Aspirations

I want to write poetry like T S Eliot, song lyrics like Mumford and Sons, prose like a cross between Charles Williams, G K Chesterton, and Jane Austen, and letters like Paul.

I want to write music like Jonathan Jones, play the piano with the passion of Rachmaninoff and the technique of Bach, understand music like a theory nerd, and love music like a little child.

I want to love eternally like God, unconditionally like my family, generously like my best friends, wisely like John instructs, and with abandon like a girl in love.

I want to dream big, never look back, have no regrets, reach for the stars, fly fearlessly without recoiling from failure, fall down without staying down, trust the trustworthy, love the beautiful, make the ugly into something beautiful, and find something to love in everyone.

I want to fall in love, find my dreams, go where God sends me and stay where He puts me, write what's on my mind, sing what's in my heart, and live with abandon. Love with abandon. Always hope. Always persevere.

I want to be there for my friends, love faithfully and freely, weep with those who weep and rejoice with those who rejoice. I want to be a new creation. I want to live like I know I've been forgiven of the greatest sin. I want only to know that I am a great sinner, that Christ is a great savior, and that love can redeem everything.

These are my dreams, my goals, my hopes. This is who, by the grace of God, I hope to someday be.

Musings on 1 John

1 John 3

Love

abide in Him, rest, be still

deep-rooted presence surrounding me

the Father has given me love

how then shall I live?

live like God for God is love

purify yourself for God is pure

abide in Him who is without sin

abide, be birthed from, filled with righteousness

Love, lay down your life.

Love, abide in the purified heart.

Love, gift of God, give to others.

Love, do not condemn our hearts this day.

Abide in love which is God for God is love.

Abide in us, o un-created Creator.

Abide in us, o Son of sacrifice.

Abide in us, o God-sent Spirit.

Abide in me, o love divine.

Save Me From My Silence

Save Me From My Silence

v1

An empty room, an empty page

I sit and stare in silence

I tried to write a song tonight

But nothing came but silence

ch

Come, will you be my melody

The remedy for my quiet

Give me a song to sing

And save me from my silence,

Please save me from my silence

v2

I wrote the words I wanted you

To hear me sing tonight 

I tried to write the melody

But silence filled the night

ch

Come, will you be my melody

The remedy for my quiet

Give me a song to sing

And save me from my silence,

Please save me from my silence

bridge

I searched for a remedy

For the silence still binding me

Won’t you be my melody 

Tonight?

ch

Come, will you be my melody

The remedy for my quiet

Give me a song to sing

And save me from my silence,

Please save me from my silence

Come save me from my silence

Faded Photos and Long Lost Lace

Deliberate recollection of long lost pasts,

Shoved in a box in the farthest recesses of her mind

in a moment of frustration and regret.  Now

recovered and remembered-faded snapshots

of the misty mornings together with sunlight

and joylight shining in your eyes; crisp

clear images of first best loves and tears.

Each memory a photograph imprinted

on your mind forever-replaying them is like 

watching Gone With The Wind over and over-

too painful to bear but beautiful

in a morbidly tragic sort of way.

When he was lost to you forever,

did you relieve your last together in your mind?

Playing nightly photo reels of the days

you shared, before the loss set in like a storm.

To replay memories like faded

fragmented melodies, remembering

last best loves and living

in the past-loving the gone-bye days

which are no more-retreating, retreating,

sliding backwards because 

the present is bare, the future

unknown-turn your face away

 from the loss you face today-

In the past there is no loss,

for you cannot lose what

you do not possess and cannot grasp-

in the past is no pain-the past

is safer than the present, she muses.

Retreat into the attic to

leaf through old photos endlessly

reliving the days when he 

was here with you

until the faded song

fades too long and you are left

with whispers of tears

and promises long since 

disappeared.

Black-and-white nostalgia is bare but beautiful

Memories playing a record while you sleep

A year ago today,

You thought you had everything

Essential for the creation of the perfect

life of love and joy.  Family happy,

friends adoring, beloved waiting...

As cranberry and potato and pie

scents waft from the kitchen, creating

eclectic combinations that define

this day, the multiplicity of loves

you held in your heart swirled

and surrounded you in a 

variegated cocoon of true joy.

Family still surrounds, friends

still abound, some loves are 

lost, but new loves have been found.

