Reflections on "A Fusion of Old and New"

Last night, my amazing brother and his incredible friend performed a recital together of classical pieces both traditional and modern thus leading them to call it "A Fusion of Old and New." Pretty self-explanatory. Aside from their flawless performances, the music was enchantingly beautiful, an intricate interplay of interwoven melodies and tempos and emotions. Quite simply: a joy to listen to. So you may be wondering, "so why the shameless plug for your brother's performance? Does it mean you'll be posting a recording of it?" Sadly, fair reader, that is not the reason for this post. The reason would be that, as the music swelled and swirled around me, I felt inspired to write and came up with my first free-form poem, which is uncharted territory for me. I hope you all enjoy it as much as I had writing it.

And here at the end of all things,
At the end of all that was,
We find ourselves affixed, transfixed,
Transfused by ghosts of time and space now gone,
Now carried into brilliant time and space as yet unseen.
Throw wide thy gates, O Ancient Doors!
Throw wide thy arms, O Stranger Friend!
With thanks and welcome, we invite and are invited
To the touching of eternity.
The funeral of what is past and birth of what is yet to be
Stay for just a moment,
A single, blissful moment,
For the marriage of the present.

Upon My Soul, The Night Has Fallen Dark

The last eight months have been a time of searching and growing. I have examined my soul, forced to finally face those darkly rooted areas that I thought I could avoid. Through the help of friends and an incredible amount of God's grace, I have learned to see not only my weakness but also what is true, noble, just, pure, lovely, of good report, virtuous, and praiseworthy. In light of this, I wrote the following poem and wanted to share it.

So for anyone else who feels that their soul has fallen into unbearable darkness, know that there is light available to you and remember that you will yet rise

Upon my soul, the night has fallen dark,
Without the blessed stars or guard'an moon,
Without the hope of song by speckled lark
Or even mournful requiem by loon.
Instead, in darkness, the utter silent void,
Harangued by condemnation self-applied,
My soul's abused, like mouse by cat is toyed,
And finds there only ash in which to hide.
Alight, my soul; arise on phoenix wings!
You need not stay beneath the ashen heap.
Sometimes we die to see what freedom brings
To life renewed but first must take that leap.
Refining fire awaits to gird your flight,
To give you strength to banish this dark night.

Be Strong, My Child, and Fear No Nightly Noise

In honour of my good friend Sara's graduation, a wonderfully insightful and talented writer and blogger, I wrote the following sonnet. Can you find the allusions to George MacDonald and J.R.R. Tolkien? In the words of Bono, "Every artist is a cannibal / Every poet is a thief" and I only steal from the best.

Be Strong, My Child, and Fear No Nightly Noise

Be strong, my child, and fear no nightly noise.

They are but shadows, clawings of the Ash

And whispers of the Alder who destroys,

Desiring all to hunger, rage, and gnash.

But in you, child, there beats a heart of gold

As pure as laughter from a baby's lips,

As bright and warm as fire in places cold,

As precious as the desert dew that drips.

So sing, my child, and make your presence known;

Beat back the goblins with your foot and song;

Let blaze your light and they are overthrown

For courage, kindness, goodness make you strong.

Go now, my child; adventure waits for you.

Remember me and say a prayer or two.

Haikus for a New Year

I promise I will get back to that first poem and finish it, eventually. So for now, these haikus will have to suffice. Hopefully, I'll get around to writing some prose and posting it.

The sun is setting,

Ending the previous year,

Rising on the new.

The days are like stars,

Flickering, glowing, burning,

Dancing in the dark.

The path of life winds

Serpentine through trials and joy,

Blending into one.

Glorious Ruins

OK, I know this may be a bit of a cop out but this is something I wrote back in October but never posted or shared really. The idea of "glorious ruins" was the theme of my church's women's retreat and thus you can guess where I wrote it. I tried to capture the feeling of how something bad can become something good, that what we see as defeat can be the beginning of victory. I'm sorry if it's a bit rough.

Glorious Ruins

The walls now lie broken, battered and worn;

The banners lie lifeless, tattered and torn;

Defeat echoes loudly, tangibly felt.

No hope left within it, courage has melt.

So where is the glory, mighty to save?

So where is protection, voice in the cave?

So why are you silent, me left alone?

So what will I do now, left overthrown?

Come walk through the fire, refining though hot,

Let go of your failure, something for nought.

New life shall be yours now, dry bones alive;

My wings are your cover; love me and thrive.

The walls are now diamond, pressure made good;

The banners fly proudly, tatters withstood;

Now laughter abounds here, victory found;

These glorious ruins no longer bound.

Looking Back and Looking Forward

So I was hoping to have a finished project for these posts but it seems that that will have to wait for now. I started writing the following poem New Year's Eve so that's why it starts the way it does. However, it has become more of a reflection over how I've viewed my past year and then hopes for the one to come. I'll get to the hopes part next time. For now, I hope you enjoy and may this be the beginning of a beautiful tradition.

