i always imagined visiting you
in the ivory towers of your mind,
visiting where you had chosen
to spend eternity.
tears would stroke my cheeks,
flowers would stroke your name
engraved in the ground.
my heart would spin,
and i would pray.
i would thank you for teaching me
how to soar above my
wildest dreams.
i would bring my children
to visit you
and tell them of your hugs,
your laugh, and your smile.
but now a black crow will soar above us
as we try to morn.
and after that bird,
an unfathomable storm will arrive.
the wind whistles, "mama, mama."
sounds of feet beating the pavement
fill the air.
"mama, mama, mama!"
~Abby
Sunday, August 29, 2010
Renga IX
Brilliant bright sin
we all sense His glowing warmth
it gives us such strength
The sun radiates
sharing our brotherly love
His love warms all
His glorious love
shining down upon us all
strengthens and renews
His world relaxes
pink fades to purple and blue
sunset, twilight, dusk
Darkest curtain falls
solar yields to lunar glow
our memories fade
God is all our light
shining brighter than the sun
fills the big wide sky
we all sense His glowing warmth
it gives us such strength
The sun radiates
sharing our brotherly love
His love warms all
His glorious love
shining down upon us all
strengthens and renews
His world relaxes
pink fades to purple and blue
sunset, twilight, dusk
Darkest curtain falls
solar yields to lunar glow
our memories fade
God is all our light
shining brighter than the sun
fills the big wide sky
Renga VIII
God in all people
they can see Him in themselves
He knows and sees all
God is all people
we all have parts and pieces
God shining through us
All people in God
She encompasses us all
embraces her work
People are all God
our parts and pieces make God
He sees and we shine
God lives inside us
God is in everybody
We see Him every day
Holy spirit: us
as long as we don't lose faith
we will never die
they can see Him in themselves
He knows and sees all
God is all people
we all have parts and pieces
God shining through us
All people in God
She encompasses us all
embraces her work
People are all God
our parts and pieces make God
He sees and we shine
God lives inside us
God is in everybody
We see Him every day
Holy spirit: us
as long as we don't lose faith
we will never die
Tuesday, August 24, 2010
Dragons
Two dragons in a knot,
bound by song and bound by hand,
bound to fight and bound to stand,
bound to wage eternal war,
and never be parted by a strapling boy.
Who can change their constant wheel?
None I know of mortal flesh or bone,
and certainly no boy,
however old,
whether he live forward
or back,
whether he crown a king
or no.
The dragons are eternal,
surviving in the hearts of minds
and not the bones of stone.
Back beyond the mist and flame,
back beyond the circles built of rock,
the circles caked in blood and shattered minds,
where religions came to life and death,
the dragons dwelled
and still remain.
There amidst dances to the sun and moon,
sacrifices to the yawning sky;
the dragons' breath roars ever on
and the planet spins on fire's fuel.
-Brendan
bound by song and bound by hand,
bound to fight and bound to stand,
bound to wage eternal war,
and never be parted by a strapling boy.
Who can change their constant wheel?
None I know of mortal flesh or bone,
and certainly no boy,
however old,
whether he live forward
or back,
whether he crown a king
or no.
The dragons are eternal,
surviving in the hearts of minds
and not the bones of stone.
Back beyond the mist and flame,
back beyond the circles built of rock,
the circles caked in blood and shattered minds,
where religions came to life and death,
the dragons dwelled
and still remain.
There amidst dances to the sun and moon,
sacrifices to the yawning sky;
the dragons' breath roars ever on
and the planet spins on fire's fuel.
-Brendan
Unconquerable
The trees lift their branches to the heavens,
praising everything above and around
with great arms of oak,
rowan,
ash.
Great limbs from out of time
who could possibly fell them,
these giants of another age,
powerful as they are immortal?
Yet the mountains too
are thought assailable,
no matter how many fall
to their cold, forbidding,
yet terribly inviting peaks.
The mountain stands
as lord over all his great, green country
where all his subjects raise arms in praise
and still the ants crawl up his back
as he sleeps the sleep of kings.
-Brendan
praising everything above and around
with great arms of oak,
rowan,
ash.
Great limbs from out of time
who could possibly fell them,
these giants of another age,
powerful as they are immortal?
Yet the mountains too
are thought assailable,
no matter how many fall
to their cold, forbidding,
yet terribly inviting peaks.
The mountain stands
as lord over all his great, green country
where all his subjects raise arms in praise
and still the ants crawl up his back
as he sleeps the sleep of kings.
-Brendan
Moth Myth
The moth flies through the flame
and ends its flight ingloriously.
