On the Mind

In my attempt to become a better poet through rigourous discipline, I have sometimes experimented with stream of consciousness poems. I always find this interesting, though I rarely understand them, especially if they come from my mind. Below is a stream of consciousness poem I wrote a couple of nights ago, and for whatever reason, I find it really quite fascinating. However, I am at a loss to understanding it. If there is anyone out there who would like to analyze this poem or grant some feedback, I would be most obliged.

The Messenger

The trees drip
Rain
Snow
Fluffy white clouds
In my head
I'm drowning
Deep
In the sea
In the dark
Where the shifting twilights
Come alive
To snatch away
Homes
And lives
And make misery
Reign
Like a fool
On a throne
For apes
Where mockery
Sings
A mournful song
That no one knows
Though they hum along
At empty tables
In the shadows
Waiting
For a finale
To lull them
To sleep.

On Aesthetics

I find myself surprised sometimes by how much I truly love beauty. I am an aesthete. Things that are beautiful intrigue me, inspire me, ellicit an emotional response from even me. Sometimes I forget that this is so true. I am not sure how this is even possible considering my artistic nature, but I find myself time and time again reawakened to this intense affection I have for true beauty.
Especially in nature.
This weekend several of my friends and I went on a road trip to New Castle, Indiana. Anyone who has been to New Castle can tell you that it is not an especially beautiful city. In fact, much of the city is rather run down. It has its nicer sectors as most cities do, but there is an awful lot that is decrepit there. While there, the four of us managed to have some fantastic fellowship and even rest, although we had to sacrifice some productivity to accomplish this. I think it was worth it.
Well, in the midst of this merriment, we took some time out of one day to hang out at an apple orchard. I am so glad to live in a region where such places exist. I feel bad for all those in Florida who are limited to oranges and will never get to experience the great joy that can be found at an apple orchard. Not only was this an orchard, however, but it was an orchard in full swing for the middle of fall. There was a pumpkin patch, gallons and gallons of freshly made cider from the season's still unfinished harvest, bushels of apples, hot cider, cider slushies, and even apple cinnamon donoughts, an astounding creation of which I had never before partaken, but which I quite enjoyed. Outside of this particular apple orchard, there happened to be a number of large hay bales, stacked several layers high, so as to reach a height around twelve feet. Those who know me well no of my great fondness for climbing just about anything that will hold my weight. Fortunately, I am blessed with, and was accompanied on this occasion by friends who are aware of the truth that maturity does not mean forgetting how to play (this became quite evident during an impromptu pillow fight, but I will not go into those details). These hay bales were certainly intended as a mountain to be scaled by young adventurers visiting the orchard, but as there were no children about when we stood before the mound, we made it our own for the briefest span of time. We climbed, jumped, ran, posed (there were a couple of cameras being used to their fullest capacity), and altogether had a good time. I have such wonderful friends.
The sky on that day was remarkable. It had been dreadfully windy the day before and would be raining later in the day, but while we were out on our venture, heaven was made manifest before our unworthy eyes (note the aesthete in me coming out). On the way to the orchard, I sat in what has come to be known as the way-back of Alice, my good friend's station wagon in which we took our tour of central Indiana. This was one of the classy station wagons featuring a seat in the very back that faced the rear of the car. As I sat there looking out the rear window, I could see autumn trees wafting beneath an azure sky thick with glistening clouds as hard at play as we would be on those hay bales. When we arrived and I was finally let out of the car (the rear hatch requires a key on the outside to be opened), it was remarked that I had hardly said a word on the whole way there. I could not help it. I was watching the astounding sky unveiled before me. During our time at the orchard, I happened to snag a friends camera for a spell, and I promptly filled it with pictures of those majestic clouds. This is not the first time I have done so either. Skies, especially clouds, fascinate me. Part of it may be their artistic mystery to me. Try as I might, I have never managed to accurately capture the beauty of clouds. I know there are artists who can, but to capture them as they appear is a feat as yet beyond me. However, I think that in truth, it is simply their incredible beauty. The return trip from the orchard was very much the same. I was mostly silent as I watched the billowing angels. That very day, we left New Castle. As we were driving, the aforementioned rain clouds began to gather ahead of us, but before they could throw off their yokes, we got to watch the sunset. Another reason I love clouds: the unfathomable things they do when the sunsets. I could not even begin to describe what the sun did that day. Pictures were taken, but I maintain that it would be impossible for them to come anywhere near capturing what passed that day.
This morning, I woke up to behold a few loose patches of snow still clinging to the shadows. By the time I stepped outside, they had vanished, but there was still a chill in the air nipping at my bare legs and arms. My father has always said, "If you don't like the weather in Indiana, wait ten minutes." Today has certainly been the proof of that statement. They day is not even over and we have had clouds, sunshine, rain, and snow. While I was sharing breakfast with a friend, she remarked that there was a rainbow outside. Sure enough, there it was. Rainbows are incredible. Anyone who tries to belittle them for those things with which they are associated is close minded and incredibly pitiable for not being able to enjoy their beauty. Well, my curiosity got the better of me. I went to the window to get a better view of this age old message from God, and I noticed that it went a lot higher than I anticipated. Excited now, I went outside to see it and observed a complete rainbow, rising from the horizon, singing in the clouds, and than descending once again. I received so much joy from that experience.
I am such an aesthete.
I am blessed to be such.

