Poem: Otter Creek

Otter Creek
from 1st Thessalonians 5:16

It is hot and you sweat,
walking across high fields,
through ancient gardens,
and up strange mountains,
restless with energy,
walking further
than your old legs wish to walk,
past the familiar,
to the small pond,
quiet and still,
at creek's end,

where you take off your shoes,
and dip your feet in the icy water,
lay back on the grass,
and rest.

What have you to show for this long afternoon?
Three pictures.

A garden with a broken brick wall.
Vivid green ivy on bricks.
A single flower.

And rest.

A good afternoon's work, you realize.
A fine reward for exhaustion,
worth even,
the slow walk back.

=================

Yesterday I went for a long walk, first visiting Poplar Forest, then walking up past Peaks of Otter to Otter Creek. I actually took over a hundred pictures, but it was worth the walk to get the three I show here. You can click on them for a larger version.

Tom

Poem: Tending the Shadows

Tending the Shadows

You tend to the shadows,
those dark places in the heart,
the empty spaces,
that cry and rant and flail
in a world that somehow
you cannot grasp, yet

dances around you with joy
tantalizingly close,
yet still distant in a way you cannot understand,
so easy for others,
so elusive for you.

=====================

The picture is of an abandoned house in Jennings Creek, Virginia. You can click on it for a larger version.

Tom

Poem: There is no forever

There is no forever

There is no forever.
Flowers bloom and die.
Leaves fall and bud anew.
Tides rise and fall and rise again.

There is no forever.
Lovers fail you.
Friends abandon you.
The dearest die.

There is no forever,
only the moment,
the reaching, the hope
for what only God can give,

the moment,
like manna, his fleeting eternal gift:
all we need,
for as long as we accept it.

==========

The picture is of flowers on the table at a coffee shop. You can click on it for a larger version.

Tom

Poetry In the Pews

Back in February I wrote and told lots of people about the Poetry in the Pews initiative at St Eustachus Church in Tavistock, England. The premise was simple - people were asked to write a four line poem on the theme of Love, which would be placed in the pews, a celebration of faith and creativity.

The idea really caught on. They ended up with over 1,500 poems, from all around the world being sent in, and the idea got world-wide attention of an example of how a church can celebrate creativity. Vanni Cook, who spearheaded the initiative and I wrote back and forth a bit last winter and I learned a bit more about what they were doing. It's a brilliantly simple idea any church could follow.

There had been some talk of their putting out a book with the poems and to my surprise, in yesterday's mail, I got a copy of the book from Vanni and her group that put this all together. Yesterday was my birthday, so it was a special surprise gift.

You can learn more about the Poetry in the Pews initiative on Vanni's "Aspiring Writer's" website, and even order a copy of the book there as well. Having read through some of it, I'd suggest you do just that.

Tom

PS - The picture is from the actually month of "Poetry in the Pews". You can click on the image for a larger version.

Poem: The Power of Mourning

The Power of Mourning.

The huge old Oak tree that so dominated your landscape
for a generation and more, that towered to the skyies
and cast shade in the summer heat,
held the first drops of winter rains at bay,

was slowly, invisibly rotting from deep within,
it's cellulose sinews turning to dust,
held together no longer by inner strength
buy only the shell of itself that seemed so sure and strong

Until winter's storm tore it apart,
exposed it's hollow core as it fell to the ground
in a crash that shook the very earth on which you stood,
and left you exposed to the skies.

And so it was that for weeks, nay, months, you tore at the debris,
cutting and chopping the rotted wood into splintered chunks
a single man could handle and haul, and cast into the fire.
Day after day, you pulled the corpse of that tree apart,

tears at it's lose coursing down your face,
while bright sun, winter's cold rains and the winds of winter
pelted you and added to the agony
of your loss.

But still, each day, each painful sad day,
you cut another and another and yet another
small portion of that once powerful oak away,
and took it to the fire, your tears blurring the flames,

making them seem a torture of light and death,
until this day, when no trace is left of that oak,
save the scarred earth beneath your feet,
and crying no more, you dig in that scar,

tearing away the dark earth fed by ashes and tears,
and tenderly set the new shoot,
small and willowy, trusting beyond hope,
in God's power to someday bring life to this empty field,

Life that will grow straight and tall,
stronger and true to the very stars,
bringing once again, beauty, shade,
and a place to rest your soul on a summer's afternoon.