There is no burst of flame,
no trail of smoke,
no explosion on a lonely mountainside.
There are only failing wings
and its slow,
dreadful descent;
the doomed flier
falling at last,
like Icarus.
Daedalus' well built machine
fell to stupidity,
yet Icarus would say it fell for valor.
It fell because he was too brave
and perhaps too young
to balance brave and foolish.
Perhaps these moths,
like Icarus,
desire valor,
desire bravado,
desire glory.
They dare to fly, dare to try,
dare to try the fire that consumes them
and sends them down to the table
without so much as an aged father
to weep over their passing.
-Brendan
and ends its flight ingloriously.
There is no burst of flame,
no trail of smoke,
no explosion on a lonely mountainside.
There are only failing wings
and its slow,
dreadful descent;
the doomed flier
falling at last,
like Icarus.
Daedalus' well built machine
fell to stupidity,
yet Icarus would say it fell for valor.
It fell because he was too brave
and perhaps too young
to balance brave and foolish.
Perhaps these moths,
like Icarus,
desire valor,
desire bravado,
desire glory.
They dare to fly, dare to try,
dare to try the fire that consumes them
and sends them down to the table
without so much as an aged father
to weep over their passing.
-Brendan
Snowploughs
Snowploughs
in the summer sun.
No purpose.
No point.
No snow.
Waiting is so long.
The sun rises and the sun sets.
The rain falls.
The heat beats down.
The snowploughs think longingly
of wet
and cold
and something to do.
-Brendan
in the summer sun.
No purpose.
No point.
No snow.
Waiting is so long.
The sun rises and the sun sets.
The rain falls.
The heat beats down.
The snowploughs think longingly
of wet
and cold
and something to do.
-Brendan
Monday, August 23, 2010
Fable of the Vegetarian Beef Farmer
There once lived a beef farmer in the land of Far Away not so long ago. Unfortunately, he was rather unhappy becuase he loved his cows. He loved them just as he loved all animals, from the furry mice of the field to the fierce hawks that would soar spectacularly down to eat them. He'd loved animals since he was a very young child, too young to understand what happened to his friends who went with his father into the large building and didn't come out again. Back then, his parents had told him (quite accurately) that they had sold his friends and would get him some new ones. They also told him (rather unaccurately) that the cows were getting old and had to move on, that the family needed the money and no harm was done to them, really. The very young boy believed his parents because he was young and loved his parents more than he loved the cattle, although he never understood why none of his friends that went on vacation ever came back, just as he never understood why the fresh meat his family would eat always seemed to appear just after one of his friends disappeared. He decided that this latter mystery could be explained because they couldn't buy meat until they had the money, and so he would eat the food put in front of him with gusto, thinking it was the most he could do to honor his lost friend, even if the meat didn't taste very good to him.
Then came the day that he went on the internet to look up where meat came from and read one horror story after another. He read about cattle filing into huge granite factories where they were slaughtered and gutted and packaged into little containers then sent all around the world for people like him to eat. He was only about six at the time and the stories he read horrified him so much that he vowed right there in front of his family's little computer screen and keyboard that he would be a vegetarian for the rest of his life. His chest swelling with pride in his noble stance against a world that was harsh and cruel, he went to tell his parents.
"Mom, Dad," he said in his rather high and shrill voice, though to him it sounded deeper and more heroic because of the great announcement he was about to make. "I don't want to eat meat anymore."
"Nonsense," his father said while leaning back in his chair sharpening a huge carving knife.
"Preposterous," his mother said as she took the sizzling steak from the oven.
"It's unhuman and barberic," the little boy replied, suddenly feeling very small.
"Nonsense," his father said, carefully looking over the knife and running his thumb along the edge.
"Ridiculous," his mother said as she placed the oozing red meat down in the center of the table.
"My father worked this land," the boy's father said as he cut into the steak. "And his father before him. You know how much they made selling corn and beans? Nada. Beef is where it's at, my boy, and no son of mine will disrespect the glorious animal that God Almighty gave us in order that we might eat it and chop it up so other people might eat it and give us money to buy computers and chairs and knives with which to eat His delicious creations."
"Amen," said the boy's mother.
