There Are Days

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I’m trying something new on this one. In addition to the visual copy of the poem I usually include, I’ve also added an audio clip of me reading it. My hope is that this might allow me to communicate more widely and more clearly. If it goes well with this poem, I’ll try it out again on future selections. Let me know what you think!

I Believe in the Morning

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For about 3 months, I’ve had the inclination to write a poem that begins with, “There’s magic in the morning.” This line has been buzzing around my head because I’ve come to appreciate over the last 10 months how special the early morning hours can be.

I’ve never been one to struggle with getting up in the mornings, but I’ve also never really relished the process either. For most of my life I’ve been a habitual snooze-button-hitter. Until last October, it was not unusual for me to hit the button 3 or 4 times and buy myself an extra half-hour of sleep. Additionally, I would calculate what the absolute latest time was at which I could get up and still be on time for work.

Then, last fall, my wife suggested that we try adding two things to our morning routine: 1) Getting up around 5am, and 2) No more snooze button. Though I was skeptical of both at first, we’ve since come to realize that having a couple of hours in the morning to think, pray, exercise, and chat is a wonderfully calm and alluring way to begin your day. We both look forward to getting up and enjoying the “hopeful hush” that morning brings with it.

Though I had that first line in mind for a while, it wasn’t until this week (on vacation of all places!) that I finally carved out the rest of the poem. We are at a beach house in Rhode Island for a week, and I’ve been allowing myself to sleep in till at least 7 o’clock most mornings. Yesterday, however, my youngest son unintentionally woke me up shortly after 4. Try as I might, I couldn’t get back to sleep. Instead, I decided to walk a block and a half over to the beach and watch the sunrise. I was very glad I did. The entire experience was rewarding, and this poem was born as a result! I especially like the imagery of mornings having something special to share with those who are willing to get up and seek it. I believe this is true, and I’m glad to be in on the secret!

(On a side note, I took a series of panoramic pictures as the sun came up, and I’ve included one of these as the background for the poem!)

Old Things

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Like so many people around the world, I was shocked and saddened to see the news about the fire at Notre-Dame in Paris. Though I’ve never visited this cathedral (I hope to someday), I found its near destruction to be disheartening. I feel like so much of our world and our existence has become virtual and fleeting. (No, this is not an anti-technology or anti-social media rant. I believe both have an important role to play in our lives.) It made me feel a little hollow to think about one of the world’s great ancient treasures going up in smoke.

The fire in Paris coincided with a trip to Washington, D.C. I was on with a group of high school seniors. We spent several days walking through museums and other buildings that either housed relics or were relics in their own right. The juxtaposition of the cathedral disaster and what I was seeing on my trip impressed upon me the value and importance of our ancient treasures. I wrote this poem as a response.

Intersection

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Several months ago I found myself an unwilling observer of a fair amount of silliness and sweetness between a young man and woman in the car in front of me as we all waited at a stoplight. I don’t know how long the average red light lasts, but I’m pretty sure those two lovebirds have even less understanding than I of how short those moments were.

Untitled Poem

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I began writing this poem as a way of thinking about a strange sensation I’ll get every so often when I look down at my hands or use a mirror to look myself in the eye. I was never able to settle on a satisfactory title for the work, but I do refer it unofficially and somewhat tongue-in-cheek as my “Mid-life Crisis Poem.”

Before it Happened

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As our life story is told, the narrative inevitably includes watershed moments. Certain events around which we mark time and through which we are changed irrevocably for better or for worse. At the risk of sounding overdramatic, I’ll say that I experienced one of those watersheds a few months ago when I came to the realization that I needed to leave my job after 11 years. For me, the moments generating the most impact came in the weeks just before I made that decision. It took me a while, but I was eventually able to wrestle this poem out of my confusion, anger, and discouragement. It is the first of several poems I’ve written in this unexpected moment of transition I and my family have entered of late.

My Ribbon of Road

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This poem was inspired by a particular spot on the highway that I pass on my way home from Trader Joe’s each week. Those few brief moments when I drive around the curve and glimpse the mountains of western New Hampshire have become very dear to me. In the midst of the mundane (grocery shopping) is a gorgeous reminder of things elevated and transcendent.

My friend, there are fluttering moments of beauty and peace out there dangling from the treetops. May you find them and hold them dear.

Why Do Some Endure?

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I wrote this poem recently after a quiet walk along a forest road. Although I didn’t realize this when I first started carving out the lines, it occurred to me later that the questions I ask in the poem are ones that I entertain internally every now and again in various contexts. They are, I believe, questions many people ask at critical points in their life.

The Ones Who Say It For Me

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One of my favorite Christian singer/songwriters was recently caught up in a minor kerfuffle about one of his most popular songs. Another Christian recording artist whose platform and audience is much larger covered the song on a new album. Some of the original artist’s more passionate fans (of which I consider myself to be one even though I didn’t have a problem with the cover version) were upset by the new release. They felt that it didn’t do justice to the style of the original, and they wondered aloud through social media why the more popular artist would poach a song from someone with significantly less reach.

The original artist attempted to quell the controversy with a lengthy post online in which he declared the fact that someone else enjoyed his song so much that they wanted to record and release it for themselves to be a great honor—even to the point that he offered insight and feedback as the new version was being produced. Instead of feeling threatened by the cover, he was rejoicing that his words and music would be made available to thousands of more listeners because of the the new version. It was a gracious response, and it’s one of the reasons why he is one of my favorite artists.