============

The photograph is not mine but from wabberjockey on flickr. It's used with a creative commons license. Wabberjockey has some amazing nature photographs and it's worth checking out his flickr site.

Tom

Poem: Home

Home

In the year just past
you have made strange places home,
dining alone, night after night
in new cities and distant cafes,

so often moving,
so often among strangers
that you have begun to find peace,
even joy in the din

of conversations to either side,
never hearing the words,
only the emotions
of those people you do not know,

coming at last to understand
that home is not a place,
but a place in the heart
that you may leave for a time,
but never leaves you, a place

always available, if only
you open your soul
to the possibility and promise that home,
like God, is always with you.

=============

The picture was taken either in Williamsburg or Yorktown, Va. I cannot remember which. You can click on it for a larger version.

Tom

Quote of the Week - July 21

"The Event of Creation did not take place so many eons ago.... Creation is taking place every moment of our lives" - D. T. Suzuki.

Since 1991, I have put a "quote of the week" at the end of my e-mails. Often people ask me if I can pull up this quote or another and generally, I can't. So I decide to begin posting my quote of the week here on my blog. If you want to see a list of them, just hit the "quotes" tag to the right and they should all come up for you to view.

The picture was taken from my window on a flight to Las Vegas, at about 25,000 feet. You can click on it for a larger view

The fleeting sky

This picture is of the sky outside my apartment this morning. I took the picture and three minutes later the sky was dull and gray. Grab God's beauty when it happens, and be joyful for it, for it is often fleeting.

The Sky Outside

I am in Washington DC this morning. The sky outside my hotel had some amazing clouds outside. Simply breathtaking.

I stay at this hotel almost every week because I work three and a half hours from home. I like my work, but the travel, the constant being away from home and the people and places I love is not something I like.

Staying at the same place every week has some advantages though. I've come to know most of the hotel staff pretty well. Now, over a year into my work, I know some of them well enough that we talk about the things friends and neighbors talk about. I hear about their families, their lives and marriages, and sometimes, about their faith.

And then there are the skies. I don't know why, but there is almost always a beautiful sky, something really outstanding and breathtaking, outside my hotel in the mornings. I've taken I don't know how many pictures of the sky from the same parking spot over the year I've been staying here.

Yesterday evening I pulled into the hotel. The night manager, a gentleman from Jamaica, with the most beautiful bass voice, was taking pictures of the hotel for their web site. He was intently checking angles and taking shots in the flattering evening light. I pointed to the sky. "You ought to capture that." I said. He looked up and was amazed at how beautiful. "It's like that nearly every day, particularly in the mornings." I told him. He could not believe it. All that beauty and he never saw it.

God's love is like that. It's there. Right in front of us. All the time. In good times and bad. IF we look up.

I was reading today in Psalms and the thought that struck me was how often David wrote his praises to God, not in good times, but in bad times. It struck me, how David so often saw God at work in those times. So this morning, after seeing the sky, I took some time aside before I drove to the office and prayed deep thanks for the beauty around me, and how it blesses me in bad times. I don't believe beauty like that just happens. I think it's made as surely as you or I were made. For a reason. For us. If we'd bother looking.

Tom

Poem: The Poet's Confession

The Poet's Confession

It is not my sensitivity that makes me a poet,
for I feel forever adrift in the nuances
of heart and soul,
always grasping to understand
the world beyond the words,

the things that mere mortals
just know.

So do not seek wisdom in these sparse verses,
for all you will uncover
are my stumblings in darkness,
my search for the door.

============

The picture was taken at the Johnson Farm, near the Peaks of Otter, Va. You may click on it for a larger view.

Tom

A poem by Peter Sacks

A poem by Peter Sacks from my "Poetry Speaks" calendar, that sits on my desk and sang to me this morning....


On the Path

This morning on the path
the word bereft broke open

Calm, yet easily startled, cautious,
strenuous at work, yet laughing,

cresting, loving beauty,
beautiful yourself - elate.

I thought there would be greater
knowledge in the end.

==========

The photo was from the D&H Train Trail in Rupert, VT. It seemed to capture the idea of a journey. You can click on it for a larger version.

