Dear readers,
I've written a short story. Considering I thought I'd stopped writing stories, this came as a surprise to me. I also have parts of an article on theory of creativity written out, waiting for me to pay attention, along with several older stories I've given up on shaping into a novel, but which I don't wish to leave to gather mold in the digital dungeons.
I've been thinking about how these dimensions of my interests might affect this blog, specifically you, the readership thereof. After all, you chose to be here, and I find that a little perplexing,... and a reason to pursue God's will all the more wholeheartedly.
While I'm not an overtly interactive person, I do seek positive relationships here, and the fact that people actually read and respond to what is posted has become, in itself, a proof to me that God can use even a blog of simple poetry and art for His glory.
Till now I've been maintaining (nearly) a poem-a-day pattern for some time, and I enjoy both the discipline of regular thought and the creative outlet this provides.
I intend to post articles, stories, and so forth as they come, and the old stockpile will be used to fill days when I'm away from the computer. With music, art, prose, and poetry all growing and twining through my life, I want to share the experience with you all, but sometimes I have three unique items I'd love to share in one day!
Out of genuine curiosity and a desire to maintain a courteous posting plan, I'm requesting your opinion. Will multiple posts in a day become an imposition or should I skip poems on days when I have something else to post?
I can't imagine posting more than three times in one day, and that not more than a few times a week (art, poetry, and perhaps an article or an interesting link) but most days would contain a single post or none, since a formal schedule seems to be virtually impossible for my erratic nature.
I seek your thoughts and perspective. Please help me consider this choice wisely.
Karen
Sunday, February 28, 2010
Mix and Bake
How many separations exist
in our labeled world?
Quick-toss from the box
add oil and water
mix and bake
uniformity cake.
In truth the ingredients,
though much the same,
in quantity vary
and use, mix, or type.
Cake is the term, after all,
for the chocolate confection
with spice and whipped cream,
or with chips and caramel,
or fruit mixed,
unseen into layers,
frosted
shaped
or cut.
It cannot be defined,
the interest and vision
spread out across experience,
multiplied divisions
and boxes of content
and thought disunited.
Every individual
a mix unique,
and while we see
at first, the mere outline
we experience and know
the greater design
of the Artist we seek
if our eyes are open
to the varied
potential,
creative
and aware.
---
This poem rather erupted by accident. I was writing something completely different when I started. I've been thinking about creativity and personality a lot recentl... well, always.
in our labeled world?
Quick-toss from the box
add oil and water
mix and bake
uniformity cake.
In truth the ingredients,
though much the same,
in quantity vary
and use, mix, or type.
Cake is the term, after all,
for the chocolate confection
with spice and whipped cream,
or with chips and caramel,
or fruit mixed,
unseen into layers,
frosted
shaped
or cut.
It cannot be defined,
the interest and vision
spread out across experience,
multiplied divisions
and boxes of content
and thought disunited.
Every individual
a mix unique,
and while we see
at first, the mere outline
we experience and know
the greater design
of the Artist we seek
if our eyes are open
to the varied
potential,
creative
and aware.
---
This poem rather erupted by accident. I was writing something completely different when I started. I've been thinking about creativity and personality a lot recentl... well, always.
Friday, February 26, 2010
Blind to Joy
Green,
greener the blades,
delicate,
untrimmed,
lush into the distance
beyond the rim
of confining wall,
defining world,
...
and I so small.
Gasp,
gasping a form
near,
yet far,
groaning for more,
moaning, with sighs,
for a safe-hedged world
and a place to reside,
while resting upon
those fields.
...
I long.
My eyes were blind
to the grace I received.
It's for joy I yearned,
but I was deceived.
What world can bring
what I desire?
Joy is born
from an inner Fire.
---
I'm not sure if this was the poem. For some reason it doesn't say everything I thought it would,... but perhaps it is enough? Let me know.
This thought started with my friend Natasha's post about something she realized when speaking with a friend who was discontent while having everything she had been thinking would make life enjoyable.
Where does joy come from?
greener the blades,
delicate,
untrimmed,
lush into the distance
beyond the rim
of confining wall,
defining world,
...
and I so small.
Gasp,
gasping a form
near,
yet far,
groaning for more,
moaning, with sighs,
for a safe-hedged world
and a place to reside,
while resting upon
those fields.
...
I long.
My eyes were blind
to the grace I received.
It's for joy I yearned,
but I was deceived.
What world can bring
what I desire?
Joy is born
from an inner Fire.
---
I'm not sure if this was the poem. For some reason it doesn't say everything I thought it would,... but perhaps it is enough? Let me know.
This thought started with my friend Natasha's post about something she realized when speaking with a friend who was discontent while having everything she had been thinking would make life enjoyable.
Where does joy come from?
Paradise Bloom
Yesterday was a day of visual poetry. I'm finding it hard to separate the two aspects of thought these days. Sight and beauty, words and beauty ... they combine, entwine, fascinate.
I have a poem that has been brewing for days. It's blocking the channels and looming over my mind. When it arrives, I'll be relieved to discover it and return to the usual flow of words and thought. I have no idea, yet, if this wait is worth it.
In the meantime, here's another form of poetry, my most recent painting, "Paradise Bloom."
I have a poem that has been brewing for days. It's blocking the channels and looming over my mind. When it arrives, I'll be relieved to discover it and return to the usual flow of words and thought. I have no idea, yet, if this wait is worth it.
