December 15, 2012

What do we do in times like these?
What did we do yesterday and the day before?
We sat and talked of hope and lived in comfort,
Waiting for the Christ Child to be born.

Today tragedy woke us in gunfire.
We stare broken and confused,
And tomorrow, again, children will be swallowed in death,
Waiting for the Christ Child to be born.

We sit behind closed doors and chafe,
Or walk along the street and feebly cry hope.
We ask each other how all this could happen,
Waiting for the Christ Child to be born.

What do we do in times like these?
Nothing. Just like yesterday when we were free.
Hope has turned to talk and flight.
When will our Christ Child come?

Open our doors and hearts,
Bring us to our knees and tears.
Send us out to a foreign world,
Fill us with warrior love.

Comfort, comfort your people, Lord,
But only with the comfort that fights.
Give us hope reborn that lives
Declaring the Christ Child is born.

Give us faith that carries sickness, loneliness, and death.
Make us hear the singing host
And ring the bell of peace.
Joy will conquer every ill.

Our Christ Child is among us still.

Poetry - Word Love

I started a post a long time ago about words and how much I'd been learning about our mutual feelings for one another. Now I feel like the relationship has become far more serious. In fact, I think it will be a love affair that will take a lifetime, and even at the end (or will it be the beginning?), we might not really know each other.

I used to think I loved writing and books. It was true, but in a quest to make myself fall in love with poetry, I realized I'd really enjoyed the stories and ideas. I hadn't actually been listening all that closely. Poetry was a discipline at first, but soon it became a rampant obsession. Perhaps the quickest way to become intimate with words is through analyzing, editing, and writing poetry. And so I took the leap. :-)

John Donne shoulders great responsibility for my quick spiral in the last four years...but he led to other discoveries. I'm not sure how interesting or helpful it will be, but for the next bit I hope to post some of what people have been patiently teaching me about words. Please feel free to contribute and comment on things you've learned or wisdom that comes to mind. 

Saturday night meditation...

Take me and remake me

do something new

in this darkness.

Give me love that is daring,

willing to be scorched

and open to nails.

Make my roots deep and grounded,

unsatisfied with this,

always thirsting for you.

Teach me to long for something bigger,

give me desire that will hurt,

a passion that will burn hot.

Thrust me in the refiner's fire,

only watch and shape me gently,

always beside me and with me.

Use me in this scene you are always weaving,

feed my lines and my cues patiently,

show me a glimpse of the story.

Just don't leave me to flat comfort or happiness,

never let me outlive my love for you,

forever fill me up and pour me out.

God Moves in a Mysterious Way - William Cowper

God moves in a mysterious way
His wonders to perform;
He plants His footsteps in the sea
And rides upon the storm.

Deep in unfathomable mines
Of never failing skill
He treasures up His bright designs
And works His sovereign will.

 Ye fearful saints, fresh courage take;
The clouds ye so much dread
Are big with mercy and shall break
In blessings on your head.

 Judge not the Lord by feeble sense,
But trust Him for His grace;
Behind a frowning providence
He hides a smiling face.

 His purposes will ripen fast,
Unfolding every hour;
The bud may have a bitter taste,
But sweet will be the flower.

Blind unbelief is sure to err
And scan His work in vain;
God is His own interpreter,
And He will make it plain.

Watching

how selfish you are

holding it all to yourself

give me some

you've left me alone

while I cannot penetrate

rusted doors

who am I, fainting?

with yearning to carry what

I cannot

my pain is empty

how black it is around you

homeless ache

what is this anger?

when all I do is expound

empty things

unreachable fire

its one consuming demands

aloneness

I can only lift

faint shadows when we address

Someone else.

The Blotter for You

There was a NaNoWriMo flop in 2010. The aftermath was a long-winded short story and after a year and a half of marinating and sporadic, brutal edits, In the Mourning is now seeing the light of day. This gangly short story has now been published in The Blotter along with two wonderful poems by fellow writers.

