Cozy Cuppa Corner

My Goel

2010-09-10T17:02:00.000-05:00

You pulled me to You,
up out of the dusty road.
The blood and sweat and tears
mixing with dust
upon my sunburnt skin
did not deter You.
You knew what You would do.

You covered me with fine silk
that rippled down over my newly-washed curves
like the words You spoke
as you bathed me—
words that washed me like water,
kind words, words of forgiveness.

Your fingers untangled the knots in my hair,
carefully separating the strands
and removing the broken hairs.
You worked slowly, purposefully,
mitigating any pain
by holding my head still
or holding the hair just right.
And all the while You hummed a song.

You took delight in Your work—
I heard Your smile travel up and down
the notes of the lullaby
You next put into words.
Your smile, like sunlight between the leaves of the tree,
dappled upon my cheek.
I wanted to turn to look upon Your face,
but You held me still—
there was yet more work to do.

{composed 11.3.02}
{revised 7.31.06}

love, for the future

2010-06-23T16:11:00.004-05:00

i love you

i love you

i love you

will you love me?
not only now
when things are new
but also then …

when i scorch the soup
when i forget to iron your shirt
when it takes too long for me to choose an outfit
when i want to do nothing but nap
when i growl at incompetent drivers
when i sort laundry into greys & browns & reds & purples (not just lights and darks)
when my blood sugar is too low or too high
when i lose my eyesight
when my skin becomes unsightly everywhere
when i lose a foot or a leg
when i forget who you are …

even then?

then

come live in my heart,
in the smile in my eyes,
in the warmth of my embrace,
in the tenderness of my caress.

here you will find home,
a retreat from the crazy
busyness of the outside world.

come know that you are safe,
that you are sheltered
from the buffeting of harsh winds
of criticism,
in a bastion of belief
in who you are,
who you are becoming,
and who you can be.

come rest in the hollow
between my breasts,
above my heart, where
time
is measured
not by 140-character updates
but by
the steady beat
of my affection
for you.

It wasn't anything

2007-03-01T11:30:00.000-06:00

It wasn’t anything
that could be spoken
or pointed to.

It hung in the air.

a vague impression of a scent
with no
source,

a feeling
with no
name.

What can be defined by the space

it doesn’t fill? One cannot assert the existence of such a thing.

but
there it was.

Perhaps it could be drawn
on black paper
in silver ink,
and the act
of drawing it
(the shape, whatever it please
the illustrator)
would be the thing itself.

Let the drawing be the interpretation made
by the grasping senses.

I’ll trace the line with a fingertip,
try
to feel the tautness,
to locate the endpoints,
to collect a few silver dustings to print
on my forehead.

I would be a devotee
of the office supply closet,
transported by the scent
of rubber cement,
saying and counting my prayers
by a paper clip chain,
solemnly exchanging
incoming for outgoing mail.
Find comfort in numerable,
tangible odds and ends,
useful and always ready,
so very organized,
unlike these elastic impressions
of you
that
stretch
out
to encompass
so many interpretations,
and then
snap
back
to admonish my folly.

written 6.2.97
revised 2.28.07

© 2007 ElenaMarie

If love were a bargain

2007-03-01T11:16:00.000-06:00

And you weren’t supposed
to be thinking these things—
nothing charitable in this direction,
nothing to encourage a strengthening
of this strand loosely woven
between two minds
(of hearts we won’t speak).
Calling up
little-promising proofs
was supposed to require a pot
of coffee and a dozen donuts
(twelve more free with coupon—
oh if love were such a bargain—
with six you get eggroll,
but one doesn’t mean
two necessarily.
There are motions to make,
bargains to plea, evidences to show...);
and there should have been more
days of snow, more mornings
punctuated by the hiss and clank
of the radiator that left rust stains
on dirty, grey carpeting.
The landscape should
have remained
that steely-blue grey, the color of eyes
too long used to the cold.
Perhaps we could have redecorated,
added a splash of Dante red
and delineated the boundaries
of the inner sanctum, to match
the tomato sauce spilled from pizza.
But green had to begin,
and the sun could stay away no longer.
They would collaborate,
those happy fellas,
to send small hopes,
kept in enameled boxes,
up and out and up into the sky.

