Grown Again

The fallen seed was newly born

And sprouted through the soil toward the sun,

But soon it stretched too far, too fast,

Collapsing when expanding clouds had won

The sky.

Years passed until the present morn

When, once again, the life of days gone by

Returns to grow again and cast

Its gaze to capture sunshine’s warm supply

Of light.

But now, more sturdy branches run

And spread more slowly to a humble height.

Imperfect yet, the rising stem will try

To stand

Through any storm or chill of night.

This is the second poem in a series about beginnings. In this case, it describes starting something, failing, learning from that failure, and then beginning again.

Above the Stars of Eden

Above the stars of Eden burns

A night without an ending,

And, out of it, a presence turns

To gaze upon the life ascending

Upon a small, revolving world

Of blue, with green that’s newly growing.

A consciousness has come uncurled,

Commenced its crawl to greater knowing,

But, with its rise, the chance to fall

Comes too, and, with each new discerning,

The danger heightens. Life stands tall

To reach beyond its station, learning

That therein lies the path to progress,

But also, possibly, its own undoing.

The cosmic presence watches all

And asks which way this garden’s life is going.


I thought I'd start the new year with some poems about beginnings. This is the first one, which calls back to the beginning of the human race. Even today, though, I think the question at the end is still quite relevant.

Intertwining

With this post, I'd like to get the word out about a new music album I finished putting together last year. It's available on Amazon, and you should also be able to find and download it through online music streaming services. Below, I've reproduced the back page of the CD booklet, which includes a poem and general description of the music.

INTERTWINING

The moon is full tonight, as is my soul,

A circle filled with light, and all feels whole,

Pieces long divided, now together,

Held, embraced by love’s unending tether.

But now as I reflect upon the past

And look ahead to what our lives might bring,

I know that these relationships will last

And grow as all our voices join and sing.

I see it now – my soul is not in parts.

It stretches, touching all your distant hearts

Across the globe, and you and I will be

Forever woven close in harmony.

Tonight, I leave, my eyes and heart still shining,

For always will our souls be intertwining.

This album of cello, piano, and guitar music is a reflection on my time in Uganda as a Peace Corps Volunteer. Its inspiration came when I returned to Uganda a few years after my service ended. Visiting my friends there for such a short time, only to leave again, was difficult. However, one friend gave me the gift pictured on the cover of this album - a wood carving with both of our names written on the base. The twisting, intertwining design suggested to me that, although we may be far apart, our lives remain connected. With this music and the simple poems contained in this booklet, I've tried to convey that idea, along with what I think is a broader implication: Only together, in connection with one another, can we begin to contribute to a better world.

 

What Magic Lives in Christmas Lights

What magic lives in Christmas lights?

What wonders wait inside the stars

That touch the hearts of Christmas nights

And ease the year’s most troubled scars?

It’s something sprung from home and friends

And family – each meeting sends

Me onward with the grace to know

Of blessings, all reflected in

That multi-colored Christmas glow.

During my time at home over the holidays this year, I felt like there was some special magic in the Christmas lights I saw every night. I think it had something to do with the recognition that this is the time of year when I am fortunate enough to be able to come home and be enriched by family and friends. I know I'm not the best at saying it, but I want all of those people to know that I'm grateful for the relationships we share.

White Wings in Search of Hope

White feathers cover wings that cross the sky,

Descend, and land upon a wooden perch.

Clear eyes watch through a window. People fly

To decorate their tree, wrap gifts, and search

For memories of Christmases gone by.

Another landing spot outside a church

Reveals the melodies of carols. High,

Imperfect voices, singing softly, lurch

From note to note, and wonder if their sound

Will touch a chord of greater harmony.

Beneath a twinkling streetlight, on the ground,

A man’s unfocused eyes look up to see

A glint of hope within the stars, unbound

By hints of distant hymns, whose symphony

Is floating on a wind the wings had found.

As if in answer to a tacit plea,

The man begins to walk, his sight aligned.

He gathers up the memories that he

Has held inside, and hopes that he might find

What mercy holds for this long-absent one.

Clear eyes watch through a window. People dined

With thoughts bent on the past, but now they run

To meet it, knocking at their door, defined

By much regret. They welcome home their son.

White wings ascend this night of hope, now done.

It's become something of a personal, annual tradition for me to write a poem for Christmas. As with several previous ones, this poem feels more appropriate to share on Christmas Eve, rather than on Christmas Day. It's also an interesting example of how these poems evolve as they are written. In this case, I didn't realize this poem would be something of a modern take on the prodigal son story until I reached the fourth stanza.

To Melt and Freeze Again in Time

The climbing sun begins to melt the ice

That covers up the path I walk today.

The spreading liquid slides itself away

And wonders if this freedom has a price.

In time, it joins a cyclical array

Of vapor, cloud, and rain in warmer parts,

As stars look down on all the grateful hearts

Who thank the light for water as they pray.

In time, a new returning journey starts

To bring it back to its beginning place,

Refreezing in the falling night’s embrace.

I stay and gain the wisdom it imparts:

In time, it will be gone without a trace,

Except for all the lives it touched

As it traversed this space.

As temperatures hover around the freezing point, I've been intrigued by the way that ice melts during the day as the sun shines, then the liquid water moves through the world, and it eventually refreezes in the evening, as the sun goes down. To some degree, I feel like this cycle reflects our own lives. We are born, we interact with the world, and then, after a time, we leave - and those interactions are what we leave behind.

At Last to Rest

When the night will fall forever,

Will you tell me what I’ve done?

When I lay me down at last to rest,

Will I see I’m not the only one

Who wonders what these steps have meant

On life’s uncertain, troubled shores?

The waves just go on crashing, sent

In peaceful times and raging wars,

Depositing unlucky creatures,

On the rocks and sand, perhaps, to die.

We tried to stop the waves,

But the force the fates supply

Was stronger than our mortal hands,

Unfit to face the unrelenting flow.

And so, we turned to those now stranded,

Struggling in the sun’s unshielded glow.

We gently sent them back,

Again to try the vast, uncertain sea.

Our footprints sank into the sand.

Repeated steps dug paths that we

Could use to guide us as we worked.

But all those treads have since been swept away

By time, its tidal pendulum

Has smoothed the marks our lives display.

At times, I stayed the course.

At others, I allowed myself to stray.

And as my spirit lies in wait,

I wonder what persists, what may

Affect the universe when I am gone?

Perhaps it’s more than I should ask,

Too proud a thing that I request.

Perhaps the current task

Is to look beyond the cosmic crest,

And to say I tried my best

And rest.


This seemed like an appropriate poem to post as the year nears its end. Occasionally, I can't help but contemplate what it means to live and die in this universe that feels, at times, so vast, and at others, so intimate. When I do, things like this poem usually come out.