In the meantime, here's another form of poetry, my most recent painting, "Paradise Bloom."
Thursday, February 25, 2010
"Favorite Things" won 3rd prize!
"Favorite Things" has won third place in the Swirly Artists Club member's contest, My Flow, for self portraits incorporating favorite shapes!
I'll link below to the first and second place winners as well, placing my own work at the end of the series in it's proper place. Since I won a month of membership to the DeviantART community, this is an exciting new step! Finally, I can feature art images in my journal there and am no longer confined to mere links!
First place:
Second place:
"Fishy" by Jelayer (I received permission to post her linked image here.)
Third place:
I'll link below to the first and second place winners as well, placing my own work at the end of the series in it's proper place. Since I won a month of membership to the DeviantART community, this is an exciting new step! Finally, I can feature art images in my journal there and am no longer confined to mere links!
First place:
Second place:
"Fishy" by Jelayer (I received permission to post her linked image here.)
Third place:
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
Undiscovered Way
this only undiscovered way
no map ahead
no clear cut sign
a misty path in light of day
that glows against the dark of night
self-will expected
but released
to conscious guide in silence breathed
that lost connection we all seek
an unseen greatness first designed
not ours but His
forsaken once
the inner
constant
choice of guide
and now
intangible and dim
broken connection realigned
a growing gift
restored by grace
independence now erased
comfort that shatters
growth that breaks
and every moment's breath
designed
unseen yet known
choice to believe
entrusting rights
by faith defined
---
This poem was triggered by Kelly's ponderings in her post, "Qavah".
We think we can make ourselves become strong ... but isn't God's strength shown when we, in our weakness, depend on Him? Even David and Joshua were only strong because God was with them. Perhaps it isn't strong that we must be, but weak and broken, ready for His strength to fill the places we release. I find Kelly's blog a clear example of this. She is transparent and honest with her brokenness, yet it is easy to see God filling her places of weakness, and it's a beautiful sight.
Photo: "Hope" by Karen Eck 2009
Monday, February 22, 2010
Boundaries of Vision
you know
some people
depend too much on capitals
and punctuation
as if they could define the heart
of the matter
by their very existence
but really
they are just fences
defining boundaries of vision
that may not always
be needful
or necessary
or best
especially when the heart
is trying to share
what cannot be seen
---
My comment, in response to Hilary, who said, "i don't really know who I am anymore, nor do I feel like punctuating" after posting a heart-wrenching poem. I've only recently discovered her work, but I recommend you read "Find Relief" and "Glass Kisses" then perhaps browse her gallery to see what else she is capable of, as I plan to do momentarily.
some people
depend too much on capitals
and punctuation
as if they could define the heart
of the matter
by their very existence
but really
they are just fences
defining boundaries of vision
that may not always
be needful
or necessary
or best
especially when the heart
is trying to share
what cannot be seen
---
My comment, in response to Hilary, who said, "i don't really know who I am anymore, nor do I feel like punctuating" after posting a heart-wrenching poem. I've only recently discovered her work, but I recommend you read "Find Relief" and "Glass Kisses" then perhaps browse her gallery to see what else she is capable of, as I plan to do momentarily.
Sunday, February 21, 2010
Thought Progression
Not a poem, just ... thinking.
When did it become the common understanding that the only people who can advise or counsel others must have a degree?
The qualifications are simple:
Leave self out of it.
Focus both sides of the relationship equation toward honoring God, rather than changing each other. Once both hearts focus on God's glory, a restored relationship will soon follow.
Every work God has done within your heart or your vicinity is meant to be shared for the benefit of others, even if it means admitting your sinfulness.
Or does that make no sense whatsoever?
*sighs*
What I learned isn't just for me.
Selfishness destroys relationship.
Idolatry destroys relationship.
Kind revelation of truth trumps bitterness-skewed honesty.
Humility accepts faults in others and severely attacks flaws in self.
Pride ignores flaws in self and severely attacks flaws in others.
Pain hurts even when it's understood.
Accepting pain as part of the road reveals a clear-lined path to growth.
Joy is best when shared.
Maybe I can help?
Or is it just ...
pride
When did it become the common understanding that the only people who can advise or counsel others must have a degree?
The qualifications are simple:
Leave self out of it.
Focus both sides of the relationship equation toward honoring God, rather than changing each other. Once both hearts focus on God's glory, a restored relationship will soon follow.
Every work God has done within your heart or your vicinity is meant to be shared for the benefit of others, even if it means admitting your sinfulness.
Or does that make no sense whatsoever?
*sighs*
What I learned isn't just for me.
Selfishness destroys relationship.
Idolatry destroys relationship.
Kind revelation of truth trumps bitterness-skewed honesty.
Humility accepts faults in others and severely attacks flaws in self.
Pride ignores flaws in self and severely attacks flaws in others.
Pain hurts even when it's understood.
Accepting pain as part of the road reveals a clear-lined path to growth.
Joy is best when shared.
Maybe I can help?
Or is it just ...
pride
Saturday, February 20, 2010
Feather Cloud Castles
Another Frank Mills inspired poem, and one I wasn't sure could be shaped enough to put here, even though I kept re-reading it for the surprises I found.
When poems arrive this way, they are mysteries, and I don't dare edit them much because even a careful touch can shatter the fragile image they somehow manage to carry in spite of having poured out through these fingers. (Well, I can't say I didn't edit because many of the lines shifted place, and I had to find some of the words I missed because it's hard to type fast enough to keep up with the imagery of the music.)