written 4.25.97
revised 2.28.07

© 2007 ElenaMarie

Poem for Neil

2007-02-22T14:50:00.001-06:00

A winter of discontent
has given way to spring's
warmer shafts of light
piercing into places too long
darkened by past sorrows.
A sunny eye
turns with moist life
to softly touch dry spots,
to unfurl this soul's beauty
slowly,
so slowly
deftly,
and to cup a delicate reality
gently,
so gently,
and turn it to the light.

© 2007 ElenaMarie

A book you can eat?

2007-01-17T11:10:00.000-06:00

Not really. But this book uses enhanced photographs of vegetables and fruits to teach basics—like numbers, opposites, and so on—to kids. Too cute!

Stones in the Hand of the Master

2006-09-26T11:13:00.000-05:00

This sadness does not know how
to mourn for you;
possibilities still exist
but hide themselves
in daytime language,
no more of sense
than the speaking of
the recurrent dream.
A pattern remains to be seen
in the dusk, gradations of autumn light
embroidering themselves
on the clouds covering these eyes.
Hiding produces little,
but your footsteps yet pierce
the canvas of this life’s turning—
heavy, measured footsteps,
as if walking must be ruled
by Pythagorean theorem.
But there is no formula
for this …
too many variables tumble over one another,
all semi-precious stones.
But the edges do not smooth on their own.

The Polisher takes out jewels
one by one and grinds them,
chips an edge or two,
shines them with a soft cloth.
Held up to the starlight,
the stones gleam a tribute
to the Master’s skill and dedicated love.

This life is His gem,
polished every day…
a simple rock,
striated with deposits.
In His hand, this rock rests,
shinier day by day.
With the others
it is part of a treasure trove,
that tribute to the Master.

How beautiful you would be
in His hand,
a gem of rare beauty,
a great tribute to the Creator
who is Master of all.
But your heart remains
rough-hewn stone,
fortress against His entry.
May He knock upon the gate.
May He enter, crowned in glory.
May stone grown warm under His hand.

{written in the late 1990s}

© 2006 ElenaMarie

Arise, O Sleeper, Arise

2006-09-08T11:40:00.000-05:00

Arise, O sleeper, and see that your lady is flown—
for fainting heart's arrows have pierced,
and wounds require fuller healing
than fear can afford.

Arise, don your armor, take up your sword and shield.
Mount the trusty steed, and ride to your lady's defense!

Though mountains and gorges stand in between
and thickets and walls circle 'round,
fear not the seeming obstacles
for love that abounds
will surmount the surrounds
and claim what is his, e'en so.

See not the hag's face that appears to you now,
as you open the door to the chamber.
For the enemy has shrouded the lady's sweet glow
with cloying covering of shuddering fear.
Remember the smile that illumined the night,
the joyful reception at end of the day,
the hopeful dreams at dawn's early light,
and hasten, o hasten to make your way
to her side, pledging your name, your life's very breath
to be all that Love says that He is.

~E~ 8.21.06

By faith

2005-11-04T17:35:00.000-06:00

Stretch the reach of my heart
beyond where my arms touch.
Open the eyes of my heart
to what my sight misses each day.
Make me sigh, long, yearn
for the things unknown to stomach or tongue.

This world is less real than You,
but too many times I choose the lesser things.

So many counterfeit paintings
are hung in the gallery of life,
pleasing to the sight...
Let me see beyond the surface.
Be the Light who shines
to reveal Your fingerprints.

Itching ears only need something
to scratch them. Anything will do.
May my ears incline to hear the best things,
the songs that echo from You.

Keep me hemmed in.
Please do not let me choose
to walk away,
to stray,
or to wander.
The boundaries of Your wings
are sufficent for me,
for Your embrace shows Your care.

