Two Poems

Trying to get back into writing poetry. The first one I wrote isn't as good but that's because I made it rhyme and rhyming is, of course, more difficult than not rhyming. Either way I consider them, or at least the first one, "practice." I plan to go back to being as good as I once was. P.S. I am also starting a new thing of relyricing songs on the fly, that is helping my skills a little, but I'm not very good yet.

Title: Infant

A sleeping baby in my arms

A quiet moan: its simple charms.

I fall in love with fragile life,

My heart is cleft like butter and knife

This tiny babe that isn’t mine

Is like a sip of sweetest wine

His mother is his legal guard

But does not love him very far

Yet I, a simple, distant friend

Shall love this child from end to end.

My heart breaks when I hand him back,

Her compassion is so in lack.

She does not know I love him so

For I can’t bear to see him go

If I could take him as my own

I’d care for him with every bone.

I’d give his life a newer peace

And show him how the pain does cease.

Yet as it is I can only pray

And hope his troubles fade away.

~~~

Title: A Different Paradise

 For Gavin

You walk outside,

The warm breeze caresses your face

And your bare feet step out onto the soft sand.

A perfect world.

The beach is only a block away so you take your time.

Pausing

Reflecting

Soaking it all in

The crash of the waves is in earshot

And then,

The vastness of the ocean before you.

You lay down your towel

And sit

And watch

The children build sandcastles,

Laughing, happy

Your ipod sings to you sweet music.

Lovers walk past, hand-in-hand,

Enjoying their vacation.

And evening comes slowly

With a setting sun

And gradually appearing stars

And with the evening chill, you pack up

And walk home.

And you are content.

But

It’s not good enough;

Contentedness is mere.

You are alone.

~~~

Years later,

A frozen black wasteland;

A bleak world.

Desolation, no fruition.

You cling to your frail coat and continue to walk.

With the hope

That you will find them.

You are starting to give up,

With the ice stinging your face

And your feet with blisters

And your stomach upset with hunger

When you see it: the light.

The light from the cabin.

Piercing your dark world, piercing it with hope and a promise.

You rush toward it.

You knock on the door and it is opened to you.

Opened by a familiar face.

And every other face inside…is familiar.

But more than familiar. Loved, cherished.

Friends of old, true friends.

The cabin is warmer than outdoors because of a dimming fire, but

Still chilly

You undress your outer layers as conversation surrounds you; you smile

A nearly empty bowl of chips is offered to you to finish,

Their only food.

Times are very hard.

But then

She appears, in her simple beauty

Through a doorway she comes

And that’s when you notice the piano

She smiles at you and says, “I’ve missed you, now how about a little music? It’s what you love most.”

And gentle notes float up.

A hand slips into yours, your best friend

Another fills your other hand, your dear, dear brother.

And all your friends are there

And music fills the room

The tiny cabin, crammed with smiling, laughing, singing people.

Off-key a bit.

People you love

Your heart swells

Tears fill your eyes

In the midst of this your mind goes back

To a day on the beach

When you were wealthy and alone

Content with no joy

You’d thought you’d found your Heaven on Earth

But now you know better

Your family, both literal and metaphorical, are all here in this place

Sharing in your pain and suffering;

Holding you and one another up

You’re not sure if you’re content or not

But one thing you know now

For sure:

You are

Full

Of joy.

Giving Glory; Lasting Adventure: "Waka waka eh eh; This time for Africa"

Giving Glory; Lasting Adventure: "Waka waka eh eh; This time for Africa": "Hello dear friends! In less than 3 weeks, I will be traveling with a team of 14 young adults to Kenya, Africa to serve the Lord's good pu..."

Eye of the Beholder

Beauty

Usually so tangible

And yet, always abstract

In the eye of the beholder? Yes.

Unexplainable

Yet thousands of words describe it.

It’s everywhere

Or no where.

Sight, sound, smell, feel, taste;

The intangible: friendship and love, beautiful thoughts. dreams and hope, etc.

Far as the heavens, near as your hand.

Look in the mirror, is it there?

Look out the window, is it there?

Look at a crowd, is it there?

Is beauty even a quest? Must we search for it?

Is death beautiful? Eye of the beholder.

Is sadness beautiful? Eye of the beholder.

The unbearable laws of nature, are they beautiful? Eye of the beholder.

Beauty can sneak up on you:

Sun illuminating the dust in the air

The rhythmic swaying of the blades of grass

An old couple walking hand-in-hand

An unexpected wafted fragrance

A singer practicing in her home with the windows open

And a thousand others

Why do we have these tiny beauties?

Why?

Who do they belong to?

Are they ours?

Are they God’s, just he’s sharing?

If we are blinded to it, are we at fault?

Do we have to be happy enough to notice?

Are we born with the right kind of eye?

Question after question

Never answered, always wondering

Always watching, open eyes.