"Amen, said the boy's father and then they devoured the heaps of meat that sat in front of them while the boy looked on with wide, horrified eyes and touched not a bit of beef. He wanted to say that eating meat was "grotesquely immoral and unethical" like the article, but he knew it wouldn't do any good, so he made due with refusing to eat any of the meat that was placed before him for twelve years until he was old enough to leave home. Then he was happy for a little while in college studying to be a barber, until the terrible day he heard that his parents had been killed in a terrible accident. They'd been crossing the street in town when a truck carrying cattle from their own farm for the beef factory suddenly rounded the corner and hit them. The young man was greatly grieved by this news because this meant he now had to go back and take over the farm or else all his dear friends would be sold to the factory and the land would be taken over by a corrupt man of industry who would probably turn the place into a palace of sin and violence, otherwise known to people who weren't him as a beef packaging facility. His parents' death was sad, of course, but then they had tried to feed him meat for twelve years, so he soon got over them.
He then spent the next several years in absolute misery. He could not think of a thing to do with himself, or his friends. He couldn't sell, nor could he keep them. He made some money by having friends come over to have him cut their hair. Then when he had cut the hair of everyone within a fifty radius, he started inviting them to bring their animals in for a trim. He hadn't been trained to cut the hair on animals, but it was the only way he could see to practice the trade he'd gone to college for and still make money, so he gave it a shot. He'd never wanted to be a farmer anyway. He'd always wanted to be a barber and he loved it. Nothing in the world pleased him quite so much as the snip-snip-snip of scissors cutting away and the sight of hair tufts upon the floor.
One day, he was visited by an old man. He had never seen this man before, so it might even be said that this elderly person walking up to his gate and leaning upon a staff was rather mysterious. The old man stood by the fence for some time while the farmer was cutting the hair on one of his cows and watched him for some time. The farmer didn't really know what to make of this so he pretended the old man wasn't there, although that long, gray, scraggly beard was one of the most inviting things he'd seen a long time. In his mind, he imagined what the beard would look like if he could just comb out all the snarls and trim it so that it was a little bit more even. Perhaps he could even trim it so that it came to a point. That would look marvelous, the farmer thought to himself.
"Say there," the old man waved his stick and whistled. "Over here!"
The farmer turned to look at him.
"Yes."
"I say, my car has broken down just down the road and I was wondering if you could come help."
"I don't know anything about repairing cars. I'm sorry."
"That's fine. Fine."
Silence for a long time as the farmer finished cutting the hair on that cow and moved on to another. The old man continued to stare at him. At last the farmer turned back to him.
"Why is that fine?"
"Because it hasn't so much broken down as gotten stuck."
"Stuck?"
"Yes."
"Stuck where?"
"In the swamp, just down the road about a half mile."
"Oh."
The farmer knew the spot well. It was in fact a sort of trap he'd set for any large truck that might come to take some of his friends away. During the better part of a week he had carved out a slide in the side of the road that any very large vehicle unfamiliar with the area would end up driving over, with the result that the wheels on the right hand side would end up sloping down while those on the left stayed level on the road, tipping the vehicle towards the right. He'd also made sure that the ground stayed permanently wet so that the wheels would continue sliding until the truck went straight into the swamp. Very few truck drivers came back to trouble him after doing that once.
"Are you from a beef factory?" He asked suspiciously.
"Of course not," the old man haughtily replied. "I detest the very thought of those places. That is why I am a vegetarian."
The old man instantly become the farmer's favorite person in the whole world. He walked forward and held out his hand.
"Very good to meet you," he said. "I'll go fetch my strongest bulls."
The two men stood a little while later at the edge of the road looking down at the old man's car. It was a smart car, the farmer noticed, very environmentally friendly, which he approved of, however he was puzzled how a vehicle so small managed to end up in his trap. He decided not to ask as he hooked up his animals as if they were going to plow and then began to creep down the slide toward the car holding his rope. He was about half way down when one of his feet went out from under him and he fell into the mud and slid all the way down into the swamp at the bottom. He still kept tight hold of the rope, however, and soon he was clambering back out, muddy and filthy but not beaten. He tied the rope to the rear bumper and shouted up to his bulls.
"Walk!"
They did, or they tried to. He heard them groaning and straining, all four of them, but the car stayed put. The farmer was puzzled. These same four bulls had pulled trucks out of here before, without the trailers of course, but they had certainly pulled far heavier objects than this car. Perhaps they needed a little extra help. With that thought in mind, he got in front of the car and pushed as the oxen pulled from the other side. Slowly, very slowly, the small car began to move. It rolled and bumped up the hill and the farmer moved with it, pushing every inch of the way. Sometimes, he would lose his footing and fall back down into the swamp, but every time he would get up again and go back to pushing. Soon, the car was back on the road and the bedraggled farmer was standing beside it.
"Thank you very much!" said the old man, wringing the farmer's hand with both of his so that the exhausted young man thought his arm might fall off. "Now, what can I do for you?"