On the Furtherance of my Thoughts on Joy

I do not often post this frequently, but last night I wrote a post on joy, the latter portion of which was concerned with that joy which I found in beholding the fresh morning frost. What I did not anticipate while writing that blog post is that a few short hours later, I would then write a poem pertaining to this very theme. Had I but known, I could have added this poem to it. However, I shall simply have to increase the number of my blog posts by adding this today.

Frost

I passed the frost this morning
It was leaving as I was coming
Our greeting was friendly
As his smile met mine
His handshake was as firm as ever
And left my hand chilled
With stiffness in the joints.
How I had missed him
I'm always glad to see him round
My gentle friend
Heading south this time of year
Painting as he goes
The most skilled of painters is he
Applying his brush
To every leaf
His work has always been my favourite.
Perhaps another day
We'll spend more time together
My friend, the frost, and I.

It was only after rewriting this in blog form that I realized it could be misconstrued by an overly analytical person who knows of my love for Robert Frost. Huh. Well, as much as I enjoy the work of that brilliant man, this poem does not in any way pertain to him. There is only personification in this poem. Don't look for symbolism and such. At least in this poem...

On Joy

I have recently gotten the opportunity to share in the joy of two of my closest friends. One of them recently entered into a relationship that has been anticipated for some time. It has been a long journey and I was fortunate (or unfortunate) enough to share in just about every rise and fall and twist and turn that has brought her this far. I am so happy for her. Another of my friends recently got a job for which she had been hoping for quite some time. It was such a huge answer to prayer for her, and it is something she deserves. Somehow I knew she would get it, although there was a long wait between the final interview and word that she has officially received the position. I am so happy for her as well. I found out about both of these joyous circumstance in the same night within almost an hour of eachother. My heart was almost bursting for my friends. I had been hoping with and praying for these friends for a long time and to have such radically positive answers to these prayers was astounding. God is faithful. I know he does not always give us the answers that we seek, but he always knows exactly how to bless us.
I did get to partake of a little joy of my own. It was not quite so dramatic as the situations surrounding my friends, but it was joy nonetheless.
There was frost this morning.
That is not earth changing news. It went unremarked or unnoticed by many people surrounding me, but I was ready to celebrate it. My heart leapt when I looked out of my window to see a field of grass with every blade polished with silver. Fall is securely here now. The leaves have been revealing themselves more and more, but now they are going to hasten to glory. Autumn is by far my favourite season, and this was a sign that it is approaching its climax. And today was such a glorious day to bring this first frost. The sun is shining brightly, but the air is brisk, and there are chill gusts of wind drifting in and out. I love it. Fall is so wonderful.