Really, I hope you can see that mystery through the fragmented words and inexplicable structure. I'd love to hear about it if you do...
---
did you fling it closer
did you cast it in the hallway
it is the shadow of a song we want to sing
and it rings out in the sunlight
but here it is an echo
we want to know
the way to the light
and hearts are crying
for a way out of the night
and there's a way
but it means to break down walls
and sometimes it means giving up
all the structurers claiming safety
for out in the forest where the breeze is fresh
there are clouds that fly with wings like a bird
and wrap hearts with castles made of feathers
and we
call out your name
weeeping just the same
as a child lost in the wilderness
do you see the travelers lost upon their way
barricades so strong
block out the wind and the freshness of the sunlight
barriers confine
we need to find the light
the glint of treasure even in the shade
there are flowers
that glow with light
and shine together with the hope
of stars against the sky
there is shelter in the woods
where we can rest the night
echo, oh bring back the song of the wind
catch our hands
and fly upward into the clouds
where your castle is
---
Oh, I just remembered where the lighted flowers came from! My good friend Maylar wrote me a story and gave me those flowers. Here is a quick painting I made from her story, since it has some of the feel I get when I read the poem above.
When poems arrive this way, they are mysteries, and I don't dare edit them much because even a careful touch can shatter the fragile image they somehow manage to carry in spite of having poured out through these fingers. (Well, I can't say I didn't edit because many of the lines shifted place, and I had to find some of the words I missed because it's hard to type fast enough to keep up with the imagery of the music.)
Really, I hope you can see that mystery through the fragmented words and inexplicable structure. I'd love to hear about it if you do...
---
did you fling it closer
did you cast it in the hallway
it is the shadow of a song we want to sing
and it rings out in the sunlight
but here it is an echo
we want to know
the way to the light
and hearts are crying
for a way out of the night
and there's a way
but it means to break down walls
and sometimes it means giving up
all the structurers claiming safety
for out in the forest where the breeze is fresh
there are clouds that fly with wings like a bird
and wrap hearts with castles made of feathers
and we
call out your name
weeeping just the same
as a child lost in the wilderness
do you see the travelers lost upon their way
barricades so strong
block out the wind and the freshness of the sunlight
barriers confine
we need to find the light
the glint of treasure even in the shade
there are flowers
that glow with light
and shine together with the hope
of stars against the sky
there is shelter in the woods
where we can rest the night
echo, oh bring back the song of the wind
catch our hands
and fly upward into the clouds
where your castle is
---
Oh, I just remembered where the lighted flowers came from! My good friend Maylar wrote me a story and gave me those flowers. Here is a quick painting I made from her story, since it has some of the feel I get when I read the poem above.
Friday, February 19, 2010
River of Forgiveness
Another Frank Mills influenced poem from last night. And I'll say up front, that this one only makes sense if you look at it sideways. Full on, it tangles around itself and vanishes into nonsense.
---
it is water falling down
over the cliff of hope
that sings throught the chasm
and follows down the valley
carrying rocks far further
than a man who slaves away
it delicately dances
among cliffs and mountain stones
and carries ever further
all the deepest darkest groans
yet it still, with laughter
takes the burden of our tears
and dashes them into the shadow
of it's churning valley pools
yet we find them rushing there
and drink deep from their depths
then fold out lively picnics
where tree shadows lay their heads
and dance in the sunlight
while we weigh ourselves with pain
but the river carries further
all the rocks of sin and shame
dance in reflected sunlight
leave your burden there
and know that the great river
washed the stains from all you wear
---
it is water falling down
over the cliff of hope
that sings throught the chasm
and follows down the valley
carrying rocks far further
than a man who slaves away
it delicately dances
among cliffs and mountain stones
and carries ever further
all the deepest darkest groans
yet it still, with laughter
takes the burden of our tears
and dashes them into the shadow
of it's churning valley pools
yet we find them rushing there
and drink deep from their depths
then fold out lively picnics
where tree shadows lay their heads
and dance in the sunlight
while we weigh ourselves with pain
but the river carries further
all the rocks of sin and shame
dance in reflected sunlight
leave your burden there
and know that the great river
washed the stains from all you wear
Trapped Words
I love Frank Mills. The music, the sounds and a long history of dreams wrapped in those notes, are tangled through my life, part of my growing up years and then deliberately pursued and brought into the present in order to preserve those dreams and treasure the time-worn sheen they carry.
Tonight, as I listened to "Music Box Dancer" I decided to just start typing whatever words came to mind. Well, once cleaned up and reformatted (there were a lot of mystery words because I was typing so fast) I found a poem! So, here it is... (and, I did five songs altogether. I haven't looked at the rest of those files yet, so who knows if another might clean up to be presentable some day this week.)
---
my voice echoes inside me
but there is nothing to say
I want more than this now
but somehow it's not okay
and my heart
is trapped here
I need to
speak
right now
today
I have words to share
but they just won't come out
I don't know
what to do
help my voice
leave
I can't cry
like I used to
the words are in the way
let me sing
or laugh out
like I used to
I think something
is broken
I'm trapped
inside my heart
and all the walls
are higher than You
help me now
my heart is so low
I can't see the sun
I don't want to be broken
but it seems the only way
since I'm not the only one
I'm not
alone
in here
help me escape the shadow
so I can lead the way
I don't want to be broken
but it seems
to be
the
only
way
---
Edit: It occurs to me that this sounded rather gloomy. Actually, it's hopeful and a little nostalgic for me. There was a time when the walls seemed higher than God's grace, but no longer, and it's because I was willing to let myself be broken in His hand. So, uh. Yeah. Sorry if I worried anyone!