One year ago you stood surrounded

by outer and inner scents of joys.

Today you hope to be as grateful

for the blessings you almost

didn't realize you had until

you nearly lost them.

Swing

Eager anticipation as the big night approaches,

Primping and prinking as for a big ball

The first night out, hair in places, clothes exactly so

This skirt or that, which shoes are perfect, which skirt

will swing and sway with the music?

Arriving, empty room, ballroom floor

with hidden promise, what secrets 

will be whispered in your hidden corners?

What dynamic duos will dance their hearts out

to the music of a past generation, putting their

every feeling into their feet, letting the music

move them, sway them, swing them to the

contagious rhythms played on the now-empty floor?

And then, you arrive, the moment I've been waiting for

all my life, or for twenty minutes.  Our eyes meet,

the unspoken question answered before it is

asked, and you take my hand, you take command

as we swing and sway, twisting and turning

the rhythm inside of us being spoken to the 

audible music, a physical dialogue of bodies

and sound being played out on this

dance floor of our dreams.  

Too soon it ends, the magic, the night, the dance,

The song is over, the dialogue has been

halted, yet the music plays on in my head

as I walk out, swinging and swaying to

this rhythm, swing song, singing songs

of love and life and the music that is

filling my feet, filling my heart, filling

my life.  Next time, the dialogue will be longer.

Holy Fire

Standing before the eternal throne of glory,

I watch as my life is built up

into a palace, a shack, a building

formed by thoughts, words, and actions.  

The shining thought, loving word, Christ-like

deed, all these are shimmering, reflecting

the light of the glory of God.  Enduring

for a lifetime, supporting and sustaining

the building, all that glitters is glory.

But the prideful thought, careless word, wicked

deed, all these are half-baked bricks,

sloppy stonework, weak and rotting wood.

Mixed throughout the work are materials

both firm and frail, base and beautiful.

And still the building of my life is built.

Finally it is finished, the Lord looks

and commands with a wave of His hand—

“It must be purged—by fire.”  Aghast

I stand staring as holy fire

rains down, purifying, purging, consuming

all that is crass or carelessly constructed,

perfecting and polishing the pure.  It rages,

reflecting off of gold and silver, bouncing

back the divine light.  

The fire fades

and what remains glistens ever brighter

in the glory of God.  It stands

scarred, yet whole and holy

through the purifying fire 

which no base thing can endure.

All is made well through holy flame.

Fatal Glance

This poem, written during Wheatstone, was inspired by the painting of Orpheus leading Eurydice from the Underworld...if you google it you can probably find an image of it somewhere.  Though it was originally written merely to attempt to tell a bit of what I thought Orpheus might be feeling just after the moment the painting depicts, I think it encapsulates a lot of what I've been thinking about throughout the entire summer.  So enjoy!

Fatal Glance

And now, the moment is passed,

the moment which sent my beloved

to hell and ripped my heart away;

I, sentenced to a hell on earth for hell

is wherever she is not.  Forever

my doom falls upon me, and all 

for a look.  A single glance

upon that face of beauty

and light, born out of desire 

to know and not just feel

that she is once more mine.

And for this I am condemned 

to constant tears and tortures.

A single look, a glance at beauty,

and it forever flees from my

grasp.  Must we live forever 

apart, simply because I loved?  

Because I wished to see, to behold

my beloved, she suffers in sorrow.

Nothing can saver her now, not

pleas nor promises nor even love.

Love, which led me here to her,

and which tore her away

from me.  The price of a single

look, that fatal glance upon

the beauty of the beloved,

for no one may see 

the face of their god and yet live,

and she was my god.

Happy Birthday!

To the most wonderful

dad on the face of the earth,

my solid rock, my knight

in shining armor, my

protector, provider,

my father

Blog Challenge-Day Sixteen-"P"

P-Poetry

Probably many of my readers will not be surprised at today’s blog topic.  Since I was a little girl, one of my recurring dreams has been to be a published poet.  From Robert Lewis Stevenson to G. K. Chesterton, from Emily Dickinson to Christina Rosetti, I have always loved both reading and writing poetry.  My first love was the structured rhyme and rhythm of the monthly memorized poems in elementary school.  As I grew older and my writing matured slightly, I still clung to the form and security that metered and rhymed poetry provided, agonizing over finding the perfect word with the perfect syllable count.  But in the spring of my Inklings year, I discovered T. S. Eliot, seemingly defying all structure and form.  However, the more I read and listened and allowed his melodies to sink in, the more I grew to love Eliot’s poetry, painting vivid images in my mind of trees and roses and dusty chapels and whirling worlds.  His poetry has come to affect mine, as lately my poetry has been more concerned with image and emotion than structure.  In conclusion, here are two of my poems, reflecting both sides of the same coin of poetry.

