation. An afterlife where Christ really does save us all from our mistakes,  After all (like the skipper) my grandfather really loved his daughter - as do I. Thanks Mom for the gift, now my kids get to enjoy their great grandfather.

Saturday, November 15, 2008

Carry you to bed


Tonight I am lonesome for my children, 
for childhood.

Gone too soon 
are the days of projects on the floor--
bits of paper rough-cut with scissors 
and shreds of tape at their edges.
Green army men pitched high over heads,
making their way from room to room.
The comfort of a "B," a beloved blankie, 
that smells of cake and candy 
and the timeless scent of Baby Magic that will 
linger on my fingertips forever.

Moments in time--
fleeting, fast-flying days of childhood.
Gone too soon.

Let me kneel beside your bed and hold tight 
in the coziness of your room, 
where soon serene and beautiful you will sleep.
In the warmth of your breath I will kiss you
and ache in the presence of your love.

I will remember these days,
as I wade through the toys on the floor,
just as they are now.
For there is only so long 
that I can carry you to bed.