A poem-psalm

2005-11-01T17:15:00.000-06:00

Help me eat my daily portion.
Let it taste good upon my lips.
Let me savor its sweet flavor.
Help me know it’s just enough.

Your grace is made perfect
in my every weakness.
But this weakness lasts beyond today.
And I fear I will not be strong enough
to chew the portion You have assigned.

But You said
I can do all things—
even let my hands drop
and stop striving,
even be still and know You’re God,
even depend on this day’s grace,
even keep from worrying about tomorrow,
even find the strength that is Your joy—
through Christ who strengthens me.

So I will rejoice in this day
that the Lord has made.
So I will sing and praise His name…
for He has never forsaken me,
never left me lost in shame.

I will say that He is great,
that His ways are always right,
that He knows the way I take,
And when I come out on the other side,
this face will shine with radiance.
I will be like refined silver,
reflecting His holy light.

~~ 11.1.05 ~~

Before building an eben ezer

2005-08-29T13:25:00.000-05:00

Looking up from the pit
dug by guilty hands,
the tired prisoner sees
a ladder extend down
and then rest on the muddy bottom.
Does he dare
to climb out
of this hole
into a sky-blue-covered world
of unknown?
Should the days become hazy,
will the once-imprisoned
wish himself back
down here?
Are there dangers worse
than this stifling air
that steals
every hopeful breath?
El-Shaddai, You wait,
silently cheering him on
to put one foot
on that first rung,
just to start
going
somewhere.
El-Roi, You want him
to choose
the light.
Too long he's choked on
imagined disappointments.
It's time to climb to the future,
to get on with moving on.

written 12.1.03;
revised 8.29.05

Jehovah-Nissi

2005-08-29T13:20:00.000-05:00

Already the story unfurls itself
like a banner proclaiming victory
before the war is over,
before the last battle is engaged.
Already the counting of the healed
is sung as heroes' ballads,
before the shots have fired,
before the blood starts flowing.
Time is of no matter;
matter bends to eternity's will.
In the heavens the battle rages ever,
and the enemy's defeat is ever close.
Here in this shell, this burned-out shelter,
a candle glows, a promise flickers.
Already the rebuilding begins
like a people's returning joy,
before all is destroyed in firestorm,
before the walls are crumbled by Love.

written 12.1.03;
revised 8.29.05

The beginning of a Love story

2005-08-18T11:30:00.000-05:00

From across miles
of dry dusty desert
I came to find Your power,
expecting You to return with me;
but You spoke a word
and at that hour
healing arrived...
When I ask for food,
You give me Bread,
more hearty than any I could bake.
You lay a feast at a stop in the road.

Again, another poem in progress. Thoughts? Recommendations for how to continue and finish it?

Muy cansada hoy

2005-05-26T17:40:00.000-05:00

a stack of pancakes sopped
soggy with maple syrup and a dollop
of butter that melts a well,
a gooshy pancake center...

too much sugary thinking...
deliciousness that isn't so nutritious.
too much fatty thinking...
too much of an excess,
too much coating...
though the wheels of grey matter
needed some greasing.
some oil, some is just enough...

Author's note: I've given myself permission to put poetry drafts here, especially in the hopes that comments will help spur me forward or in another direction. My writing is often a response to things others say or to what is happening around me. It's my interior monologue of sorts, sometimes with a "soundtrack." I don't purport to be Homer or Shakespeare. This stuff is what it is...and is what it becomes.

Whenever I have Harvest Grain 'n' Nut pancakes at IHOP, the stack arrives with a huge dollop of butter in the middle that creates this soggy well. (I love the mushy part of not-quite-cooked bread products, so this sogginess is delightful to me!) Put maple syrup on top...and augh! augh! That's some good stuff! But I know that as tasty as this dish is, it's not good for me, for anyone for that matter. And that's what I think my thinking has been lately.....not as "healthily" productive as it could be. It's hard to explain---that's why I like to use the metaphor.

