Friday, November 30, 2007

Poetry Friday- Barrista

It's been too long since I wrote on demand. While I'm not certain I even can anymore, I intend to give it a try, and what better place to begin than with the link I just found at the Weekend Wordsmith:

30 November 2007, 9:49 AM

The tank behind the couch brings to mind
a Starbuck's barrista, bubbling cheerfully,
constantly about nothing in particular. I find I feel
closed in; somewhat annoyed by the constant,
white noise, though if I close my eyes or sit
on the couch where I can't see the offending tank,
I imagine that sound brilliantly mimics the stream
down the hill, where I would sit today considering
the loveliness of quiet things, if only Winter
had not kept to conventional wisdom which holds,
for whatever reason, that it's better to be late
than to neglect one's appointments entirely.

Thursday, November 29, 2007

Peacefully Mundane

29 November 2007, 8:19 AM

Rays of sun filter in through shutter slats,
by which light I survey the mountains of today.
I can't remember how I came here from despair-
I left the one so long ago, and the journey seemed
so arduous, I had thought it impossible
to force from memory. I had ceased the attempt.
Yet I find I am no longer on the journey- in a sense,
at least, I have arrived. That mountain has been
moved, and I stand amid a peaceful sort of
mundanity in which I find rest from the steps,
the tears,
the blood by which I entered into such.


28 November 2007, 7:50 PM

Sometimes I am so very like
Puddleglum, content with nay-saying,
casting the worst case as inevitably given.

Against evidence, Beloved.

So many good and perfect
gifts have come to us in so short a time,
and though the curses have multiplied,
so much more have the blessings,
and neither do we bear alone.

Saturday, November 24, 2007

Another Eulogy

24 November 2007, 8:15 PM
Bernice Imogene Pope
during Great Vespers

I wonder if I’m being
irreverent, taking time during Great Vespers
to remember his coveralls, her cotton
dresses I so wish I could hold now,
take in a smell I’ve all but forgotten
since last I embraced their sound, their feel,
their willingness to stand in the south Texas heat
until they could no longer see
my parents, my siblings and me.

I’d give almost anything for one more
breakfast of sausages, biscuits, gravy,
pancakes and Brer Rabbit syrup,
and the cranberry juice that accompanied
every one of her meals. I recall with a smile
she was never dreadfully shy about why.

She had a picture garden in her den. I don’t know
who started it- perhaps the previous Matriarch,
Ma Walker- regardless, Grandmother taught me
without a word, and that’s saying a lot:
she did precious little in silence.

Her ring- the one given her by my Granddad-
was once marked as mine, an heirloom
handed down to me someday when she was gone.
I find I am reluctant to receive so precious a gift,
knowing she is now, in truth, gone.

New site...

For those of you who read my poetry, here is a new site named which my Beloved is currently constructing for my artwork. I'm kind of excited about it, though I have no way of getting word out except through this blog, and I have no idea how many readers I have. Nonetheless, the opportunity for my work to be seen by more than just family and close friends is very exciting. My poetry was well received when I first began posting three or four years ago. I hope those same people will enjoy the visuals which go along with the poetry.

Memory Eternal

My grandmother passed away early Wednesday morning. It seemed particularly appropriate, though it would have been even more appropriate on Thanksgiving. She always made a fantastic meal. I'll miss her dretful. On Monday she'll be laid to rest beside Granddad beneath a liveoak tree in a small cemetery behind Friendship Methodist Church in south-central Texas.

Mistress of Meals

Bernice Imogene Pope, 20 November 2007
Maria Vesper Cavalcanche Lyra Butler, 21 October 1999
Rodney Butler, 21 April 1999
Marvin Ellis Pope, 9 March 2005
Lynette Hoppe, 27 August 2006
Marcus Fiesel, 3 years old, August 2006
Abigail Beatrix Yandell, 13 February 2007
Margie Winzinger, 7 April 2007 (Great & Holy Saturday)

Beauty of Ashes

24 November 2007, 12:03 PM

What matters most,
Beloved, is no longer living in fear
of emotion,
of color,
of light and life and goodness-

of beauty

evincing all I have attained
as cold, dry, dead ash, inert
for want of one to walk the road
beside me toward redemption.


22 November 2007, 11:32 AM
Grandmother Pope

Fifteen years ago,
we gathered at your table for a feast
we’d anticipated days on end beforehand.

I find myself relieved to have
a memory I don’t regret, one I’d go back to
if I could, for just a moment, to ask you
if granddad’s stories are true- the ones
he tells about how he lost his finger-
and to help you make yeast rolls
while the boys play football on the lawn
in the south Texas autumn.

Makes it hard at times to celebrate the day
any other way, remembering now
that you’re gone.

Windy Day

25 May 2004

The tide is turning.
I stand on the cusp of life
awaiting rebirth.

Saturday, November 10, 2007

My daughter's artwork...

The gril told me, "You can post it on your website, if you want..." Hehehe... If you look at my avatar, you'll see some similarities.

Monday, November 05, 2007

True Colors

I rediscovered an old song today- a favorite from highschool. I haven't heard it in at least ten years, or at least I haven't listened to it in that long. The words struck me profoundly after a long absence, and a decade of life not being what I thought it would be.


You with the sad eyes
Don't be discouraged
Oh I realize
It's hard to take courage
In a world full of people
You can lose sight of it all
And the darkness inside you
Can make you feel so small

But I see your true colors
Shining through
I see your true colors
And that's why I love you
So don't be afraid to let them show
Your true colors
Your true colors are beautiful,
Like a rainbow

Show me a smile then,
Don't be unhappy, can't remember
When I last saw you laughing
If this world makes you crazy
And you've taken all you can bear
You call me up
Because you know I'll be there

And I'll see your true colors
Shining through
I see your true colors
And that's why I love you
So don't be afraid to let them show
Your true colors
Your true colors are beautiful,
Like a rainbow

Saturday, November 03, 2007

Maria's Artwork

I met someone out at Talon Vineyard today who makes beautiful hand-dyed silk scarves and ties (if she had a website, I'd gladly post it). I talked with her a bit about painting and artistic expression, and told her I'd post some of my paintings and sketches. So, Lady of the Painted Scarves (a.k.a. Suzanne), here they are.

Thursday, November 01, 2007

Less Than a Poet

1 November 2007, 7:53 AM

I need quiet,
or this gift dissolves
and I become less
than a poet.

In silence I
sit, therefore; ponder
where I’ve wandered since
the last words fell

from my pen; found
voice outside myself,
affirmation and

I can’t recall
when last, where nor why
I found time to weep
or laugh or fly-

no mystery
I find myself oft’
dying, not knowing
now how to live.

George MacDonald

"Home is ever so far away in the palm of your hand, and how to get there it is of no use to tell you. But you will get there; you must get there; you have to get there. Everybody who is not at home, has to go home."

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