Religion

Here I am with my memories.

the only religion I do need,

save your letters as a holy book,

and your tears spilled as an ink.

I see our church as the world…

the mountain pass – our steeple, tall,

a fallen oak – our lectern board.

the rolling grass – our pews and stalls.

The ocean calm – our choir book,

our seven sacraments are stars,

our benediction is a loving look,

sealed with the crossing of your arms.

Our whispers are our orisons,

your warm embrace, my confession booth,

a sermon is a long paean

sung with love from me – to you.

And so, I’ll send these words away,

as missionaries, so all the world can know,

the beauty of the love You made,

and the religion that I know.

Eden’s Language

And on the night when they both left,
Adam turned to his beloved Eve,
and cried four questions as he wept
while starring in the garden leaves.

Did I not name those far, old trees,
and the saplings which line the lanes,
and serenade stars in their routines,
with the most glorious of names?

Did I not grant each beast their term -
the fish, the birds, and insect throngs,
and call to the waters as they churned,
by the babble of their saccharine songs?

Did I not give five hundred names,
to mark the sun’s path upon the sky,
and sing to the moon as it waned,
five hundred words to bid it bye?

And did I not speak with Wind at night
in ten thousand angel tongues,
each with their myriad aural signs -
and in all of them a word for love?

Ten million words I have known,
Ten million feelings I have felt,
I’ve soared with birds up to their home,
and in the oceans I have knelt.

And I’ve heard songs, I’ve heard tones,
some of beauty, while others, gain.

And of all the words which I have known,
Not one of them for pain.

—————————————–

As someone who studies languages a great deal, I am always struck about the richness of many languages. For example, the Arabs have 100 words for camel – the Hebrews, 100 words for God. Essentially, the more a culture and language group dwells on an object or idea, the more words they will have associated with this object. Conversely, the less a people group associates with an object, idea, or feeling, the fewer words their language will have. It can be very well said that languages are a function of their larger environment.

The other day I was driving home and thinking to myself of the Garden, and I began to think of the language of Adam and Eve in their greater context, their relationship with God. I began to realize their language must have been very rich in the vocabulary of love. And I realized, in a fit of whimsy and romanticism, that Adam and Eve had (and I settled on a number) 10,000 more words for love – words so beautiful as to be beyond words we have now — words which we will never know. Words fusing warmth and love. Words which fell in between the coolness of water and a kind thought.

And with this in mind, while waiting for the light on Baymeadows to change, I began to think on the other side of things. Namely, with little or no exposure to sadness, hate, pain, or any negative emotion, Adam and Eve would have been completely powerless to describe them after the Fall.

In short, that’s what this poem is about.

After recounting all the words he has known, Adam realizes in despair that he has entered into a new world which requires the loss of old words, and the adoption of new.

Ladybugs in Dreams (Working Draft)

When I stare at your red back,

and your little legs which move,

at your dots, so black, and black,

and your wings, whispering their tune,

I marvel at the master’s touch,

and reflect on my high school,

when I sat in class, just after lunch,

and heard science teachers rue,

that we cannot dream in color,

but I say, we can and do –

for there never was a color,

as beautiful as you.

YES

We spend our lives upon the sea,

and on the planks where we were born.

We love to see, or lull, and dream,

and stay long in the Mist and warmth.

But oft we stray and reach cold deeps –

and feel the harsh north, arctic Wind,

with wave after wave the ice seeps,

into our veins, and blood, and limbs.

And so we drift these fretful seas,

in bodies numb and waves amok -

And all we hold to are our dreams,

and the luck that we brought with us.

But when we pass through the waves’ yell,

For days, or years, or maybe more,

It is then we cry out, help! help!

And to see our world as before.

Then, as if chance, the storm oft dies.

and we limp on our merry way,

Praising good fate, or stars and signs,

while remaining very much the same.

And it is only in the end,

when we each reach that far, yon shore,

—

We spend our lives upon the sea,

and on the planks where we were born.

We love to see, or lull, and dream,

and stay long in the Mist and warmth.

But oft we stray and reach cold deeps –

and feel the harsh north, arctic Wind,

with wave after wave the ice seeps,

into our veins, and blood, and limbs.

