On the State of Poetry ( and one of my own)

My co-blogger at AMV and friend, Tyler, posted on his personal blog about the state of poetry in our oh-so-post-post-modern-sound-bitey world. Wow, are there some good links there for aspiring poets! The part of his post I liked best:

"Poets should focus on narrative verse as a means of building their readers into more lyric poetry; that we should be using the web as a publication/distribution tool; and that narrative poets should be talking about other poets' work in an effort to get narrative poetry canonized or formally accepted by broad circles of readers."

Tyler often posts his own poetry and I enjoy reading and mulling it over. He is quite skilled. Fourth Month Rosary meant a lot to me. Rua: an elegy of holes is also quite enjoyable. In fact, his blog is a like a galleria of poetry gems.

Anyway, thanks to Tyler's (and Patricia's) example I'm posting one of my own poems today. Enjoy! And, as Tyler says, feedcrack welcome!

Bringing in the Sheep

On the lava plains of Idaho
Puffs of ocher white and brown
Dot the sagebrushed dirt,
Converging in a scrubby, shaded corner.

A streak of peach, a flit of blue, the children,
Brightly colored kites slicing clouds of sheep,
Making storms of fleece
Explode in new directions.

Sheep bleating—
Hooves stamping—
Weeds bending—
Dust swirling—

A voice calls out, half bleat, half croon,
In knowing repetition,
A trail inherent in its weavings.
The flock now moves as one.

Implicit in the shepherd’s voice
Is shelter, food, water,
Familiarity, care, and memory,
Gifts sheep cannot forage for themselves.

Hands feeding—
Fingers feeling—
Tongues licking—
Voices laughing—

Scripture Power?

Last Sunday we had an excellent talk on the scriptures. . . at least I think that's what it was on. Between my twitchy *almost* three year old and my five year old's bloody nose I didn't hear much. However, the few sentences I heard hit me hard.

I've been struggling lately in my scripture study. I don't know why. I mean, I read all the time. Why is it a struggle to read one more thing? I've had times in my life when I felt the Lord's spirit every time I opened my scriptures but not so much now. Some nights when I study the stories (think Alma and Amulek watching the believers get burned or the war chapters) make me feel, well, depressed! Some of the scriptures are just so sad and I just can't take any more sad. Far too often scripture study feels like a burden instead of a gift and I'm not sure how to change that. I know I need to and I suppose prayer is the place to start. . .

What about you all? Do you ever have Church duties that are supposed to make you feel good but end up making you feel worse? What do you do to change your attitude/perspective?

Oh and check out this link to lds.about.com. It's got an inspirational poem and some handy links.

If I Could

A friend of mine is in the RS presidency out here and had the opportunity (if you can call it that) to visit a meth addicted baby in the hospital. Having four of her own children, one just a few months old, she was shattered by the sight of a strung out, five pound, eight week old infant. He's still in the hospital because they are still trying to wean him off the drugs. His mother has lost all rights to the child. She never even saw him. I didn't see the baby either, but he has been in my heart and prayers all day. As my friend told me about him my first thought was, "I'd adopt him! I can be his mother! I can fix this!" But, really, I can't. Even if I could adopt this baby (the baby's father and his extended family are there every minute in the hospital, on rotating shifts, so he won't be alone. The baby really doesn't need me), it wouldn't fix everything. Only Jesus and His infinite love can make it right. Anyway, this is what I've been pondering and, as usually happens with my pondering, I wrote a poem.

IF I COULD (a poem for a meth-addicted baby)

If I could,
The first thing I would do is feed you.
I’d lift your thin and shaking body and hold it to my skin.
I’d let my breath wash over you and to the thrumming of my heart
I’d cradle you against my breast, nourish you with warmth
Inside and out.

Then, if I could,
I’d look into your steely eyes,
I'd run my fingers through your downy hair,
I’d caress your cheeks, your toes, your impossibly tiny hands—
I’d hold them in my own.
I’d smell you and kiss you.
I’d revel in your newness and eternity.

If I could,
I would turn back all the minutes and months that are your life
and make them mine.
I’d be your mother and take you inside me.
I’d make you, protect you, start you all new.

If I could
I would be everything to you.

But I’m not and I can’t. I’m
a witness, a spectator, a bystander—
Outside your spirit,
Outside your body,
Outside your bassinette—
Your life, sterile, unmingled, is your own.
This is your struggle and I’m on the outside
Praying Something will make a difference,
Praying Someone will find a way in.


(this poem is copyrighted by me)

Two Poems worth Mentioning

Yesterday, A Motley Vision, was kind enough to let me post on their blog about my experience with the Church Cultural Arts committee and their yearly art contest. For the past three years I have entered pieces in the contest and found it to be a rewarding experience.

My first year (2005) I received an honorable mention for a play I wrote called Help Me Find My Way. Based on the true story of a friend's grandparents, it follows a young couple through World War II, their marriage, and conversion to the LDS Church. It is completely suitable for ward or stake use; if anyone wants to put it on I'd be happy to send you the script!

The second year (2006) I entered a poem entitled "Consecration" that received the Deseret Recognition award. And then in 2007 I submitted another poem entitled "Bread From Heaven" which also received the award. Since a couple people have requested those poems I decided to post them here!

"Consecration"

Sometimes Holiness has a smell.
Clean and fresh and calm—
Like laundry folded fresh from the dryer,
Like cookies left on a doorstep,
Like a blessed drop of oil.

Holiness also has a sound.
Serene and hushed and unique—
Like a small voice singing,
Like the rustle of scripture seeking,
Like the breath before a testimony.

Holiness has a taste, too.
Light and crisp and clear—
Like orange juice on a Saturday morning,
Like a bit of bread dissolved on the tongue,
Like a tear kissed from a cheek.

And Holiness has a look.
Composed and creative and gentle—
Like a hymn book on a piano,
Like a crayon smudged family “portrait,”
Like two mirrors each reflecting the other.

Of course Holiness has a feel.
Keen and quick and real—
Like the gush of water breaking,
Like a whispered prayer on the lips,
Like a heart that flutters and a chest that burns.

All of it Holiness
Surrounding and moving and being—

All of it
Holiness to the Lord.

"Bread From Heaven"
When the children of Israel entered the wilderness of Sin They were hungry— Hungry, like a bowl left in a cupboard, like a dog shut out in the evening, like a blanket without a bed.
	The children of Israel were hungry And in their hunger They yearned for slavery. They dreamed of Egypt Remembering only its flesh-pots and bread. They thought their hunger would kill them.
And the children of Israel in that wilderness of Sin Were thirsty— Thirsty, like a cup left in a cabinet, like a bird without a bath, like a garden without any rain.
	The children of Israel were thirsty, And in their thirst They questioned the Lord. They doubted the Lord Asking is the Lord among us or not? They thought they would die of their thirst.
The Lord answered them, From without the wilderness of Sin He answered them— With bread from heaven With water smote from a rock And with a challenge.
	The Lord gave them bread and water Bread from Heaven And Living Water To prove them To test them, If they would walk in His law or no. Hungry and thirsty, He could save them.
On Sundays when I enter into my refuge from Sin I am hungry and thirsty, Hungry and Thirsty— like a wandering spirit like a sheep without a Shepherd like a child lost in the desert
	But I need to be hungry and thirsty I need to condition my heart To hunger for forgiveness To thirst for righteousness As I receive bread from heaven, As I drink living water, I see
Hungry and thirsty is the only way I will ever be saved.

(Both these poems are copyrighted by myself and by the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. If you are going to use one let me know!)