Tom

Quote of the week - July 14th

"It is one thing to speak to God. It is another to listen." - John Ortberg

Since 1991, I have put a "quote of the week" at the end of my e-mails. Often people ask me if I can pull up this quote or another and generally, I can't. So I decide to begin posting my quote of the week here on my blog. If you want to see a list of them, just hit the "quotes" tag to the right and they should all come up for you to view.

For those of you who pay attention to such things, this is the second week in a row I have used a quote from John Ortberg, whose book "The Life You've Always Wanted (spiritual disciplines for ordinary people), I am currently reading.

Life lessons #1

I had a very bad day yesterday. Without burdening you readers with details, it was one of the worst days ever. On the long drive home, I stopped and got a bag of orange slices, something I used to eat as a kid. Comfort food, if you will. It was an exceptionally fresh bag and biting into the first one was a taste delight. I savored that tangly orange taste for the longest time as I went down the interstate, and was conscious of one of life's lessons - that no matter what, God gives us tiny delights to remind us of his love. We may have to take the time to notice, but look, and they are there.

Poem: Untitled

Morning.
A soft glow through your window.
A bird singing brightly.
A hope for the new day.

Mourning.
Darkness though an open window
The droning of rain.
A void where once there was joy.

Each part of life,
powerful, in constant flux,
one to the other, and back again,
a piroette of emotion, of life,

not so much a war, once against the other,
but a dance, where each is held close,
and released, to dance again
and again.

=============

The photograph was taken outside my apartment in Daleville, Va., in the morning fog. You may click on it for a larger version.

Tom

Poem: 5:30 AM

5:30 AM

You step outside, barefoot on the wide plank porch,
soaking in the quiet of the morning, so early
the birds have not yet begun to sing, so early
the light is dim, like night,
and the air is still cool.

Soon, in a few hours, it will be steamy
and the day will turn slow
and the world will retreat
to air conditioned rooms
that protect them, but for now

you are here, and the air is clean and new,
and in the realness of the morning,
you can hear the creek, low and singing in the distance.
You feel the dew on your feet,
and the distant hum of the interstate.

You see the moon,
and wonder if she is awake as well,
perhaps standing outside, for you know
that she too is a creature of the morning.
You know this, for you have felt her presence,

like a satin blanket, warm and soft, next to you
on many such mornings, so real despite the distance,
that you lingered in bed, made more alive
by her presence that was not present,
except in spirit, soul and memory.

The first bird sings, and breaks the spell.
The first light breaks over the mountain,
and you see the clouds. It will rain today.
No matter, for you have felt her love,
distant, yet close, more real than the morning.

==========

The photograph was taken at the Grand Canyon, early one morning. You may click on it to see a larger version.

Tom

Poem: At 52

At 52

At this point in your life, you know the truth,
that each kiss is holy,
each touch precious,
and each moment may be your last.

Colors are brighter.
Music is more melodious.
And the tender moments of quiet,
more true.

=============

The picture was taken last week, at a birthday party for my neighbor's one year old son. That's him, with his father. You can click on the picture for a larger view.

Tom

Quote of the week - July 7th

"Hurry is the great enemy of the spiritual life." - John Ortberg

Since 1991, I have put a "quote of the week" at the end of my e-mails. Often people ask me if I can pull up this quote or another and generally, I can't. So I decide to begin posting my quote of the week here on my blog. If you want to see a list of them, just hit the "quotes" tag to the right and they should all come up for you to view.

The picture was taken at the Ephrata religious community, in Lancaster, PA. You can click on it for a larger version.

Tom

Poem: God's Garden

God's Garden
(from Isaiah 26:4)

You reach for the gate, unsure
and afraid of what may lie beyond,
a thorny tangle of neglect and wild roses
that tear at your flesh
with each passing breeze,

a place so abandoned your eyes
barely see the paths and beds
that once made this garden a sanctuary,
a place of refuge,
and you wonder at the madness

that believes somewhere below the bramble,
God's garden still lives.

================

The picture is from one my favorite houses in Fincastle, Va. You may click on it for a larger view.
Tom

Slowing Down on the 4th of July

I have my children with me this weekend and last night my daughter had two of her friends over as well, so the house was a lively place. The five of us did all the traditional 4th of July things - cooked on the grill, shot off fireworks and lit sparklers.

