A Glimpse of Starlight

Week 1

Would you look at that? A week’s flown by already. How did it go for everyone? Mine was less eventful than the one before, which was a blessing. And NaPoWriMo! It’s been going well, though it seems I can’t write a short poem for the life of me. I’m not sure that’s necessarily bad—it’s just my style—but I don’t want to be wordy to the point of being superfluous or unnecessary. I could probably afford to learn some simplicity and succinctness. Speaking of which, if you guys have any critiques, do share. And, of course, enjoy!

see the girl

day 9

 

see the girl tipping her head back

beneath the strewn stars,

breathing in their light and the coolness of night

 

see the girl flying on the swing,

loose hair painting sky,

laughter mingling with the breeze and the sigh of the trees

 

see the girl off to the side

admist chatter and laughter,

soaking in the meaning behind trivilaities and personalities

 

see the girl running down the street,

wet with sweat and red as a rose,

panting and burning, alive as a sunrise in the vast skies

 

see her glowing and growing

see her dancing and fighting

see her falling and righting

see her trying and flying

 

see that girl?

she is a world

Stagnant Seconds

day 10

stagnant wood pool murk

like that terrible fear that

one day you’ll tip your head back

and the stars will no longer stun

time just exists—

but it doesn’t,

just a figment of our frenzied

desperation for domination—

just pulls everything into

its numbing nothingness

stretch of year after year after—

a blur, all the lives and loves,

all our imperfect shining,

reduced to a blur as brown

as the dirt we mindlessly trample

funny how this counting of seconds

 makes nothing count—

how?

I need the stars to stagger me,

need history to matter,

humanity,

life—lives

those must last beyond

the interminable eddy time drags all

memories into

funny how it rushes ever forward,

untameable, unstoppable,

as water through fingers, sand

(sand in a glass),

yet stangancy is all it ever reaches

~

when did we ever convinces ourselves

that we were made to be bound by time?

Story Soul

day 12

sometimes I marvel

that we have been graced

with this wonder of words

that we, dawn dew soon gone,

posses this infinite power,

this unimaginable glory—

we, little we, sing a story!

~ 

sometimes I question

how we can ever hope

to fit the forever of our souls,

the cosmos and complexity of us,

into flat, clumsy symbols

infinitely meager in meaning—

words, little words: so demeaning!

~ 

letters and language are not, I know,

made in His image like a human life

but then I realize that He is the Word

so we are formed after phrases after all

~ 

and that is, perhaps, the answer—

He, I mean, of course is the answer

in that He is both soul and story,

all One perfect, inseparable harmony

~ 

why do we always try to separate

what has always been together?

Whiteout

day 15

What I wouldn’t give for a whiteout for

These scribbled-over pages of life

(But the ink’s still there, under everything)

 

What I wouldn’t give for a rewind for

This film of failure in need of editing

(But you can’t get it right in a thousand redos)

 

What I wouldn’t give for a delete for

Those wrong choices fed by lying voices

(But now there’s a hole, a hiccup in the story)

 

Look what I have been given: forgiveness for

All the regrets, mistakes, and disobedient days

(And the ink’s washed white,

Perfection’s already prevailed,

Words re-woven into a masterpiece)