The Blotter is the quarterly publication of the Inkblot Society, an aspiring hodgepodge of writers bent on glorifying God through all sorts of shapes and sizes of writing.

There are many glaring errors encased in In the Mourning, but I am grateful to be forced to declare something  "finished" and have other people reading it. The two poems by other Inkblotters are quite good. You will enjoy. :-)

If you would like a copy of this publication of The Blotter, email or comment to let me know. I would be thrilled to send you one.

Following issues will be donation based to keep the Inkblot Society on top of printing costs, but this one is free to you from me. :-)

By Kindly Powers Surrounded - Dietrich Bonhoeffer

Written to send home to his fiance, family, and friends in a Gestapo cellar prison four months before his execution. 

By kindly powers surrounded, peaceful and true,

wonderfully protected with consolation dear,

safely, I dwell with you this whole day through,

and surely into another year.

Though from the old our hearts are still in pain,

while evil days oppress with burdens still,

Lord, give to our frightened souls again,

salvation and thy promises fulfill.

And shouldst thou offer us the bitter cup, resembling

sorrow, filled to the brim and overflowing,

we will receive it thankfully, without trembling,

from thy hand, so good and ever-loving.

But if it be thy will again to give

joy of this world and bright sunshine,

then in our minds we will past times relive

and all our days be wholly thine.

Let candles burn, both warm and bright,

which to our darkness thou has brought,

and, if that can be, bring us together in the light,

thy light shines in the night unsought.

When we are wrapped in silence most profound,

may we hear that song most fully raised

from all the unseen world that lies around

and thou art by all thy children praised.

By kindly powers protected wonderfully,

confident, we wait for come what may.

Night and morning, God is by us, faithfully

and surely at each new born day.

Silence that can't stay quiet...

Stillness is my strain.

My heart will flood in effervescent silence.
I drown in wonder.

But it is peaceful, this shaking awe.

My soul burns to sing.

Shattered I stumble,

before a splintered manger and laughing cross.

You will reshape me

with unshakable and faithful hands.

Bind with freedom's chains.

Afflicted by light,

burning from windless reverence to wild song.

Give me melody.

Joy so ferocious and strong a word,

quiet and clarion.

Fullness overflows

Through wonderment that ruptures in vibrant praise and dance.

Can I comprehend

the beauty of grace, extent of love,

the face of my King?

A Portrait - G. K. Chesterton

Fair faces crowd on Christmas night
Like seven sons a-row,
But all beyond is the wolfish wind
And the crafty feet of the snow.

But through the route one finger groes
With quick and quiet tread;
Her robe is plain, her form is frail--
Wait if she turn her head.

I say no word of line or hue,
But if that face you see,
Your soul shall know the smile of faith's,
Awful frivolity.

Know that in this grotesque old masque,
Too loud we cannot sing,
Or dance to wild, or speak to wide
To praise a hidden thing.

That though the jest be as old as night,
Still shaketh sun and sphere
An everlasting laughter
Too loud of us to hear.

Poetry Procrastination

Getting distracted instead of starting NaNoWrMo...

This was inspired by an intriguing fictional character who has deep psychological issues. :-) It's still very rough, but here goes...

Alex

Beat your head upon this wall

You need more or you need less,

But nothing's letting you run free.

If it was easy to just confess.

There's a heavy weight somewhere,

Swinging from your angry soul.

You remember all the faces

But that hate is in your own blue eyes.

You have an answer for guilt

Laughing at you and wild pain.

But numbing blood and its questions

If it would only shout forever.

There's no answer you can hear,

You filled your ears long ago.

"It's never too late," they repeat.

But they never knew people like you.

Don't fight at the bloody tree.

Death only hurts a moment.

But this dying is forever.

You know falling down is killing you.

Drugged on Bookstores and Poetry

Many things happened last week (a thoughtful blog post not included).

Noteworthy incidents involved happy moments in two different book stores...and the spending of money...and the bringing home of books. More Chesterton, Wodehouse, Doug Wilson, Dr. Leithart, Dianna Wynne Jones, and Ray Bradbury.

