Clarion: Journal of Spirituality and Justice

"It Is Completely Fire" - poetry by Katie Kilcup

"It is Completely Fire" Katie Kilcup

Icon: Maximos the Confessor

The Made Makers 

We are the made makers,

the makers of the made.

We cannot make geese

or the infinite web of feathers

and wind tangled in blades

of light,

or thickets of slight sun

wavering in underwater labyrinths.

 

We make the second made,

feather pillows and forks,

skyscrapers and silly-putty.

The given we have taken

and baked in the furnace mind,

until the tangle of the original

is laid straight in rulers,

clocks, kingdoms.

 

We are the puppet makers,

imitators all.

The grid of intention cages us,

beautiful parrots, glorious in color and song,

our language longs for height.

We are the made making,

furious with brows furrowed,

the sea escapes our cups. 

The Distant Wind by Sheila Murray-Nellis

The Distant Wind 

It's because of the flatness all about, beyond these green hills

that bulge up along the thrashing river,

 

It's because of the distant flatness and the way

the wild wind whips past that brings this hissing in the trees,

 

This constant motion, that lifts the turkey vultures,

that brings the rumbling thunder, that makes

 

Trees fall broken-hearted, trees that had once sprung up

curving their roots around and under solid granite.

 

It's because of the song that lifts through my larynx,

the wind that enters the flow of wind,

 

And where this wind comes from and where it goes,

singing notes that called into being these very notes within.

 

It's because of the sweet motion of the river that lifts up

singing through the wind's song with its own rushing

 

And that of the sea to which it flows.

I wait below. If you hear me sing you'll know

 

It's not my song alone: I'm singing the wind;

I'm singing the sound of the waters;

 

I'm singing you home.

 

'The Moon Wouldn't Let the Sky Be Dark' and 'While Alone, Thoughts Escape' by Sheila Murray-Nellis

The Moon Wouldn't Let The Sky Be Dark

You were the one whose name I heard

when the wind moved through the valley.

I heard the trees whisper it, but

you weren't listening at the time. 

The moon kept pouring more and more

silver into the sleeping lake. 

I saw your eyes snap open:

That's when you began to shimmer.

See how the waters wait for your voice's ripple.

See how the still waters shine back the light.

'Tangled' and 'The Finch' by Sheila Murray-Nellis

Tangled

 We found the finch,

eyes clear but wings

limp as string,

its spindly feet

twisted in wire.

 

Untangling toes,

you were quick to stroke

ruffed feathers;

then you hung back:

the small body

fluttered to the oak.

 

You wear your fatigue

like feathers; I stretch

out my hand; your feet

lock in to what snares

you even more.

 

With your every twist

my heart is pierced

with barbs.

 

'What's beneath the surface' and 'The Taste of Wind' by Sheila Murray-Nellis

What’s Beneath The Surface

If you were someday

to rise out of the foaming waters of the sea

to count the stones and broken shells of my heart,

 

If you were to listen there

and to separate the gull’s cry

from the sucking sounds of stones beneath inhaling waves,

 

If only you were there at night

when shivering stars gaze with longing,

if you added your breath to the wind that tangles my hair

 

And strokes my neck with cold fingers,

then you would lift the pebbles to expose the sand

ground to softness by weather.

 

Once home in your room

you would put the spiraled shell to your ear

and listen to my whispered lament.

 

You would unwind the ribbon of kelp

from your heart and reveal the cords

that bind it to my own.

The Year Begins with War -- Wendell Berry

From A Timbered Choir, 1991:1 (p. 125-6).

The year begins with war.
Our bombs fall day and night,
Hour after hour, by death
Abroad appeasing wrath,
Folly, and greed at home.
Upon our giddy tower
We’d oversway the world.
Our hate comes down to kill
Those whom we do not see,
For we have given up
Our sight to those in power
And to machines, and now
Are blind to all the world.
This is a nation where
No lovely thing can last.
We trample, gouge, and blast;
The people leave the land;
The land flows to the sea.
Fine men and women die,
The fine old houses fall,
The fine old trees come down:
Highway and shopping mall
Still guarantee the right
And liberty to be
A peaceful murderer,
A murderous worshipper,
A slender glutton, or
A healthy whore. Forgiving
No enemy, forgiven
By none, we live the death
Of liberty become
What we have feared to be.