"Pardon?" The farmer barely understood what the old man was saying. "Oh. Some water would be nice."
"Come now," the old man said. "You must want something more than that. Didn't I mention I'm a wizard?"
"No." It occurred to the farmer later that he probably should have been more surprised, but at the moment, very little of what the old man, or wizard, rather, made sense, so he just went along with it. "Does that mean you can get me water without having to go anywhere?"
The wizard made a clucking sound with his tongue, waved his hand in the air and then passed him a crystal cup brimming with liquid. As soon as the farmer took a sip, he felt himself revive instantly. Holding the cup carefully in his hands he took it to each of his bulls and allowed them to drink also. It had an immediate effect on all of them, as it had on him. It seemed as he watched that their sides that had been oozing with sweat a moment ago reabsorbed the lost moisture and became dry and comfortable to the touch. The bulls no longer hung their heads wearily but held them upright and pawed the ground as if to say: "that wasn't so hard. Next time get me something even bigger and haul that up in HALF the time. Yeah." The farmer turned back to the beaming wizard and asked in a stammering voice: "could you? Do you think... perhaps... would you... make me a barber?"
"Of course my lad!"
And so it was done. The two of them set up a barbershop in town with the cows and called it The Golden Scissors The two of them cut the hair of anyone who came in while the cows lowed outside. The wizard even taught them to perform in a choir so while people were having their hair cut they could listen to bovine renditions of Mozart, Bach or Beethoven. It was the happiest time of the former farmer's life. Finally he had everything he'd ever wanted: his friends and his scissors in one convenient setting where everyone was happy.
However, it was too good to last. After a couple months, the cows all went on strike, spurred on by the young bulls down the street that had been working in an antique shop. The bulls felt stereotyped because the customers always thought they would break things, and the cows felt that just because some cattle had been lowing in a certain song about a human infant lying in a feeding trough, that didn't mean they should low all the time. The two groups set up the Bovine Union, but soon broadened their range to include mistreated animals of all kinds while the former farmer looked on unhappily, proud of his friends, yet sorry to see them go.
The wizard left soon after the cows, mumbling and occasionally singing about a lifelong desire pf his to be a woodsman. The vegetarian beef farmer was then left all alone to cut hair and shave beards and not eat meat as he chose. He was no longer as happy as he had been with the wizard and cows, but compared to how he'd been before, he had to acknowledge that there was an improvement. Thus he lived mostly happily most of the rest of his life as did the cows and the wizard.
~Brendan
Then came the day that he went on the internet to look up where meat came from and read one horror story after another. He read about cattle filing into huge granite factories where they were slaughtered and gutted and packaged into little containers then sent all around the world for people like him to eat. He was only about six at the time and the stories he read horrified him so much that he vowed right there in front of his family's little computer screen and keyboard that he would be a vegetarian for the rest of his life. His chest swelling with pride in his noble stance against a world that was harsh and cruel, he went to tell his parents.
"Mom, Dad," he said in his rather high and shrill voice, though to him it sounded deeper and more heroic because of the great announcement he was about to make. "I don't want to eat meat anymore."
"Nonsense," his father said while leaning back in his chair sharpening a huge carving knife.
"Preposterous," his mother said as she took the sizzling steak from the oven.
"It's unhuman and barberic," the little boy replied, suddenly feeling very small.
"Nonsense," his father said, carefully looking over the knife and running his thumb along the edge.
"Ridiculous," his mother said as she placed the oozing red meat down in the center of the table.
"My father worked this land," the boy's father said as he cut into the steak. "And his father before him. You know how much they made selling corn and beans? Nada. Beef is where it's at, my boy, and no son of mine will disrespect the glorious animal that God Almighty gave us in order that we might eat it and chop it up so other people might eat it and give us money to buy computers and chairs and knives with which to eat His delicious creations."
"Amen," said the boy's mother.
"Amen, said the boy's father and then they devoured the heaps of meat that sat in front of them while the boy looked on with wide, horrified eyes and touched not a bit of beef. He wanted to say that eating meat was "grotesquely immoral and unethical" like the article, but he knew it wouldn't do any good, so he made due with refusing to eat any of the meat that was placed before him for twelve years until he was old enough to leave home. Then he was happy for a little while in college studying to be a barber, until the terrible day he heard that his parents had been killed in a terrible accident. They'd been crossing the street in town when a truck carrying cattle from their own farm for the beef factory suddenly rounded the corner and hit them. The young man was greatly grieved by this news because this meant he now had to go back and take over the farm or else all his dear friends would be sold to the factory and the land would be taken over by a corrupt man of industry who would probably turn the place into a palace of sin and violence, otherwise known to people who weren't him as a beef packaging facility. His parents' death was sad, of course, but then they had tried to feed him meat for twelve years, so he soon got over them.
