Word Play - Impossibility

When an empty chasm gapes open in your path,

ready to swallow hope and progress,

step on "im" and grasp the tail of "ility" 

to steady yourself as you inch forward

over an invisible bridge to the future,

but when their anchors break, as you fall, 

fling your arms upward and you will find a secure grip on

...POSSIBLE...

---

Image:  Part Four of the Endless Doodle Project - My contribution. 8.5x5.5"

First Glimpse of a Gift!

Look what my friend Maylar made for my children!

When we first started commenting on each other's art last year, we didn't know how dear our friendship would become. As time goes on, I grow more and more aware of how splendid a relationship can develop through the written word and shared interests,... and I don't have to wait months to hear from my penpal, either, which makes me appreciate the times I live in.

Because she's such a treasure and is just that way, she gladly poured time and effort into these lovely and unique hatching dragons!
Dragon Eggs by ~Maylar on deviantART

Perhaps I'm Not a Poet

A new--or perhaps old--discovery of thought
randomly appeared on the radar of retention or abstraction
and I wondered whether it meant anything more than it does,
though the possibility is rather nebulous.
It occurred that what one seeks to learn
or perhaps to study and devour
is a strong indicator of the intention most vital
to the expression of the heart and soul of existence.
And it seemed to me, in that simmering silence
that slides among thoughts from time to time,
that enjoyment and pursuit and knowledge are not one,
though often they accompany one another.
And while I appreciate poetry when it calls to my dreams
and find poetic imagery natural to expression,
it is no less than apparent that I neither pursue nor study
the form of the art.
 -
So perhaps I am not a poet.

But I am an artist and a thinker.

Of this there is no question.

---

This was written for Pleasantly Disturbed Thursdays, though this week its honorable founder, the Great Scott, has encountered an Unpleasantly Disturbed Wednesday, which has prevented him from leading, but for which (I'm sure) sympathy and encouragement would be more than welcome on his part. We can only be grateful that he is around to appreciate our Pleasant Disturbances, since his car crash could have ended so much more badly than it did.

Faith-Filled Depression

Today the Psalmist wails to me the tears of a heart ripped in two, "Deep calls to deep at the noise of your waterfalls; all your waves and billows have gone over me," and knowing he is called "a man after God's own heart" I remember a new example of accepting pain, and why it is alright to suffer even what we call depression, without first trying to evade it with pills, religious pretense, or constant flight toward self-satisfaction as a broken substitute.

"Why are you cast down, oh my soul? And why are you disquieted within me?"

It is the answer to these questions that makes it okay to suffer deeply.... "Hope in God, for I shall yet praise him for the help of his countenance."

I weep openly because tears are part of the life that Christ overcomes, but it would not be overcoming if there were never tears. And who will acknowledge his grace if they never know the depth of suffering he overcame? Who will know how much he can help, if we never admit how much we need that help?

Those suffering through depression need these stories, the stories of the hand of God reaching into lives lost in the shadow of suffering, and that those who were brought through felt the same compression and intolerable weariness as they feel. "Why is my pain perpetual and my wound incurable, which refuses to be healed? Will you surely be to me like an unreliable stream, as waters that fail?" Jeremiah asked of God.

Depression needs to know the right questions to ask, and the answers given to those questions. But I don't think we are meant to push away the depth of the anguish and somehow be too content to suffer. Even when we have sinned, and the suffering is self-inflicted, there is still an acceptance of the emotional state before God. "I am feeble and severely broken;  I groan because of the turmoil of my heart. Lord, all my desire is before you; and all my sighing is not hidden from you. I [...] do not hear, and I am like a mute who does not open his mouth."

So many of the men of God requested termination of their suffering, yet the answer, even when turning to God, is not immediate cessation of the emotional turmoil. "For in you, oh Lord, I hope; you will hear, oh Lord my God. [...] I will declare my iniquity; I will be in anguish over my sin. [...] Make haste to help me, oh Lord, my salvation." And when Christ said, "Now my soul is troubled, and what shall I say? 'Father, save me from this hour'? But for this purpose I came to this hour. Father, glorify your name," his acceptance of suffering at God's hand didn't come with a sudden removal of that sense of pain.

For us, the gradual answer becomes a knowing of personal status. "Certainly every man at his best is but a vapor [...] walks about like a shadow;  busy themselves in vain."

And where is the hope in this? "And now, Lord, what do I wait for? My hope is in you. Deliver me from all my transgressions."

He does it, too.

"The steps of a good man are ordered by the Lord, and he delights in his way. Though he fall, he shall not be utterly cast down; for the Lord upholds him with his hand." While no man is good of himself--in dependence on Christ for salvation we also find ourselves within the promised flow of righteousness freely given by our benefactor.


---

This was actually written several weeks ago. I needed to give it space so I could return and see if it rang true, for it was written through the process of learning. I think it still should be said, so here it is.