Looking Back and Looking Forward

Upon this dark'ning night, we wait

For the year to end,

For the new its way to wend

And memories create.

What should I say upon this day,

The last now of the year?

Should they be silly or words sincere

Or hold the tears at bay?

Yet are there words enough to hold

All the thoughts and hopes

That crossed and held like binding ropes

My life as then untold?

My words run short; my mouth runs dry;

My speech is taken from me

As I recall quite suddenly

The things I did not try.

I failed to love my neighbor

As fully as I ought;

Next to mine, their needs forgot

And for myself did labour.

I failed to love and serve my God

With true obedience,

Had acted with indifference

Towards what should have awed.

So here I sit with head in hands

Ashamed of what I've done.

Consumed with only having fun,

I shirked divine commands.

Who Was That Girl Beyond The Window Pane? - A Sonnet

Apparently waking for me is a good time for the first lines of sonnets. This is yet another production of early morning inspiration. I though it would be fun to write a silly sonnet after the more serious ones that have been coming from my figurative pen. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I had writing it.

Who Was That Girl Beyond The Window Pane

Who was that girl beyond the window pane?

The one with hair just like a chocolate fount

And eyes like emeralds dappled by the rain,

That sparkle like too many stars to count.

My heart is pounding like ten thousand drums

Or trying to escape me from within.

How can this girl be like a bard who strums

My heart as if it were a lyre thin?

Did she see me? Does she know I exist?

Will she come back to catch a glimpse of me?

Why is it so that someone can be missed

With just one look, the see-er no longer free?

Oh look! She dropped an item from her bag.

Our meeting's fate! No time to lollygag.

He Still Appears Like Echoes In My Mind - A Sonnet

Here is that sonnet I mentioned in my last post. I woke up one morning having the first line of a sonnet perfectly in my head and, because I didn't immediately write it down, all I could remember by the evening was "like echoes in my mind." It comes from the idea of when someone keeps coming to mind when you've tried to put them behind you. Enjoy!

He Still Appears Like Echoes in My Mind

He still appears like echoes in my mind,

Awake, asleep, at times inopportune.

A bond unbreaking, fates perhaps entwined,

From likened cloth, perchance, were we both hewn?

Has he become a spectre, closely tied

To earth, to me through ling'ring memory?

Refusing to release what was denied,

Have I thus cursed ourselves with devilry?

Farewell, my love. Forever now, adieu.

I shall release thee as thou dost deserve

For each man's soul shouldst not be bound anew

When once it has been freed from sin to serve.

May God forgive me for my selfish wish

To keep thee near instead of suffer anguish.

Hush Now, My Darling

So ... my challenge effort failed in most epic proportions. However, I have still attempted writing and thus here are the fruits of my labours. I also have a sonnet in the works that I will share hopefully in the near future. This is my attempt at a lullaby.

Hush Now, My Darling

Hush now, my darling, and sleep through the night.

Lay down thy head with the sun's fading light.

Let thy eyes close as the moon starts to rise

And stars twinkle brightly across dark'ning skies.

Dream now, my darling; be bothered by naught.

Worry and fear shall be things long forgot.

Pictures of love and of joy brimming full

Shall come to thee quickly in covers of wool.

Sleep now, my darling, as songs fill thy head,

Melodies soft as thou liest in bed.

God watches o'er thee; his love and joy teems.

You know so does mine. Now good night and sweet dreams.

Writing Challenge - Day 5

Life

Insurmountable, Impossible

Running, Falling, Failing

Repentance, Salvation, Justification, Sanctification

Running, Falling, Growing

Challenging, Full

Life

Writing Challenge - Day 3

Roses are red;

Violets are blue;

I know this is rubbish

But it's the best I could do.

Don't know if you'll read this

Or if you will care

That I've poured out my heart

On the test of dare.

They saw me  look at you

And pulled me aside.

They said that they'd help me

If I gave up my pride.

Of course I refused

Thus paid for it dearly

By writing this poem

That has not come out clearly.

I'm not good with words

But the feelings are true.

If you couldn't guess,

I really love you.

If you think I'm creepy,

Just throw this away.

But if you want to meet me,

I'll be waiting all day.

Let's Try This Again

So ... my initial trial at posting every day failed. However, I am not to be so easily defeated. In the words of a movie: "Why do we fall down, Bruce? So we can learn to pick ourselves up." Thus am I picking myself up and trying again. I am also going to be amending my earlier challenge with simply posting any kind of writing whether it be haiku, other form of poetry, or short story. Perhaps starting on the first day of the month will help motivate and keep me on track. Only time will tell I suppose.

Subject: Sleep

Closing my eyelids
Like curtains before a play,
Dreams begin their act.

Silent Morpheus,
King of dreams and lord of sleep,
Softly touches me.

I try to begin
"Now I lay me down to sleep"
But it is too late.