-Wendell Berry, 1991

The Heretical Commentary: Essay 1 -- Alfred Sergel IV

The Heretical Commentary: Essay 1

"Why do you live like you're going to die, Alfred?"

Heresy comes to mind when I think about the insanity of actually making this internal inquiry public.

I'm either losing my mind or actually beginning to get it back "...for this was not revealed to" me "by flesh and blood, but by" the everlasting "Father in heaven."

It's interesting...

We exhaust ourselves trying to mend the veil that tore when He died.
Are we mending the veil so we can hide behind it like Adam and Eve hid behind the bush?

We toil....and in this vain effort...we tire ourselves in mind, body and spirit...and we tire those around us.

Too tired to love...both God and neighbor.

The 'found' get lost.

We make His words good advice rather than good news. And the yoke just gets heavier and heavier.

The Sabbath becomes a day, rather than the Way.

Are we walking out of the Garden....again?

It's right in front of you Adam.
It's right in front of you Eve.

The Spirit whispers and the snakes yell....but don't be distracted...not now.

Seek first the firstborn of the dead...
See your life in His life and find life, abundantly....

Ever. Lasting.

So...?

"Why do you live like you're going to die?"

Wherefore wait? Maurice Baring

One day I heard a whisper:  ‘Wherefore wait?

Why linger in a separate porch?

Why nurse the flicker of a severed torch?

The fire is there, ablaze beyond the gate.

Why tremble, foolish soul? Why hesitate?

However faint the knock, it will be heard.’

I knocked, and swiftly came the answering word,

Which bade me enter to my own estate.

Maurice Baring

 

Lament -- by Eric H. Janzen

 

This shredded flag hangs low

like the burdened shoulders

of a visionary watching the

vision of his passion fade

'what is necessary is not necessarily

good' says the wind as it

moves the flag aside, passing

with the memory of resistance,

the recollection of the desire

to make something distinguished

and like George Grant

witnessing the dream so slowly

extinguished, a northern fire

smouldering like so much smoke and ashes

rising now falling free to mark

the mourning few and leave

the shredded flag to hang askew

over a hill pondering the loss of

the true north and its strength

given over for weakness.

 

 

Love III by George Herbert

Love bade me welcome, yet my soul drew back,

        Guilty of dust and sin.

But quick-ey'd Love, observing me grow slack

        From my first entrance in,

Drew nearer to me, sweetly questioning

        If I lack'd anything.

“A guest,” I answer'd, “worthy to be here”;

        Love said, “You shall be he.”

“I, the unkind, the ungrateful? ah my dear,

        I cannot look on thee.”

Love took my hand and smiling did reply,

        “Who made the eyes but I?”

“Truth, Lord, but I have marr'd them; let my shame

        Go where it doth deserve.”

“And know you not,” says Love, “who bore the blame?”

        “My dear, then I will serve.”

“You must sit down,” says Love, “and taste my meat.”

            So I did sit and eat. 

The still point of the turning world -- excerpt from T.S. Elliot's Four Quartets

At the still point of the turning world. Neither flesh nor fleshless;
Neither from nor towards; at the still point, there the dance is,
But neither arrest nor movement. And do not call it fixity,
Where past and future are gathered. Neither movement from nor towards,
Neither ascent nor decline. Except for the point, the still point,
There would be no dance, and there is only the dance.
I can only say, there we have been: but I cannot say where.
And I cannot say, how long, for that is to place it in time.
The inner freedom from the practical desire,
The release from action and suffering, release from the inner
And the outer compulsion, yet surrounded
By a grace of sense, a white light still and moving,
Erhebung without motion, concentration
Without elimination, both a new world
And the old made explicit, understood
In the completion of its partial ecstasy,
The resolution of its partial horror.
Yet the enchainment of past and future
Woven in the weakness of the changing body,
Protects mankind from heaven and damnation
Which flesh cannot endure.
Time past and time future
Allow but a little consciousness.
To be conscious is not to be in time
But only in time can the moment in the rose-garden,
The moment in the arbour where the rain beat,
The moment in the draughty church at smokefall
Be remembered; involved with past and future.
Only through time time is conquered.