I also picked up my first Billy Collins book, Ballistics. I think I discovered some poetry that my Mumsie actually likes. :-) Dance of joy!

So far, none of the following poems have captured me like the first, but the whole book is worth this one...

August in Paris

I have stopped here on the rue des écoles
just off the boulevard St-Germain
to look over the shoulder of a man
in a flannel shirt and a straw hat
who has set up an easel and a canvas chair
on the sidewalk in order to paint from a droll angle
a side-view of the Church of Saint Thomas Aquinas.

But where are you, reader,
who have not paused in your walk
to look over my shoulder
to see what I am jotting in this notebook?

Alone in this city,
I sometimes wonder what you look like,
if you are wearing a flannel shirt
or a wraparound blue skirt held together by a pin.

But every time I turn around
you have fled through a crease in the air
to a quiet room where the shutters are closed
against the heat of the afternoon,
where there is only the sound of your breathing
and every so often, the turning of a page.

Back from a Week at the Beach...

Is it true you see me in this field tonight?

Is it true that you sent me to this fight?

Break me on the mountain,

Just don’t trap me in the valley.

Is this how you lead me in sun and in rain?

Is this how you feed me when I’m in pain?

Shatter me on the rocks,

Just don’t wash me out to the sea.

Is this what you meant by the nails and the cross?
Is this what you meant by living as lost?

Leave me in the desert,

Just send me heavy rain.

Is this what you planned in the void before time?

Is this why you made me too weak to climb?

Corrode me in the wind,

Just let me fly away again.

Useless ramble from Starbucks...

I look through red, sheer curtains,

That flutter in thunderstorms.

Sharp lightening shows the dancers.

A world that can love and hate.

I can not feel the downpour.

Only thunder rocks my bed.

I ignore the white coat say

“Tomorrow is a new day.”

He’s a dancer. He can’t know.

Tomorrow is my today.

I can only watch my window.

A lens weak or maybe strong.

Where’s the electricity?

Please let me be burned and bruised

You don’t have to understand.

Just wheel me into the rain.

Give your hand and let me stand.

It’s a thought I need to heal.

I am estranged by a fog.

There is no fog with thunder.

The dancers forget their music.

Mine is clear and strong. Let go.

I will dance away the fog.

Perhaps dancers stumble too.

St. Patrick's Breastplate

I love this song and it has been an excellent encouragement and reminder.

This is a slightly different version then our church normally sings...

St. Patrick's Breastplate

I bind unto myself today
The strong Name of the Trinity,
By invocation of the same
The Three in One and One in Three.

I bind this today to me forever
By power of faith, Christ’s incarnation;
His baptism in Jordan river,
His death on Cross for my salvation;
His bursting from the spicèd tomb,
His riding up the heavenly way,
His coming at the day of doom
I bind unto myself today.

I bind unto myself the power
Of the great love of cherubim;
The sweet ‘Well done’ in judgment hour,
The service of the seraphim,
Confessors’ faith, Apostles’ word,
The Patriarchs’ prayers, the prophets’ scrolls,
All good deeds done unto the Lord
And purity of virgin souls.

I bind unto myself today
The virtues of the star lit heaven,
The glorious sun’s life giving ray,
The whiteness of the moon at even,
The flashing of the lightning free,
The whirling wind’s tempestuous shocks,
The stable earth, the deep salt sea
Around the old eternal rocks.

I bind unto myself today
The power of God to hold and lead,
His eye to watch, His might to stay,
His ear to hearken to my need.
The wisdom of my God to teach,
His hand to guide, His shield to ward;
The word of God to give me speech,
His heavenly host to be my guard.

Against the demon snares of sin,
The vice that gives temptation force,
The natural lusts that war within,
The hostile men that mar my course;
Or few or many, far or nigh,
In every place and in all hours,
Against their fierce hostility
I bind to me these holy powers.

Against all Satan’s spells and wiles,
Against false words of heresy,
Against the knowledge that defiles,
Against the heart’s idolatry,
Against the wizard’s evil craft,
Against the death wound and the burning,
The choking wave, the poisoned shaft,
Protect me, Christ, till Thy returning.