Thoughts on how to get this poem closer to what I'm trying to say?

Door Quotes

2005-04-06T18:40:00.000-05:00

At my alma mater, a favorite professor posted on the outside of her office door funny or insightful quotes from her students. Pink Kitty and I know these as "Door Quotes." Over the years since college, we've experienced some more linguistic gems that deserve a home, so from time to time, I'll post them on this blog.

Here are some from August 2003:

JRMama: "I'm just speakin' out the side of my head."

Unknown: "Picture the craption."

Yes, folks, I'm not spur-uh-chul all the time. ;o)

Love to all!

Magnetic Poetry

2005-04-06T18:36:00.000-05:00

Bits o' things composed on JRMama's fridge one evening:

ferocious desire

could this be ... caramel coffee?

squirming child

salt of the earth

remember this night of stars

voices pierce the night

poetry devours

your secret smile melts me here & there

a woman who wakes her man with lingering looks {ahem...Bridget?}

soft blue-green summer dreams

moon bleeds transluscent eternity {OK, feel free to retch}

perhaps she always blushes next to him

when will eyes embrace

vast velvet universe {no, not Elvis}

delicious dirt {ever have a dirt cup for dessert?}

candy cloud castle

A soft place to fall

2005-04-06T18:14:00.000-05:00

when David was in the cave
when Daniel was in the lions' den
when Jeremiah was in the mucky cistern
when Elijah lost heart
when Anna lost her husband
when Nabal was an idiot
when Bathsheba lost her child
when Hannah was barren for years
when Jonah was in the big fish
when Moses and Aaron were blamed
when Joshua and Caleb were the believing minority
when Sarah was desired by Abimelech
when Leah went unloved
when Rachel was barren
when Gideon was skeptical
when Saul was troubled
when Adam and Eve lost Abel
when Jacob brought on his brother's hatred
when Joseph was in jail
when Paul was afflicted
when Peter denied You
when Mary Magdalene couldn't find You
when Rahab waited for the walls to fall
when Naomi lost her men
when Ruth gleaned in the fields
when Mary was with child
when Joseph was contemplating a quiet divorce
when Zechariah burned the incense
when Peter was in jail
when Paul and Silas were in jail
when John was alone on the island
when Noah was mocked
when Abraham set out for the promised land

You were there.
You were their soft place to fall,
when everything around them
was too quiet,
too loud,
too dry,
too mucky,
too chaotic,
too lonely,
too uncertain,
too painful,
too unfaithful,
too real.

when the rent is due
when the baby has a rare disease
when the brother has died
when the mother doesn't know anyone anymore
when the father loses his job
when the cousin turns to drugs
when the aunt has a heart attack
when the tsunami, the hurricane, the earthquake destroys
when the storm wakes us in the night
when the doctors are baffled
when the cure is still in the distant future
when the money is tight
when the spouse doesn't understand
when the date went sour
when the job gets boring
when the sock goes missing
when someone forgot to use fabric softener
when the toilet overflows
when the fridge goes kaput
when the car won't start
when traffic is horrendous
when the milk is curdled
when the toast burns
when no one wants to sign the cast
when the kids are taunting
when the inspiration is lacking
when the energy peters out
when the decision is difficult
when there are too many options
when someone was unfair
when a reputation is tarnished
when lies reign in the world
when evil seems to be running rampant

You say...

"Do not be afraid."
"Peace, be still."
"Receive."
"Keep on going."
"Don't worry. These things will be provided."
"I will come."
"I will return."
"I have been there."
"I know how that feels."
"I am with you."
"I know you."
"I love you."
"I AM THAT I AM."

And that is all we need to know.

An old hymn

2005-03-10T18:06:00.000-06:00

I found an old hymn in The Baptist Hymnal (1991) whose text resonated with me. Since it's in the public domain, I think it's OK for me to post the lyrics here.

