The Second Week

The Paradise (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

In the almost-beginning, that is,
the second week of creation,
God created some letters.
He tossed them up, shuffled them,
and, voilà, they formed words.
God was delighted.
This is a great idea, God said.
Verbs and nouns work well.
He found that it was very, very good.

The second day
of the second week of creation
God decided he wanted to describe the beauty
that he had set in motion the previous week.
God came up with adjectives, adverbs,
metaphors, and all sorts of tropes.
He set about naming colors and shapes,
tones, scents, textures and everything
else that human senses could take in.
He got so excited that before he knew it
the third and fourth day had passed
and God hadn’t even had a nap.

Early on the morning of the fifth day,
God played with rhyme and meter.
The sounds of words flowed
throughout His Universe.
Once again, God was thrilled.
This verse is something truly enchanting, God said.
I wish I’d thought of it before.

That evening he thought he’d better check
in on the Garden.
There he found Adam and Eve,
curled up beneath the Tree of Life.
They had their hands cupped over their ears.
On their faces, knitted brows and pursed lips
spoke of their confusion.
God hadn’t planned on allowing suffering.
He realized the poor creatures couldn’t grasp the sounds,
so he told them, Relax, I’ll be back tomorrow.

True to his Word, the next morning,
just as the sun was peeking over the horizon
and the songbirds were tuning up for morning praise
God dropped in on the couple.
Holding his hand, was a young child
with silky black curls and a peaceful demeanor.
She wore a gauzy white robe
and carried a sheaf of papyrus.
Her aura was quite visible to Adam and Eve,
showcasing, one after another,
the colors of the rainbow.
Look here, God said. Look who I have for you.
And so it was that on the sixth day
of the second week of creation God created a Poet.
She’s here to help you make sense of it all, God said.

On the second Sabbath, that is,
the seventh day of the second week of creation,
God felt exhausted and Adam and Eve could hardly keep their eyes open.
So it happened that the three of them—
God, Adam and Eve, all rested together against the trunk of the Tree
while the Child-Poet-Muse read aloud.

I’m linking this whimsical story-poem, first draft, to dVerse Poets’ Pub Open Link Night. I have no intention of trivializing Sacred Scripture, but rather wish to elevate words, poetry and poets as a gift of the Creator.

You are all invited and encouraged to participate in this wonderful poetry community. Stop by and enjoy reading, and add a poem of your own! The link will be open Tuesday 3 PM EST.

The First Time

Image via Wikipedia

The First Time

The first time that I witnessed birth,
saw the crowning of the head,
that shock of thick black hair,
heard the melded cries of mother
and her son, the pain and ecstasy
in resounding dissonance,
the joy and fear and victory
of shattered boundaries—
that first time I beheld the
mystery of newborn life
I shuddered in the face of Awe.

The first time that I prayed in silence
without words or thoughts and stood
like Moses by the burning bush
that would not be destroyed and
offered (to the One who is and was
and will be) all that I have been and
am and shall become without limit
that first time I embraced
the mystery of the divine
I shuddered in the face of God.

The first time that I tasted love,
sought urgently to touch and hold,
looked into eyes that knew
my secret sacred spaces,
longed to please before receiving
pleasure, lost track of time, luxuriated
in the scent of passion,
that first time I received the mystery
of you, of all we could become,
I shuddered in the face of Bliss.

The first time I attended death
and held an old man’s icy hand and
looked into his eyes that saw beyond
me, wiped a brow expressing
nuances of sorrow and of joy,
the scope of everything we can imagine,
that first time I received a dying breath
and closed those eyes
I shuddered in the face of the Unknown.

The last time that I said hello, goodbye
I shuddered in the face of Wonder.

Come one, come all. The Pub is open for poetry and cheer at dVerse Open Link Night. Come by, bring a poem, warm up with some hot brandy and good friendship and share your work.