Christ be with me, Christ within me,
Christ behind me, Christ before me,
Christ beside me, Christ to win me,
Christ to comfort and restore me.
Christ beneath me, Christ above me,
Christ in quiet, Christ in danger,
Christ in hearts of all that love me,
Christ in mouth of friend and stranger.

I bind unto myself the Name,
The strong Name of the Trinity,
By invocation of the same,
The Three in One and One in Three.
By Whom all nature hath creation,
Eternal Father, Spirit, Word:
Praise to the Lord of my salvation,
Salvation is of Christ the Lord.

Thanks for reading,
Miss Pickwickian

Writing Junk, a Poem, and other Rambles

If you are a writer you've probably been told to write junk. I write it continuously.;-) But what this is supposed to mean is "get started on something or anything."

If you don't feel like you're in the right mood yet, just scribble away with whatever comes to mind. This gets you doing something and pretty soon you can get down to the project you want. Writing junk has been the only way I have defeated writer's block besides running and brushing my teeth. This is how my sorry excuse for song lyrics started out.

Many experienced writers suggest starting with poetry or some sort of metered ramble. This helps you get into the flow and rhythm of words. While this can be a little degrading for the cause of poetry, I think it works really well.

The biggest problem I have when I touch the keyboard after a break is stiffness. When I start writing all the words are going to be one syllable in five word long sentences. I have to get myself to loosen up somehow. I haven't got all this figured out yet, and my writing of "junk" is much more extensive than warm ups, but I know it's helped me.

Now I actually want to learn how to write semi-respectable poetry. Why do I have so many interests? I can't possible learn enough about everything I want to! It's so easy to just end up knowing a little bit about everything...and it's not all that helpful.

So, I'm sharing a piece of "junk" with you.

I've have two song ideas that I've been hashing out for several months now. As soon as I get really attached to an idea it's so hard to make it work. If I just start writing to write and something comes out, everything is so much easier. I'm sure you've experienced this before. A very natural phenomenon.

So, these two ideas are still in a jumble, but I did write something rambling to get in the mood.

I didn't have much of an idea of where I was going, but when I could tell I was going somewhere, I started to think of where that might be... (I'm so organized. :-P)

I recently read I Capture the Castle which was certainly an interesting book. I really liked most of it, but a couple issues came up that have been (apparently) simmering away in my mind.

In the book, Cassandra, the heroine, dabbles in Christianity but basically decides it's a sort of opiate for not really living life. She thinks she'd rather have the pain and misery and really feel and experience everything. The "pious" people she knows seem kind of secluded in their corner and rather childish. The book doesn't really come to a conclusion and just abandons the thread.

You hear this idea other places too. I think the way a lot of artists think relates. They just want to live. Don't bother with the other stuff (a.k.a. not doing whatever you feel like).

I'm not sure if I'm explaining this well, but it seems like a pretty sad idea.

I don't think you can truly feel all the wonderful things God intended for us without Him.

Love, joy, suffering, hope, death...they're all meaningless without Christ. What is joy without God? Can we even call that sort of one-dimensional happiness joy? Where is hope? Love is only centered on ourselves. How is that love?

Christians fall flat on their face and feel it. They also feel the exhilaration and forgiveness as they are picked back up by something stronger than themselves.

Yeah...so, anyways. Here's the song/poem/junk thing-

I know no wisdom
I see no truth
I run without looking
I stop without stumbling

There is no beginning
There is no end
There are men circling
There are men spinning

I have no confidence
I have no hope
I live without meaning
I die without leaving

They sing their singing
They shout their praise
They cry while dancing
They sin while praying

I cannot discern
I know no joy
They run while looking
They laugh while stumbling

I feel no future
I have no tears
They praise while dying
They laugh when crying

I always enjoy thoughts and criticism.