Hymn 270: No, Not Despairingly

No, not despairingly
Come I to Thee,
No, not distrustingly
Bend I the knee:
Sin hath gone over me
Yet this is still my plea:
Jesus hath died.

Ah! mine iniquity
Crimson hath been,
Infinite, infinite
Sin upon sin:
Sin of not loving Thee
Sin of not trusting Thee,
Infinite sin.

Lord, I confess to Thee
Sadly my sin;
All I am tell I Thee,
All I have been:
Purge Thou my sin away,
Wash Thou my soul this day:
Lord, make me clean.

Faithful and just art Thou,
Forgiving all;
Loving and kind art Thou
When poor ones call:
Lord, let the cleansing blood,
Blood of the Lamb of God,
Pass o'er my soul.

Then all is peace and light
This soul within;
Thus shall I walk with Thee,
The loved Unseen;
Leaning on Thee, my God,
Guided along the road,
Nothing between.

Words: Horatius Bonar

"Not distrustingly bend I the knee"---wow, that we might bend the knee yet be distrusting. Let that not be! Oh, break my heart...not shattered into pieces...but break the stiff-necked pride...that I bend the knee...and may I know that You are not hateful to me but are disciplining me in love, as the perfect father would.

"let the cleansing blood...pass o'er my soul"---spiritual Tide with color-safe bleach! When I read "cleansing," I often think of a scrub brush rubbing painfully into my skin. But it isn't that. No! Remember the painting on the lintels of the Hebrews' doors the lamb's blood? The pain was carried by the lamb. It might have pained the person slaughtering the lamb to kill a dear animal, but we don't know. We do know that our Savior suffered agony, and those watching Him suffer pain and death must have suffered much emotional pain...perhaps to the point of some physical pain. But look! The cleansing blood does not scrub into our skin, and the hurt of change occurs when we do not cooperate with God. (Yes, life events can be painful, but that's not the same as spiritual cleansing.) Hmm...something to ponder further.

My favorite part: "Leaning on Thee, guided along the road, nothing between." I have this image of having my arm in the crook of His arm, like lovers do, and leaning on His shoulder and on His chest. No tension between us. No distrust. No coldness. No distance. Unblocked communication. It's a beautiful thing.

Mystery of Presence

2005-03-10T18:01:00.000-06:00

How You affect us, Father!
How You change us with just one glance
filled with pleasure in Your children!

You fill Your people with joy
and they are glad.
You are bright with holy light.
Those who have learned to acclaim You,
who walk in the light of Your presence, O LORD,
are blessed
because their hearts are at rest,
loving with actions and in truth,
creating more joy among the family of God
and increasing the gladness when in Your presence.

Teach us this truth, Father.
May we taste and see that You are good.

(adapted from Psalm 16:11; 18:12; 21:6; 89:15; 1 John 3:19; and 1 Thessalonians 3:9)

Unfailing Love

2005-03-10T17:54:00.000-06:00

"What a [person] desires is unfailing love."
"Many a [person] claims to have unfailing love,
but a faithful [person] who can find?"
---Proverbs

*

How can You satisfy
when I have been Gomer,
running to other lovers
whose cries seemed louder
than Yours?

*

Chesed:
O this word
that sums up
love that smiles on us,
comforts us,
causes us to rejoice
because it lights our way,
redeems us not partially
but fully—
love that is
priceless beyond measure,
never absent,
that governs God's mercy,
surrounds us like a city's walls,
keeps us from being shaken.
When we trust in Him,
in His unfailing love,
we have His full attention,
and He delights in us.
Because of Him,
who is unfailing, covenant love,
we are soothed, cherished,
loved deeply by the perfect Father
who holds us tightly
yet tenderly.

ej 2003; revised 2005

More on "Take Time to Be Holy"

2005-02-24T16:59:00.000-06:00

This text comes from the final draft of the devotion I shared during choir rehearsal in October 2003.

