What are years?

What Are Years?
By Marianne Moore

   What is our innocence,
what is our guilt? All are
   naked, none is safe. And whence
is courage: the unanswered question,
the resolute doubt,—
dumbly calling, deafly listening—that
in misfortune, even death,
      encourages others
      and in its defeat, stirs

   the soul to be strong? He
sees deep and is glad, who
   accedes to mortality
and in his imprisonment rises
upon himself as
the sea in a chasm, struggling to be
free and unable to be,
      in its surrendering
      finds its continuing.

   So he who strongly feels,
behaves. The very bird,
   grown taller as he sings, steels
his form straight up. Though he is captive,
his mighty singing
says, satisfaction is a lowly
thing, how pure a thing is joy.
      This is mortality,
      this is eternity.

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Juxtapositions: A Collection

 

Don't surrender your loneliness

So quickly.

Let it cut more

Deep.

Let it ferment and season you

As few human

Or even divine ingredients can.

(Hafiz)

sometimes

loneliness wraps his arms around me

and holds me close

so I can hear

the beating, the breathing, the knowing

of being alone

(in a crowded room)

when he finally lets me go

after a minute that felt an eternity

he kisses my forehead

and so I'm marked

with a sign that leaves me wondering -

how to see grace

in being alone?

(2.23.2012)

Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.

       Meanwhile, the world goes on

Meanwhile, the sun and clear pebbles of the rain

       are moving across the landscapes,

       over the prairies and the deep trees,

       the mountains and the rivers.

Meanwhile, the wild geese, high in clean blue air,

       are heading home again.

Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,

      the world offers itself to your imagination,

calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting -

      over and over announcing your place

      in the family of things.

(Mary Oliver)

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rose and thorn (i)

(rose)

On Sunday, I felt lost and lonely. My parents were with my uncle and aunt, my sister was working in the nursery, and I was trying to juggle my dad's responsibilities at church, my own, and keeping an eye on my youngest brother. And so, during grace and peace, when one of my best friends came up to hug me, I fell apart and sobbed and cried on her shoulder. She held me tight and didn't let go until I was ready. So thankful for her.

(thorn)

I forgot the weariness of grief.
How the body echoes the soul
Broken and alone.

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Two Poems

Morning Reflections

Peace -
steady,
held in the rhythm of those sleeping birds,
in the crooked crevices of trees,
in uneven reflections on the water.
Peace -
to go or stay,
as you will,
come what may.
Peace.

*

Hummingbirds

Brilliant together, gold,
beating in one rhythm.
Sunsets pierce, the wings unfold,
beating in one rhythm.
The high sets low, and mountains fall
to purples, dust, bright slivers.
Our breaths, our steps, our wayward hearts,
beating with one rhythm.

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Blue

Sometimes it amazes me that this blue -

filtering through the almost empty soap container

and the plastic cup that has two thousand twins -

contains the same depth, same strength, same light

the same beauty

as the blue that filters through

the stained glass window

of a church.

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grace

grace

here

holding us in the brokenness that defines our lives

filtering through the curtains

filling the empty rooms

sending out invisible bonds

tying us together

though we refuse to look at each other

here

grace

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"Innumerable and boundless substances of the Earth"

Innumerable and boundless substances of the Earth:

Scent of thyme, hue of fir, white frost, dances of cranes.

And everything simultaneous. And probably eternal.

Unseen, unheard, yet it was.

Unexpressed by strings or tongues, yet it will be.

(From Amazement by Czeslow Milosz)

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It'll Pass

It'll pass, it'll pass

So, I say to myself and know it is true

But the truth doesn't help

You help and light helps and shadows that sway

And all those words I think and keep locked away

Till they splutter and fade

Like candles in the dark

And all that remains

Are small pieces of heart.

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Simple

some days are just simple

like

bread and butter, please

all this growing, being, who we are

and the moments in between

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Leave-Takings

Saying goodbye to a place

To the light coming in

Through small, rectangle windows

With small dirt stains ahead

To the small chair that sits

With a confident air

And the streets that I've walked

Over and over again

Times I can't count,

Like grains of the sand

Or, at least, a handful or two.

And even harder, saying goodbye to the people

To their eyes and their smiles

And their constant alive, being beside

Us, all along the way while

We learned to stumble and grow

And even though it's for a moment, a few months of our lives

This saying goodbye couldn't be harder -

For them or for us?

We hardly know, but it's come.

So we say

Goodbye to this place, to these walls, to this home

And goodbye to the people, whom we know, and we love.

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Poem

And all the words I should have said
Come stumbling in with unwashed feet
They've waited, wandered, wondered why
I've left them incomplete.

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This gentle falling

This gentle falling into grace

Held within a sunlit space --

I caught my breath and blossoms fell

Mingling light with softer smell

Of purple flowers, whole and crushed

And over all, a golden dust

Some part faery, some part pain

The pain that never leaves these days --

This gentle falling into grace

Helped some pieces fall into place.

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Let Evening Come

Let the light of late afternoon

shine through chinks in the barn, moving

up the bales as the sun moves down.

Let the cricket take up chafing

as a woman takes up her needles

and her yarn. Let evening come.

Let dew collect on the hoe abandoned

in long grass. Let the stars appear

and the moon disclose her silver horn.

Let the fox go back to its sandy den.

Let the wind die down. Let the shed

go black inside. Let evening come.

To the bottle in the ditch, to the scoop

in the oats, to air in the lung

let evening come.