As we gather treasures

Collecting new treasures, as so many do,
we hold them too close and count them too few.
We nurture them gently to make them grow great,
wailing in anguish when they're broken  by fate.
But when holiness enters or just stands too near,
we find our hearts threatened with a greater fear;
exposed in the light the new contrast reveals
our tokens of value as rubbish, congealed.
Such hate this engenders, frustration and loss,
to think we have gold and to find that it's dross!
But we fault what is holy and thrust it away,
cast aside the discomfort and turn back to play
with our like-minded friends who envy our hoard
and join us to gather these treasures, adored.

---

Image:  colored pen doodle, 3x5 card

Ah, yes,... and these lines are about perceptions of solace, real or misplaced. I almost forgot where these thoughts began to swell, from the Random Acts of Poetry prompt residing at the back of my mind through to day to day life which sang a song whose spaces unveiled an entirely opposite tune, and considering the contrast became this poem.

I couldn't leave it there, after all. The negative view, while it contrasts the positive and makes it all the more appealing, is not a place in which I wish to remain.

---

But some cast away the rotten and crude,
exposed and unveiled as both ugly and lewd,
and, creeping closer to purity, then
hope to find value that won't crumble when
revealed by the light, that which shines bright and true.
By acknowledging right, their new search ensues
for the pure and the loving, compassion and grace;
things that won't be destroyed, can't be lost or misplaced,
and gain value when they're attacked or disgraced.
Somehow, when they're broken, they're even more whole
and by giving them freely we gain more to hold.
It's counter-intuitive, strange to our minds,
but the solace in holiness is treasure defined.

Responsiblility

Let us protect you (from what you might do)

we proceed cautiously
forecast (the improbable)
fail-safes mounted
alerts and warnings
emblazoned and imprinted
on every item and surface

Consider yourself free (of responsibility)

for when you leave
(your sense)
and our preparations
prove insufficient

You can always sue
for our failure to think (as crazy as you)

--

Image:  Fire - a 3x5" sketch from a while back

Disturbed or Disturbing, It's Thursday

It is today.
Not yesterday ... or tomorrow
though both might be an interesting tour,
a visit of might have been
or maybe, possibly, so.
There is no predictability in time.
It weaves about like there's no tomorrow
or yesterday,
or perhaps the pressure gauge is off.
It's hard to say.
It may explode at any moment,
or this could be just the beginning.
There is something about it, though.
After all, life simmers just right
even when the heat burns;
and the chill always reminds us
that we preferred hot,
even as the heat reminds us
how much we appreciate cold.
And so, if only it were
yesterday ... or tomorrow,
maybe, just possibly, perhaps,
there would be no today.

When there's a boat, hop on, or into the kettle, or off the cliff ... lemmings would love this. I'm following Glynn, who is following Duane Scott, who seems to be the first one to have begun this series of events, for which there is no explanation other than this is possible--pleasantly disturbed and also on the calendar between Wednesday (which is always pronounced oddly for the phonics-reader) and Friday, over which most people rave. Thursdays need some love, perhaps? Or not. Must there be a reason? Stream of thought... random or not ... Great Scott! Better finish before things get worse...
---
Oh, yeah, the photo. My friend lives on a farm. He has farm cats. We visited. This was the runt of the litter. He survived. I knew he would.

Undivided Heart

This is a photo of my grandfather's Bible (now my treasure to remember him by) plus a digital painting in GIMP with my wacom tablet. If you read the verses, there is at least one more reference to the heart on the page, which I think adds to the depth of the imagery. But it's up to you to search it out. *laugh*

Facing the Deep

Trapped and bound by a body unwilling to free energy
for daily tasks or
playing on beaches
and hiking
into the unknown
deep and wild
where bears might lurk in the shadows.
In this alternate place, too mentally occupied with wondering
and whispering words
into the unknown depths
of night shadows
deep and dreadful
where loss of purpose lurks in the corners.
Why? Echoes back in the stillness, like an accusation
against that unknown self
who hopes loving
compassionate and deep
might compensate
for the lack of strength to give labor with generosity.

What good remains in the service of one who wilts within simple motions?
Is service also in the heart that listens close to understand shapes in the meaning others share, then wraps words and compassion together with mystery as salve for the wounded and affirmation for the joyous?

---

Side-note: Chronic Fatigue is more monstrous than a rabid bear.

New Dimensions

Through the words of the mouth
and the work hands impart
flow thoughts and intentions,
revealing the heart.

I've waited to post New Dimensions until I purchased a proper scan of it. Today, I collected my SD card and art from the local fedex/kinkos where I finally found a scanner large enough to take on my non-home-scan-able work.

Even so, there's no way a  glimpse will do it justice within the borders here on the blog. Even the largest rendition I'm willing to share online doesn't reveal the details, so what to do?

My solution ...

Here's a closeup shot of my favorite portion. I've linked to my DA gallery, so when you click on the image you can see the full drawing as large as is digitally available.

