Marriage

I wrote a few poems as Christmas gifts and I decided to post them here (with permission.)

This one was for my brother and his fiancée.

Marriage 12/25/13

There's a place where the stream meets the river.

You can look up the side where the streams

flow alone with zigzags and shivers,

where the children toe-deep in their dreams

catch big sharks like the crawdads that quiver,

and build bridges of steel aspen beams,

Or

You can look down the downstreaming side,

where keen oarsmen and fishermen dwell

forging life in the seasonal tide;

choppy rocks make it fracture and swell

but the river is deep, true, well, wide

and one, strong though the path may rebel.

And there's beauty in the water that glimmers

at the place where the stream meets the river.

Sleep

Sleep 7/25/13
Sleep: plastic contentment between his lips
rests in his mother's center,
his small frame enveloped in her
voluminous ocean of warm warm
warm all around.

She fills her seat with sleep,
her only rest her infant's comfort,
The two enfold each other,
little arms in her lush limbs,
little head in her soft middle.

Each rests in the rest of the other,
all is still in their one world.

Stereotypes and Stories

A Plane to Africa    6/25/13

      leaving home:

abercrombie with
rolled up jeans and
a couple loafers (or)

oiled gold watches
fiercely greased hair
slick suit stripes (or)

dreadlocks draped over
colorful shawls over
toes tucked in sandal loops.

      coming home:
depths of robes
the colors of august
flaxen scented (or)

dark suits with
barely intelligible
perfect English (or)

abercrombie with
rolled up jeans and
a couple of loafers.

like a bad joke or a better story:
a nun a preacher a Muslim a hippie a tourist a family of ten a petroleum engineer and
I walked onto a plane to Africa.

      me:
orange ray-bans
a red v-neck and
plaid sh(or)ts

I mean, they were
gifts, I don't normally
wear, this s(or)t

of thing, and the shades
are more of a joke,
Am I the only n(or)mal

one here?

My stories are still quite young
My new-sewn clothes unsung.

Psalm 119

      While there are many challenges to translating the Bible into English, one particularly irksome problem to me is translating the poetry of the Bible. I have no idea what the Hebrew Psalms sound like and really know nothing about Hebrew poetry, but the various English versions that I have read always leave me feeling there is something wanting on the poetic side.

      I thought it would be an interesting exercise to try to put a Psalm into English poetry. I do not claim that this poem is my own translation of the original as I know nothing about the Hebrew text; rather, it is a sonnet closely inspired by one of my favorite passages in Psalms (Psalm 119:9-16 ESV). I even moved verse 12 down after verse 16 to form the final couplet.

      This was a very rewarding challenge for me as I was forced to really dissect the meaning and the language of the poetry as best I could. For example, as I was writing I realized that I had no idea what the author meant by "Blessed are you, O Lord." When I think of someone giving a blessing in the Bible, whether it be by God or an by an ailing parent, it seems he is wishing someone well or actually providing them with some good fortune. But can we bless God who is the source of all good fortune? This question is something I am still thinking about, but I ended up deciding (partially based on an online commentary) that this verse is more of a statement of praise that God is inherently blessed. If so, how is that different from saying God is holy, or sacred? (dictionary.com) I still find "blessed" an odd word in this context though. How can anyone be blessed without receiving blessing?

Anyway...
I have put the Psalm here followed by my poem.

Psalm 119:9-16
9 How can a young man keep his way pure?
     By guarding it according to your word
10 With my whole heart I seek you;
     let me not wander from your commandments!
11 I have stored up your word in my heart,
     that I might not sin against you.
12 Blessed are you, O Lord;
     teach me your statutes!
13 With my lips I declare
     all the rules of your mouth.
14 In the way of your testimonies I delight
     as much as in all riches.
15 I will meditate on your precepts
     and fix my eyes on your ways.
16 I will delight in your statutes;
     I will not forget your word.


Teach Me Your Statutes    6/22/2013
I am young. What is the path to be pure?
My guide is your illuminating breath
Which I must always question to be sure
My steps are built on life and not on death.
Let me save, savor that sure guide: your Word
In confidence. And then I'll speak your speech
With confidence, to stir by being stirred
By having loved your thoughts that you would teach.
And let me breathe your breath, think as you do,
And see as you see with eyes not my own.
My joy is my obedience to you,
For all my living is the life you've shown.
        You are God. You are good, and ever so.
        Speak. Pour your good life into me. I'll grow.

Sometimes I wait...

Isaiah 40:31  7/6/12
Sometimes I wait,
string strung sticks hung in hand
for the next big breath to let the kite
eagle-like mount the wind's wings
Sometimes I start--
set too soon till
it tumbles top to tail:
a faint flung flight fail.

Sometimes I wait,
sun-set done
heavens dozing,
for deeper dark
to star stare
  Often
dim dark thins dim light
but deep dark draws fine light.

Sometimes I wait,
with treaded soles to the trail,
I walk but wait
I wait
wait
till the top to spin my feet to the peak
and breathe the valley, eyes wide
saving the splendor till the tip
  Often

worth feeds delay for
delay breeds worth.

Sometimes I wait,
to take a taste
when the bitter is now
and the sweeter is soon
Often I wait,
child-like
  with hope--

The Return

I Don't Mind    6/10/13

I wish you were here. All of me wishes:

all my heart and thoughts and arms and lips and...

I pretend you see these same stars I see.

You don't. The sun burns them blue in your sky.

These continents never see the same sky.

Why are we so broken? Why aren't we near?

Why aren't you with little me. Broken.

You are, aren't you? Like me, broken? us. both.

My sky is black with broken bits of light.

Are there clouds? Are there little bits of light-

ning with you, in your sky? Tell me darling,

you, like me, are darkened or I can't see

you. Not in the sun, or I can't touch you.

Isn't everyone who has seen this sky...

Everyone is broken like us, aren't they?

Even egg-blue skies are burned by the sun.

Even the ancients who saw this sky (moved

a little bit they say) they too were broken

everyone is

                   broken

                                 But you and I,

broken as we are, I believe we'll find,

between the two of us, we can not mind.