Thanks for reading,
Miss Pickwickian

Answer - Me

Answer

They gave it all
Forsook sweet death
Swallowed gall to give them breath

All to answer
“Follow Me”

They knew the cost
Denied themselves
Bowed necks to receive the cross

All to answer
“Follow Me”

They stood alone
A thousand strong
Faith we hear in priceless song

All to answer
“Follow Me”

They smiled at fear
Fought unto blood
Made redemption courage flood

All to answer
“Follow Me”

Beauty and praise
Their battle cry
Steadfast love their alibi

All to answer
“Follow Me”

Lions yet sheep
They multiply
Lay down life, for others die

All to answer
“Follow Me”
They heard music
“Follow Me”
“Follow Me”

© Miss Pickwickian

This still needs some rhythm work, but I enjoyed writing it.

I always appreciate helpful criticism...

Thanks for reading,
Miss Pickwickian

Look Upward Beyond

If you know me...you probably know that I love this song...
Pieces of it have been running through my head recently and this portion of kept coming back.

Serve God and be cheerful,

Look upward beyond

Beyond the darkness that masks

the surprises of dawn.

~From Across the Green Mountain

Serve God and be cheerful. I want to remember and apply that and not just have it running through the music section of my head!

Thanks for putting up with me and my Bob Dylan likes. :-)

Miss Pickwickian

Back to Routine

So, today I'm having a serious talk with myself. I need to get back to my daily word count.

I've been hammering through the rewrites on my short story, but now I've sent it to some trusted friends and I'm trying to remain at peace while I wait for feedback. Hopefully they'll still talk to me. :-)

This morning didn't go so well. You can ask Suzy. ;-)

I grabbed anything in arms reach to distract me...and since I've been trying to teach myself to enjoy poetry, Suzy got a good dose of Shakespeare's sonnets, Oscar Wilde, and Lord Byron.

I did discover a few things...

I've read Shakespeare's Sonnets more than once now, but it was an interesting review.

I'm fairly new to Oscar Wilde's poetry.

Suzy rejoiced over The Grave of Keats (I think Bright Star scared her forever) and reveled in The Dole of the King's Daughter although I'm not sure we figured out what it means exactly. I like Oscar Wilde's frequent references to Shakespeare and his characters too. His Ode to Portia is kind of cool.

I confessed I laughed during Byron's Lines Inscribed Upon a Cup Formed from a Skull. I don't think it was Suzy's favorite though. :-)
I discovered When we Two Parted which is what In Silence or Tears is based of (this is on the Gaudreau, Bennett, and Auldridge album, This Old Town). I had no idea. I love that song!

That was kind of cool.

All this caused me to irrupt in a few stanzas dedicated to Suzy, but she was not impressed.

So yes...I have writer's block.

But I will conquer it this afternoon.

I just need to tie myself to my chair, remove all the books from my reach, and start typing.

So yeah...I guess I should get going.

Sorry for the ramble,
Miss Pickwickian

Most Celebrated Nonsense

There are some interesting definitions in the description of this video here.

One Fish - Dr. Seuss

Because I've been thinking about things that have influenced me. :-)
I also have two nieces that are quit enthralled with Dr. Seuss. What is it about him?

One Fish

One fish, two fish, red fish, blue fish

Black fish blue fish old fish new fish

Some are red and some are blue.

Some are old and some are new.

Some are sad and some are glad.

And some are very, very bad.

Why are they sad and glad and bad?
I dont know.
Go ask your dad.

Some are thin and some are fat.

The fat one has a yellow hat.

From there to here, from here to there, funny things everywhere.

Here are some who like to run.

They run for fun in the hot, hot sun

Oh me! Oh my!

Oh me! Oh my!

What alot of funny things go by.

Some have two feet and some have four.

Some have six feet and some have more.

Where do they come from?

I cant say.

But I bet they have come a long, long way.

We see them come.

We see them go.

Some are fast.

And some are slow.

Some are high.

And some are low

Not one of them is like another.

Don't ask us why.

Go ask your mother.

Thanks for reading. I know it was highly stimulating today. ;-)
Miss Pickwickian