Slave to Love 

Your Love is Strong, compassionate

Your Mercies, Neverending

You see all, Yet Love me still

So I can cease Pretending 

To be a girl with Heart too pure

To ever need Your Aid

Instead I come with Pleading Soul

Longing to be Saved

From the Secret Shames I hide away

From the Guilt within my Heart

Your Love is Strong, it covers me.

Love’s pierced me with His Dart

I’m now a slave, I will do nothing

Unless You bid me to.

Love freed my Heart, I can choose my Fate

But I Love You, I Choose You.

Panes of Glass

He stares at her through a broken pane of glass,

His eyes reflect the sorrow in his heart

Around him his world is falling, breaking

Yet there is no one to stop it, no one to heal the pain

Slowly ever slowly, his heart is being torn away

Ripped into shreds and trampled underfoot

Yet all this and more he would endure for her

He would shatter the panes of glass

That stand between them, and yet

He cannot, for to do so would bring infinitely more pain,

So he stands, staring out of helpless, hopeless eyes

Hating the one who said forbidden fruit was sweet

It is not, it is bitter, dry, full of pain and anguish

Yet he has chosen to eat of it still

For that is the way of love

Love reaches through the glass and into her heart

Is this right?  Is this good?  They don’t know

Self-inflicted torture, unspeakable bliss and joy

And as they love silently, hopefully, fervently

The cracks deepen, the ice thaws, and someday

The glass will come crashing down

And they will be...

Poetry Post

Here for you, my faithful readers, is a poem I wrote in church last Sunday.  I'm hoping that most of you recognize the quotes in this poem and know where they come from :)  And today's blog challenge will be coming later, I promise.

Whirling World

The still center of the ever-turing world

Whirling, spinning, everlasting revolution

Around the sun, earth around the sun,

World whirls around the still Son

World revolves around the Word

Revolution of the people

Around the Word, against the Word

While the revolting world whirled

About the still Son

The Son who teaches us to care, and not to care

Teaches us to sit still

Silent and waiting, waiting without hope

But silent in the shadow of Thy Will

A Sonnet in Three Movements: Movement two-Lento

Movement 2-Lento

Dark shadows drift across a dying sun

And hide the light from hearts still needing warmth.

In summer’s light their two hearts beat as one

In winter’s cold, harsh wind blew from the north

And chilled the fire that flowed between the friends.

Hearts torn asunder, left to bleed and die.

They long to love again and make amends

But hardly have the strength enough to try.

Resounding thunder echoes, bringing doom

In hearts as shattered as a broken glass.

And etched upon the stone above love’s tomb

Are these last words spoken before the blast.

“Your heart from mine was never torn through strife

But now we’re torn apart for this long life.”

A Sonnet in Three Movements: Movement one-Andante

Two souls that searching, find each other’s hearts

In love, they reach across an endless gap

To bridge this chasm.  Dreams can only start

To plan this journey, having for a map

The songs and tales of al who’ve gone before,

Who’ve crossed the bridge that only lovers trod.

Eternal love shall show the distant shore

Where live are laid on alters of their god.

True love, their only god and guiding light

Shall bind their souls together for all time

So even when they face the blackest night

Hearts have each other; Ever upwards climb

They never dream that rushing on them fast

A shadow ‘cross their cloudless joy is cast.