He then spent the next several years in absolute misery. He could not think of a thing to do with himself, or his friends. He couldn't sell, nor could he keep them. He made some money by having friends come over to have him cut their hair. Then when he had cut the hair of everyone within a fifty radius, he started inviting them to bring their animals in for a trim. He hadn't been trained to cut the hair on animals, but it was the only way he could see to practice the trade he'd gone to college for and still make money, so he gave it a shot. He'd never wanted to be a farmer anyway. He'd always wanted to be a barber and he loved it. Nothing in the world pleased him quite so much as the snip-snip-snip of scissors cutting away and the sight of hair tufts upon the floor.
One day, he was visited by an old man. He had never seen this man before, so it might even be said that this elderly person walking up to his gate and leaning upon a staff was rather mysterious. The old man stood by the fence for some time while the farmer was cutting the hair on one of his cows and watched him for some time. The farmer didn't really know what to make of this so he pretended the old man wasn't there, although that long, gray, scraggly beard was one of the most inviting things he'd seen a long time. In his mind, he imagined what the beard would look like if he could just comb out all the snarls and trim it so that it was a little bit more even. Perhaps he could even trim it so that it came to a point. That would look marvelous, the farmer thought to himself.
"Say there," the old man waved his stick and whistled. "Over here!"
The farmer turned to look at him.
"Yes."
"I say, my car has broken down just down the road and I was wondering if you could come help."
"I don't know anything about repairing cars. I'm sorry."
"That's fine. Fine."
Silence for a long time as the farmer finished cutting the hair on that cow and moved on to another. The old man continued to stare at him. At last the farmer turned back to him.
"Why is that fine?"
"Because it hasn't so much broken down as gotten stuck."
"Stuck?"
"Yes."
"Stuck where?"
"In the swamp, just down the road about a half mile."
"Oh."
The farmer knew the spot well. It was in fact a sort of trap he'd set for any large truck that might come to take some of his friends away. During the better part of a week he had carved out a slide in the side of the road that any very large vehicle unfamiliar with the area would end up driving over, with the result that the wheels on the right hand side would end up sloping down while those on the left stayed level on the road, tipping the vehicle towards the right. He'd also made sure that the ground stayed permanently wet so that the wheels would continue sliding until the truck went straight into the swamp. Very few truck drivers came back to trouble him after doing that once.
"Are you from a beef factory?" He asked suspiciously.
"Of course not," the old man haughtily replied. "I detest the very thought of those places. That is why I am a vegetarian."
The old man instantly become the farmer's favorite person in the whole world. He walked forward and held out his hand.
"Very good to meet you," he said. "I'll go fetch my strongest bulls."
The two men stood a little while later at the edge of the road looking down at the old man's car. It was a smart car, the farmer noticed, very environmentally friendly, which he approved of, however he was puzzled how a vehicle so small managed to end up in his trap. He decided not to ask as he hooked up his animals as if they were going to plow and then began to creep down the slide toward the car holding his rope. He was about half way down when one of his feet went out from under him and he fell into the mud and slid all the way down into the swamp at the bottom. He still kept tight hold of the rope, however, and soon he was clambering back out, muddy and filthy but not beaten. He tied the rope to the rear bumper and shouted up to his bulls.
"Walk!"
They did, or they tried to. He heard them groaning and straining, all four of them, but the car stayed put. The farmer was puzzled. These same four bulls had pulled trucks out of here before, without the trailers of course, but they had certainly pulled far heavier objects than this car. Perhaps they needed a little extra help. With that thought in mind, he got in front of the car and pushed as the oxen pulled from the other side. Slowly, very slowly, the small car began to move. It rolled and bumped up the hill and the farmer moved with it, pushing every inch of the way. Sometimes, he would lose his footing and fall back down into the swamp, but every time he would get up again and go back to pushing. Soon, the car was back on the road and the bedraggled farmer was standing beside it.
"Thank you very much!" said the old man, wringing the farmer's hand with both of his so that the exhausted young man thought his arm might fall off. "Now, what can I do for you?"
"Pardon?" The farmer barely understood what the old man was saying. "Oh. Some water would be nice."
"Come now," the old man said. "You must want something more than that. Didn't I mention I'm a wizard?"