Several Ways of Looking at Domination–Poetry Potluck

Image via Wikipedia

several ways of looking at domination

i.
i saw two wrens
attack a jay
the urge to protect
overpowers strength

ii.
in summer
green prevails
abundant charm
delights

iii.
but in winter
green gives way
to brown
to gray
to white

iv.
sometimes
the one who rules
is really subject
to another
we call it
manipulation

v.
it is a fearsome
thought—
polis who rdetermine our fate
cannot control
their weiners

vi.
red, not black
dominates color
(sorry, Wallace)*
pulses energy

vi.
if it is true
that we create god
in our own image
who’s in charge?

*The form of this poem is inspired by poet Wallace Stevens. This stanza is a response to his poem, The Domination of Black.

Submitted to Jingle’s Poetry Potluck: http://jinglepoetry.blogspot.com/ for this week’s theme of Dictatorship, Autocracy, and Despotism

The image is of Wallace Steven’s Connecticut home.

Grandfather–Friday Poetically

Image via Wikipedia

Based on a child’s memories and submitted to Friday Poetically: http://onestoppoetry.com hosted by Brian Miller. The challenge was to write a poem with a child.

And reposted for a lovely picnic at The Gooseberry Garden where today’s theme is Photos, Memories, Nostalgia and Family. This is a very real memory for me.

Grandfather

He strides like a giant,
Ascends earth’s round cheek.
The child at his side runs to keep up,
scuffs the toe of pink sneakers.

Sweeping up the bundle,
he heaves her on sturdy shoulders,
like God would.
Canyons yawn before them.

Fields of wildflowers,
splattered with color,
sway at their passage,
bow in homage.

When they reach the apex,
grandfather lowers the girl
who gathers buds and
puts them in a Mason jar

half-filled with water.
She clasps tiny hands around
the grooved rim,
walks back down on her own.

A warped screen-door slams behind them.
The cool dark room envelopes the pair as
she slips the gift into her mother’s
chapped hands.

SiS’ Daily Haiku Challenge–Matthew 19, 14

Image by George Eastman House via Flickr

Submitted to SiS’ Daily Haiku Challenge: http://pendownmythought.blogspot.com/

Playtime

Let little children
run up and down as they please
play before their God.

“Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these.”  Matthew 19,14

SiS’ Daily Haiku Challenge–Grace

Submitted to SiS’ Daily Haiku Challenge: http://pendownmythought.blogspot.com/p/haiku-challenge.html

Grace

Divine abundance
offered to thirsty souls
drink freely of joy.

SiS’s Daily Haiku Challenge–Two Haikus

Submitted to SiS’s Daily Haiku Challenge: http://pendownmythought.blogspot.com/p/haiku-challenge.html  Today’s theme was an image of eyes.

Mirrors

If eyes are mirrors
do mine reflect love, disdain
apathy perhaps?

Blind

Our eyes cannot see
or grasp all that is divine
so we walk in faith

Live Today–A Sestina

Image via Wikipedia

Submitted to Riika Infinity’s 2011 Wish List Challenge: http://riikainfinityy.com/2010/12/28/wishylissy-for-2011/ in which we were challenged to think about what we want to have, do and wish for this upcoming new year.

 

I chose to do a sestina, choosing as the end words those that represent my deepest wishes:



Truth–to live without illusion, to understand and speak my truth;

Words–to express these truth’s in my writing and speech;

Presence–to be aware of the Divine in creation;

Bliss–to live in joy;

Now–to live in the present moment;

Earth–to enjoy the gifts of creation

 

Live Today
A Sestina

I ask for strength that I may live in truth,
that clarity may seal my every word.
My life unfolds within the silent Presence
of the Divine—it’s here that I find bliss.
Awake, I feast in the eternal Now
yet revel in the offerings of earth.

I taste and touch and breathe the joys of earth,
partake of what I see of beauty’s truth:
the flight of birds, the frosty tendrils now
that etch the glass and hold my every word
displaying beauty on the face of bliss.
I bow before the Godhead’s sacred Presence,

surrender to the very hope of present
pledges offered to the waiting earth,
dance with abandon to the sounds of bliss—
chords that echo in harmonic truth.
Succumbing to the utterance of Your Word
that in my own, another may find Now.

And can it be that only in the Now
I may be welcomed in the blessed Presence,
attend in faith the murmur of the Word?
My sure companion of this walk on earth
will cloth me in a garment spun of truth
that I may wear the wedding garb of bliss.