Tonight, as I listened to "Music Box Dancer" I decided to just start typing whatever words came to mind. Well, once cleaned up and reformatted (there were a lot of mystery words because I was typing so fast) I found a poem! So, here it is... (and, I did five songs altogether. I haven't looked at the rest of those files yet, so who knows if another might clean up to be presentable some day this week.)
---
my voice echoes inside me
but there is nothing to say
I want more than this now
but somehow it's not okay
and my heart
is trapped here
I need to
speak
right now
today
I have words to share
but they just won't come out
I don't know
what to do
help my voice
leave
I can't cry
like I used to
the words are in the way
let me sing
or laugh out
like I used to
I think something
is broken
I'm trapped
inside my heart
and all the walls
are higher than You
help me now
my heart is so low
I can't see the sun
I don't want to be broken
but it seems the only way
since I'm not the only one
I'm not
alone
in here
help me escape the shadow
so I can lead the way
I don't want to be broken
but it seems
to be
the
only
way
---
Edit: It occurs to me that this sounded rather gloomy. Actually, it's hopeful and a little nostalgic for me. There was a time when the walls seemed higher than God's grace, but no longer, and it's because I was willing to let myself be broken in His hand. So, uh. Yeah. Sorry if I worried anyone!
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
Unwell
Angry throat
chains ear
to nose
and says,
"Don't move!
Don't struggle!"
---
Content will improve when I can think of something other than my throat.
chains ear
to nose
and says,
"Don't move!
Don't struggle!"
---
Content will improve when I can think of something other than my throat.
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
Inspiration
Courage, courage
you taught to me
while I crossed with ease
the precipitous cliffs
which confine you,
and watched you, brave,
where I would cry
fear and frustration.
High, higher
must I strive
to reach the light
you touch so freely,
your obstacles and attitude
combine to raise you
beyond my reach.
Bright, brighter
your smile to me
and mine your joy
as from mountains
I fly, swoop,
and soar ever higher,
holding your gift,
your courage.
---
From Alexandre Bilodeau's tribute to his brother, Fredric, after winning gold at the Olympics yesterday. Here's one of the news articles about their story.
you taught to me
while I crossed with ease
the precipitous cliffs
which confine you,
and watched you, brave,
where I would cry
fear and frustration.
High, higher
must I strive
to reach the light
you touch so freely,
your obstacles and attitude
combine to raise you
beyond my reach.
Bright, brighter
your smile to me
and mine your joy
as from mountains
I fly, swoop,
and soar ever higher,
holding your gift,
your courage.
---
From Alexandre Bilodeau's tribute to his brother, Fredric, after winning gold at the Olympics yesterday. Here's one of the news articles about their story.
Monday, February 15, 2010
Poems at the Border
Mumbling, grumbling,
unfinished thoughts,
parts of other poems,
sneaking into the trunk
when nobody is looking,
they try to slip onto the page
in unedited travesty.
Potential?
Yes.
But sifting through
ponderous pretention
and fragmented feeling,
I check the trunk,
and request paperwork.
There are ways
and ways
of entering.
Next time,
bring your own verse.
unfinished thoughts,
parts of other poems,
sneaking into the trunk
when nobody is looking,
they try to slip onto the page
in unedited travesty.
Potential?
Yes.
But sifting through
ponderous pretention
and fragmented feeling,
I check the trunk,
and request paperwork.
There are ways
and ways
of entering.
Next time,
bring your own verse.
Saturday, February 13, 2010
Long Day
clutter and crafts
walked
back and forth
up and down
worn-tread steps
of weary sighs
how much paper
can three children shred
in days
weeks
months
a sweeping discovery
books in state
stand high
finally agreed
on who will lean
against the wall
bunnies
captured in woven traps
from long-built homes
wrapped around
belongings
and life
...
This is how I spent my day. More than I have done in a month, and all thanks to company cleaning. Tomorrow I think I will not be able to move, even now the painkillers and other medication are beginning to wear off and I'm realizing that while adrenaline can be a friend from time to time, it leaves behind a trail of destruction.
But the guests were worth all the effort and more (had I put more in).
It was good to share time and dinner with friends.
walked
back and forth
up and down
worn-tread steps
of weary sighs
how much paper
can three children shred
in days
weeks
months
a sweeping discovery
books in state
stand high
finally agreed
on who will lean
against the wall
bunnies
captured in woven traps
from long-built homes
wrapped around
belongings
and life
...
This is how I spent my day. More than I have done in a month, and all thanks to company cleaning. Tomorrow I think I will not be able to move, even now the painkillers and other medication are beginning to wear off and I'm realizing that while adrenaline can be a friend from time to time, it leaves behind a trail of destruction.
But the guests were worth all the effort and more (had I put more in).
It was good to share time and dinner with friends.
Curtains and Cats and Cream
Deep and meaningful? Nah. It's a conversation/reversal game. Want to join? I'll begin with a brief summary of a conversation I had today, followed by an abstract continuation of the pattern. (Must write before sleeping meds and painkillers take over the brain.) What pattern you find below becomes an invitation for you to contribute your own dimension in the comments.