Come away, My beloved, to our meeting place
beside the cool waters.
I delight in your hand clasped trustingly in Mine.
Your face shining with hope in Me
is beautiful, My child.
You have been seeking Me
wholeheartedly, desiring to learn
My ways so that My thoughts, words, and actions become yours.
I long to tell you great and deep things
you've never known before.
Yield to Me and your springtime will be now.
The blossoming of holiness can begin
even in this season when dry leaves fall to cool, moist ground.
Do not fold up the petals of your living
and determine not to open up till a different spring appears.
The sun is here and shines on every part;
the well flows up and will water a thirsty heart.
So then may songs burst forth and dances may celebrate to a joyful tune.
Spring in you is here and life can be green under an autumn moon.

Pictures of Prayer

2005-02-10T17:44:00.000-06:00

This text comes from a draft of a devotion I wrote on 10/8/03 to share before our church's adult choir rehearsed the approaching Sunday's anthem, "Take Time to Be Holy."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
It is early evening. The sun is slowly slipping down to the horizon in the west. You tug on the lamb's lead to persuade him away from some dry scrub brush. He follows you, the little bell clunking as he walks.

You enter the courtyard, passing through the fabric gate. The priests stand near the altar of burnt offerings and the laver, carrying out their duties. One of their helpers takes the lamb from you, and you bow. The sweet smell of incense lingers in the airafter a breeze blows from the tabernacle through the courts.

You pray as you watch the helpers and the priests perform the rituals given years ago, repeated day after day through generations of God-fearers. You marvel at these things God has instructed you and your people to do and sometimes wonder why and wonder if it would be OK to ask Him.

Now you smell the aroma of your lamb burning on the altar. You continue praying. May it atone. May it atone.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
It is evening. The sun has slipped down to the horizon on the west. You and your friends are following the Master through the Kidron Valley.

You hear the shofar trumpets blare. You smell the fragrance of incense, the aroma of burnt offerings, and the stench of blood running from the temple. You know that the city of Jerusalem is crowded with Passover worshipers.

You look at the Master walking up ahead. He is singing with you, sometimes with a faraway look you cannot describe. You think about all the events you have experienced with Him and try to compress them all into a single thought, but you cannot grasp the meaning of them.

Then you remember something one of John's followers told you once. John had said, "Look, the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world." What did it mean? And what does the Master mean when He keeps saying He will destroy the temple and in three days build it again?

One of the followers comes to clasp your hand, and you put aside your musings as together you raise your voices in song: "This is the day that the LORD has made. We will rejoice and be glad in it!"

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Looking back on a life well spent in Your presence,
what will I see? The moments others saw as sacrifice
were times I chose to be silent before you,
times I did not listen to the white-noise hum of postmodern mechanics
but to the stretching-into-eternity vastness of the Truth
that has no harmonic on this human scale.
I set You at my right hand and You became my strength
as my weaknesses grew and covered my pride in rags of shame.
You stood in my place, revealed Yourself through the holes,
and washed away every stain.

Poem in progress

2005-02-04T09:21:00.000-06:00

A statue stands in the center of the garden.
Moss grows over her feet,
and ivy curls over her shoulder.
Hands barely outstretched,
held near the heart,
she waits to catch the rain.

Once...those palms held candles:
a vigil of questions and cries
continued through foggy midnight
to a morning of cold shadows.

These days fog and shadow
are her constant companions.
But no rain.

If sun should pierce through covering cloud,
she might stretch and yawn,
wiggle a toe,
brush the moss and ivy away,
and walk the twisted, forking paths
to the field of wildflowers
and play.

But not even the rain comes,
though pregnant air weighs heavy
with its moisture.
The mists water the trailing vines
and mossy corners.
It is enough for them.
But not for her.
Not for one who hopes
beyond boundaries of what is,
though she herself
is naught but stone.

Stories at Bedtime

2004-09-08T15:46:00.000-05:00

Oh my child, have you lit the lamp tonight?
The desert winds howl and moan
as they stretch nimble fingers
and whip the tents.
Our enemy prowls.
Have you lit the lamp tonight?

