A Child's Smile

For Justin and Rebecca

My feelings are alive and beautiful in my mind
They are my desires - I think
I imagine all of life, its beauty so real
Imagination - You lover! You beast!
Butterflies flitting among swaying wheat

A child's laughter
A smile from a special friend
Hand in hand down a long desert road
Intimacy is oxygen to the straining leaves of my soul
I crave its secret air
Fantasy - shatters like a mourning window
Is that you reality?
Which of you two is knocking at my door?
Which of you is vapour?
Which of you is real?
Which of you two is hell?
"How long must I wrestle with my thoughts, Elohim?
And every day have sorrow in my heart?"

Love is given
And it makes you feel good
But it's a life thats forbidden

I have rights

Part of me wants to hold on
To these imaginings
Hug tightly the winds of fantasy
But this other part - You lover! You Beast!
Knows that they are just that
Only wind
I'll never see a little child running
Towards me like that
But there are times when it is nice to dream
Of love
Sweet dreams son
A child's smile
Connects me with what is deepest in me and the world
Eden innocence running openly towards me
A warm man becomes possible
A warm man becomes real
I am a warm man
Gentle child of Grace
The child smiles
And I smile, wind in my face

The Return

You came back to me
In a million sparrows
Plaguing lawns
With fragile beauty

You threaded my eyes
In the dark
With a million year old stars
Blinking

A million fallen leaves
Carpeting ovals
a million paddocks, a million rocks,
A million insects
A million pimples on the globe

You returned
You came back in
a whispered word
Spoken in silence among scraps
Of paper, discarded pens,
And useless bits of information

You returned
in the midst of
fragmented meaning
Slotting it together

You returned
in silent words

And my house again grew quiet
My house once more at rest

Patience

This is a poem that I stumbled across in a religion and society class a few years ago. It is by the American journalist Terry Anderson who was taken hostage by terrorists in Beirut, 1985. He lived hand cuffed to a wall or radiator for seven years.

What impresses me most about his story is his rediscovery of God and himself in such a dark place. The depths of his pride, his selfishness in relationships; all this he had to face, alone in a room without knowing if he would ever see the light of day again. I can only imagine the utter despair that must have assailed this man.

And through it all, caged in inhuman conditions like an animal, he seemed to become more human, not less. Faith was reawakened in him, not snuffed out. In some ways, it holds a strange parallell to the imprisonment of the sixteenth century saint, St John of the Cross, who endured much harsher conditions than Anderson, no doubt, but in between beatings, in his rotting rags and tiny cell, composed some of the most beautiful and heart felt poetry ever known.
To learn more about St john of the Cross go to, camelite.com

Terry Anderson's memoir is published by Ballantine and is called 'Den of Lions' - if your interested...

Patience is not a virtue -
its a necessity, a survival trait,
an ever- filling well from which
I sip, or gulp, exhausted
by the desert of this nonlife.
My faith surges and recedes;
hope sometimes abandons me,
leaving only patience.
I kick and scream and flail
inside my head; patience
offers only soft resistance,
washing gently at my rage.
I know if I dive deeply,
I will find patience, hope, and faith
emerging from a single source,
eternal and unchanging.

- Terry Anderson ( Den of Lions)

The Silent Yearning of All Creation

We traverse barren lands, you and I
No comfort here, no palace dwelling
We wander aimlessly through suffering
Treading barefoot on salty earth, cracked and laden red
With stiff, silver blue scrub stretching away
From our sore and sorry eyes to nothing

A hot, bare breeze of sorrow comes down
From where, who knows?
Leaves murmur it's arrival to each other
As the tonic of our memory stirs

Elephantine gums with creamy, wrinkled,
ancient trunks stand at attention
Their slow moving, serpent limbs
Twist up
With the silent yearning of all creation

This is a land that is known
A land sown with seeds
We are loved, you and I
Not forsaken
Born in secret on the Spirits cool and gracious breeze
We traverse barren lands
No comfort here, no palace dwelling
We wander aimlessly, yet trasformed
through suffering

Cookie Cutter Ducks

Memories pop up
Like black ducks in a shooting gallery
Sillhouettes of the past
Darkening the horizon
Cookie cutter patterns of suffering
Going by in circles
Each with dents, bullet holes
And scratched surfaces
Each containing their own unique pain

I try to shoot them down
But they pop back up again
Boyant in the still waters of my life
These cookie cutter ducks remain

G'day from the Cookie Cutter

G'day! For those of you not familiar with Aussie slang, Thats, "Hello"
This blog will hopefully not stray to far from its intended topic, which as you will hopefully discover, is basically a chronicle of poetry by the author. I make no claim of it to be particularly good poetry. I really have no idea what good poetry is! And this may become more evident as you read my posts!

But I do claim it as an authentic voice. A voice, that I believe resides deep within me. ( and all of us) One that cries out in anguish, questions bitterly, sings with hope and gratitude, and is always searching for meaning.

I dont intend it to be too serious, but ultimately, for me, poetry is a serious business. Not in terms of form and content, or technical artistic ability. (Boring! ) But in terms of the expression of my deepest self and the articulation of my deepest feelings. And what the pastor, writer and wordsmith Eugene Peterson calls, " the connection of the visible with the invisible. Heaven and earth." For me it is an intensely personal thing.

So, that being what it is, I hope you will forgive me for any self indulgence! For my sloppy Doggerel and furtive verse! But I also hope that you find something you resonate with. That it might provide something encouraging, thought provoking, stimulating. Well, perhaps thats asking a bit much!

The New Bible Commentary introduction tho the Psalms says that, "Poetry is able to get to the heart of our relationship with God." Ultimately, this what I am looking for, though I still havent found it.