Gethsemane

As the waning sun was setting fast,
the day before Jesus died,
He collected those remaining lads,
and told them these few lines.

Mourn with me now as for a sunset:
Let us race to a near sea,
and stare far out into the calm west,
at the orange and red sheets.
Wait with me past the crimson hues,
until all is bathed in black,
and the moon falls back into the blue,
and the sun is coming back.
Unite with me in this, my last hope,
for the warmth of the next day,
when cups have passed, and you know,
why I must go my way.

But if you tire, then please take your rest,
But forget this not, my friends -
Please mourn for me as for a sunset,
for so, we will meet again.

Languages

People often ask me why I study words,
and languages, dialects, sounds and calls,
“for adventure”, or “love”, I’ve said before,
but this really is not the case at all.

I rarely discuss the reason I learn each word,
because I think most would find it rather strange,
that a man would spend his life to learn,
just one more word to give You praise.

Give me the words, I pray.

Once More

Sunsets glistening off the sands,
books read aloud to tender ears,
long drives underneath starry lands,
and a friendship born from many years,
Asia, Europe, and all the rest –
idyllic coasts which fly by and by,
steppes where horses roam unpent,
and roads for which I’d die,
ever filled me with a sense of awe –
and is if there was nothing left to do.
And I had thought I had seen it all -
Until I saw it all again with you.

The Lads

The Lads

We are the lads who sail upon the breeze,
And who ride the breath of the cruel sky,
We are the lads who dance upon the sea,
And who smile as we die.

We sail for cargo, and we sail for trade -
to bring our lading to some distant shore -
there to trade for goods men have made,
with those of Something more.

Find us in the East, where few have been,
or on a summer breeze, or winter squall,
For we are the lads who live before the wind -
We love nothing else at all.

Adam’s Final Testament

I still recall the garden on the night,
you brought your promise and your song,
a curse made from simple rhymes -
to which we now belong:

“Eat from this tree and you will be,
as God’s own hand within the sky,
with strength to judge, and entreat -
and to taste of the divine.”

Oh the hills we could have trod!
Oh the joys there would have been!
You’d said you’d make us gods,
But instead – you made us men.

Real Quick…

One of my long term goals as a writer, if I can really call myself that, is to write series of poems from various vantage points on a specific topic.

An example of this is the five poems I wrote using the focal point of poetry – the poet, the poetess, the poem, the pen, and the page, in which I tried to illustrate my idea that every moment is a gift from God – not just moments of intense passion.

 

Another long term goal is to write eighty or so poems on my belief that romance, at its core, is innocent. Each poem in this series will exhibit this innocence at different ages in the life cycle.

 

The two poems below are some of the first in this series, intended to reflect love around age five and nineteen respectively. Another one is “her hand”, which is meant to reflect love at fifteen or sixteen, and also “wife”, which is meant to reflect love around twenty-five.

 

I admit at first glance this portrayal of continued romance, and continued innocence, appears naïve and impossible. I would agree to the first account, but not to the second.

 

For most people, it may be impossible. Love is too hard and people too self-centered for something innocent to survive for long in this world – alone. But I believe there is a God who has the power to renew and to bring innocence and love to any relationship again.

 

Anyway, enough prose.

6 – Lori

Lori,

I like you.

Do you like me?

If yes, check yes.

If no, check no..

You can borrow my crayons.

YES NO