Ready for anything

Nothing? Or everything

Ready to behold


~~~Ecclesiastes 3:11 "He has made everything beautiful in its time."~~~

A book review- The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society

I can’t keep The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society by Mary Ann Shaffer and Annie Barrows to myself a moment longer.

My dear sister lent it to me. It was recommended to her by her high school English teacher this past school year.  She told her, “Can you recommend a good book where no one dies?” Her English teacher recommended this “charming” book where only a “minor” character dies. Charming it is, indeed, but I was slightly offended that the death in it was considered to be one of a minor character. She was major to me.

The book was not at all sugar-coated.

Almost entirely in the form of letters, this book features Juliet, who embarked on a small, but unforgettable adventure. In some ways, Juliet reminded me of me. But sometimes I wished if only I could be like her. And other times I was glad I wasn’t her. I did like her a lot, though. She was a writer.

Ever notice how each form of entertainment sometimes involves a main character of the occupation relating to that very form of entertainment. A book about a writer? Of course; The writer of the book is a writer. There are movies about actors and musicals about singers and dancers…perhaps somewhere in the world there is a radio show about a DJ.

I recommend this book to everyone. Or at least most people. It is intellectual and down-to-earth. I don’t want to give away too much, but there’s a love story in it, too. Takes place in the 1940’s in England, shortly after World War II. A lot of it has to do with the recovery of and memories from the war, but it’s much more than a simple memoir or historical script.

My sister described it as a book you don’t want to put down. It’s not an edge-of-your-seat, can’t put it down book. You can. But you don’t want to. It’s too well-written and you’re too in love with the characters to leave it.

I describe it as a multi-course meal. It’s rich, homey, soul-food. It’ll fill you up and satisfy you. Some parts may be bitter and that’s okay. Some parts are like drinking wine. And at the end, you get the most smooth, delicious dessert you’ve ever tasted and you leave the meal(book) on the sweetest note imaginable and you are fully satisfied. You certainly go home recommending that restaurant to your friends who weren’t able to dine there with you.

I don’t know much about writing book reviews, but this is mine.

Also, the author has a very similar name to mine.

This book is, in a word, charming. Sarah’s English teacher certainly knew what she was talking about. Read it NOW.


God bless

4th of July

I am aware that today is not the fourth of July. I wrote this then but didn't publish it because I was on vacation and my family doesn't tell when we're on vacation--safety thing. Either way, enjoy!

~~~

Happy Independence Day, to all my American friends! Today was the 235^th birthday of the lovely little country I was born and raised in, Happy Birthday.

I spent my day like this:

Woke up to my first morning in New Hampshire this summer.

Wrote a letter to dear Ms. Carolyn

Ventured from mine and Sarah’s pull-out bed

Ate a hearty breakfast of eggs, bacon, and English muffins with my family and grandparents

Took a shower

Went on a boat ride

            (At this point I saw several things of beauty, the first being three adult loons, the second being five baby loons [the adults are much more impressive to behold, unlike most animals where the baby is cuter and therefore more pleasing to the eye], multiple large, bright yellow butterflies fluttering across the lake, and short, tree-covered mountains [or were they simply large hills?]. The wind felt very nice too but I did not see that.)

sat on the dock and tanned

ate lunch

went inside to read The Loon and The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society, worked on a belt, texted, pulled weeds from the little beach, ate dinner, I’m not sure which of these things came in which order.

At some point it got dark and we went to the neighbors’ to watch the fireworks. The show was very nice over the lake, but the neighbor, or perhaps she was friends with the neighbors, hooted and hollered the whole darn time, saying “WOOOOAHHHH!” and “BEAYOOTEEFUL!”  and in general just making unnecessary ruckus and not letting the fireworks speak for themselves, which they were fully capable of doing. I was glad when they drowned her out with their powerful booms. She made me chuckle, even though I was annoyed. Maybe I am too uptight.

Nevertheless, the show was lovely, at times almost breathtaking, as fireworks can be. Toward the end, though I was still watching, my mind was on Forrest Gump and his encounter with the man making a speech in front of the Lincoln Memorial who was dressed in an American flag and “liked to use the F-word”. And I remembered how that movie made Tom Hanks my favorite actor.

After that, there was a little party inside the neighbor’s house. There was wine, but, thinking my mom wouldn’t allow me to drink any, as I am only 19 years old, I left the party to work on making belts some more. I made the most fantastic one I have ever made in my life; I used all my colored pop tops to make a rainbow belt. It is simply lovely. I am unreasonably proud of it and excited to wear it. [Publishing this days later: I have worn this belt every day since I made it. I am ridiculous, I know.]

That was my Fourth of July. Fascinating, right? Well, it was good enough for me.


God bless

Appreciator of Beauty

I would feel more confident about writing a blog post at this time if I felt like I had anything useful to say. As is, I yearn to create beauty in some way, shape, or form, but alas, all I seem capable of doing at this time is to soak in the beauty around me, and while the world needs appreciators of beauty, it would be nice if I could be a creator of it as well. I cannot paint but I enjoy using my crayons. I am not much of a musician but I can make decent music; according to my host-mom last week, I made her out-of-tune piano sound good. I am a writer by my own definition. I call myself a poet, but I am only an ex-poet, nor have I written any books or stories, my writings are currently limited to almost only letters and blog posts and my journal. I am also unfortunately not quite vain enough to work to make myself much of a spectacle of beauty; I am not humble or selfless, but I am usually modest and make-up is usually a hassle.

However, I view the world around me as thriving with beauty, absolutely flourishing. I see hills and valleys covered with the many shades of green trees, fields full of flowers, lightning bugs filling the night air, stars in the vast sky. I feel the the caress of raindrops and sunshine, of the earth take my weight when I choose mud and grass over pavement, the gentle touch of a friend who loves me. Listening to the music other people make, and the music of birds and all of nature, that is good enough for me. Ought I not be still and listen? Shouldn't I open my eyes wide and drink in the world around me, or close them to enhance what I can feel? Does this world even need more beauty? Is what little I have to give worth anything at all in the entirety of this breath-taking creation?

Of course I know that life on this planet can be very ugly indeed, and I do not intend to say otherwise, but must both beauty and ugliness be discussed at once? Just because I would care to write about beauty tonight does not mean that I disregard completely the ugliness of sin and death and hatred and things of that nature. It is simply a subject for another day. For now, I rejoice in life as beautiful as peacock feathers and as wide and deep as the ocean, or perhaps even outer space. As clear as the voice of a bird, or maybe a woman, singing confidently into the air that is shared with trees. Yes, this is the reality that I embrace this evening, I delight in it, I smile at it, God is good.