"No." It occurred to the farmer later that he probably should have been more surprised, but at the moment, very little of what the old man, or wizard, rather, made sense, so he just went along with it. "Does that mean you can get me water without having to go anywhere?"
The wizard made a clucking sound with his tongue, waved his hand in the air and then passed him a crystal cup brimming with liquid. As soon as the farmer took a sip, he felt himself revive instantly. Holding the cup carefully in his hands he took it to each of his bulls and allowed them to drink also. It had an immediate effect on all of them, as it had on him. It seemed as he watched that their sides that had been oozing with sweat a moment ago reabsorbed the lost moisture and became dry and comfortable to the touch. The bulls no longer hung their heads wearily but held them upright and pawed the ground as if to say: "that wasn't so hard. Next time get me something even bigger and haul that up in HALF the time. Yeah." The farmer turned back to the beaming wizard and asked in a stammering voice: "could you? Do you think... perhaps... would you... make me a barber?"
"Of course my lad!"
And so it was done. The two of them set up a barbershop in town with the cows and called it The Golden Scissors The two of them cut the hair of anyone who came in while the cows lowed outside. The wizard even taught them to perform in a choir so while people were having their hair cut they could listen to bovine renditions of Mozart, Bach or Beethoven. It was the happiest time of the former farmer's life. Finally he had everything he'd ever wanted: his friends and his scissors in one convenient setting where everyone was happy.
However, it was too good to last. After a couple months, the cows all went on strike, spurred on by the young bulls down the street that had been working in an antique shop. The bulls felt stereotyped because the customers always thought they would break things, and the cows felt that just because some cattle had been lowing in a certain song about a human infant lying in a feeding trough, that didn't mean they should low all the time. The two groups set up the Bovine Union, but soon broadened their range to include mistreated animals of all kinds while the former farmer looked on unhappily, proud of his friends, yet sorry to see them go.
The wizard left soon after the cows, mumbling and occasionally singing about a lifelong desire pf his to be a woodsman. The vegetarian beef farmer was then left all alone to cut hair and shave beards and not eat meat as he chose. He was no longer as happy as he had been with the wizard and cows, but compared to how he'd been before, he had to acknowledge that there was an improvement. Thus he lived mostly happily most of the rest of his life as did the cows and the wizard.
~Brendan
Renga VII
As the morning breaks
God dances on the water
something serenity
His voice is flowing
through the endless waves of grace
and amusing joy
The hues fade from blue
wind whispering in the leaves
this is their long lost voice
An endless message
following the changing tide
will never be lost
Spiritual silence
Meditation in the wind
God, call me again
Watercolor blends
God's imagined masterpiece
The sun drops from view
God dances on the water
something serenity
His voice is flowing
through the endless waves of grace
and amusing joy
The hues fade from blue
wind whispering in the leaves
this is their long lost voice
An endless message
following the changing tide
will never be lost
Spiritual silence
Meditation in the wind
God, call me again
Watercolor blends
God's imagined masterpiece
The sun drops from view
The Liar
I spin for you a lie,
create for you a fantasy,
a protective web
to wrap you in.
You must believe
that here is safe.
You must believe
that this place
is special
because it is to me.
There can be no pain here.
I cannot let mine show.
I must be always happy
so you will think
I always am.
You must believe
that wrong does not exist here,
that no harm can be done here,
and so I must be fair
with both you and me
so that here can always be
a safe community.
-Brendan
create for you a fantasy,
a protective web
to wrap you in.
You must believe
that here is safe.
You must believe
that this place
is special
because it is to me.
There can be no pain here.
I cannot let mine show.
I must be always happy
so you will think
I always am.
You must believe
that wrong does not exist here,
that no harm can be done here,
and so I must be fair
with both you and me
so that here can always be
a safe community.
-Brendan
Friday, July 30, 2010
Haiku for Silver Lake based on Matthew13:24-30
The Lake embraces
broken, social misfits, me;
crates wheat from weeds.
~Emmi
broken, social misfits, me;
crates wheat from weeds.