Ten Flags by Blind Man at the Gate

Ten Flags

by Blind Man at the Gate

(This poem is mostly true)

 

Today I saw ten flags in ten minutes

Of the stars and stripes variety

Three were flown from churches

With marquees that said things like

“Celebrate Freedom”

Five were flown in front of banks

The biggest one waved proudly above a

Perkins Restaurant

(Omelettes starting at $6.99)

The highest one flew atop a

Wal-Mart

Of the Supercenter variety

(Open 24 hrs)

Ain’t this America

With liberty and justice and omelettes

And low mortgage refinancing for all

Freedom is what it’s called

Freedom is what it’s about

Freedom is what we’re fighting for

Just remember buckaroo

Freedom isn’t free

It starts at $6.99

With 7.39% APR financing

(Rates adjust annually thereafter)

O say!

Does that Star Spangled Banner yet wave

O’er

Churches and Banks and Perkins and Wal-Mart?

Freedom^© made in America^®

Freedom of religion and commerce and omelette

Freedom to buy cheap apparel made in China

I’m proud to be an American

Where at least I know I’m free

Ev’ry heart beats true

‘Neath the Red, White and Blue

Support our troops

Buy American. Save Jobs.

Financing options available

Today I saw ten flags in ten minutes

Steven Delopoulos / The Ruin of the Beast

Peccatum Originus - poem by E. H. Janzen

Peccatum Originus 

Circling this tree we wondered

what mystery lay behind

the fruit of our question

We put distance between us

and the boughs heavy with temptation

branches reaching out like hands and talons

to gather us in like

fish fighting the shame baited barbed hooks

so brutally adorned with lures of light

that draws us without an chance to escape

And coming round again

we are surprised, feigning innocence

in the face of the partaking, the peeling,

of the cursed answer.

Trying to be honest sort of prayer by Stephen Imbach

TRYING TO BE HONEST SORT OF PRAYER

Beloved and most gracious Lord,

Your substance is love.

From you only goodness flows into all creation.

I’m tired of relentless struggle,

wounds unchosen, unhealed.

Loosen my grip of self-focus;

to fall,

through the darkness of the unknown,

into the certainty of your loving embrace.

Do with me as you will.

I will thank you.

Crippled,

I offer myself to you,

desiring with all my heart to  love you without reserve

and to rest in you with boundless confidence.

For you, Love, are all I need,

now and forever more.

Amen!

Of Crushed Angels and Single-Stringed Ouds by Karin Dart

 Back in the late nineties I remember sitting at a table outside in our back yard pouring over two programs of study leading to two different Masters degrees. One was the counseling degree being offered at Trinity Western and the other, the Christian Studies degree being offered at Regent College, where my focus would be courses in spiritual formation/spiritual theology. I still vividly remember how alive my heart would feel when I looked at the courses on spiritual formation. I knew which university I was meant to apply to and what a rich experience that wound up being. I had the opportunity to sit in on lectures taught by Jim Houston, Eugene Peterson, Bruce Hindmarsh, three people who held the chair of Spiritual Theology at different points in the history of Regent College. It is also a way of hinting at just how long it took to complete the degree along with marriage and family commitments, raising two very lively children and my involvement with our church community.

Around the same time, from my ongoing connection with my spiritual director, Steve Imbach, I realized that my true heart vocation was in spiritual direction and Steve agreed to take me on as his apprentice. This was before Soulstream, an organization that Steve founded, even began to officially offer classes in spiritual formation and spiritual direction.

To build up arms - by Brian Zahnd

To build up arms
(And such arms!)
Bombs that unleash hell
The fire of Gehenna
On faceless enemies
From a safe distance
At the push of button
Cutting edge technology
To kill a million at time
Cain's club to the hundredth power
And to want their existence at all
Worse, to revere these monstrous inventions
Yea, to love them as guarantors of "Freedom"
To reject the welfare state
And embrace the warfare state
To choose the rage of Achilles
Over the peace of Immanuel
To worship Mars and the horrid drums of war
While claiming to be a follower of the Lamb
Is almost more than I can stand
I belong to a different faith
Than the religion of "shock and awe"
Because I do not love
The "nuclear option"
Nor the trumpets of Mars
Nor the rage of Achilles
And I will not accept that these "practical men"
Know what's best
For they do not
They know how to kill and destroy
And call it by benign code names
But you can't call it Christianity!
I guess I was just to stubborn
To ever be governed
By enforced insanity
And this passion for the Big Bombs
Well, it's...
Not my faith
Not my hope
Not my love

Blind by Al Sergel

blind

today, I woke to the reality of being older than the day before.

life happens. 

it does not abide.

my willingness to allow life to stagnate into a definition of “it's just part of the process” is a sign of my agreement with modernity.  it's my cooperation with the violence of this age.

far from being a peacemaker...

i am blind.

i am deaf.

and, often, i am a common thief pick pocketing God.