Apple Afternoon

Listening to Mae’s original CD,

Sweetly Spring afternoons

of delicious sun warming head

and arms and back while breeze

tickles cheek and musses hair

Destination: Beautiful plays

softly as keys type rapidly,

Critical Questions cannot wait

Not for Mae nor spring

afternoons nor for juicy sweet apples,

the juice running down

my chin and onto pages of Emily Dickinson

fragmented bits of emotion

and desire and song—poetry

written to the rhythm of a celestial melody,

timed against unearthly pauses

and fermatas—Mae’s poetry

and hers mix and harmonize

multiple senses are involved

in the writing of critical questions

Hearing and humming addictive harmonies,

seeing poetry and writing thoughts,

tasting sweetness of apple and sun

and springtime songs—a beautiful world

A Sonnet to SATS

Hello all,

And especially hello to Emily Oh, who encouraged me to post my sonnet on this blog.  Actually though Emily, this was not the sonnet I had intended to post, but rather one that I wrote this morning.  THis morning...I had to take my SAT...all the reading/writing sections were far too easy for a Torrey student so I ended up sitting there for half the time with nothing to do.  In those empty boring periods...I wrote this sonnet.

Bright morning time, I wake to loud alarm

It's Saturday, to sleep and stay in late

But then I recollect to comfort's harm

The day has come at last which most I hate

My SAT test, dreaded time has come

And i must spend my weekend doing math

And writing essays, filling bubbles-sums

And grammar, reading, charts and words and graphs.

I know if I would go to THI

Foul beast must be attacked with all my strength

And so I take my pencils, heave a sigh

And start the test, undaunted by its length

I watch the clock creep slowly by, till rest

Shall be all mine at end of dreaded test.

Found Poetry

While hunting for a journal to take with me on my trip to the Dominican, I found two very happy surprises in the journal I ended up taking...poetry!!!  I don't remember how long ago I wrote it, but I do know that it was last summer (summer 2007) or later.  So have fun with this :)

This first one...I think I wrote it summer 2007 while in Big Bear scrapbooking with some girlfriends.  We stayed in my grandma's cabin in the middle of the woods...hence the natureish imagery.

Aviarium

Meandering among the lofty pines

Soars the one I long to follow

Soars the free, high flying swallow

But every day my soul remains

I must stay put, or lose my way

Among the woods, or flying high

Come too near to the sun and die

But on the ground I can not stay

Though I have lost my vision clear

And wander through the woods so brown

My spirit still pulls up not down

Though I know not that pull so dear

My true love still calls out to me

But I with wandering ears heed not

And lose my way midst piney knots

And brambles placed to ensnare me

My heart hears not the strains of Love

For it has left Love for another

But when the storms come, still seeks cover

From an umbrella from above

My soul, though tis unfaithful still

Dost sometimes strive to find true love

And finding, rests in nest of dove

While ceasing restless pulse of will

This second one, I remember vaguely it having some sort of back story...perhaps a dream, or an image that flashed into my head?  I don't know...the interesting thing though is to see how many similar strains I still see in poetry I wrote this summer.  I wonder if that means I haven't matured much in my writing since then?  Hmm, scary thought.

Mountain

The gulls cry, beckoning

Me upwards and onwards tonight

I dance in the waves on the seashore

Climbing up through the clear moonlight

Though twilight and starlight I run

Ever searching for that sound

For that voice which calls to me

The song in my head doth resound

A song of hope and of despair

A melody of joy but bought so dear

The price of joy, who can say

The search for that answer brings me here

And so I climb most carefully

Up the mountain to seek myself

And as myself the only question

More vital to me than wealth or health

But though I ask persistently

No answer doth to me come forth

and so I’m left alone again

In lack of love, to question worth

Who am I?  And do I matter?

Does my existence count at all?

I ponder these things, my heart is heavy

And stepping off the cliff, I fall

The Last Hero

Today in class, Mr. Bartel read us a very lovely poem by Chesterton which got me to thinking about a lot of things.  Below is the poem, and below the below will be some of my thoughts.  

The wind blew out from Bergen from the dawning to the day,
There was a wreck of trees and fall of towers a score of miles away,
And drifted like a livid leaf I go before its tide,
Spewed out of house and stable, beggared of flag and bride.
The heavens are bowed about my head, shouting like seraph wars,
With rains that might put out the sun and clean the sky of stars,
Rains like the fall of ruined seas from secret worlds above,
The roaring of the rains of God none but the lonely love.
Feast in my hall, O foemen, and eat and drink and drain,
You never loved the sun in heaven as I have loved the rain.

