Trip to the Moon

Last night I stepped into a historical current--the Beatles timeline! To whit, Christi alerted me to cheap Paul McCartney tickets on stubhub and we realized it was The Chance of a Lifetime!, bought them, and went. It was incredible to think that this is someone who has seen and influenced so much--starting decades before I was born. He wrote Blackbird to give hope to those struggling for Civil Rights in America, and indirectly taught many Russian officials English (because they listened to Beatles albums). What a gift he has, and he really has used it to bless others, all over the world!

This poem is the love child of trying to reconnect with imagination while waiting for an internet connection.


Pretend you're walking up a wave
That never breaks, but rushes towards the Moon
To introduce a creature to the Source--
High honor!...So the simple wave assumes,
But you're a grounded child, and your course
Miraculous at first, impossible,
Now far beyond control--seems terrible.
One hemisphere in shadow, never seen--
Who is this man--or cold celestial queen?

How will she welcome one neglecting gravity,
Her own most-cherished law, her hobby horse,
Defiance born of love and innocence
Too giddy to be limited, entrenched.
Don't cast your servant down, be merciful!

But his ascent has drained the ocean dry,
Much hangs in balance--I perceive the whole,
I hear the porpoise weep, blue whales sigh,
Resigned to what has long been creeping near,
Sped up by love, you say--but you don't hear,
Don't see, don't feel death lurking behind.
I won't receive this blind, unthinking kind
Of green affection. Worship in your bounds,
In who you are and where your gift is found.

Thus spoke the queen--her gray eyes gleaming bright,
Their velvet texture edifying night,
As she repelled the one who broke my fall.

Thus we returned, to live as we were called.

Whale Skirt!

 

I so sewed this! You can't tell, but there are threads of sea-green waves running behind the whales throughout the gray. If you live in the Tulsa area and want to sew something, visit Owl and Drum ( https://owlanddrum.com/  ) to find a carefully-selected selection of the loveliest fabrics in Tulsa!

As I am spending way too much time going mad over trying to figure out what to do with my life, here are my ideas: bake for people, sell handmade crafts/clothing, write, taste coffee, roast coffee, teach people about coffee, start a coffeeshop. Okay, this is nothing new! Maybe I just need to abandon the idea of having a "career" and give in to making a little bit of money in a lot of different ways, then start focusing on developing the skills for which I have an interest. For example, thinking about the language of the books I read instead of simply getting lost in the story and moving on as soon as it's over.

The following poem has to do with this--discovering what to do--but also discovering what I believe. My coworkers love talking about theology (a blessing!) and I think I've been avoiding theology ever since I got scared of being a hater and realized that alot of people who I may previously have suspected of having 'bad' theology actually have a much stronger faith than I do. And it seems like such a gargantuan task to start trying to rediscover who God is and what I believe about him! That sentence contains self-mockery--the opportunity to learn more about God and grow closer to Him is the greatest blessing of our lives, yet I still feel like it's a burden?!? Foolish, selfish, sinful lazybones!

I never dared to start with politics,

And quit theology when mine proved thin--

I'd rather suffer math and common sense

Than wander in that waste-gray land again.

Sweet black and white! I need a right and wrong,

A north star fixed and undisputable,

A two plus two that never equals more

Or less than four. I know, it's very dull--

But years of asking Who: is God? am I?

What for and what to do? With no reply

Has left me craving some small certainty,

Some sign that this is where I ought to be.

The catechism answers: Glorify.

Replace your Who? with simply, Here am I.

The Birds and the...Pigs.

Update: I've decided to go ahead and commit to graduate school this fall, meeting with a grad school advisor tomorrow...and am hopefully not too late to enroll for classes. Have to re-learn how all this works! Thank you, Ribbons Undone, for your encouraging and supportive comment! I think it will be good to be back in school--at any rate, I'll certainly learn alot of new things and have something to do with my time other than read fun books and sew stuffed animals, sigh...(which I've really, really been enjoying. But it's a fairly priviledged lifestyle and highly conducive to non-productivity. : )

Anyhow, today's poem is in no way a revelation that I am in a state of unhappy love. No, no, no! (times infinity) It's not meant to be taken seriously; it's just what the pen wrote.

Letters closing "Your forgotten one"
Can hardly harbor hope in other lines--
Or opening, "My Once-Beloved," run
A sharp decline: "Beloved" becomes "You Swine!"
"You promised...I regret...I should have known!"
Of course, the faithless mockingbird has flown
And sung an ode to freedom as he sped,
"Oh! What a cramped and cursed cage I've fled!"
This cage--once happy home to her behind,
Left to remove the down with which he lined
Their nest and padded all her dreams, the fluff
Which was not love but looked it....That's enough,
Her nest has been restored to naked twigs
And Hollow-bones has learned, "Beware of pigs!"

Coffee Bag Clothes!

Our latest SweetMaria's order came packaged in burlap, not packing peanuts! Truly, sweet!