Laughter Came From Every Brick -- Teresa of Avila

Laughter Came From Every Brick
Just these two words He spoke
changed my life,
"Enjoy Me."
What a burden I thought I was to carry--a crucifix, as did He.
Love once said to me,
"I know a song. Would you like to hear it?"
And laughter came from every brick in the street and from every pore in the sky.
After a night of prayer, He changed my life when He sang,
"Enjoy Me."

C.S. Lewis and Thomas Merton: Poetic Affinities -- by Ron Dart

It is a rare day, indeed, when C.S. Lewis (1898-1963) and Thomas Merton (1915-1968) are breathed in the same breath. There are many who bow low to Lewis, and many others genuflect to Merton. Both men, for different reasons, have an ample following. Is it even possible to think of these men as having anything in common?

We do know that Lewis was quite fond of Merton. John Brown did a thesis at Union Seminary on race relations in the 1960s, and in a letter to Merton, he had this to say. “I am rather ashamed to admit that you are the first Roman Catholic writer that I have read seriously, and then only on the recommendation of C. S. Lewis, who in a letter not long before he died, stated that he had discovered your writing, and found it quite the best spiritual writing he had come across in a long time”. Merton replied to Brown (August 7 1968). “Thanks for your kind letter. I am certainly happy to think that so sound a judge as C.S. Lewis found something to like in my writing” (The Road to Joy: p. 369) . Merton’s interest in Lewis, though, can be traced back to a book review he did of The Personal Heresy in 1939.

Wild Geese by Mary Oliver

Wild Geese

You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
for a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.
You have only to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting -
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.

-Mary Oliver, from Owls and Other Fantasies, poems and essays, Beacon
Press, 2003.

From Person to Thing - by Al Sergel (Response by Adit Gamble)

Matthew 4: 1-11

“To love means to empower.”
“Communion makes us vulnerable."
-from Becoming Human by Jean Vanier

Just as there is daily bread, there is daily choice.

At the root of choice is to love and trust God or not. As well, do justly and love our neighbor or not.

When we love we create bonds – we enable communion. When we don’t, we inevitably create walls moving people from subject to object: from a person to a thing.

Gate and Scale by Adit Gamble

Corrupt scales versus Justice
Filthy rags versus Perfection
Broken bloody gate
Who else would allow anyone to pass?

Preciously accurate scale,
Who else would absorb the cost, the weight?

We might call you broken
But you are brilliant, shining, shining and strong
Indestructible gate that broke Himself for you
Scale that was keenly, strongly and perfectly made,
that refused to measure against you.

Jesus is the indestructible gate, that desired to be broken to allow all men entry.
Jesus is the perfectly accurate scale that refused to keep a count against you.

... and you know how much He despises corrupt scales
Keep in mind, His scale is perfect love...

Living Scale that knows the absolute, true and perfect count.
Scale that counted the cost...
Scale that refused payment... to be evened out.
That equals forgiveness
and surrender
even though it contained all power

Only asks one thing:
Come through this way.

Out Of The Corner Of My Eye -- by Blind Man At The Gate

 UBP - http://www.brianzahnd.com

I think I caught a glimpse of truth out of the corner of my eye
A ghost, a whisper, a suspicion, a subtle and subversive rumor
So dangerous that every army would be commanded to march against it
So beautiful that it would drive those who see it to madness
Or sanity
Does the whole of my kind suffer from mental and moral vertigo?
As Melville said of cabin boy Pip
He saw the foot of God upon the treadle of the loom
And dared to speak it
Henceforth his shipmates called him mad
As Vladimir said when they came to bury Fyodor
The spiritual leader must feel the falsehood prevailing in society
The prophet must struggle against it, never tolerate it, never submit to it
I think I caught a glimpse of truth out of the corner of my eye

Is it possible that the war is over? -- by Eric Janzen

When I saw the figure he was jumping the line
and hopping over trenches,
rolling up razor wire,
and, of all things, laughing.