Tea Haikus

I must admit, I like writing haikus. There's a simplicity and elegance in formulating something beautiful in seventeen syllables. Because of my love of structure, I find comfort in its 5-7-5 syllable limitation, yet, aside from that limitation, the possibilities are endless. All this introduction to say, I have written a few more of these lovely little poems, this time on one of my favorite beverages after having an interview at a tea shop. Hope you enjoy them.

As the kettle sings,
Leaves loose their secret fragrance
With a quiet sigh.

Cream and two sugars
Or just natural flavour,
How'd you like your tea?

Into porcelain,
The aromatic stream falls
Amid steaming clouds.

Haikus on Fire

I just back from church camp today and while I was there, I wrote a few more haikus. During our time, a lot of fire imagery was alluded to such as being coals brought to life, the effort and persistence it takes to start a fire by rubbing sticks together, the embodiment of the Holy Spirit as flames. All this fire then brought images from my time at St. Katherine as well as other Bible stories to mind and then requested to be written down. I hope that they are enjoyed as much as they were a joy to write.

Amidst the incense,
Fire burns before Christ's icon
And in His icons.

Before the I AM,
Seraphim alight with love
Sing "holy, holy."

The pillar of fire
Acts as light and protection,
Burning with God's love.

Haikus for Spring

Surprisingly, I've taken a recent poetic turn in my writings. I wrote a sonnet, a couple limericks, and a few haikus. I rather liked the haikus and so thought to share them. After some polishing, I may publish the sonnet but only time will tell I suppose.

The cherry tree blooms,
Signaling the come of spring
And love's arrival.

The wind moves through grass
Like love in a maiden's heart,
Playfully gentle.

The blossoms soon fade,
Falling like pastel raindrops
On your hair and face.

On the River and the Road

I really should get around to writing when I am not requested to if I really want to be a novelist but such is the way life is at the moment. This is a poem I wrote for an event at school that was held on the feast day of St. Christopher. Professor Gaelan Gilbert, who organized the event, asked me to write something with the theme of travel since it was the end of the semester and people would be travelling and since St. Christopher is the patron saint of travelers.

On the River and the Road

I read “The road goes ever on and on.”

Great wisdom did it sound, in truth, so I

Upon the threshold stood and looked anon

To see if some small path I could espy

Run forth from hearth to meet expansive sky.

But all was dark and overgrown, much more

Like some great wilderness from times gone by.

I dared not venture forth, alone and poor;

'Tis dangerous to step outside one's door.

On route far off, a man with burden great,

Two beams of wood upon his bended back,

I watched him stumble, fall beneath the weight

Behind a hill. I ran for fear his pack

Had overwhelmed its bearer and through lack

Of strength, the man now lay alone and hurt.

However, I was taken quite aback

To see not man nor beams upon the dirt,

Instead, to find a child very much alert.

The clouds drew cloaks of grey o'er Phoebus' face

And threatened storms with rumbling thunder drums.

I tried to lead the child to a safer place

But he continued on the road, past slums

And farms, past ruling king and man who plumbs,

With something like warm kindness in his eye.

But then he came to where the road becomes

A shore upon the riverbank. Nearby

The ferryman with ugly face rose high.

Upon his shoulders climbed and sat the child.

The man began to cross the river broad

As winds convulsed the waters as if wild.

With every step, the storm grew loud and cawed

While he seemed to lean longer on his rod

'Til midway through, it looked as if they'd sink.

Yet he still walked and reached the shore. I, awed

By strength of will and faith pushed to the brink,

Was left on further shore alone to think.

But lo, the child turned 'round with hand outstretched,

A hand, I saw, which had been scarred by nails.

His eyes drew mine with love and sorrow etched.

The ferryman returned amidst the gales,

Extending to me a hand that never fails.

I took that hand and found myself alone

Beyond the threshold, on the road, with dales

And mountains growing clear 'neath sun that shone

Anew betwixt the clouds that soon were flown.

So there I stood without my haven’s door,

Exposed to all unknowns that could befall,

Whate’er that man or Nature had in store.

Fear gripped my heart with thoughts of pain and gall.

But then a wind blew past my face, a call,

A whisper spoke my name within the breeze,

Which calmed and courage brought to my heart small.

I found I need not be at such unease
When unseen hands will hold in troubled seas.

My Lord, He Wanders Where He Wills, Alone - A Sonnet

For Renaissance British Lit, my professor had us try to write a traditional sonnet. This is my attempt. I don't think it turned out too horribly, though, the end needs some work I think. Otherwise, I'm pretty happy with it.

My Lord, He Wanders Where He Wills, Alone
My lord, he wanders where he wills, alone,
With little thought to what his love may say.
By night, the stars call, “Come, we’ll show the way.”
He heeds their siren cries; his soul is flown
To heights that only gods can navigate
And runs as free as goats upon the mount.
Enraptured like Narcissus at the fount,
My lord longs to resume adventures late.
So I, his love, am left abandonéd
By his pursuit of planetary odes.
I have no skill that can compare, which bodes
Great ill, for as I lay upon my bed,
I languish like the nymph called Echo who
For love could nothing but repeat to woo.