Author: faithhealthandmusings

When life offers us so rich a bounty of inspiration, how can we help but to reflect in writing all that climbs into our hearts and takes up residence there?

On Spirit

I find it difficult

to write

poems of

spirit and faith —

a challenge

that surprises me,

for there are, truly,

few moments

more poetic

than casting my heart

onto the ground,

crying out to my Creator,

in desperate hope and distress,

for relief from the boulders

that burden me to the earth.

What do you carry in your heart but struggle to write about?

Firestone Friday: Poem XIII

I can tell

by my heartbeat

that there’s

something in you

that makes my body

to slam

against its very walls.

 

Wordsmith Wednesday: Poem XIII

Thrown by your howling wind

and soaked in your tempest rain,

I reach for you,

wondering how you put

this thunder

in my ears.

Touchstone Tuesday: Poem VIII

A poem is not a poem
if it doesn’t rhyme.
And a song isn’t music
if it’s out of time.
Language isn’t proper
if the grammar falls,
and a piece isn’t literature
until a publisher calls.

But, the listener laughs,
for he knows
that art is actually
full of shadows —
without rhythm
and without form,
art isn’t order
but, instead, a wild storm.
To burden word
with prescriptive rules
and to press down expression
as if a footstool
is to empty art
of its power,
to pluck to death
a vibrant flower.

–Strong Language

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Painful Paradox

We’re creatures

so paradoxically made

that we need

pain

dishealth

and heartbreak

to compel us

into self-discipline,

consequences so

grave and horrifying

that we

almost reach out

to good behavior.

Imagine a beast

so depraved

that it cannot

even act

in its own

favor.

What’s Art Good For?

“What will you do 
with your degree?” 
 “Create art.” 
“And what’s art good for?” 
Preventing your lunch break 
from remaining the most interesting 
thought to captivate you today. 

Firestone Friday: Poem XII

I think we’re drawn

into cold, unilluminated humans

because we believe there is

— there has to be —

something greater

unseen beyond

that shadowy veil,

something

inestimable,

protected,

inaccessible.

So, our imaginations

run unchained:

the more unyielding

the object of desire,

the more alluring,

the more opulent,

we fashion the world

that must flourish within them.

And we scale the walls,

taking daily pains

to climb a little farther,

until we crest the edge,

only to find a flickering street lamp

suspended above a littered lot,

with Sadism leaned up against a rusted barrel,

taking a long drag of her cigarette

and picking at old scabs.

 

Talismans

Words are talismans

from the places

we’ve traveled

and the people

we’ve been,

and the word

I carry in my chest,

favored above all,

is your

name.

Wordsmith Wednesday: Poem XII

Poets have long

ached to veil desire

in flowery coverings

to transform emotion

into art.

But what’s more

boldly inspired

than a heart,

naked,

crying out

for you?