AFN Chief Phil Fontaine's Response to Apology

The Canvas - part 1 -- by A.G.

i open my eyes and right in front of me is a work of art on a canvas,
it stretches up as high as i can see,
as far down as i can see,
as far to the left and to the right of me as i can see.

the background is quite dark,
the colors muted.
people's faces are not more than blotches, indistinguishable.
i am aware that time has both eroded and left a layers of pollutants on it
it is not what is was meant to be. 
restoration is calling.

The Canvas - part 2 -- by A.G.

the canvas - is His canvas
the pencil, His
the pen,
the hand, His

the thought,
the word,
the hope,
the truth,

all of these things He has given to you...  He has woven in you...
that you would touch the expanse of eternity

"Borders" by Christine Pendleton

"Borders"

Oh, the covert dealings of the nations.

Who's side am I on?
Who's side am I on?

Oh, the injustice of war;
The suffering of the innocent;
And the growth of the poor and needy.

Who's side am I on?
Who's side am I on?

Where death and destruction flaunt their strength;
Where power and influence inflate their cause;
And where passionate cries are yelled from the hearts of both borders.

Who's side am I on?
Who's side am I on?

Let Me tell you of the of the widow, the orphan, the wounded man and defamed woman.
Let Me tell you of the hungry, the ill and the dying.
Let Me show you the face of the leper; the sea of tears I have caught;
                        and the temple full of wailing that I hold dear to My heart.

I am on their side.
I am on their side.

Within whatever border that may be;
That is where I am.

Invited by Jim Hall

Far away but invited
Distant but sought
wandering and apathetic
It's time to go back
Time to see
Time to hear

Welcome to My Living Room by Corinne Vooys

WELCOME TO MY LIVING ROOM

A swirling
Softness
Fills the room, as a fog.
It gently brushes my face, with sweetness and refreshing.
A presence.

I look through the fog and see
Faces of joy,
Which in one world would be seen as a face of the disabled,
but here it is the face of royalty sitting in the throne room,
with dignity.
Others dance,
They dance on the dance floor with loved ones, big and small.

My Prayer for Advent 2007 by Cathy Hardy

It has been hard to say,
            ‘I did what I could’ – when that means
            That I have to admit
            That I can’t hold everything
            Together all the time.

To allow things to fall and crash and break
            To allow things to get lost and not found
            To allow misperceptions and judgements to be – without freaking
            To allow my carefully laid plans to
                        Fall apart
            To allow the feeling of emptiness
                        To come close to me
                        When I feel that things are slipping through my fingers
         
To allow my heart to say
            YES
            To YOU
            In the midst of these moments            

And not lose heart
            To be willing to be turned upside down
            And shaken
            Loose of my firm grip on things
            So I can rest
            In my poverty and humanity
            And celebrate the mystery,
                                    The paradox,
                                                The miracle of
                                                            Emmanuel – God with us.

©2007 Cathy Hardy

Wave of Sorrow - U2

Pay by Chris Janzen

pay ( working title )

the I.M.F. come lookin for their fix
they'll take it in a pound of flesh
everyone makes a dividend off the interest

But a father is put to the test
when he watches his children go off (to make laces)
and he braces himself for another day
for a dollars pay
the minimum wage in the world's work place.

Chris Janzen

Interest by Chris Janzen

Intrest (working title)

Sullen corporate beggars
cut throats
in their quest for dollars
looking for buried treasure
in the flesh of those struggling to survive
swollen fingers prodding
swollen bellies
for pennies they do not have
It's a matter of interest on investment,
"you can understand that," says the devil
to a mother who silences a screaming child
on a milkless breast

Chris Janzen 

All Stories Tear by Brita Miko

There is the scream. The scream so loud it will be the last word. The scream so loud it will render the man mute. The scream so loud the man will die. You cannot release such a cry and survive.  You can only release such a cry if it is the last thing you do. You can only release such a cry if all things are done.

It is the cry of death.

It fills the whole earth. The very earth shudders. The very earth splits. The very earth might not survive. The very earth tears.

The very rocks tear.

And history tears. And all stories tear. My story tears.

SCARS by Rachel Runnalls

Scars

1.

He shivers 
when I touch his scars
and looks at me
open
like I could hurt him again

I hate that.