It also brought to mind questions I’ve had for sometime about appropriating art. Long before I ever started producing my own writings on a regular basis, I found that certain songs, poems, lyrics, paragraphs, or scenes would resonate with me in such a meaningful way that I would “adopt” them. I would use them for inspiration or encouragement, and I would often pass them on to others in a context that wasn’t necessarily the same as the one envisioned by the original artist. (I still do this fairly often.) To be clear, I’ve never knowingly wielded someone else’s work in a way that was contrary to the original intent. My appropriation of their work likely goes beyond the vision they had when they first created it. Their words or images strike me in a way they may not or could not have foreseen.

Is this wrong? Is this cheap? Is this stealing?

I’ve wondered all these things before.

I wrote this poem as a way of sorting through my questions and as a way of paying homage to all those amazing artists who are so uniquely gifted in saying or showing what I want to say or show but find sometimes that I am unable to.

“My imitation is my gift.”

(Based on the story I referenced at the beginning of this post, it would appear that at least one of those artists agrees with that point of view.)

Enjoy!

Intertwined

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For as long as I can remember, I've had a tenuous relationship with people--collectively speaking.  My relationships with individual people are for the most part healthy and rewarding, but I've always found people in general to be intimidating and enigmatic.  Though not particularly shy, I find that I'm slow to bond, quick to isolate, and generally wary of forming connections with others.  I say this as a matter of fact, fully recognizing that--though some of this can be chalked up to personality bent--a portion of it is the result of flaws in my own character.

Several months ago, I began reflecting on the 10th anniversary of our move to New Hampshire.  I was surprised to realize that I've lived continuously in this location longer than any other place on earth during my life.  The fact seemed weighty (in a good way), and I soon began composing a poem describing some of the changes I've detected in myself over this last decade.

Maybe there's hope for me yet...

Five Seconds per Mile

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I don't primarily think of my poetry as a means of teaching lessons or preaching morals.  I'm not saying there's anything wrong with using a poem in this way.  I just don't view my poetry like that--not usually.  Occasionally, however, a lesson will come along that seems ideally suited to be communicated through a poem. 

Such was the case here.  A few weeks ago, I was relieved one afternoon to find that a storm would pass just to the north of us.  As I listened to the thunderclaps in the distance, I realized that a life lesson was in play.  It is one that applies to weather events and many, many other situations in life.

I hope you'll keep this short verse in mind the next time you hear of a tragedy on the news.

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Down the Stretch

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As a part of my progression into poetry, I've noticed that certain occasions or events lend more poetic inspiration to me than others.

Driving is one of those occasions. When I'm on a long drive, I tend to become more observant of the features around me and more contemplative about my life than I am during my daily routine. There's just something about being held captive in a car with nothing to look at (as the driver) but the land around and the road ahead.

Here's the poem. I hope you enjoy it.

Summer Thunder

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I have been reminded several times already this summer of how powerless I am to protect the ones I love from the harsh realities of life. It's difficult to desire to do something to help but to know that there's not much you can do. I'm sure you have experienced this before. It's exactly how I felt a few weeks ago during a sudden afternoon thunderstorm and rain shower here in NH.

I hope you enjoy it!

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Not Every Mountain

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Okay...at the outset I need to disclose that this poem makes me sound quite altruistic and noble. I guess I'm okay with that as long as you know that it embodies more of what I want to be than what I am.

I found the inspiration to write this one from a phrase that I tend to use a lot. I started thinking about the words, and soon I had the first line of the poem.

As I've watched events unfold around me in recent years, I feel like I've become more aware of the world with all its complexities, nuances, and conflicts. I believe the times demand that we know when to fight, why to fight, and (probably most importantly) how to fight.

I give this poem as a word of advice and encouragement to myself and to anyone who reads it. May we all be "true fighters" in the end.

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On the Evening of March 11, 2018 (Time Change)

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As my interest in writing has increased over the last few years, my interest in photography has also grown. I find a similar objective in both pursuits--to capture the moment. Whether it's through words or images, I love the challenge of zeroing in on the specifics of an instant in time and looking for the beauty, pain, hope, and sadness that can be found therein.

About a month ago, we enjoyed a lovely Sunday afternoon with family celebrating my niece's birthday. As we drove home that evening, I thought with great satisfaction of how pleasant the day had been. I was struck with the strong desire to hit "pause" and relish the day as long as I could. For a few fleeting minutes, "just now was my only ambition in life." (Haven't we all felt that way at one time or another?)

This poem was my best attempt to capture the essence of the day...

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Then The Spring

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For followers of Jesus like myself, tomorrow is the most important day on our religious calendar. The ideas of resurrection and rebirth are central to Christianity. Not all who will read this post are Christians, nor is this specifically an Easter poem. That fact notwithstanding, I think all of us can appreciate the ideas of new beginnings and new life that echo all around us during the springtime. The older I get, the more I find myself longing for that time each year when winter dies and the land "remembers what it can be." I wrote this poem in an attempt to capture my spirit of anticipation about spring's approach and my relief at its arrival.

For those who believe in and celebrate the resurrection of Jesus this weekend, I also wanted the poem to have an undertone of Biblical allusion--death replaced by life, coldness replaced by kindness, captivity replaced by freedom.

Anyway, I hope you enjoy it. Have a wonderful weekend everyone!

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