On Emulation

I am going to be a writer, of some sort. Of that much I am certain. However, the question remains, what sort of writer am I to be?
I have dreamed of being a writer for almost as long as I can remember. I actually don't know if I ever actually considered anything else. My parents probably know. Regardless, for a long time, I have also aspired to be like other writers. Usually it was my favourite author at the time, but sometimes it was merely one that interested me. I have sought to emulate the sci-fi imagination of H. G. Wells, the incredible and gripping plot complexity of Alexandre Dumas, the virtuosity, scholarly simplicity, and skill for parable of C. S. Lewis, the scope of J. R. R. Tolkien, the poetry and prolificity of Shakespeare, the character development of Dickens, and the sheer brilliance of Dostoevsky. All of these, especially Lewis and Shakespeare, have inspired me greatly. At times, I have thought, if only I could write like that. Think what I could do or say if I could write like that.
I'm sick of it.
It is time I was through with that.
I want to write like Greg. I want to write novels and plays and poetry and maybe even more. I don't want to try to be like another writer because at the very best, I could only stand in their shadow, especially if I pick such giants as those aforementioned. There is nothing wrong with having influences, but I want to write the way I write, and I'll leave it to the scholars to figure out like whom I am most similar.
So there.

On a Really Thick Novel by Tolstoy...ish

An Ode to General Sherman...ish

Hell

This is war
Seven-hundred thousand men
Marching out to save the day
Seven-hundred thousand men
Marching out to meet their fate
Seven-hundred thousand strong
Seven-hundred thousand gone
Ours is not to reason why
Ours is but to do and die
Die and
Die and
Die and
Die and
Kill
So we must
Peace is easy
But war is hard
As women and their children flee
To prevent a further atrocity
And we raise our guns
To attack
The enemy marches on
This is war
The enemy marches on
To attack
And we raise our guns
To prevent a further atrocity
As women and their children flea
But war is hard
Peace is easy
So we must
Kill
And die
And die
And die
And die
Ours is but to do and die
Ours is not to reason why
Seven-hundred thousand gone
Seven-hundred thousand strong
Marching out to meet their fate
Seven-hundred thousand men
Marching out to save the day
Seven-hundred thousand men
This is war

This poem (along with my multiple uses of ellipses and the suffix -ish) probably does a pretty good job of showing how vague are my feelings toward war. They are more vague than my feelings on capital punishment, but far less vague than my feelings on pacifism itself. These have always been very tricky areas for me, and I have never been able to do anything more than lean toward a certain stance for any of them. I cannot commit to a position, although I know how dangerous it can be to sit on the fence. These are such annoying topics. Can there be a necessary evil? I don't know.
For those of you possibly wondering about the General Sherman line, several of the lines in this poem were inspired by his words and actions, though it is not exactly about him.