The sparklers were a particular hit and I was glad I had bought a lot of them. All four kids waved them, skipped and ran with them, danced with them. (OK, I admit it, I played too!) Afterwards we went inside and there was lots of laughter and conversation until about 11, when my ten yeara old son went down for the count and the girls retired to my daughter's room. The house went quiet.

It had been a long day, but instead of going to bed myself, I stayed up for about an hour to read and think a while.

I've been reading in The Life You've Always Wanted by John Ortberg recently. Last night I reread the chapter on "An Unhurried Life." Over and over Ortberg says the same thing - "You must ruthlessly eliminate hurry from your life."

This is no mere wishing, or suggestion. Ortberg's book is on spiritual disciplines and he says is about as plainly as it can be said: Hurry is the great enemy of a spiritual life. That is a disturbing thought. Look around us and what do we see? Lives crammed with activity. Too many hours working. Too many things, all of which require time to maintain. Life seems to be a race to see how much we can pile into it. Is it any wonder then that Americans' spiritual life is so often thin, or even non-existent?

In the last couple of years, I have been reminded anew of the value of quiet time. Events in my life forced me to slow down. Instead of a large house with acres of land, I found myself living in a small apartment with a pair of flower beds. Instead of owning my own business, I went to work for someone else. Instead of having family around constantly, I was living alone. I changed churches and no longer held all the jobs or had all the activities that filled my life.

At the time, I thought it was a terrible thing, all this change and loss. But as he so often does in our lives, God made something very good out of it all.

And one of the reasons is that I slowed down. I made slowing down and thinking and praying a habit, a daily occurrence that left my heart open. The bible does not say "Scurry around and know I am God." No, it says "Be still, and know I am God." We're just never still.

I treasure my quiet time again. I treasure it more for the fact that I lost it for a time, and have regained it. I know the difference. When Ortberg and others talk about the need to slow down to have a spiritual life, I understand now that it's not really optional, it's required if we want to be connected to God and his loving, creative power, and we stay busy at our peril.

Now, here's the odd thing, and I have no explanation. I used to think that going slow would mean I was less productive. But I am finding that is not the case. And Ortburg's chapter on slowing down cites studies that say the same thing. Somehow, slowing down makes us more productive.

So slowing down is practical, and spiritual. Can you get any better than that?

Tom

PS - the picture is from last night. You can click on it for a larger version.

Odd and Ends

Some odds and ends from the past week.....

I don't just post poems, pictures and thoughts. Sometimes I share odds and ends I've read over the past week. Here are a few from this past week.

They hang from trees and may be the ultimate treehouse. I would have killed for one of these as a kid, and they definitely go into the "If I ever win a zillion dollars, I'd buy one category. They are called "Free Spirit Spheres" and are every kid's dream treehouse, I think.

I am a political junkie from childhood. Blame a mother that was involved in state politics, but I have sucked up politics since I was 5 (which happened to be the John Kennedy elections). In the last couple of years, I've largely surrendered my news addiction, except for presidential politics, which I follow nearly every day. This article from the Washington Post, about mudslinging, is a thoughtful delight. Among other things it has this quote: "No finer Americans ever faced off for the presidency, yet partisans on both sides immediately went negative." I won't tell you who they are talking about. You'll have to read the article to figure that out, but it could probably be said of the candidates in most presidential elections. How sad.

I am reading a book called The Life You've Always Wanted, by John Ortberg. Despite the very pop culture sound of the title, it's about spiritual disciplines, and is makes those disciplines very accessible. Good reading, as in a pleasure to read, and good for you too. It was suggested to me by John Adams, a friend and pastor of Easly SC's First Baptist Church.


Christine of the Epiphany blog sent me an "Arte and Pico" award, a blog award for creative expression that merits recognition. This is given one creative blogger to the next, so it's one of those "from your peers" kinds of awards that actually means something. One of the tenets is that the winner sends it to others. giving my your own readers a chance to find other creative souls on the web, so here are a few places I like to visit that I am sending the award to.I send the award on to Chris Griffith's Blog at Bree, an elder at my church, who is also a songwriter and artist and who often posts the progress of his paintings on his blog; To Post Secret, where I have been inspired to write many a poem, and where I am constantly reminded of the need to be compassionate because you never know who is hurting, and how; and to Claire Grant of Three Beautiful Things, who writes down three beautiful things in her life every day, and reminds me of the power of gratitude in our life. This is one of the places where you could go on and on, but these three are ones that I visit regularly for inspiration and deserve to have you, dear reader, to visit them as well!