Curtains
... are for those of us who don't want to know what you are doing after sunset.
... are for those of you who don't want us to know what you're doing after sunset.
... are for cats to play in.
Cats
... are for those who ponder mystery over time.
... are for moments of sudden revelation.
... are fond of cream.
(Cream/Fond)
...
...
...
How would you continue this ramble?
Do check comments if there are any, and feel free to continue the game sourced on their input.
*Yawn* I hope you try it, because it would be fun to find other people who can be entertained by the same wordplay as I.
Curtains
... are for those of us who don't want to know what you are doing after sunset.
... are for those of you who don't want us to know what you're doing after sunset.
... are for cats to play in.
Cats
... are for those who ponder mystery over time.
... are for moments of sudden revelation.
... are fond of cream.
(Cream/Fond)
...
...
...
How would you continue this ramble?
Do check comments if there are any, and feel free to continue the game sourced on their input.
*Yawn* I hope you try it, because it would be fun to find other people who can be entertained by the same wordplay as I.
Thursday, February 11, 2010
Dreams of the Past
Justinian linked me to a post by Blackincense, "Dude -- I Had An Epiphany!" which lead me to consider how our attitude toward the choices we made in the past affect the balance and progress of where we are now. Around mid-afternoon, the thoughts begun earlier poured out in a song, sung into the computer whilst my children argued in the background. Here is the result, lightly edited after typing it out this evening.
---
clinging to the past of the past
watching it grow into chains that always hold me back
wishing for the dreams of a future gone
while the arms of the past are so strong
looking forward
up
and
down
for something new to dream
and wondering why what is past is never what it seems
so wandering the future might be more than I can bear
because the past was not as I wish it would ... could be there
caught up in the history of all that never was
and dreaming of a mystery
a path that noone knows
and wondering and wandering from now and until when
what would happen
could have happened
might have happened
then
held back from the future
blocked from growing hope
aspiring for nothing based on something never spoke
wishing for a future
dreaming even more
yet the past is taking over
and no future is in store
wandering the mystery
wondering so long
dreaming
dreaming
dreaming
and lost to all that's gone
looking for the future
reaching for the stars
there is much more that I could find
if I let go and stood upon
the places that are mine
---
Also, this has an element of response to the poem prompt from HighCallingBlogs Random Acts of Poetry based on the theme in the articles "If it ain't completely broke, fix it" and "Having a Say?"
---
clinging to the past of the past
watching it grow into chains that always hold me back
wishing for the dreams of a future gone
while the arms of the past are so strong
looking forward
up
and
down
for something new to dream
and wondering why what is past is never what it seems
so wandering the future might be more than I can bear
because the past was not as I wish it would ... could be there
caught up in the history of all that never was
and dreaming of a mystery
a path that noone knows
and wondering and wandering from now and until when
what would happen
could have happened
might have happened
then
held back from the future
blocked from growing hope
aspiring for nothing based on something never spoke
wishing for a future
dreaming even more
yet the past is taking over
and no future is in store
wandering the mystery
wondering so long
dreaming
dreaming
dreaming
and lost to all that's gone
looking for the future
reaching for the stars
there is much more that I could find
if I let go and stood upon
the places that are mine
---
Also, this has an element of response to the poem prompt from HighCallingBlogs Random Acts of Poetry based on the theme in the articles "If it ain't completely broke, fix it" and "Having a Say?"
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
Life Plus What?
The poetry of thought and the journey of wisdom play together within the mountains of collected knowledge, and often cascades of words are triggered when a concept echoes. The poem below was partially constructed from ideas dropped from peaks I've glimpsed but never traversed. Someday, when I walk them, further up and in, I expect I will find whole what I've only constructed from fragments till now. So I hope you, also, will see the beginnings of possibility.
---
Eternal now
...
grip-fast and grasp
calculate
wait
quiet
cautious
...
Determined to manage our fate
we stand amid thousands
of best paths to take
one toe on each line
none too old, none too new,
just knowing
something should be ours
...
by right?
Clinging to hope in a swift-broken world
of bright plastic token
and glazed, fashion pearl.
Scarcely a gleam of original gold;
amid touch-up and chipped paint,
crackle finish is chic.
Perhaps, even nothing might be worth more?
What would be better?
Some see through the ephemeral play
to antique, broken gears
and slick, filthy slime
and, rejecting facade,
release remnants designed,
reconstructing thoughts
from ancient conceit,
tracing philosophic lines
where deep etchings remain
of work, rest, or love.
Our desires glimmer
misplaced traces of truth
...
perfect relationship
generous love
honest effort
unblocked goals
rewarded service
unlimited potential
eloquent thought
just management
undamaged world
quiet rest
peaceful heart
constant joy
life, full and sweet
...
would perfection be dull?
Still we name
tin angels,
a dirge,
or wind-swept weeds
--- Heaven ---
and rightly run
from our delusion.
---
Thought-triggers of the day:
When wandering from blog-subscription to referred post and so on, one can quickly move from familiar territory into points of view that bewilder by the strength of contrast to what one usually thinks. Well, I try to examine contrasting and even opposing opinions beneath the Bible anyway, because opinions that grow in a hothouse tend to die quickly when exposed to real weather, and never bloom into belief ... but that's another thought entirely, although it does explain why I linked to the posts below.