For the 14x17" view (or larger? Technology is incredible...) you'll just have to order the print. *grin* Sorry, someone has already claimed dibs on the original, and I hope to finalize the sale this week.

The poem for this image is at the top of this post...

What do you see?

---

On a side-note, I've been considering posting a pdf of some of my old 8.5x11 black and white sketches as a free download to be printed for personal/non-profit use. (Coloring pages came to mind.) I'll be listening for your feedback on this idea, since I'll have to figure out how to create a pdf file to do it, and it's not worth the hassle if nobody is interested.

In other words, only say, "Yeah, go for it!" if you think you could use it, or know a specific person you'd refer to the download link. Suggestions for refining this idea will be gratefully considered.

Ideals and Schedules

This morning I settled in to try, once again, to wrap my mind around planning the day. To those who live by the markings on an hourly calendar, you have no idea how much I wish I had your ability! But, figure this one out ... I started to make a list of daily tasks and ended up with a poem?

Awake and touch the start of day.
Cleansed and dressed, begin to pray.
While shaping breakfast, gather near
God's written pages; choose to hear.
Move on to clean while in this mood,
from counters dirt, from dishes food;
sweep and scrub and dust a while
with lively tunes to raise a smile.
Arrange the papers, note the plans,
prepare what's needed near at hand.
With daily business swiftly done
I'm free to work and have some fun
shaping vision, page and pen;
tasting words and pondering them.
Life's treasure is in reaching for
hearts still wounded, lost, or sore,
and sharing the resources of
God's all-providing, gracious love.

For your further amusement, here's the visual schedule. I'm trying to begin the day smoothly so the afternoon is free for family, friends, and art. Most days, I randomly do some cleaning, but I'm trying to be less random and more purposeful so the unpleasant tasks are done more frequently. This will go behind glass so I can use an erasable marker for short-term plans.

I don't do well with sharp corners or stiff borders, and most planners box me up in them. The calculation of minutes and hours is my downfall. I get lost and the numbers slip away, so I'm trying to create a flow that can naturally become a state of existence.

---

Posted as part of One Shot Wednesday, go visit the other participants here!

The Letting Go of Release

This
this letting go
of framing frame
that bounds
my identity
and my name...

This
this right desire
and good pursued,
defining your borders
to tell you
my due...
This
this dream
expands beyond
the limits of sane
more never
then gone...
This
all this
I hand to you,
unimaginable
tortured,
confused...
This
this truth
is all I have
that you take the broken
and give wholeness
instead.

---

Because the drama only works out when poured into God's hands. Anywhere else, and it's pointless or subversive.

The images are some old sketches:  Transmission Overload, Accidental Dream

My Work Space and Solace

I was thinking of this for the prompt, "Solace" at Three from Here and There, but though this is where I find solace in many ways, the image itself doesn't carry the meaning. You know, the reason I draw is because I struggle to capture emotion in photos. (I'm saying this because certain photographers I admire have said the inverse to me.)

I can catch texture, and light, and pattern
... sure...
as resources for my eyes.

But feeling?

comes more naturally through a pen.

Speak to the Sky

This is the way
we fling words at the sky
falling on knees
as we raise our arms high
and cry to the clouds
with the freedom of trust;
rising then dropping
from glory to lust
and turning face upward
our lips frame each phrase...
repentance, confession,
gratitude, praise...
as our father's hands
grip our wrists, so our fear
relaxes in confidence
he is still near.

I know it's a pity to add this so late, but Kelly happened to have the perfect photo for the mental image sourcing this poem. Isn't she an amazing photographer? I'm in awe of her ability. Visit her site to view her gallery.

(Image used with permission.)

--

Thanks to Emily for inviting me to participate in Imperfect Prose, a Thursday writing prompt for anyone who wishes to join. Follow the link to read other participants and find out more.

Faith - And a vision from Kelly

Kelly Langner Sauer writes as honest as I wish I were and takes photos that could easily be mistaken for dreams. I love her heart's devotion to Christ and her eye for mysteries. So, when she started commenting on my poetry, I was thrilled to find the sense of connection went both ways.

In the process of this gradual unfolding of friendship, I gathered my courage to ask Kelly if she would capture a poem of her own to go along with one I had written. I knew she would bring new meaning and a softness of vision to the words, and she has! Take a look!




I didn't know when
at the beginning of thought
I rested forehead against faith,...
that I would now
feel tendrils of confidence
tangle peace in smooth strokes,
relaxing worry and strain in suffering
with promise of great good.

---

Not only did Kelly bring this moment of faith to life, but this is a self-portrait, which makes it ever so much more amazing in my eyes. (I know how hard it is to get the photo right when you are both in front of and behind the camera... *laugh*) To learn more of this treasure of a friend, visit her blog, A Restless Heart. There you will also find links to her gallery and the rest of her home site.