freedom school poetry

Sometimes I feel happy like the yellow summer sun
All jolly and cheerful just ready to have fun
At other times when I’m hurting I imagine I look red
Because of what people have done or even said
I usually feel green; I’m not jealous, but I’m smart
Of all the things about me, I know you can agree with this part
So when I look at all these colors, all so different as can be
When they all come together they help me to be me!

–Lyndsay Hughley, Colorful Me

I have dreams of being a rapper not a drug dealer.  Some nights I cry because people die.  I live on 28th and Park where people die in the dark.  I never dreamed of someone on Fox 4 saying our population is getting lower and lower and lower.  But my dreams are joining the Kingdom City and spreading the word of our Beautiful King.  Some people are not doing the same thing but I will keep pursuing my dreams.

–Evan Lewis-Thompson, Dreams

summer’s official welcome

tonite it smells like summer
i feel back at camp
loving (longing for) days past …

–jt, full moon inverted-haiku

from my (long-lost) friend

great fortunes i seek
so far away draw distant against my horizon
my back to you as my hope falls through
and further away
to imagine
by the time i get back
the efforts you have put to the edges
of all we own
how the grass has grown and faded
i will have never known
except by the eyes of you
the dew that slipped gently to the soil
and your lips having sipped the rains
–all passing
left to mist the clouded skies
–to taunt
the memories of all i’ve missed
forgive the abandon
should the leaves turn
darken, dampen and ache
falling only to nurture the foot of their making
returned green at the point of rebirth

–jlk

another reason to love it …

American Idol, that is.  And the reason?  Contestant, Jason Castro, inviting us to listen once again … 

company in kc

why might it be that thunder and determined rain
make true in me a sense of deep security?
’tis not the cloudless sky nor blue sunshine
but rather raging storms that force sublime
and sure collateral

relentless rhythm, yet impenetrable (except in ways that matter most)
such that i remain unbothered, undeterred
only better understood

or understanding still the company of forces mightier than i
like gratitude in grief or longing in delight
the falling rain finds refuge, a deeper peace
in me tonight

some of us saw february’s lunar eclipse

Some of us lived it.  (See why I love ‘em?)

talk?

All this is flashy rhetoric about loving you.
I never had a selfless thought since I was born.
I am mercenary and self-seeking through and through:
I want God, you, all friends, merely to serve my turn.Peace, re-assurance, pleasure, are the goals I seek,
I cannot crawl one inch outside my proper skin:
I talk of love—a scholar’s parrot may talk Greek—
But, self-imprisoned, always end where I begin.Only that now you have taught me (but how late) my lack.
I see the chasm. And everything you are was making
My heart into a bridge by which I might get back
From exile, and grow man. And now the bridge is breaking. For this I bless you as the ruin falls. The pains
You give me are more precious than all other gains.

–C.S. Lewis, “As the Ruin Falls“

i discovered poetry in the seventh grade

  

John Keats.  Ode on a Grecian Urn.

The procession of a new year – when time can feel to me like it’s standing still for a moment or two – inevitably makes me love the poem all over again.

… Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard
Are sweeter; therefore, ye soft pipes, play on;
Not to the sensual ear, but, more endear’d,
Pipe to the spirit ditties of no tone:
Fair youth, beneath the trees, thou canst not leave
Thy song; nor ever can those trees be bare
Bold Lover, never, never canst thou kiss,
Though winning near the goal yet, do not grieve;
She cannot fade; though thou hast not thy bliss,
Forever wilt thou love, and she be fair …

teach us to be merry with clear hearts

Loving Father, help us remember the birth of Jesus, that we may share in the song of the angels, the gladness of the shepherds, and the worship of the wise men.  Close the door of hate and open the door of love all over the world. Let kindness come with every gift and good desires with every greeting.  Deliver us from evil by the blessing which Christ brings, and teach us to be merry with clear hearts.

May the Christmas morning make us happy to be Thy children, and the Christmas evening bring us to our beds with grateful thoughts, forgiving and forgiven, for Jesus’ sake.  Amen.

–Robert Louis Stevenson (1850-1894), A Christmas Prayer

babish cries … weeping eyes

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Come to your heaven, you heavenly choirs
Earth hath the heaven of your desires;

Remove your dwelling to your God,

A stall is now his best abode;

Sith men their homage do deny,

Come, Angels, all their fault supply.

His chilling cold doth heat require,

Come, Seraphins, in lieu of fire;

This little Ark no cover hath,

Let Cherubs’ wings his body swath;

Come, Raphael, this Babe must eat,

Provide our little Tobie meat.

Let Gabriel be now his groom,

That first took up his earthly room;

Let Michael stand in his defence,

Whom love hath link’d to feeble sense;

Let Graces rock when he doth cry,

Let Angels sing his lullaby.

The same you saw in heavenly seat,

Is he that now sucks Mary’s teat;

Agonize your King a mortal wight,

His borrowed weed lets not your sight;

Come, kiss the manger where he lies,

That is your bliss above the skies.

This little Babe so few days old,

Is come to rifle Satan’s fold;

All hell doth at his presence quake,

Though he himself for cold do shake;

For in this weak, unarmed wise,

The gates of hell he will surprise.

With tears he fights and wins the field,

His naked breast stands for a shield;

His battering shot are babish cries,

His arrows made of weeping eyes,

His martial ensigns cold and need,

And feeble flesh his warrior’s steed.

His camp is pitched in a stall,

His bulwark but a broken wall;

The crib his trench, hay stalks his stakes,

Of shepherds he his muster makes;

And thus as sure his foe to wound,

The Angels’ trumps alarum sound.

My soul with Christ join thou in fight,

Stick to the tents that he hath dight;

Within his crib is surest ward,

This little Babe will be thy guard;

If thou wilt foil thy foes with joy,

Then flit not from the heavenly boy.

 –Robert Southwell; “New Heaven, New War”