First, I read Sunrise Sister's post "Death - as great as life?" then followed her link to Tess's blog post "Is nirvana nifty?" and as I read, I remembered the sermon this last Sunday, specifically the last few minutes thereof about the perfect fullness that is heaven (That last link is an audio file, but I think you'll enjoy the whole if you're willing to invest about 40 minutes. This is the verse-list from the sermon.) and Philippians 1:21-23 specifically the desire to be with Christ, "which is far better."
---
Photo: "Holding Light" - Karen Eck
Monday, February 8, 2010
A Piece and More
I read "fragmentation" by Justinian, "Church Smiles" by Glynn and followed soon after with "Patience to wait, when there is nothing clear" by Kelly, and now words bubble inside which may or may not be related to some or all of these, since they all touch on a topic I've thought through so often that it rests like a wave-smoothed stone in my mind. (Edit: Feb. 9 - Had I found this poem yesterday it would have been linked with those listed above, so I'm adding it here for future readers to enjoy. "I do not beg" by Jim.)
---
Sharp-pointed edge cuts fragile skin
and sets your heart to flee,...
I didn't mean ...
Please understand!
That flaw is just in me....
My Master placed my shattered self
into this time and space.
Look! Shaped around
in pattern broad,
so many fill this place;
all broken, fragile pieces,
some blunted, bent, or old,
the mosaic of the Savior
isn't made from
jewels or gold.
But when He fills the spaces,
though we also cut His heart,
now combined, this
sharp-edged pattern
shines as luminescent art.
---
---
Sharp-pointed edge cuts fragile skin
and sets your heart to flee,...
I didn't mean ...
Please understand!
That flaw is just in me....
My Master placed my shattered self
into this time and space.
Look! Shaped around
in pattern broad,
so many fill this place;
all broken, fragile pieces,
some blunted, bent, or old,
the mosaic of the Savior
isn't made from
jewels or gold.
But when He fills the spaces,
though we also cut His heart,
now combined, this
sharp-edged pattern
shines as luminescent art.
---
Expressions - Karen Eck
Empty and Filled
The post "Noticed" by Kelly L. S. the other day caught my heart and attention. And as I commented on her thoughts, the words began to turn into poetry. So, below is the refined version. But go check out her blog. I only just started reading, but am finding her honest openness and insightful writing thought-provoking and well-worth taking the time to ponder rather than merely reading quickly and moving on.
---
What if
always
I felt full,
to starve
and never know it?
There are miracles
of moments,
gifts from God;
and treasures
of relationship,
I always want more.
Yet ...
when I feel empty,
it is a gift.
Emptiness has become
a never-ending prompt
to reach for God's fullness
and open to the flow
through my empty soul
into the friendships
and potentials
scattered near
that would
remain
unnoticed
except
I
am
empty
and know it.
---
What if
always
I felt full,
to starve
and never know it?
There are miracles
of moments,
gifts from God;
and treasures
of relationship,
I always want more.
Yet ...
when I feel empty,
it is a gift.
Emptiness has become
a never-ending prompt
to reach for God's fullness
and open to the flow
through my empty soul
into the friendships
and potentials
scattered near
that would
remain
unnoticed
except
I
am
empty
and know it.
Saturday, February 6, 2010
Waxen Wings
When I know the entire story behind Justinian's poetry, it's always like sunrise on a clear day. Measure for Measure is one of his sunrise poems, and prompted a poem in response. Please follow the link and read his poem also, so you can see where I started.
Oh, and he told me later while chatting about the poem that Psalm 68:2 was a strong element of the poem's creation. "As wax melts before the fire, So let the wicked perish before God." I think knowing this adds richness to the reading right from the start.
----
Waxen wings melt
in the heat of the Son
as it should be
...
for He reaches down
and builds
muscle
fiber
bone
...
and fledged
with the feathers of His presence
our new-grown wings
may flex against the flow
of the wind
to bear us further
and higher
than we could have known
without
drawing near enough
to melt
---
Image: "Angel Wing" - by me
Friday, February 5, 2010
Poetry Conversation - and Rocks
I only met Natasha this week, at DA ... where I tend to spend my time building relationships, learning and teaching, giving and receiving art, and in some cases gaining beautiful glimpses of God's glory. Natasha's poetry was one of those surprise glimpses.
I first read "Fearful Dance" and found someone who knows what it is to follow God as He leads our unstable steps. Then I went to her gallery and found "Rocks" which prompted the following poem in response. Please do follow the link and read her poem as well, I think you will see God's hand in the way they play together.
---
Was There Much Pain
Was there much pain
when stone-hard heart
struck hand and feet and side?
And jagged edges
deeply stuck
with sharp and pointed pride?
This rubble flung,
falls at your feet,
such worthless travesty.
You take those
shattered pieces
and still turn kind eyes to me!
And as the blood
from all those wounds
seeps into jagged shale,
a gentle pulse
begins to beat;
I finally inhale
a breath of life
into this soul
so long lost in blind shame.
You gather all my pieces in
and ask,
"Was there much pain?"
---
We've had several good conversations, commenting on each others' art, and today she gave me the sort of gift that makes me cry tears of praise before God. When others see Him in me, then I can truly rejoice. And, since the gift is an image, I'll post it below. It, too, contains a link to her page. Please go, read her work, and comment if you feel led. I think you will find that knowing her is a gift to you as well.
