October 31, 2003
envy of the day
Ah, Shane. I'm so jealous.
You're fast on the draw.
People mock me.
They say I'm always skulking,
always out for the perfect kill --
incessantly clicking --
the obsessive-compulsive shutterbug.
But this is why.
This is what I love.
These accidental
sprezzatura-style photos
that can be captured
only by the Ready.
October 29, 2003
soliciting villanelles
Contrary to how I find haiku and cinquains, villanelles are a personal nemesis. I want to conquer that form, and you're welcome to join me in the battle.
Perhaps the poem that brought fame to this form is the one authored by Dylan Thomas, titled "Do Not Go Gentle."
Here's another model villanelle called "One Art," written by Elizabeth Bishop (1911-79).
The way I learned the form originally, entire lines had to be repeated. That's what Thomas does, magnificently. Bishop follows the form perhaps more loosely, working tightly with specific words and phrases to bring them around again and again in different hues.
Knot the cudgels. To the caves.
October 17, 2003
October 13, 2003
scheduled pain...away and far
In February 2001, I was playing racquetball and landed wrong on my right foot. It didn't feel too bad that night, but by August I was ready to succumb to X-rays and by October '01 I was under the knife to remove a tiny but troublesome broken "sesamoidits" bone. Took me some time to recover, and I think I really gained some compassion capacity for those who deal daily with crutches or more complex and/or painful encumberments.
I remember thinking how odd it is that we schedule ourselves for pain.
We do it when we are confident that the outcome of a surgical procedure will produce better ultimate results for us than the ones we are currently experiencing or consequently bound to keep experiencing. Still it's kind of funny to think, "Yeah, it would probably be good for me to be bedridden right around midterms because I'll just be prepping for tests at the time anyway. Sure, let's pencil in my outpatient tibial sesamoidectomy for October 11th and expect to be on crutches and miserable for the next five weeks following."
What a simple but effective illustration of faith.
An illustration of why / how Christ-followers are able to count affliction as temporal and loss and death as gain.
"He is no fool who gives what he cannot keep to gain what he cannot lose."
~ Jim Elliott
My apartmentmate had undergone more extensive surgery on her right foot and had spent the whole summer recovering from hers. We had similar-looking scars and some similar affinities. And one day while I was still on crutches, she asked me to write her a poem....
MIDTERM
(in anticipation of “The term is ended; the holiday’s begun.”)
for A2, 29 October 2001
a month before the birthday of the greatest metaphorian
(and yes that was a word contrived by me and no historian),
i sit with feet propped up to bear a class that’s boring, and
i write your long-awaited poem that lacks one rhyme: delorian?
this poem may be premature, like books that brag on living men
who well could wreck their lives and ours before they die; but, then again,
it may be just the first of more—or paramount of all my pen
has ever scrawled or fingers typed. if not, you’ll not be heartbroken.
i’ve seen your scrapbook, so i know your line of friends is deep and wide,
like timelines graphing plans and cities, towers, wars, lives lived (and died).
can clocks and talks and meetings on an autumn afternoon decide
the height and breadth of future? lengths of what you wanted? what you tried?
with time machines and VCRs and favorite books with doggie-ears,
we seek to hold intangibles, to touch what can’t be held, but years
go by. and people stay and cry and fly. and photos fade with tears.
though skycross-rainwash rainbows never keep, a crayon rainbow smears.
one lewis book describes our fight to relive our best memories,
attempting to reverse the film and roll back time to when we please.
we think we can obtain the same enjoyment from a second piece
of pie, and so we grab the scraps—we dub, we edit, xerox, seize.
big dreams and appetites! with children eyes, we look away and far
through foreign hoops, familiar hopes. we wheel and rock and stand ajar
like unsure doors or unhealed scars. but waiting, trusting—there we are
most safe, most sure, most satisfied. by faith, we look away and far.
the Lord is good to all of them that wait on Him, to all who seek—
so says the prophet jeremy, so says the Word of God. we speak
of u.s. news and world report, of policies, and what next week
will bring to our agenda, while we should be folding hands and meek.
so maybe as i close this poem, the poem i wrote at your request,
we two can pact to wait this speck of time we wait, and trust and rest,
like meekly leaning on our crutches till each broken part is meshed
with something whole and long and deep and wide that stands the timeline test.