Did you see the pillar, my child?
The pillar of cloud or fire?
It moves and we move.
We move where it moves,
following on ever-lasting foot-leather
over rock and dust,
past sunning lizard and slithering snake,
to the waters where love
makes bitterness into sweet pools
to cool weary brows.

They say that He is in the pillar, my child.
Yes, they say it's true.
They shiver and quiver and shake
when He speaks with thunderclap,
but I have heard Him whisper.
I have heard His voice
as I watch you sleep,
your eyes folded like praying hands.
He whispers, "As you love this child,
so I love you, and him too. Do not fear
when My glory moves to places strange
to eyes too used to Egypt's gleam.
Other wonders have I prepared for you.
Believe Me, and you will see."

So we light the lamp of welcome
to our God, the lamp of light
in thick darkness, to push
away the taint of slavery,
to say to the night,
"You shall not cause our feet
to stumble. Surely God
guides us ever, steady on."

And now sleep, my child.
God sings over us in our slumber
and makes us safe as we rest.
Sleep, and believe. For the pillar
will move, and follow it
we will—the glory of our Lord.

12.1.03

poema(s) en proceso

2004-09-03T17:51:00.000-05:00

Forgive the Spanglish, if I got the Spanish wrong. It's been an interesting two days.

Anyhoo, this is something in process. Still toying with the metaphors and how the thing should progress, so PLEASE ADVISE! What do you think? Seriously, I WANT FEEDBACK!!!

(untitled as yet)

reaching out
reaching over
no hand in the darkness
no head on the other pillow

but still...
the ghost of your hand
lays neatly in mine
the ghost of your smile
glows a moonlit patch

leftover strains
haunting rhythms
echo in corridors
delineating
what cannot be there

OK, so maybe I wrote poetry bits today rather than one whole poem. Yeah. Anyway, here's another bit:

(untitled as yet)

one cannot live
on freeze-dried hopes
that crumble when
taken off the shelf

And another bit:

(yes, untitled)

i was looking for reasons
when reason had left me
alone and confused
bruised
by broken expectation's
hard, sharp corners

And yet another:

time keeps marchin' on
right through to the sea
and leavin' nothin' but
rubble behind

[Cheery, no?]

will light stepping
forward, side, back, side
find another light
that dances
a complementary pattern?

Well, that's it for today. Please do comment.

the Lover and His beloved

2004-08-27T18:31:00.000-05:00

My darling,

I chose you to be My bride.
you are beautiful.
more than the curve of your cheek
and the chocolate of your eye
catches My breath:
the gentle way you spoke
those kind words to the stranger,
the joy in your voice when you sing to Me
and tell me I'm wonderful,
and the courage that blooms in you
when you stand for Me and the truth.
I dance over you, my lovely one.

your Prince

my Lover,

You loved
before i could love You back
gave all You had to buy me.
they paid thirty pieces of silver to betray You,
but You gave up Your throne
and paid Your blood and body to save
them and me.
see my wedding gown,
a white robe of linen,
washed clean at Calvary,
righteousness wrapping around me.
You write my married name,
a secret name
on a white stone.
You go to prepare our home,
and i stay here, reading Your letter.
i listen to Your heart beating, speaking and
singing over me words of love, joy, peace, patience,
kindness, goodness, gentleness, faithfulness,
and self-control.
my heart learns the rhythms of Yours
and beats in time to Your song.
and it thrums the tune of longing
till You come to take me home.

Your princess bride

1.23.03; revised 8.27.04

beloved to her Father

2004-08-27T18:09:00.000-05:00

i've misplaced the armor, Daddy.
will You find it for me?
'cause the enemy's sneaking up the back...
You already set me free,
but why do i reach for the chains?

cover my heart with the things i do
from Your goodness in me
and cover my head with the knowing
that You saved me.
bind them with who You are---You're the truth.
shield me with trust, shod me with peace,
and arm me with Your Words...
i'm praying and i'm ready, Dad;
don't go away.

the heat of the enemy's arrows
burns my cheek as they hiss by.
they come fast and in number.
but the armor You gave me
extinguishes his lies.
the sting and the poison
cannot get through the defense.

i will walk in the parade
down the center of New Jerusalem,
not limping, not chained to the enemy.
You're bringing me back from AWOL,
and You're leading on to victory.

see Your people,
standing firm
believing---
and keeping on believing---
that the war one day will be over
and Your banner will fly over all.

