Ashes and Dust (poetry reading)
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Tag Archives: life
The Story Collector
I listen on the cell phone as the coverage cuts in and out
Straining to hear every word, listen to the emotion there
As across the connection comes the other’s fear and doubt
But in the tear drenched words there is a gift beyond compare
They have trusted me with their story, I’ll hold it close to me
For that is what story collectors do for the world that they see
A family comes from across the country to gather together
To remember a man who made an impact on their life
And I sit and listen, collecting as their memories untether
As tears and laughter mix with joy and love, pain and strife
They have trusted me with their story, I’ll hold it close to me
For that is what story collectors do for the world that they see
So often, they wonder, those whose stories I’ve heard
How I can enter these times of hurt, loss and despair
It’s not always easy to enter the pain, to carry each word
But the gift that they’ve given is beyond all compare
They have trusted me with their story, I’ll hold it close to me
For that is what story collectors do for the world that they see
The stories I gather will never be committed to paper and ink
For they are shelved in my mind, locked in my memory’s circulation
But in my mental library holds them so that when I think
I can learn from all of their lives, struggles and perspiration
They have trusted me with their story, I’ll hold it close to me
For that is what story collectors do for the world that they see
The Rules
Afghan children playing soccer in front of the ruined Darul Aman Palace on the outskirts of Kabul from http://www.dawn.com/news/1050835
When we were children and the game wouldn’t go our way
We would reinvent the rules of the game so that we might win
And others around us would cry out unfair, you changed the rules
But in our childish foolishness we believed we were masters of the game
And the rules could be bent to serve our needs and wants and desires
In a world that was bound in an orbit with us at the center
Yet, when we were older the rules became hardened in the game of life
Others stepped in as referees ensuring that we played by some rulebook
We were never allowed to study or read but which defined the roles
We were expected to play in work, at home, in relationship and in life
And if we dared to cry out that the rules were unfair we would be penalized
For the rules couldn’t be bent to serve our wants and needs and desires
In a world that was bound in an orbit where we are not the center
But sometimes the game of life breaks us leaving us shattered on the field
The rules we tried to work within only served to beat us down and confine us
The game became a sentence in which we were expected to serve our term
And the referees became the warden keeping us imprisoned within our cells
For the rules were there to keep a check on our wants and needs and desires
In a world that was binds us in orbit to someone else’s sun
But sometimes there is wisdom in childhood in knowing the rules can change
In reinventing the rules that don’t work and ignoring the self-appointed referees
In playing a game where we might flourish and our lives matter
Where we can once again believe that we are the masters of the game
And the rules could be bent to serve our needs and wants and desires
In a world no longer forced to orbit around someone else’s star
Long Lost
By Alfred Jensen (1859-1935) – The Bridgeman Art Library, Object 225483, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=24979280
At the time we were inseparable, two mates encountering life
But time has its way of pulling apart and placing an ocean between
Colleagues and friend braving the stormy seas of life
Divided as the four winds blew our sails differently
Every now and again I look back across the seas of time
For friends who traveled with me for a part of my journey
Going along as we sailed the currents for the time allotted
However currents shift and winds pull and times separate
I’ve had so many friends in the various ports I’ve called home
Journeying like a merchant marine through my life’s journey
Kindness encountered and given from one friend to another
Long lost except in our memories and recollections of the journey
This is a part of the intro to poetry posts, day 3 where the prompt is friend and the challenge is to use an acrostic (line beginning with a progression of letters either to spell something or like above alphabetically)
Mosaic
Mosaic from the parish church of Saint Michael and Saint Peter, Antwerp
Looking back on all the pieces of my life
Is not like looking at a picture composed on a canvas
That brings together the palette of colors and shades
To paint a portrait of a person who emerges whole
Stepping forth from the dreams and imagination
Nor is it like a sculpture chiseled out of the stone
Seeing the beauty that rested within the raw resources
Standing unchanging and immovable once complete
Where the finished product is merely a skilled refining
Calling forth the potential residing within the granite
No, the artist who worked on my life must love mosaics
Being able to pull together the discordant colors and jagged edges
Patiently arranging the broken pieces to see something larger
Seeing something of hidden beauty among the broken shards
Using the mortar of life to bring together the shattered stone
Living Brave Reflection 11- Integrating Stories
Mosaic from the parish church of Saint Michael and Saint Peter, Antwerp
I’ve often joked that the pieces of my story don’t easily fit together in one life. I was a civil engineering major in college, an officer in the military, a seminarian and later a pastor. I lived in seven states in my adult life (which means I’ve moved frequently) am a father to two kids both very bright. I had to figure out how I would raise my son who is high functioning autistic and be a long distance father to my daughter after my divorce. I had to figure out how to date again in my late 30s and early 40s and then learn how to be married again after being single for five years. I’ve had to go back to the moments of crisis and learn from them, seeing the ways in which they knit together all the different pieces of the story. How the heartbreaks could lead to a new place of wholeness and healing and how the transitions became the opportunity for new beginnings and adventures. It hasn’t always been easy but overall it has been good. I wouldn’t be the person that I am today without any one piece of my story, but my story is (hopefully) far from over and I have a lot I still want to write.