October 10, 2003
guess what.
Feel the sun in my eyes
Swat that clumsy fly
Woke me up from a dream about heaven
I'm smelling coffee downstairs
Yawn a quick little prayer
And get up at a quarter to seven
The mirror catches my stare
Got some nice pillow hair
And I smile all the way to the bathroom
Scratch my whiskery chin
Now my cranium swims
With questions I can't wait to ask You
Like, why did You bother with so many stars?
Do You ever play tricks on the angels?
And what happened to all those dinosaurs?
Where's the Garden of Eden?
And what causes déjà vu?
I guess in heaven I'll learn
I'll be waiting my turn
To ask about quasars and feathers
I hope the line isn't long
I hope Your patience is strong
It's a good thing forever's forever!
Do our jokes make You laugh?
What's Your favorite cartoon?
Can You tell me what's out past the edges?
And what about UFOs, taste buds and tornados?
Why do we dream?
Oh, and what causes déjà vu?
Time to call it a day
Time to turn off my brain
It's already half past eleven
I reach to turn out the light
Close my sleepy eyes
I'll save all the questions for heaven
I'll save all the questions for heaven
I'm saving up questions for heaven*
There is one thing I really like about those lyrics.
Can you guess what?
* ~ Chris Rice's "Questions for Heaven"
in Smell the Color 9
(c) 2000 Clumsy Fly Music (admin by Word Music, Inc.)
ASCAP / Dayspring Music, Inc. / BMI
October 09, 2003
Portland Studios
There's so much to say and do in this sixty-year blink we call life! We don't have much time to use what we've been given to conjure up ways to MAGNIFY. I'm thankful for those who've been exemplars to me in the realm of getting on the ball.
Who are the C.S. Lewises and J.R.R. Tolkiens of THIS generation? Are we all a bunch of movie-watchers or are we the legend-makers?
All that to say...
Congratulations to Brannon and all the gang at Portland Studios. Their site is looking better and better. (Go there, or regret it the rest of your blink.)
October 08, 2003
soliciting cinquains
I learned about cinquains from Kammer, and I've come to think they're almost as fun as haiku. Here's how you go about writing one.
Line 2: two words to describe it -- tall, green
Line 3: three action words about it -- growing, reaching, standing
Line 4: a four or five word phrase describing the subject (a thought, not a complete sentence) -- a witness to the past
Line 5: one word that means the same thing as the first word, or a word that sums it all up -- future
tall, green
growing, reaching, standing
a witness to the past
future*
Would you like to give it a try?
If so, click on "Comments" and start typing.
* This "tree" cinquain example was found on a Girl Scouts Web site. Original author unknown.
October 06, 2003
zeugma [definitely my favorite device] illustrated
Take my advice, not my chariot.
~ Phoebus' advice to his son Phaethon in Ovid's Metamorphoses *
You are the bearer of unconditional things;
you held your breath and the door for me.
~ Alanis Morissette in "Head Over Feet" *
We didn't know what love was
till he came
and he gave love a face
and he gave love a name
and he gave love away
like the sky gives the rain and sun.
~ Rich Mullins in "All the Way to Kingdom Come"
* mention does not = automatic endorsement of author or all associated with him/her
October 02, 2003
off the deep end
i can trust grace
for floundering friends
i can say love
and decide that’s enough
to keep them from going under
i can hoist the sails
and go the distance
and run the gamut
and call all hands on deck
and plumb the depths
but in the end
they either swallow too much
or they survive
and who am i
but just another pair
of wandering dark eyes
just another pair
of feeble clumsy hands
just another pair
of slippery bare feet
i can throw all the lifesavers i can throw
they can cling to all they catch
but in the end
it’s God who gives their knuckles grip
it’s God who helps them breathe again