On the Practice of Pain

I've been thinking a lot lakely about the question of pain.
I have experienced very little real pain in my life, but I have had to learn to thank God for the pain that I have had. I'm trying at any rate. Sometimes I lose focus. Then it just sucks. For the most part, I try to take it to him.
For years I have suffered with chronic migraines. They are awful. When one comes, it tends to take me away from wherever I am, because I simply can't focus on things. Pain can be remarkably overwhelming. My understanding of these migraines has had to change many times over the years. Scripture has been one of my strongest bulwarks in dealing with them. The greatest encouragement has come from 2 Corinthians 12:7-10: "To keep me from becoming conceited because of these surpassingly great revelations, there was given me a thorn in my flesh, a messenger of Satan, to torment me. Three times I pleaded with the Lord to take it away from me. But he said to me, "My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness." Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ's power may rest on me. That is why, for Christ's sake, I delight in weaknesses, in insults, in hardships, in persecutions, in difficulties. For when I am weak, then I am strong." This has become one of the most important passages to my faith. God has used it remarkably. The pain of my migraines has also driven me to deeper faith in prayers. I believe that I truly learned to pray while wrestling with vice grip tightened on my nerves during my headaches.
This summer, I also had to deal with some intense and rather humiliating pain. I hurt my leg at the beginning of the summer by jumping off of a swing. Really, Greg? Really. Unfortunately, I was a camp counselor all summer, which meant that I really needed my leg, and I continued to use it, despite my extreme discomfiture and pain. And this pain did not go away. It lingered all summer; sometimes better, sometimes worse. Because my summer was so hectic, I did not make it to a doctor until two months after the actual injury, and (lucky me) the doctor could not find anything, so he told me to rest it. I had a hard time dealing with this pain, not physically, I dealt with that alright, but emotionally I suppose. It was a big shot to my pride. Then, afterwords, I just wanted it to go away. I wanted to move on (thorn in the flesh, anyone?) and be back to carefree Greg again. Silly me. The question is so often asked, why do we willingly accept good from our father, but not the bad? God sees a whole lot more than we can, and what we consider bad is not always what he considers bad. I am not at all referring to good and evil here, I am speaking strictly of circumstances. I finally listened to God enough to realize that he wanted me to just accept the pain. Well that sucked, but I eventually got to the point where every time my leg pained me, I was able to thank God for it. And gradually, it started healing. It is still not a hundred percent, but after what I put it through this summer, what should I expect?
Well this is plenty of exposition, but it still says very little about my thoughts on pain. I suppose it says a lot, but not very clearly. Suffering is one of those incredibly tricky questions. It's very existence is enough to sometimes drive people away from believing in a benevolent God. Christians, of course have plenty of explanations for this, and many of them are very valid. Suffering is caused by the wrong choices of others, by the effects of our own wrong choices, by consequences for sin, because of sin. I could expostulate a great deal on these, but that is not really my purpose in writing this.
I think pain can only be defined by how you respond to it. Pain will make you or break you. You can fight it, cling to it, deny it, ignore it, fall to it, or overcome it. No matter what you do, pain will make you a different person. They say, "Whatever doesn't kill you makes you stronger" (or stranger if you are a fan of the Joker). Unfortunately, the Joker's version is more accurate. Pain leaves scars of some sort. Some will make you tougher, some will leave you disabled. A big part is how you respond to it. If you are paying attention, you will see how pain can make you grow.
Sometimes people say that in a perfect world, such as we will have in heaven or would have had if man had not sinned, there would be no pain. I do not know if that is true. How much do we learn through experiencing pain? Think about it. You learn not to touch a hot frying pan because it hurts. Building muscle is only significant because it requires enduring pain to get there. A rose is more beautiful for it's thorns (if you ask me at any rate). God created both light and darkness. Contrast is beautiful. Part of me believes that in a perfect world, we would still learn through pain. Let us not forget that at the fall, God said that pains would be greatly increased; he did not say they would be experienced for the first time. I think if you fall on gold paving stones, you still skin your knee. But God is our father. He picks us up when we fall off our bike.
Perhaps I am wrong about all this. Or at least some of it. I have only ever known a broken world that experiences pain. It is hard to conceive of a world where there is none. Perhaps my mortal mind is just too small.

On Cloud Cover

I enjoy grey skies. I do not understand why some people see an overcast sky and think it an ugly day. Just because the rays of the sun are diffused between a bunch of drops of water doesn't mean that the world is any less beautiful. A photographer will tell you how much he loves it when a nice cloud rolls in front of the sun. It removes the worry over shadows.
Perhaps it is just a personal preference. When it comes to weather, I tend to have different tastes than most people. In addition to taking great delight in the warmth of a summer sun, I also love standing in the rain and letting it fall down my face. What is more, I enjoy the cold and wear shorts even when it is below forty degrees outside. I just love weather. Maybe I am meant to live in England, where the skies are more often grey and damp, where I can more often enjoy the beauty of the fog. It is quite common there, and I already have a great affection, both for their writers and for their spelling, as anyone who has read much of my writing could certainly affirm. I do not know why, but I am quite a big fan of that country. However, I do not think I am meant to live in England; maybe for a spell, but not forever.
Well, these reflections have been rather random, but it was time for a new post. I shall follow with something deeper soon.