~Emmi
Monday, July 26, 2010
Renga VI
I eavesdrop and smile
some great little one-liners
the voice of a child
The children play here
I see my former self here
The children laugh here
Oh, hear the children
We are all children inside
We are God's children
See their playful art
Dance careless in the sun, I
collect memories
No more worrying
about life's great obstacles
innocent and pure
I cherish those times
they are not old in my heart
Oh, to be children
some great little one-liners
the voice of a child
The children play here
I see my former self here
The children laugh here
Oh, hear the children
We are all children inside
We are God's children
See their playful art
Dance careless in the sun, I
collect memories
No more worrying
about life's great obstacles
innocent and pure
I cherish those times
they are not old in my heart
Oh, to be children
Happy Birthday
I celebrate that you came into this world
That you grew in wisdom and stature
That you love and are beloved
I celebrate that you were lowered
Misfit and sinner
Into the waters of that familiar lake
And came out
Cleansed
I celebrate these moments
From moment to moment
From hour to hour
From day to day
That you decided to live
I celebrate that you were born
Born and reborn
All your little rebirths
I celebrate
All your little rebirths
Born and reborn
I celebrate that you were born
That you decided to live
From day to day
From hour to hour
From moment to moment
I celebrate these moments
You were cleansed
And came out
That you love and are beloved
That you grew in wisdom and stature
That you are in this world
I celebrate
~Josh
That you grew in wisdom and stature
That you love and are beloved
I celebrate that you were lowered
Misfit and sinner
Into the waters of that familiar lake
And came out
Cleansed
I celebrate these moments
From moment to moment
From hour to hour
From day to day
That you decided to live
I celebrate that you were born
Born and reborn
All your little rebirths
I celebrate
All your little rebirths
Born and reborn
I celebrate that you were born
That you decided to live
From day to day
From hour to hour
From moment to moment
I celebrate these moments
You were cleansed
And came out
That you love and are beloved
That you grew in wisdom and stature
That you are in this world
I celebrate
~Josh
Sunday, July 25, 2010
Renga V
Twirl, beat, rhythm, time
watch the dancers move in step
God is in the dancer
Guitarist begins
crowd pops in recognition
energy reverb
The floor breathes with feet
sags and beats with stirring hearts
love grows with each breath
Skaters ride downhill
slipstream rippling your face
carving the airways
Echoing through town
out of all the pouring rain
music makes sunshine
The sound has power
as it inspires young souls
to practice their art
watch the dancers move in step
God is in the dancer
Guitarist begins
crowd pops in recognition
energy reverb
The floor breathes with feet
sags and beats with stirring hearts
love grows with each breath
Skaters ride downhill
slipstream rippling your face
carving the airways
Echoing through town
out of all the pouring rain
music makes sunshine
The sound has power
as it inspires young souls
to practice their art
Renga IV
Cascading water
majestically falls to earth
God flows forth to me
Water is graceful
in nature it flows freely
let God's grace drench me
Simply beautiful
stunning as the rain that falls
God's quiet whisper
Great white waterfall
it roars as it falls to earth
all things swept away
Waters that cleanse me
immerse me in purity
free of all darkness
Pools of purity
wash my soul of wrongdoings
make me one with God
majestically falls to earth
God flows forth to me
Water is graceful
in nature it flows freely
let God's grace drench me
Simply beautiful
stunning as the rain that falls
God's quiet whisper
Great white waterfall
it roars as it falls to earth
all things swept away
Waters that cleanse me
immerse me in purity
free of all darkness
Pools of purity
wash my soul of wrongdoings
make me one with God
Renga III
Waterfall echoes
the supreme voice of our God
waterfall inside
Foam flows from the fall
dampened air; a mist so thick
Roaring endlessly
Exhilarating
an empowering presence
an impressive scene
Circle around me
it washes me of my fear
now reborn in Him
My soul drifts away
the river carries me on
a journey downstream
The journey is long
my troubles are washed away
cleaning my many sins
the supreme voice of our God
waterfall inside
Foam flows from the fall
dampened air; a mist so thick
Roaring endlessly
Exhilarating
an empowering presence
an impressive scene
Circle around me
it washes me of my fear
now reborn in Him
My soul drifts away
the river carries me on
a journey downstream
The journey is long
my troubles are washed away
cleaning my many sins
Saturday, July 24, 2010
Renga II
Light glows through the trees
the wind whispers in the leaves
in this I see God
A forest of peace
garden of sanctuary
new ways to hear God
A bird's song chimes through
singing sweet songs that I hear
the music of God
Deep in the forest
trickles and splashes a stream
Son on the water
murmuring voices
drifting over the water
writers fill the Glen
Pens sing the bird's song
paper rustles the trees voice
creative songs sing
the wind whispers in the leaves
in this I see God
A forest of peace
garden of sanctuary
new ways to hear God
A bird's song chimes through
singing sweet songs that I hear
the music of God
Deep in the forest
trickles and splashes a stream
Son on the water
murmuring voices
drifting over the water
writers fill the Glen
Pens sing the bird's song
paper rustles the trees voice
creative songs sing
Renga I
Across the waves
brilliance illuminates
deep in the ocean
Seagulls' cries echo
the waves wash over the sand
the salty sea breeze
Moving water speaks
clear blue body of the Lord
He is here with us
The waves crest and break
resounding the voice of our God
saying "you are home"
Out on the blue waves
the Son's feet touch the surface
blessing the water
Wade in the water
Father, Son and Holy Ghost
Baptism renews
brilliance illuminates
deep in the ocean
Seagulls' cries echo
the waves wash over the sand
the salty sea breeze
Moving water speaks
clear blue body of the Lord
He is here with us
The waves crest and break
resounding the voice of our God
saying "you are home"
Out on the blue waves
the Son's feet touch the surface
blessing the water
Wade in the water
Father, Son and Holy Ghost
Baptism renews
Untitled
Light is fading all too quick,
But there he stands pushin back,
But there he stands pushin back,
Fighting with a simple stick,
Hurting from the Darkness attack.