Because it is God’s will we drink of bliss,
I choose to stride along the path of Now,
relish the textures, colors true—
the vivid palettes painted by the presence
of rainbow’s arc bending towards the earth,
soaking rain that nourishes the word.

You strip away illusions with your words,
comfort my exposure to the truth.
Into deep sleep I fall, await Your presence,
awaken to the touch of brilliant bliss.
At last, You come, I rise unto the Now
and bending, touch my lips upon the earth.

You speak Your truth within a whispered word.
Today Your presence seizes me in bliss
enjoying in the Now my moment on this earth.

 

Song of Songs–One Shot Wednesday

Photo: David Slotto

Submitted to One Shot Wednesday: http://oneshotpoetry.blogspot.com/

This is a form poem written as a Sestina which consists of 39 lines: 6 stanza of 6 lines each. You choose 6 words as the “end-words” and they recur in a pre-designed sequence:
ABCDEF
FAEBDC
CFDABE
ECBFAD
DEACFB
BDFECA
AB CD EF

Song of Songs
a Sestina

All the world’s a stage set to music.
You stroke my life like strings of Your guitar.
We’re born to fly so Your touch of gentleness
sounds a chord in my core that thrills.
Round and round You lead me in a dance—
the whirling rhythm swirls in my heart.

Rejoice, oh world; you hold grief in your heart.
Defy those who claim silence lacks all music.
Refute the clowns who refuse to dance—
Who, though called to joy, strum a dirge on their guitars.
Avoid the fool who rejects life’s thrill,
who sinks into the void with gentleness.

At dawn, mockingbird chants a song of gentleness
awakens the earth, enlivens her heart.
You stir in my Spirit-womb, Your Presence thrills.
Your promised love resounds of music,
Your hands play me as You would play Your guitar.
Our beings entwine and we enter the dance.

The earth and stars conspire to join the dance.
Ocean waves lick the sands with gentleness,
winds pluck the strings of willow tree guitars
while rain plants seeds in Earth—the Mother’s heart.
By day, the sun sings bliss—at night moon-music
plays arpeggios You designed to thrill.

I hear the door You open with a thrill,
arise to greet Your entry with a dance,
breath in the air You fill with sounds of music,
surrender to the call of gentleness,
responding to the rhythm of Your heart—
the wild beat of a classical guitar.

Submit my soul to music, the stroke of Your guitar,
Your voice, Your gentleness, never fail to thrill.
I yield to the tempo of your dance, lay down my heart.

Rediscovery-Jingle’s Poetry Potluck and One Shot Wednesday

Submitted to Jingle’s Poetry Potluck. The theme this week is dreams and visions. Check out the many poets at http://jinglepoetry.blogspot.com/

…and to One Shot Wednesday at http://oneshotpoetry.blogspot.com/

Rediscovery

Emerging from this fog
(induced by absinthe or perhaps unknowing?)
I fly in my balloon, the landing rough
in rockiest terrain.

Quixote I am not but savor
tastes of honey from the gentle smoothness
of earth’s ivory skin.

I deconstruct the faith
that, as a child gave cause for desperation,
pursue Elijah’s chariot, with fiery wings
to worlds oblivious of tragedy,

return like Sandalphon or Phoenix
brilliant in life’s kaleidoscopic dance
of raging color.

Withhold your judgment now, dear friend.
The day may come when, too, you will embrace
my vision, and welcome in the Logos.

Note: This poem was written using the prompt I posted on Monday. You may want to check it out. The random selection of words contributes a bit to the obscurity. I confess to adding words to this one for the sake of some cohesiveness. In the bible, the prophet Elijah was taken into heaven in a fiery chariot. It is said that he has returned to earth as the Archangel Sandalphon who is the overseer of the below direction (the earth). Logos is Greek for Word and is used in this context to refer to Jesus as the Word of God as you will read in the first chapter of the Gospel of John. Eventually I will, no doubt, revise this poem and lose of few of the arbitrary words. Should you decide to try this prompt, you would make me happy if you left a link in comments.