Let it come, as it will, and don’t

be afraid. God does not leave us

comfortless, so let evening come.

Jane Kenyon, Let Evening Come

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Every Day Do Something That Won't Compute

"So friends, every day do something

that won't compute. Love the Lord.

Love the world. Work for nothing.

Take all that you have and be poor.

Love someone who does not deserve it.

Denounce the government and embrace

the flag. Hope to live in that free republic for which it stands.

[...]

Ask the questions that have no answers.

[...]

Listen to carrion - put your ear

close, and hear the faint chattering of the songs that are to come.

Expect the end of the world. Laugh.

Laughter is immeasurable. Be joyful

though you have considered all the facts.

[...]

Practice resurrection."

From The Mad Farmer Liberation Front by Wendell Berry

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Advent: In the Waiting

I said to my soul, be still, and let the dark come upon you

Which shall be the darkness of God. As, in a theatre,

The lights are extinguished, for the scene to be changed

With a hollow rumble of wings, with a movement of darkness on darkness,

And we know that the hills and the trees, the distant panorama

And the bold imposing facade are all being rolled away [...]

I said to my soul, be still, and wait without hope

For hope would be hope for the wrong thing; wait without love,

For love would be love of the wrong thing; there is yet faith

But the faith and the love and the hope are all in the waiting.

Wait without thought, for you are not ready for thought:

So the darkness shall be the light, and the stillness the dancing.

Whisper of running streams, and winter lightning.

The wild thyme unseen and the wild strawberry,

The laughter in the garden, echoed ecstasy

Not lost, but requiring, pointing to the agony

Of death and birth.

~ T.S. Eliot, No. 2 of the Four Quartets

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The Quiet World

(by Jeffrey McDaniel)

In an effort to get people to look

into each other’s eyes more,

and also to appease the mutes,

the government has decided

to allot each person exactly one hundred

and sixty-seven words, per day.

When the phone rings, I put it to my ear

without saying hello. In the restaurant

I point at chicken noodle soup.

I am adjusting well to the new way.

Late at night, I call my long distance lover,

proudly say I only used fifty-nine today.

I saved the rest for you.

When she doesn’t respond,

I know she’s used up all her words,

so I slowly whisper I love you

thirty-two and a third times.

After that, we just sit on the line

and listen to each other breathe.

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Filling Silence

It's one of those quiet days where I feel somewhat lonely. But in a happy, thankful-for-my-friends-in-the-far-corners-of-the-world way. I sit here and watch sunshine flood in while shadows settle comfortably in the corners. There's a stack of books here, and I read poetry aloud. Words drive the silence out. Beautiful, beautiful words. I love them.

Here are some of words that make that filled the silence of this December day.

I saw Eternity the other night

Like a great Ring of pure and endless light,

All calm as it was bright ;

And round beneath it, Time, in hours, days, years,

Driven by the spheres,

Like a vast shadow moved, in which the world

And all her train were hurled.

From The World, Henry Vaughn

Structured steps within a dance,
Things that could not be by chance;
Architecture of belief?
Arch of bole and veign of leaf.
Crystal's angles; raindrop's curves;
Bone and sinew knit with nerves.
Fleck of wrist, fly toss, and then
Break of bubble, flash of fin.
Beyond these sure and certain hints,
A clearer class of evidence:
Broken fever, opened eyes,
Dove descending from the skies.
Footstep firm on slope of wave;
Stone rolled back from Jesus' grave.
Glory growing out of grief?
Architecture of belief;
Things that could not be by chance:
Structured steps within the dance.

Apologia, Donald T Williams

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From A Sunlit Room

It is short, unpolished
Like a child's first, faltering steps
But truly, honestly,
I hope it brings
A smile.

You both have spent
A tiring week, and feel stretched
"Like butter over
Too much bread."

And so, from this bright and sunlit room
I wish and hope
The Light of these thoughts
To be with you.

The smell of fresh lavender
And warmth of the gentle sun
The calm of a new morning
and hope of the risen Son.

I'd call or bring you a Starbucks
For at least a moment's worth of companionship
Yet fettered as I am by
Distance, time, and illness
I cannot offer more than this.

A prayer for rest - body and spirit
Offered in love for you, my friends.

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The Silence

The Silence

Sing silence and listen.
They call out to me.
Sing silence and listen.
To the tale we sing.

Puzzled merriment abounds
With these faeries of rain,
They sing with no sound,
And cut with no pain.

They cut to the heart,
With shards of a joy,
That burns and departs,
But marks evermore .

I hear gentle breathing
With the pattering rain.
She sleeps with a peace
That I cannot obtain.

I sit here in silence
Just wondering aloud,
Words straighten and bend,
Then they fade into sound.

They fade from my thoughts,
Make my hopes come alive,
Then bury them deep
With no door within sight.

The faeries, they beckon,
To those fast asleep,
But daylight dispels,
All the raindrops so sweet.

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Meandering with Words

Hesitant as I am to post any poem of mine, I've decided posting it and (hopefully) receiving some feedback is better than having it sit drearily in my journal. I have a few more that I might post, we'll see. :)

For a Friend

Shall we gaze upon the shores of time?
Our hearts and mind aglow.
With memories of time gone by,
The waves come, passing slow.

But thoughts of future time dispel
Our happy wandering thoughts
Where shall we be? Years from now
What gifts, sorrows in Fortune's lot?

Hold my hand then, hold me close
Remind me of our hope so sure
That despite our fickle joys and woes
Our Father holds our full future.

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