While on my mission, I wrote a short poem during my first 3 months in the field. Here it is:
O Beloved Savior,
O Redeemer mine!
I think on Thee and ponder
Thy sacrifice divine.
Thy bowels moved with compassion,
Thou didst conquer death and hell
that I through faith may see Thy face
and in Thy presence dwell.
O Father of my growing faith,
Foundation of my soul!
I think on Thee and ponder
the greatness of Thy role!
Thou was the chosen Savior,
before the Earth was made,
meekly accepted Thou Thy call,
the Father's will obeyed.
O Price of Heavenly Glory,
My Captain, Lord, and King!
I think on Thee rejoicing,
Thy praises I will sing!
Thou hast descended from on high
to dwell with man below
and still descended further
our deepest pains to know!
A thousand years -- a million!
-- singing praises without end
can never repay the debt we owe
to our Master, God, and Friend!
As I typed, I did a little adjusting on the words...what's a poem that can't evolve?
I see you and your wicked ways
rush
crush
careen toward some Mad End.
wanton eyes
wandering feet
darkened mind sin bent
yet empty.
look for peace and find none.
cry out where is hope
there is none
I feel your pain and cry with you
since when have you spoken truth- -
even to yourself?
Hope is here,
take it at my hand
I wait for you
I will always wait for you
I haven't written on this blog since I got engaged...or shortly thereafter. However it works, I have a bone to pick over a certain phrase I have now seen twice on facebook. Girls are writing on boys' walls that they (and I quote) "miss (their) guts." I cannot wrap my mind around this phrase. First of all, how can anyone miss another person's guts. Guts is a slang term used to describe the gastrointestinal part of the body. Such a crude word for a crude idea. No one ever is exposed to someone's guts unless they happen to be a gastroenterologist. (If Dr. Fenton was to tell me he missed my guts, that would be understandable, since he has seen them up close and personal like.) Seriously though, how can a person miss someone's guts?
Secondly, it disturbs me no end that these are things stated by females to males. Whatever became of female refinement, dignity, decorum, honor? I could possibly ascribe the missing of a person's guts as something stated between two males...since men are built along a completely different schema than women. But women said it...two separate women from separate spheres of influence. It boggles my mind! What are they attempting to accomplish by such a statement? I cannot imagine that they are so completely unaware of what they write on facebook that such a thing would just slip from them onto a page to be read by the person, the person's friends (including myself), and still others. Or are they? Have we as women descended so low as to ignore the language we use? It could still be that these two women used the phrase (gasp!) on purpose. Why? Perhaps it was to appear more 'with it' or 'cool' like so many of their peers. (In my humble opinion, this assesment of 'coolness' with the usage of vulgar language is misplaced indeed.) It could also stem from a desire to be 'pals' with the young men with whom they are communicating. In this I can only say to the young women whose language caused this muse that such a level of friendship with young men is neither desireable or attractive. Being 'pals' with young men by descending to their level of communication only shows that they are not desireable as partners. Men adore women who behave like women. The friendship that lasts is the friendship that leads to matrimony and beyond. Woman should not then pursue friendship with the man who is married unless he is her husband.
Anywho, that is my musing on the very idea of telling a person that you miss their guts. Old fashioned morals for all. :D
In view of my getting engaged, I have created a blog where a lot of my blogging attention will be spent. Check it out!
isaacandmarinda.blogspot.com
This poem was written at 3 a.m. last night after a long night of agonizing over some things that I have been experiencing.
You are dead to me, you say one morn
then collect your inheritance and go
Go along the way to Gomorra
Go and live the life of sin
Go and waste your youth and substance
but come back to me again!
Live with men in a strange country
Live and join yourself to them
Live with pigs and feed them cornhusks
but return to me again!
Ashamed you are of your lost position
Ashamed of your poor array
Ashamed to starve in foreign places
oh come back to me, I pray!
My father has a house and substance
My father against thee I have sinned
My father take me as one of thy servants
Please accept me back again!
Long is the distance travelled by foot
Long have I waited to see thy face
Long is the run, I come to you, loved one
rejoicing in your embrace!
Bring him my clothing of finest linen
Bring him a ring for his hand
Bring him a feast worthy of royalty
For he that was lost now is found!
Dandelion
beautiful pest
who knows you best?
Those who desire
your continued absence.
The moon sits
buried in sky
its fullness
diminuished
the man in
the moon cannot
talk - his mouth
disappeared.
Perhaps at night
it will improve
I desire
and doubt.
I saw a daffodil
on a hill
above violets
below grass
looked as I passed
and saw yellow petals
wink at me.
Why is it that at night
I am more able to write
than during the day
when I am awake?
Well, thank goodness for flashlights.
what time is it anyway?
5 a.m.
(1 month away from my 25th birthday)
I don't care
nothing matters
we are nothing
and everything
but today we are nothing
(at this point
the folio I carry falls)
(it burst open spews
paper everywhere)
crap (scramble to
pick up papers now
wet from rain-puddles
worthless than trash)
Darn you, Karma.
Dedicated to Jack Kerouac, my first desolation angel.
D o w n to w n
the city of salt
smell o burnt
t o a s t
smokers hack
coughing fits spits
kids and skateboards
slammings-o crashes
ding-ding-a trax train
clackety-clack rails
and be still
D o w n t o w n
the city of salt
smell burnt
t o a s t
see smokers
kids skateboard
slamming-o crashing
ding-ding-atraxtrain
and be still
This font is nothing like what I originally have it in. The shape looks not as good here (It's a letter 'B' on my version, but the font isn't available here. Grr). Oh well. What do ya think? I had fun.
I have too much time on my hands at work, so I write. Here is another poem that I have been mulling over for several days now...I have written a similar poem in another place, but this seems to me the better of the two. I hope you like it.
reception
list’ning to the loud hum and buzz of florescent lights
the roar of moving air
the click-clack of typing keys
the tap-tap of feet passing my desk
the be-e-e-e-e-e-ep of the phone
that's my cue
Thank you for calling…how may I direct your call?
Service department, parts department, body shop
sales. Kevin, Lance, Marie, MAC. Selah.
Tony, Shelly, Sherri, Shannon…
buzzing humming can’t hear my own heartbeat
soft whooshes of traffic from State Street
I watch them pass by
automobiles
we sell automobiles
or they sell…
I just sit here
How may I direct your call?