The chance of battle changes -- so may all battle be;
I stole my lady bride from them, they stole her back from me.
I rent her from her red-roofed hall, I rode and saw arise,
More lovely than the living flowers the hatred in her eyes.
She never loved me, never bent, never was less divine;
The sunset never loved me, the wind was never mine.
Was it all nothing that she stood imperial in duresse?
Silence itself made softer with the sweeping of her dress.
O you who drain the cup of life, O you who wear the crown,
You never loved a woman's smile as I have loved her frown.

The wind blew out from Bergen to the dawning of the day,
They ride and run with fifty spears to break and bar my way,
I shall not die alone, alone, but kin to all the powers,
As merry as the ancient sun and fighting like the flowers.
How white their steel, how bright their eyes! I love each laughing knave,
Cry high and bid him welcome to the banquet of the brave.
Yea, I will bless them as they bend and love them where they lie,
When on their skulls the sword I swing falls shattering from the sky.
The hour when death is like a light and blood is like a rose,-
You never loved your friends, my friends, as I shall love my foes.

Know you what earth shall lose to-night, what rich uncounted loans,
What heavy gold of tales untold you bury with my bones?
My loves in deep dim meadows, my ships that rode at ease,
Ruffling the purple plumage of strange and secret seas.
To see this fair earth as it is to me alone was given,
The blow that breaks my brow to-night shall break the dome of heaven.
The skies I saw, the trees I saw after no eyes shall see,
To-night I die the death of God; the stars shall die with me;
One sound shall sunder all the spears and break the trumpet's breath:
You never laughed in all your life as I shall laugh in death.

Beautiful, yes?  This picture of a man abandoned by country and lover, pursued by enemies, fighting, falling, dying.  And all the while, he rejoices.  He finds more beauty in the rain, in the abandonment, in his death, than we can find in light and life and love.  Chesterton shows us an amazing picture of the relationship between beauty and love here perhaps.  This man sees the true beauty that is in the world, and loves it all.  Perhaps...do we need to see a thing as it truly is before we can truly love it?  

So maybe you read this and say, "Beautiful?  What?  This girl has a pretty twisted of beauty if she thinks that a lost and lonely man dying alone in a fight is beautiful."  But are you looking at the world properly then?  There is beauty all around you, in the light and in the shadows, in the sun and in the rain, in the smiles and the frowns, in life and in death.  Look around you!  See the beauty in the world!  Love more truly!  Rejoice!

Poetry post

Moonlight O’er the Pacific

Summer sunset o’er the sand

Glistening, reflecting, burning bright

Sun shimmers on the surface of the sea

Waves murmer, birds whisper in the evening light

A lonely set of footprints follows

A solitary line across the sand

Treading my path alone across the beach

I look across the waves to distant lands

The sun dips low beneath the water

Sending dazzling diamonds across the sea

Sky grows dark, diamonds ascend

Into the sky, rain down on me

Tears glisten on my cheeks, in the sky

Diana reigns in the darkness sublime

Beauty touches my soul, you touch my soul

In the wind and the waves and the sky, this is mine

Alone with the waves, they whisper my name

Sharing secrets with the wind and me

Diana descends, paves a path across the water

I step out upon the silver path, to run across the sea.

A title for this poem

 

Spoken into silence, the everlasting word

Out of nothing something; God’s holy divine light

From darkness o’er the world, God’s mighty voice was heard.

We were blind and speechless, but words we were assured

All the world lay silent, and darker than the night

Spoken into silence, the everlasting word

Coming down from heaven, realm of spoken word

Into world of quiet shone a single ray so bright

From darkness o’er the world, God’s might voice was heard.

“See my flesh, my Son here, who’s come into the world

Speaking words of wisdom, changing wrong to right.”

Spoken into silence, the everlasting word.

We looked for HIs coming, to hear HIs voice we yearned

Out of babble, clearness, Our of shadows, light

From darkness o’er the world God’s might voice was heard.

Though our speech is woven with words both black and pure

Only words from heaven are words that have true might

Spoken into silence, the everlasting word

From darkness o’er the world, God’s mighty voice was heard.

This was a new form I was experimenting with yesterday.  I can't remember what the name of it was, but the basic structure is A1aA2/abA1/abA2/abA1/abA2/abA1A2 where A1 and A2 are two different rhyming refrains.  So, does anyone have a suggestion for a title for this poem?

Under the mercy,

Elizabeth