Today I have just a silly little sonnet that nevertheless was "born of genuine emotion"--namely, the "Ohmygoodness what am I going to DO with my life?!?" feeling of selfish panic. Here's the thing: I got accepted into graduate school for communications, and was even offered a scholarship. And the entire program isn't Too expensive to begin with. But now that I really need to be enrolling and accepting the scholarship...oh, the pressure. I just want to immerse myself in coffee for a living! That is all. But maybe I'd enjoy grad school, do really well, and end up being paid to write, actually earn a 'decent' living... Is the fact that I got accepted and even pursued as a student a sign that that's what God means for me? Or is the fact that I'm not all that excited about it and feel much more enthusiastic about coffee a sign that I should head that direction? ????????? I do not know! Thoughts? Without further ado:

Once upon a time when we were fish,
All waterways led one-way--not to Rome,
But our own central, magnet edifice
Built up of sunlit sand and ocean foam.
And every fish had but one part to play,
The character of Fish--some predator
And some, less-toothy evolutions, prey--
But all by instinct. Choice was not a chore
That  burdened us--we swam, we ate, we died,
And never agonized o'er Who Am I?
No woebegone philosophies, no art,
No sense of self, reluctance to depart,
No crossroads, no dilemmas...That's all gone.
We traded fins for feet, and dreams for dawn.

For Your Listening Pleasure...

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These little guys are at least partly to blame for my lack of blogging lately. I may have an opportunity to sell felties at a market a local coffee shop is hosting soon, and need to be prepared!

Anyhow, this will be a very short post, but I wanted to share a real "gem" with you, horrible pun intended: the Jem theme song! This version, apparently by a band named Freezepop, was on a mix CD of Daniel's and I was briefly addicted to it until the CD got lost in the jumble of a thousand other unidentified mixes. Thanks to Christi, I now know the "Misfits" are a rival band and not limbless gnome-creatures. Enjoy! And Dance, Dance, Dance!

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=guTbj91zoh0

Airshow!

It is a little disconcerting, having your peaceful hour of reading broken by a quartet of warplanes. There must be an airshow, but they keep circling overhead and I am glad to be able to assume that their intentions are friendly...

Here's a sarcastic ditty:

Other worlds, other wisdom,
Other wiles's woes,
False justice from another time--
Is that the way it goes?
A giddy cry for blood, let bones
Be broken, every one!
It's not enough to see it through,
It must be overdone.

And a poem written at Doubleshot...my first real visit there since moving back. It was so nice to see familiar faces:

Returning home, or home again at heart,
Remembering long hours and long days,
Of friends well-met, reluctance to depart--
But overall content in deepest ways.
And even ever-altered circumstance
Cannot erase a mind's full memory--
Time's skill at theft confirmed, he has no chance
Of taking off with my biography.

A truth assured, as morning's proof will show,
For I observe a still continuum--
Dust swept, resettled; faces aged but known;
"These things remain"--whatever change has come.

Some thoughts on love

 Every now and then I wonder why I wrote more poetry (and whiny songs, you should hear them sometime!) about Daniel before we started dating/got married. I'm pretty sure it's because I was terrified of writing sappy loveydovey stuff...although I don't consider myself to be that kind of person. So maybe I was afraid I'd try to write that kind o' stuff and then make myself gag because it'd be so awful? Anyhow, somewhere from that came this, which doesn't end up being about writing romantic poetry after all--at least not much:

The love compelling poetry

Is love the mystery.

Not love-in-bliss or love sublime,

But love in verity.

In other words, accompanied

By love’s fair share of tears,

An ocean’s worth of ups and downs,

Hope breaking, hard, on fear.

What man could write of paradise

Without a sense of earth

Or shadow-strung mortality,

The gifting of his birth?

Young love is half-tormented,

Beauty threatens to deceive—

And what a wealth of verse these doubts

Have caused young minds to weave!

Old love sits by the fireside

In health and sickness both,

Content, at ease, but even so,

Old lovers cannot boast

Of one eternal glory day,

The end of troubled times—

They’re just as wed to earthly ills

As lovers in their prime.

What causes love to come and go

Or finally remain—

But never without sacrifice,

And never free from pain?

The poets may think love a god—

Capricious, cruel, blind.

And so love is a God, but not

Of that distressing kind.

True Love—beyond the world’s bounds

Is constant, holy,wise,

Stares straight into our faithless hearts,

With bright, unblinking eyes.

We bring to that most perfect Love

The only love we can—

A love of pain as well as joy,

The selfish love of man.

And yet, we’re never turned away,

Poor fools, nor condemned,

However late we come to love,

However far we’ve been.

Returning now, from heaven’s court

To our small earthly home,

I’ve vowed to love my husband’s self

As dearly as my own.

And this my heart could never do

If not for True Love’s grace,

Who takes my failure, makes it his,

And never hides his face.