What I like about by ~saykha on deviantART
I first read "Fearful Dance" and found someone who knows what it is to follow God as He leads our unstable steps. Then I went to her gallery and found "Rocks" which prompted the following poem in response. Please do follow the link and read her poem as well, I think you will see God's hand in the way they play together.
---
Was There Much Pain
Was there much pain
when stone-hard heart
struck hand and feet and side?
And jagged edges
deeply stuck
with sharp and pointed pride?
This rubble flung,
falls at your feet,
such worthless travesty.
You take those
shattered pieces
and still turn kind eyes to me!
And as the blood
from all those wounds
seeps into jagged shale,
a gentle pulse
begins to beat;
I finally inhale
a breath of life
into this soul
so long lost in blind shame.
You gather all my pieces in
and ask,
"Was there much pain?"
---
We've had several good conversations, commenting on each others' art, and today she gave me the sort of gift that makes me cry tears of praise before God. When others see Him in me, then I can truly rejoice. And, since the gift is an image, I'll post it below. It, too, contains a link to her page. Please go, read her work, and comment if you feel led. I think you will find that knowing her is a gift to you as well.
What I like about by ~saykha on deviantART
Further Up and Further In
This blog is meant to be a place of transparency. What art I make is set before God to be used or disregarded. What words I share are meant to give you a vivid glimpse into a soul surrendered (or not, as will happen all too often) in confident assurance that relationships, circumstances, ideas, and every tactile object, known or unknown, are continually managed within the active attention of a God too great to frame with knowledge.
Because God is real ... I live confident that all-I-am-not still does not limit him from doing whatever good he will do with this surrendered life. If you are interested, join me in watching for God's handiwork. I know there is nothing in me that could ever be worth your time--except every instant in which I am eclipsed by his presence.
Because God is beyond knowing, he is full of surprises.
Because he is the maker of meaning, he bestows value where he will, even in places we think have been destroyed and devalued.
Because he is good, he does not allow sin and evil to claim mastery of time or space, even though they are permitted a destructive path through this world to allow true availability of his gift of free will--the ability to distort his ideal design.
Because he is creative, he remains a constant source of beauty and good, even rising bright above the purposeful distortions we cause in the world, and invests his own nature into that which volunteers to exist under his will, thus restoring what was broken.
Like a phoenix, I am afire. But in this willing self-death that surrenders to his promise of replacing our natural interactive pattern with his own perfect presence, Jesus demonstrates life abundant in love, light, and wisdom.
How can these things be? Perhaps you will glimpse a portion of the mystery as you watch him work through me and the many people who inspire me.
Because God is real ... I live confident that all-I-am-not still does not limit him from doing whatever good he will do with this surrendered life. If you are interested, join me in watching for God's handiwork. I know there is nothing in me that could ever be worth your time--except every instant in which I am eclipsed by his presence.
Because God is beyond knowing, he is full of surprises.
Because he is the maker of meaning, he bestows value where he will, even in places we think have been destroyed and devalued.
Because he is good, he does not allow sin and evil to claim mastery of time or space, even though they are permitted a destructive path through this world to allow true availability of his gift of free will--the ability to distort his ideal design.
Because he is creative, he remains a constant source of beauty and good, even rising bright above the purposeful distortions we cause in the world, and invests his own nature into that which volunteers to exist under his will, thus restoring what was broken.
Like a phoenix, I am afire. But in this willing self-death that surrenders to his promise of replacing our natural interactive pattern with his own perfect presence, Jesus demonstrates life abundant in love, light, and wisdom.
How can these things be? Perhaps you will glimpse a portion of the mystery as you watch him work through me and the many people who inspire me.
Thursday, February 4, 2010
If I Move
Contained
...
for now
...
it settles
above digestion
between breaths
below sound
amorphous
contained in silence
fibrous tendrils
twining through nerves
to trembling
fingers
lips
knees
...
if I move
...
Will it trigger
tears
motion
words
and if it does
do you think
anyone
will survive
the
eruption
---
Tense day, full of unfulfilled expectations, not all of them my own.
---
Edit: Thank you to Gordon Atkinson for the highlight from the High Calling Blogs feature newsletter!
...
for now
...
it settles
above digestion
between breaths
below sound
amorphous
contained in silence
fibrous tendrils
twining through nerves
to trembling
fingers
lips
knees
...
if I move
...
Will it trigger
tears
motion
words
and if it does
do you think
anyone
will survive
the
eruption
---
Tense day, full of unfulfilled expectations, not all of them my own.
---
Edit: Thank you to Gordon Atkinson for the highlight from the High Calling Blogs feature newsletter!
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
fragment
Poetry
catches at the edge of consciousness
and drags the mind along,
like riding the wake
of a too-fast train
in the sky
and letting go
to drift down on wings
of a song
lost in time
and traffic
and too many things to do
---
From a conversation.
The thoughts I like best always come that way.
catches at the edge of consciousness
and drags the mind along,
like riding the wake
of a too-fast train
in the sky
and letting go
to drift down on wings
of a song
lost in time
and traffic
and too many things to do
---
From a conversation.
The thoughts I like best always come that way.
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
Relationship
I am
greedy to touch
your heart,
to reach inside
and cause a chord
so I can hear you
or sing along.
The tune
is your own,
chime or trumpet,
the response
is relationship.
