I think that the power of writing comes from communicating the truth of something. Even fantasy novels or fictional short stories are only powerful insofar as they communicate, critique, parody, or even just contradict a truth. Beauty, Truth, and Goodness are the three pillars from which art, literature, and music can make an impact. For those artists and writers who just want to communicate something in themselves, you are communicating the truth, beauty, and goodness (or lack thereof) within yourself. I don’t know. I just think we all want these three things and art is an attempt to communicate them through whatever medium we use. I think there is something real captured in good art and that realness is beauty-truth-goodness. So if you are reading my stories or poems or random posts, I hope you see beauty-truth-goodness. I hope that deep calls out to deep. I humbly take up the words God used to create the universe and attempt to create something. Yeah, thoughts can be random. There is too much in my mind to get on paper. But hopefully I will create some sort of relatable microcosm of reality.
It seems that life is a constant mix of sugar and lemons and water. Good times, bad times and the all important ingredient of God’s anointing. I think life is about accepting the lemonade we are given and learning to trust the God who knows.
Hello again Tumblr. You are easier to use than wordpress. I need to start writing again. So I am back. That is all.
I am moving to wordpress! :) feel free to follow me there. glastonburyeagle.wordpress.com
Amber gold illuminates the skinny thrust of trees in the dying fire of the day. Each unique bough tells the story of a lifetime as the wood sways gently in the unseen wind. Some touch each other by choice, others need the support or sunlight, still others enjoy the company of brothers and relish the calm comfort of caressing leaves. At this time the day is done but the night has yet to fall and the trees can just breathe. Regardless of the journeys before and after, the present time between times draws them into a collective breath as the shadow drifts slowly up their trunks leaving only the tallest branches in the glow. But darkness is still far off and all is well, all is serenity, and the trees stand tall.
rant rant rant whine whine whine.
Jesus. Acceptance. Lay everything at his feet. Because he cares for me.
I will not be anxious for tomorrow, because this is today, and today has been good.
Moment by Moment
The watch is taken slowly off the wrist
A man smiles
Hesitantly, he imagines the encounter approaching
from around the next rotation of the earth.
Biding its time, fulfillment
Begins to enter the room
Like a child afraid of a force field
One body part at a time.
An old man looks upwards to observe
The sea-eagle booming its boisterous call.
For one moment he is alive
and he realizes that the succession of moments leads to life, not death.
Thus, is the man freed by truth;
the family offered another opportunity to
see the age-old facade.
The moment to opposing wills
unite in mutual intimacy and submission,
The day the rose blossoms unanimously
decide to reveal their treasure,
The instance of submersion that leads to
Skimming over the reflective surface
the webs of experience allow
for occasional glimpses of the sky.
Starting now until the end of summer.
Haunting empty void
Builds consumes voraciously
Thoughts end in the cold
The question rebounds off the slate-colored, smooth marble.
Inward. The never-satisfied beast rears its featureless maw to swallow
The clock keeps ticking, keep breathing.
Create hope. The tug to live pushes back and darkness ebbs.
“Climb the tree”
He calls to you.
One more branch. One more moment. One more breath.
Begin anew and wake to see the dawn
Sun rising o’er the ashes of defeat.
What once was death will bring new life upon
The day the White resumes His right, the seat.
True peace, Shalom, renews the long lost calm.
The earth, the air, the fire, the ice, complete
The dance of centaur, phoenix, sphinx, and fawn.
And all await their wondrous Lord to meet.
But, O, to be there on that happy day!
To stand and see the world as it should be,
Would be beyond the scope of words to say.
Yet, if God deigned to show this all to me,
I feel as though my lips could not contain
Even the most mundane and base refrain.
Comfortable California spring
The clink clink clink
As I stir my glass of
It’s an “adult” glass.
Green and almost too big,
My 9 year-old hands
Caught between serenity
And excited security.
Vibrant green grass,
Lush lavender bushes,
The Porch nestled between silent suburban hills.
Removed as an eagle’s perch,
In the corner of the manor on the hill.
He looks at me
With grandfatherly pride and affection.
I gush at him
like flood restrained
By nothing but self-perceived maturity
He listens to me
As though I matter;
With the adoration of a grandson
Sitting across from his confidant, his hero,
Words were not needed to soak in
His placid strength.
When my cousin
I came to
We conquered death
On that porch.
I’m forever changed because
He was there
On the Porch.