"Into the sky" by Jason Upton

Into the Silence by Fi Calder

I linger in the doorway
reluctant to step over the threshold
He stands before me
His hand held out in invitation
‘come, Dear One, I’ll show you the way’
I take His hand and He leads me into the unknown
into the silence, into the darkness
ever deeper into the emptiness
my heart pounds
I’m afraid
can this be right?
I thought being a God-follower meant being led into light and joy and freedom
‘trust Me’, He whispers
we stop for a moment, a pause on our descent
He takes both my hands and He looks into my face
its not necessary to speak, His eyes say it all
‘its going to be alright Fi’
He breathes, I breathe
He waits ‘til calm comes
then we walk on, hand in hand
into the sorrow, into the heartache
ever deeper into the emptiness

Three Poems by Ron Dart

 THREE POEMS

BUDS

The life
so short
only a few buds

 FRUIT

Spring
buds, blossoms
then summer fruit.
None came to pick from the tree.

 
AUTUMN

Fruit bearing season
was over, done,
finished.
There was such a
final fling of colour.

RSD

 

"The Gap (between the rich and the poor)" by Canadian Polital Dance Punkers, "You Say Party, We Say Die"

The Contemplative Strangler: 2 Poems

'There is a contemplative in all of us,
    almost strangled
    but still alive,
    who craves quiet
    enjoyment of the now,
    and longs to touch
    the seamless
    garment of silence
    which
    makes whole'

    Alan P. Tory

Russet Lake--Afghanistan: Aug. 20 & Sept.5 by Ron Dart

Gary Bauman, Bryan Ward and I left Abbotsford at 6:00 a.m. on Sunday August 20th, and we wound our way up the Sea-to-Sky and arrived at Whistler by 8:30. The lift did not open until 9:30, so we waited, swapped tales and anticipated the hike under the blue canopy and the heat of day star. We were, by 10:30, off the peak chair and on the wide dirt roadway. We dipped down into the valley, and it took us little time to bid adieu to the heights of Whistler and be on the trail. The older path took us up and over the Musical Bumps (Piccolo, Flute & Oboe), then down into Singing Pass. Many a pleasant ski run has been down in the powder of the Flute bowl.

"can a statue cry" by fiona

not even the dead left now in that lonely valley
the killing fields stripped of their booty
nothing left for the vultures to pick on
untouched for 40 years, the skeletons lie where they fell
ragged cloth blowing in the breeze 

He says this is part of His garden
and the day has come for Him to gather in the lilies
to bring them home
but who would venture into such a haunt?
who would dare tread where so many have been slaughtered?

the dead Christ's body still visible in the dirt
his neck snapped and bent backwards awkwardly
flesh gone, but bones still in place
testament to the truth
'what ye have done to one of the least of these 
you have done unto Me' 

will the birds ever sing again in this place?

the Gardener walks south
out of the great entrance to the graveyard
His arms laden with wreaths of lilies
symbols of death and life at one and the same time
his eyes burning hot with orange fire 

so this is all that remains
this is the remnant
the corner torn from the mantle 

can a nation be built from a remnant?
can a person be formed from a fragment?
can anything whole come from something so incomplete, 
so fractured? 

and what use is a bunch of lilies?
is their sole purpose to sit in a vase? 

the child sits in the refrigerated truck
that place assigned to her
she leans over to the man-sized statue of Jesus,
rests her head against His stony cold leg and whispers
'even if you never speak to me,
if you never smile,
if you never grow warm beside me
if you are always this man of cold cement
I will always love you 
and my heart will always thank you for searching me
out in the valley of death' 

can a statue cry?
this one has two tears 
which didn't make it half way down his cheeks before
they froze solid 	

('fiona' means white or lily)

Rare by Ron Dart

Rare,

         the bow

                      so low,

                                  the snow

                                                so white.

The Torch is Moving

A POEM BY ASHQUI

The torch is moving
Simply said

This era soon past
Soon named and put on the shelf

Watch carefully
This doesn’t happen often

Bridle your tongue
No one can figure it out just yet

The torch is moving
Simply said

There will be a brawl, a clash, a scrap
Linger in peace and let it all dissolve

No fight will prevent the passing of the times
Take your new costume and wear it with care

Dig up the truth from the rubble
Careful now, sift out the dirt and the dabble

Fix your heart on the deeps and on the eternals
Be not swayed by either the new or the old

The torch is moving
Simply said

Worry not a thought
For it is the way it is

2005

The Torch is Moving

   