--
Photo - "Winter Branch #1" - by Karen Eck
In the Back
Glaring gaze
and grasping ways
defend hard against all sight
with rigid lines
and cabled lies
Arching keel hides blinding light
...
deep-sunk anchor
claimed by storm
Yell and yearn
and search through lies
haven shudders
slip and fall
long-held convictions
...
now die
...
bound by cabled, rigid lines
with raging heart defying time
...
And from the back a gentle hand
catches garment
stills the land
softens fall and
breaks the shields
while the anchor caught
now yields
...
amazed eyes and gaping jaw
over shoulder look with awe
where rescue came from
?
ENEMY
?
find
true Friend
Truth
Security
and grasping ways
defend hard against all sight
with rigid lines
and cabled lies
Arching keel hides blinding light
...
deep-sunk anchor
claimed by storm
Yell and yearn
and search through lies
haven shudders
slip and fall
long-held convictions
...
now die
...
bound by cabled, rigid lines
with raging heart defying time
...
And from the back a gentle hand
catches garment
stills the land
softens fall and
breaks the shields
while the anchor caught
now yields
...
amazed eyes and gaping jaw
over shoulder look with awe
where rescue came from
?
ENEMY
?
find
true Friend
Truth
Security
Monday, February 1, 2010
Call it Butterfly
Life and light and truth grow fresh
beyond this darkened stain;
broken hearts made new are found
washed in raging rain.
But in the sight a terror lies
revealed in our core,
a rancid stench of rotten soul.
Death says it offers more.
How often do we change the name
that rests before our eyes?
To make it more palatable
or break it down to size?
Today, I called it Butterfly
and shaped for it some wings,
but Death by any other name
...
still stings.
Painting: "Call it Butterfly" by Karenee
---
You probably recognized the last two stanzas of the poem, since I posted an initial version a few days ago. I designed it to go with this image.
How well do they play together? Does your perception of the image change based on the words in the poem? What do you think of when you see them?
beyond this darkened stain;
broken hearts made new are found
washed in raging rain.
But in the sight a terror lies
revealed in our core,
a rancid stench of rotten soul.
Death says it offers more.
How often do we change the name
that rests before our eyes?
To make it more palatable
or break it down to size?
Today, I called it Butterfly
and shaped for it some wings,
but Death by any other name
...
still stings.
Painting: "Call it Butterfly" by Karenee
---
You probably recognized the last two stanzas of the poem, since I posted an initial version a few days ago. I designed it to go with this image.
How well do they play together? Does your perception of the image change based on the words in the poem? What do you think of when you see them?
A Valentine's Day Card or Framed Print for your Wall?
I haven't been doing much with my cards recently, but since I already had Valentine-type art in my collection, I thought I'd send it through the system at the card publishing site, just in case anyone might be interested.
This is "Loving Heart" (in the card the image is centered in a vertical rectangle with a light, dashed-line border on the top and bottom.) The site doesn't give the option of a direct link to the card image, so click through if you're interested in seeing the minor changes. I've linked the above image to the card's sales page. It is also available (as shown here) as a print for your wall or to paste over a hole in the floor if you click on this linked text.
If you note me, I can also write a custom poem to place inside the card containing the sentiments you request, so long as you do so about two weeks before the day of desired receipt. (Meaning right now, for Valentines.) Even a rush notice can take a few days to get through the system, and I'd have to write the poem, check with you to make sure it's suitable, and then post the new card. This year, I'll do this for no additional charge, because poetry is fun. (However, if you don't end up buying the card/s, then the poem is fair game for this blog.)
Feel free to visit my card store to see what else is available. I can customize any of my images (including those posted at Imagekind and DevArt) with any of my poems, and change the color of the line-art and background on the black and white art (not the colored paintings).
Once you purchase, the card/s will be shipped directly from the company to you or the address you specify. (You can add your own thoughts before purchase to quickly send the card anywhere.)
---
Breathes a sigh of relief. Do you know how hard it is to try to sell my own work? If you could see my hands shaking just from typing this blog.... Hehe!
Was that too intrusive? Suggestions for improving the above content are much appreciated from any marketers or anyone out there. My brain shuts down the moment the word "sell" enters the picture, and you all are going to have to survive the times when I do this sort of thing, so help me make it as painless as possible for you.
If you note me, I can also write a custom poem to place inside the card containing the sentiments you request, so long as you do so about two weeks before the day of desired receipt. (Meaning right now, for Valentines.) Even a rush notice can take a few days to get through the system, and I'd have to write the poem, check with you to make sure it's suitable, and then post the new card. This year, I'll do this for no additional charge, because poetry is fun. (However, if you don't end up buying the card/s, then the poem is fair game for this blog.)
Feel free to visit my card store to see what else is available. I can customize any of my images (including those posted at Imagekind and DevArt) with any of my poems, and change the color of the line-art and background on the black and white art (not the colored paintings).
Once you purchase, the card/s will be shipped directly from the company to you or the address you specify. (You can add your own thoughts before purchase to quickly send the card anywhere.)
---
Breathes a sigh of relief. Do you know how hard it is to try to sell my own work? If you could see my hands shaking just from typing this blog.... Hehe!
Was that too intrusive? Suggestions for improving the above content are much appreciated from any marketers or anyone out there. My brain shuts down the moment the word "sell" enters the picture, and you all are going to have to survive the times when I do this sort of thing, so help me make it as painless as possible for you.
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