7.22.02; revised 8.27.04

Abraham's child

2004-08-06T16:28:00.000-05:00

Abraham's child has been sent
'round Mt. Sinai again.
She must not forget the fire-voice.
The words spoken over her
fell like the Spirit's tongues on apostles.

He climbs the mountain with her.
Together they build the Ebeneezer
She knows the great I AM will provide.
And so He removes the girlish dreams,
burns the yearnings on the altar fire,
refining the longings to a golden nugget.

Abraham's child comes down the mountain
and sets off across the desert,
a quest to fulfill.
The words of His song wrap her
like a cowl against the sun's scorch.

Later, she returns.
She sees that from His neck
a golden nugget hangs, right over His heart.
He removes the gold
and takes it to an anvil.
With the hammmer, He pounds the gold,
then fashions it into a crown.
He places the crown on her head
and steps back, admiring.
He smiles.
She removes the crown
and places it at His feet,
then takes His outstretched hand.
She covers the nail mark with her palm.

(7.18.02; new draft, 8.6.04)

toward the luminosity

2004-08-06T16:01:00.000-05:00

tearing down the high places
demolishing strongholds
till there's nowhere left to rn
but to the Cleft of the Rock

a cave of Abdullam
becomes an open space
a swath of freedom
cordoned by limitless love

i cling to You
to none but You
free
open-handed
arms swung wide
dancing with joy to Your song
and discover that

You are the life i learn
the love i cannot earn
the depth of the beyondness of things
beyond touch
beyond reach
beyond knowledge
yet always present
You are
the vibrance of a June sky
the vividness of autumn leaves
the snap of December's chill
the sweetness of grass after a spring rain

oh the unbearable lightness of being
of being still, surrendered to You
of holding the uncertainty of life and not letting go
of letting the reins fall and not searching for certainty

deep breaths of possibility
tinglings of expectation
hope fulfilled---just around the corner

my heart rises when You approach
surprises me
You delight me
but why
i cannot catch
as i cannot catch You

(12.14.01; revised 8.6.04)

Discovering the delights of non-fiction

2004-08-05T17:03:00.000-05:00

In the past, fiction made up most of my leisure reading. After recent trips to the library for the unearthing sources to verify facts in a publication I'm copy editing, I've discovered that non-fiction isn't as boring as I had thought.

Here's a list of interesting tomes I've checked out and am in the process of reading or perusing:

Alive: The Story of the Andes Survivors by Piers Paul Read
The Greatest Survival Stories Ever Told: Seventeen Incredible Tales, edited by Lamar Underwood (Some of these are short fictional stories, such as Jack London's "To Build a Fire.")
Houdini: The Untold Story by Milbourne Christopher
The Gypsies by Jan Yoors
The Astonishing Mr. Scripps: The Turbulent Life of America's Penny Press Lord by Vance H. Trimble
The Weight of Glory and Other Addresses by C. S. Lewis

Other non-fiction I've enjoyed:
Under the Tuscan Sun by Frances Mayes
Bella Tuscany by Frances Mayes
travel books about Spain and Argentina (their titles escape me)
Anne Frank: A Life Remembered by Miep Gies

More later ...

Cup of tea and thee

2004-07-13T15:09:00.000-05:00

Yay! This blog will be about some of my favorite things: tea, books, movie adaptations of books, and my sometimes-successful attempts at writing poetry (or merely prose organized into pretty lists of lines *teehee!*).

Have a cuppa Earl Grey on me!

Tah!