In many respects I am amazed at how far I have come. The journey has changed me in drastic ways but I am proud of who I have grown to be. I may not always be the hero in my own narrative, life is more complex than that, but I feel like I have grown wiser in the joy and suffering of my life. There are times where I regret the opportunities to show kindness that I turned away from but I am also cherish the times where I was compassionate enough to see another’s need and not to turn away. There may be times where I was an easy mark, where forgiveness left me vulnerable to being hurt again and yet, I wouldn’t change that. That is a part of the person I want to be, a person who can see the best in others and can hope to make a difference in some small way.
Perhaps the learning comes from the way in which I have allowed myself the grace to be the complex mosaic of stories and experiences and feelings that I am. Rather than trying to mold myself into some monolithic image to allow the plurality of facets of myself to be seen. Perhaps a part of the difference between the immediate emotion and the later understanding of the broader story comes in the forgiveness I can extend to others and me, in learning to be open to not just giving help but receiving it. Perhaps in learning the story of my own heart and claiming it I have found the courage to own my stories and to enjoy living with them not in some nostalgic way, longing to return to the past, but more as pieces of a journey that brought me to the place I am today.
All That Is Solid Dissolves Into Air
When the air becomes heated hotter than the smith’s forge
And the pillars of the earth begin to falter under the heat and pressure
When cynicism strips away every foundation, every dream, every hope
And all that is solid dissolves into air.
In that breathless, lifeless landscape of an atomistic existence
That tears apart the ties that bind under conditions of molecular fission
The stories told, the dreams cherished and the hopes nurtured burn
When all that is solid dissolves into air.
Can fusion reemerge from the fission and the foundations be sunk anew?
Can the furnace of our destruction be quenched and the pressure released?
For the atom rich air has no place left for the complexity of life
Until that which was dissolved becomes solid again.
In the Moment
Mechanical Clock by jimking@deviantart.com
Fired Clay
We often see the fragility that comes from the way in which our beings are made
The manner in which we are so easily chipped and broken by the hard places of life
We may wish we were made of sterner stuff like iron or bronze
Or that we bore the shine of silver or gold or some precious stone
But we mortal beings bear our treasures in the fired clay of the earth
Formed from the mud and our varied shapes formed upon the wheel
Yet, it is the kiln of life that locks us into our true form
And no glaze can disguise that reality that we are pots needing to be filled
Yet one stunning revelation in the midst of this season of the Spirit
That lights upon the apostles as flames of fire consuming the past
Lighting the way to a new and uncertain future for them and those who follow
But one truth of ceramics for all their flaws and weaknesses
Is their ability to absorb the heat of the flame, for they were formed in it
Unlike metals they retain the heat rather than transmitting it to the world around
They are able to bear the creative fire of the spirit’s presence into the world
Without the world around them being consumed by heat of holiness
In their mortality and fragility they are suited to a task no other can manage.
Neil White, 2014
Frozen- A Poem
As the earth reaches the point where water turns to ice
And life retreats into the caves and crevasses of the world
In a valiant attempt to retain the heat that it has stored up
From the new life of spring and the warmth of summer
Hiding away from the slow creeping death of cold
Trying to survive until the warm air renews the earth again
Winter has arrived and in it is a time where the earth yield not its fruit
Where the sun disappears behind the clouds and shortens it trek along the sky
And for a season the north winds and the cold nights reign supreme
While the creatures of spring hide away or flee towards the lands of summer
Until the transitory ice age passes and the waters melt and life returns
Neil White, 2013
Sign of the Rose 