A POEM BY ASHQUI The torch is moving Simply said This era soon past Soon named and put on the shelf Watch carefully This doesn’t happen often Bridle your tongue No one can figure it out just yet The torch is moving Simply said There will be a brawl, a clash, a scrap Linger in peace and let it all dissolve No fight will prevent the passing of the times Take your new costume and wear it with care Dig up the truth from the rubble Careful now, sift out the dirt and the dabble Fix your heart on the deeps and on the eternals Be not swayed by either the new or the old The torch is moving Simply said Worry not a thought For it is the way it is 2005

An Empire and It's Glory

A POEM BY ASHQUI

I was born into an empire on the rise
Its achievements vast and spectacular
Its future full of the unimaginable
My daily life made easier by comforts and machinery
My mind tickled by all of the information at my fingertips
Surely there has never been such an empire
The poor are rich and the rich live better than any king of old
Potential is a word we hear often
Anything we want, we dream of, and see as possible
Millions of people live on this earth
And I was born in one of the most prominent empires
In my daily life I am accustomed to writing and thinking
I have time if I choose to delve deeply into all the pleasures on earth
My life is sustained, no worry of food, clothing or shelter
Money is made to gain only more
The houses are bigger, the cities merge and the air is filled with transporting people
There are men of learning searching beyond earth
Is there yet another planet we can conquer and consume?
The empires rise and fall in history
How long will this one last?
Will we beat history this time?
Are we in control enough to prevent anything that could take us down?
Have we surpassed the vulnerability of the Ancient Greeks or Chinese?
The Egyptians or Mayans? Of those we don’t even know existed?

I sigh, and from my heart I hear a soft no
No, something is brewing now, a change, a shift
In the East perhaps, a power change?
In the North perhaps, a climate shift?
In the unpredictable universe; a discovery? A catastrophe?
I cannot say, but I sense something
This empire we cannot sustain and, like all others, it will not be sustained
The brewing has always kept shifting, turning, evolving; and it will not stop yet
Nor can I say when God will finally drink this long brewing brew
I truly wonder what His tastes are, when will He deem the brew done
What will it be like? What empire will rule? What city will be the greatest?
Will this ancient brew be bitter or sweet to His tongue?
Perhaps both. Perhaps neither.

I do not say this to bring fear or despair
Let us enjoy what we have now
And let us not be dismayed when the time comes
When this empire falls and another rises
Or when something beyond us transpires altering the paths in which we walk

I do say this to urge you to hold onto your faith
Not the faith of the institutions or the fads of our era
But the deep inner faith the Lord God has placed in all men
There we will find peace and assurance that this empire cannot ever give us
Whether we are the primitive or the learned
There is always the truth that binds us to each other
And above all things we should pursue our Holy God
For in Him we will find no fear in change or despair in loosing what we have now
He is the only sure and eternal existence on Earth. Praise be to His eternal Presence
He has known each empire in their advancing glories and fading powers
Only He knows them all, their true history, every civilization of the Earth’s past
And only He knows what will be of us
I, like many, was born into this glorious empire
And I enjoy it, but my heart stands apart from it all
Its gaze set on the purely eternal, on the rock of God, the Transcender of history and time

Some Convincing by ChristJane

Convincing
yourself
that you are safe
isn't so easy
when
life has been threatened

strength
broken
down.
vulnerability
screams
at every corner
Crashing Crushing
everything you know
or knew
to be true, real
or right.

The Genetically Engineered Future by Jeremy Harnett

For one of my classes I have had to do some "reading reflections" on various topics. In my scavenging for articles addressing ecological concerns I came across one at http://www.adbusters.org/metas/eco/truecosteconomics/neoclassical.html/ dealing with Genetic Engineering. Here's my reflection.

The future genetically engineered
is far more exquisite than originally reared.

Minds bent on mastery and control
are more than willing to sell their soul.

Modernism’s dream of success far outweighs
the care and notice of nature and its way’s.

But dreams cashed in for profits
is simulacrum cries the prophet.

Tables grown from seed,
babies bred by breed
is genetic malpractice
and hair pulling madness.

Human life is pedigree
we are who we are by degree.

None would wish
ancestry to a Petri dish.

But genetically predisposed to greed
the halls of power concede and sell the deed.

Their success defined by monetary gain
now resides on the prairies in a head of grain.

A gust of wind and their dream takes flight
across a field and becomes a plight.

Juxtaposition of surreal and sublime
men playing God should be a crime.