And so we drift these fretful seas,

in bodies numb and waves amok -

And all we hold to are our dreams,

and the luck that we brought with us.

But when we pass through the waves’ yell,

For days, or years, or maybe more,

It is then we cry out, help! help!

And to see our world as before.

Then, as if chance, the storm oft dies.

and we limp on our merry way,

Praising good fate, or stars and signs,

while remaining very much the same.

—

We spend our lives upon the sea,

and on the planks where we were born.

We love to see, or lull, and dream,

and stay long in the Mist and warmth.

But oft we stray and reach cold deeps –

and feel the harsh north, arctic Wind,

with wave after wave the ice seeps,

into our veins, and blood, and limbs.

And so we drift these fretful seas,

in bodies numb and waves amok -

And all we hold to are our dreams,

and the luck that we brought with us.

But when we pass through the waves’ yell,

For days, or years, or may be more,

It is then we cry out, help! help!

And to see our world as before?

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.

The Devil’s Diaries

In my sleep,

I can see the devil’s diaries,
row by row, and line by line,
and though the titles are unseen,
I know one of them is mine.

It is an account of most I’ve done -
of all those things I am ashamed:
all those places where I’ve gone,
that were never worth the wait.

But I hope to reach a final page,
I pre-write now for my demon muse:
“He has put off all our ways.
I know not what to do.”

Preface to a Book

In these pages, I hope you hear,
a song of God’s love for you –
that this page, if pulled near,
would cause your feet to move.
For this is my cry, this is my cross:
(whether it be thought good or bad),
to show a world, so tired and lost,
the dancer isn’t mad.

High School, 7000 BC

Intelligence, Wisdom, Knowledge, and God
met in the first months of ninth grade.
Without much ado, a friendship was wrought,
over lunches spent in the sun and shade.

There, they’d debate some dense affair.
(It always seemed a bit precocious to me.) -
Knowledge would arise first and declare,
all the facts “that there could be”.

Intelligence would then shift his seat about,
and proffer scenarios with questions, deep.
While Wisdom would decide, without a spout,
then look at God, who had often fallen asleep.

In time, the four grew up and went their ways.
Though some say they still talk now and then.
But if truth be told, this sad truth I say:
only Wisdom and God remain good friends.

What is man that Thou art mindful of him?

On Harvard’s stones there rests a clever phrase,
once held dear by men from far off lands.
The words date from those very days,
when Ozymandias’ boast stood true upon the sands.

And like his, they too have slowly whitened,
Bit by bit, with water’s drip, and by and by, alight,
(And fifty years ago their meaning was forgotten,
by men who lay in dust tonight.)

Every time I pass, I read them out anew,
Often in a whisper (with an accent I do well)
For some say they are from Greek, others, Hebrew,
But as for the rest – well, none can tell.

————-

This poem refers to the line “What is man that Thou art mindful of him”? which adorns Emerson Hall at Harvard. It also references the short poem by Shelly “Ozymandias” – http://holyjoe.net/poetry/shelley.htm.

Counting Stars

At night I often count the stars:
Three for God, and one, for me,
I add one for each His scars,
And thus have nine: not quite complete.

So I turn to planets, far – those,
which seem to rest on quaking waves,
and act as mighty rulers, though,
they are in truth just wayward slaves.

And so I come to eleven, afar, -
Venus and Mars made one and ten -
And I add nine for a star,
If it soars by with angelic rim.

But of the twenty lights I descry,
Thirteen oft fade, hang, run or wane,
So I am left with Seven lights.
And it is there that I remain.

———-

I feel I need to explain “Counting Stars” a little.

The idea is that if you follow God’s design for your life you will find contentment. Thus, all the numbers will sum to “seven”, God’s number for perfection.

In the Bible the number for God is three, the number of scars on Christ body is five, the number for angels nine (nine families of angels) and there were thirteen men who ate the Lord’s supper with Jesus and betrayed Him later that night.

Venus and Mars are the two planets you see on the horizon right after the sun has set. Thus, they often seem to float on the waves. Of course, they also denote woman and man, respectively.

All lines have seven words.