But still he tries stopping it,
A simple and pathetic fight.
The Darkness laughs with its wit,
And it all goes on, deep in night.
Hoping til he hits the ground,
the passion keeps him clear,
to hear that one resounding sond,
the graceful voice of his dear.
But alas this is no story,
Our hero falls upon the ground,
and finally he has no worry.
Simply put he has been found.
Now as he slips away,
He finds a light and hears a voice.
Trying so hard, he attempts to stay,
but he knows he has no choice.
~Tyler
~Tyler
Friday, June 11, 2010
Tweet? Tweet?
I just found this brief article detailing a discussion within the ranks of The New York Times concerning the word "tweet."
Basically, standards editor Phil Corbett has advised the staff of The New York Times not to use the word "tweet" when writing about usage of the social networking and micro-blogging site, Twitter. His argument? "...outside of ornithological contexts, "tweet" has not yet achieved the status of standard English. And standard English is what we should use in news articles."
My initial gut reaction was to think that it's stupid to trade "tweet" for "use Twitter," "post to Twitter," post on Twitter," "write on Twitter," "a Twitter message," or "a Twitter update." But then I remembered my reaction when somebody on Facebook claimed that "interrobang" was a real word and challenged everyone to "look it up!" My response was simple, "If it has no hits on Dictionary.com, it doesn't count as a real word yet." So I plugged "tweet" into Dictionary.com and got not one mention of Twitter.
So maybe a "tweet" in the sense of utilizing Twitter is nothing more than slang—albeit helpful slang—and really doesn't have any place in The New York Times.
What do you think?
Rev. Josh
Basically, standards editor Phil Corbett has advised the staff of The New York Times not to use the word "tweet" when writing about usage of the social networking and micro-blogging site, Twitter. His argument? "...outside of ornithological contexts, "tweet" has not yet achieved the status of standard English. And standard English is what we should use in news articles."
My initial gut reaction was to think that it's stupid to trade "tweet" for "use Twitter," "post to Twitter," post on Twitter," "write on Twitter," "a Twitter message," or "a Twitter update." But then I remembered my reaction when somebody on Facebook claimed that "interrobang" was a real word and challenged everyone to "look it up!" My response was simple, "If it has no hits on Dictionary.com, it doesn't count as a real word yet." So I plugged "tweet" into Dictionary.com and got not one mention of Twitter.
So maybe a "tweet" in the sense of utilizing Twitter is nothing more than slang—albeit helpful slang—and really doesn't have any place in The New York Times.
What do you think?
Rev. Josh
Thursday, March 18, 2010
Storytelling is Important!
I ran across an article about Anne Frank today that talks about what she was like during that period of time not covered in her famous diary.
Specifically, the article talks about Anne telling stories in Bergen Belsen, the concentration camp where she died of typhus a mere two weeks before its liberation. But the tragedy of Anne not growing up to be a journalist or novelist is not the point I'm trying to make. The point is that Anne made an impact on Berthe Meijer, who's spirits were lifted through the escape of the stories Anne told. I don't know for sure if her storytelling impacted anyone else, but I would bet that she did—and I'm not a betting man!
It just goes to show that words are important! So keep telling stories...
Specifically, the article talks about Anne telling stories in Bergen Belsen, the concentration camp where she died of typhus a mere two weeks before its liberation. But the tragedy of Anne not growing up to be a journalist or novelist is not the point I'm trying to make. The point is that Anne made an impact on Berthe Meijer, who's spirits were lifted through the escape of the stories Anne told. I don't know for sure if her storytelling impacted anyone else, but I would bet that she did—and I'm not a betting man!
It just goes to show that words are important! So keep telling stories...
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