Finally, it's the 4th of July here in the states, and for many of us, that means fireworks. I loved this gallery of fireworks photos from a site in Edinburg, Scotland.

Creative ramblings on the web.

Some sites I have looked at this week that are kinda fun, creative and worth looking at.

Tom

==================

Small cars can look cool - a short history of small cars, very apprapo since gas is moving a lot of us to tiny cars. Design counts more in small cars, I think.

Sesame Street is 39 and still a hotbed of creative fun. Check out their highlight reel on YouTube.

An interesting article on how photography changed the look and design of magazines.

read about Buckminster Fuller exhibit at the Whitney Museum. What a mind! Don't know who Buckminster Fuller was? The man had enough creativity for half a nation and a range that was breathtaking. Here's his profile on Wickopedia. Ya oughta know.

The best global design of 2008.

10 ideas that could change the world. You may not agree, but it's fun to think about and probably would make a great dinner conversation.

Poem: A Sudden Urge to Dance

A Sudden Urge to Dance

You eyes look across, past the comfortable circle
of laughing friends, all happily talking at once,
their plates half empty, their wine glasses half full,
their talk full of art and music and hope and habit.

You look past the table, past the warm oak paneling
through the broad glass windows
and into the garden
to the man waltzing in the rain.

What madness makes a man dance so
when the winds of November
whip cold drops of near snow
like icy daggers?

What inner fire warms his eyes,
defies the coming winter
and even in the late autumn mist
shouts joy and passion?
And you wonder,

why is it, that here in the warmth of the teahouse,
safe in the womb of your dinner conversations
and warm mulled wine
you have an urge to step into the falling darkness
and dance in the flowerless garden?

============

The poem was written remembering a day in a teahouse in Bath, England, where I looked outside in the middle of the day, and saw an old man dancing in the street, as others walked past him, no one paying him a bit of notice. And from that memory, this poem.

The picture was taken on the 4th of July, years ago. You can click on it for a larger view.

Tom

Poem: Gettysburg

Gettysburg

You stand on the green copse,
gazing through the mist shroud
that covers the field rising towards you,
a field once covered with grim soldiers, blue and gray.

In your mind's eye you see them,
Lee's men clambering up the last ridge.
McClellan's last few gape mouthed at the ridge top,
aghast at the battle before them,

the wall of Southern soldiers,
at the bloody charge that brings them to the brink,
face to face, bayonet to bayonet
in the very spot you now stand.

And in that moment, everything was won and lost.
The New York 10th fled the field,
leaving a band of green soldiers from far away Michigen,
engineers whose life was centered on building, not battles,

to stand in fear, surrounded by slaughter,
the smell of death and defeat all about them,
their flank fleeing through the forest behind them,
crazed Confederates toe to toe, ready to die, in front.

Yet somehow, they stand.
These mild builders of walls and camps,
stood while others around them fled.
And history is changed. The Union lives.

And you wonder, standing there in the mist,
what compelled the confederates to charge this deathly hill?
Why did some flee and others stand.
What madness prompted each man there?

And you wonder
why in life and love
some stand and some flee.
What courage or desire or fear

defines the moment of decision,
rendering us heroes or corpses,
victors or vanquished in the battles
that bewilder us,

where victory and defeat lose meaning,
and all is a struggle for mere survival,
where all we know is the desperate need to protect
our hearts.

==========

The hotel where I often stay when working in Washington, DC, is near the Manassas Battlefield, and I sometimes walk along the battle lines early in the morning. I wrote this after walking through a morning mist on that field, but used Gettysburg as the center point, and more particularly the battle of Round Hill, on the last day of the battle, because in a real sense, Round Hill was the place and moment where the war changed and the tide turned, all because a few men stood while others around them fled, and in standing, changed the course of history.

The picture is from the battlefield from that last day of the three day battle, which happens to have happened on July 3rd. You can click on it for a larger version.

Tom

Poetry readings on the web

Image magazine, which is known more for it's support of Christian Visual Artists, is currently running audio recordings of poets reading. Since poetry is written to be heard, not just read on a piece of paper, this is a very nice way to get your daily does of poetry. (You DO read poetry every day don't you?).

Tom