Friday, February 25, 2011

When constrained, expand vertically.

First of all, it is a blessing that it is currently the Sabbath. And on the Sabbath, we have our greatest opportunity to find freedom from the world, while still necessarily being in the world.

Poetry, a wonderful thing created by Yah, is far too often taken by the world for its own means. Nonetheless, it remains a beautiful way of praising our Creator. It allows us to reflect the magnificence of creation with the creativity that our Father has blessed us with. The problem, of course, is that there is quite a lot of disagreement about what poetry actually is.

Have no fear. I'm here to provide yet another definition. But again, don't worry, because this definition is no more than a restriction, a constraint on how to write a poem. Really, it's just fun with syllables.

A couple weeks ago, I came up with a new poetic form (at least it is new as far as I know...not sure why any serious poet would use it to write a good poem.) It works like this:

1. Each line must contain three words, and only three words.
2. Each line must contain six syllables, and only six syllables.
3. The six syllables can be placed across the three words in any fashion, as long as rules 1 and 2 are not broken.

And so, practicing with this form, I came up with the following poem:

The Beautiful Blessings (Released by Believing)

The stars illuminate
Unto deeper spirits—
Those human believers,
Visionaries called saints.

Starlight shines overhead
Before daylight arrives,
Blooming into morning,
When lilies imagine
The great celebration
Wedding—behold blessings.

Stars illuminate nights—
Saints feel mortality.

Flowers, blessings, children:
Mercy releases them.

Just something that came from thinking about how much of a blessing the sabbath is, combined with having fun with words and syllables, which is more fun than one might think. You can do all kinds of things with them, because...

I'm told people think in ten syllables.
I tend to think in nine syllables.

And then I think--does that mean I come up one short of normal, or do I require one less then normal to accomplish the same task? And then I think--do I need to find an answer to that question? It's poetry, no one really knows what it is anyway. And so then I think-- of that thinking. I think it's Sabbath and time to sit back and relax and let my praises to my Father be my praises to my Father.

Be blessed.

Monday, February 14, 2011

"Unbind him and let him go." - Sonnet Version

With bare feet, standing on the shoreline's edge,
George wondered, if water reflects the sun
And trees grow shadows for everyone,
Then why was he here to make a grand pledge
To love unconditionally? To hedge
On a wager he had heard from someone
At the 16th Street church, behind the fun,
Beyond the Christmas tree and Santa's sledge.
Would it be right to wager a stigma,
If nobody was around to object?
Could he tell God, wherever he was now,
That no bottle, not even Aunt Jemima,
Could hold his soul or have a strong effect,
If truth wasn't around to show him how?

Wednesday, February 9, 2011

Like a Melody in My Head

I feel as if I should make some comment about the following poem. Like explain in full how it's based on an actual conversation, no matter if it didn't happen exactly the way it's presented. But on the other hand, what does it matter, right? It's poetry. They tell us that poetry can come out of anything and from anywhere. That maybe you could even make a poem out of the words on the back of a cereal box. (I'm pretty sure it's been done.) So it's really hard to say what poetry even is. Us poets just keep on trying and hope that at least one person will like what we do. Whatever that means.
Nonetheless, here it is:


She raises her brow and continues to hum.
Now I'm going to go to sleep humming this song.
She says, "What are you writing?"

"A poem that you're writing."
She furrows her brow,
"I didn't know I was writing."

You don't feel your hand moving
And your brain hurting slightly?

I think I'll keep this poem to myself....