For the past week and a half I have found it extremely difficult to sit down and write something for all of you readers that is in my usual style. However, that does not mean I have not been writing.Over the past week I composed several (4) poems that I still consider unfinished (but when is any writer or artist ever satisfied?). One of them, the first, makes a direct allusion to the name of this blog, so i figured it wouldn’t do any harm to add something creative to the blog if it made an attempt to reveal something about this life and our Lord. In some fashion, all of the poems follow that theme, dealing with creation, pain, beauty, and other ideas. I hope these poems illuminate something for someone and at the very least, most if not all of you, end up enjoying some free verse poetry that relies on rhyme scheme only as i see fit. So put on a Beret, brew up a cup of coffee and light yourself a cigarette, Nowadimmirror is going Bohemian. Cheers!
A window reflects my face faintly.
It is a dim mirror if you will—
allow your imagination to wander so far.
And so I see myself staring sadly, listening
to melancholy music, but it’s a melody of triumph.
I wish my emotions matched I wish I was moved Dim mirror crack!
At the sound of the culminating crescendo shatter!
I am not what you are reflecting.
I am beautiful. I am.
God I refuse
to stare and believe that I am dead. I refuse
to believe that it is finished
but that you have more. That you love
and that you are here and that you hear and that you care and you are near.
Shatter my mirror.
Let Me tell You
Let me tell you
about shade and sun and stillness and silhouettes and
vibrant colors and—
There is one soft wind that stirs the leaves,
one dancing fly,
one creaking tree
There is one Giant,
bending beneath the clouds,
bathed in light and shadows and covered in ice and snow.
calling all eyes to Himself.
But not mine.
Although the panorama is overtaken
with majesty and splendor,
golden rays of shine,
the deep blue hue of rarely seen lakes
and the undisturbed reflection of the Giant’s imposing glare,
my breath and awe are captured by another.
It is always something distinctly other,
something in which The image resides
more than a map or trail or still frame
more than revealing; reflecting.
so she—yes she, always steals my gaze,
drawing my glances toward heaven
and the suns streaking rays,
and only through that light,
the dying light of dusk, can her beauty be expressed.
Still, not in words, but only in light,
for she is the light of the night before darkness eclipses the earth.
Her—all of her, radiantly shines at that moment
when dark blue night and bright day meet,
putting our world under her spell
of imagination and creativity, a mirror of the colors of creation.
And she comes and goes, but never leaves
Pleasing us at dusk, in day, through the moon
and the glittering stars of night.
She comes and goes
and She leaves me—breathless,
She comes and goes through eternity
but She never leaves.
the hot iron emerges from the fiery wasteland of this earth
the prod is but an extension of the whole
it is me,
i am reaching,
you are reaching
into the fire you are reaching
letting flames lick your hands
Scar your wrists, you stand the pain
you are coming closer and i am,
afraid to hurt you so i withdraw back into the scolding heap
but you, Knowing my fear, thrust forward
grabbing with your bare Flesh
the glowing red end of the iron, my heart,
i can hear,
the Tortured flesh
i can smell
but you wont let go
on tightly to the sharp searing tip
i pull and pull, but now i can feel you pushing,
you push and i push back
but you win, Victorious in pushing me back into the flame
back into the heap of molten iron
until your whole arm is Buried within,
and the flame is dying—Dead
no longer am i afraid, i want
to be held
Like A Rose
It is a cool, damp morning
and God’s fresh breath has been softly exhaled over this path,
and I can feel the mist, taste the moisture.
The leaves are wet and plush,
they form pads beneath my feet to walk on
and the air is filled with that muffled silence
and sometimes the leaves stick to the bottom of your shoes
and God is with you while you walk.
Then there is that sound of dripping in the trees
left behind by the early morning rain
and even though I missed it,
it still echoes through the branches
and the dirt is dark and soggy
and it reminds me of what I can’t know for certain
at this moment, but do know—
Rain and Sun.
Sunshine because you are surrounded by green
and fall yellow red, and orange, and it is an eternal flame
and it is sunset and it is memory,
of the life that sustains this garden
Because where there is a flower, there is
Rain and Sun.
Storm and Light.
all together, all necessary, all for life,
otherwise we would be without blooming
and love, love between rain and shine
and beauty that is born— from both.
Like a rose