Saturday, January 29, 2011

My Messy Domain

It seems that I am always playing catch-up with my chores; never enough time nor motivation to get everything done. Fortunately, I leave my current apartment in three months. At least with this deadline, I will have to get things done.

My Messy Domain

I have a little nation;
I've kept it very well,
but not so neat in station
as seasons ought to tell,

for worries, far more pressing
than sums of folded shirts,
and laboring, a blessing
however much it hurts,

exhaust my meager hours
and nibble at my ease.
This de rigueur devours,
by strengthening degrees,

what time I have alloted
to straighten up my realm,
and yet, the course I've plotted
upon this homely helm

will fetch me to a sterile
and surrogate domain,
to open, at my peril,
a new and muddled reign

and reinstill the jumble
that jeopardized my home,
a regent rendered humble
wherever he may roam.

Saturday, January 22, 2011

My Sparrow

The most blessed thing you could boast is a faithful friend, and if that friend also be a lover, you can indeed be called happy no matter what troubles you encounter.

My Sparrow

My comfort is my sparrow, constant friend,
confirmed alike in trouble or in ease
and ready to console; no flighty breeze,
but steady from the onset to the end,

whatever worries dog my weary heart,
for, day to day, I put my bosom trust
in this abiding promise, as I must
if ever love let fly a faithful dart
and raised a vital body from the dust.

Saturday, January 15, 2011


Cold nights and noisy neighbors mean that, for me, a good sleep is rarely had. Add on to that early morning alarms, finals week preparations, and hours spent driving all over God's green earth, and you have a perfect storm. I had thought I might catch up on sleep over Christmas break, but found that I can no longer sleep past 6:30 a.m. I keep telling myself that I'll make up for it all some day soon, but that day never seems to come.


As surely as I lay my head
to rest, recumbent on the down,
the stars align, by compline led
and blessed above our weary town,
and firmly do I follow at the thread
and sable gown

that furls, now, from east to west,
to wind the world in a net;
the artless by an art possessed,
the mind enfolded to forget
such languid life our leisure would invest.
How can I let

my hours fade, so undefined?
They fly as quickly as the frost
and leave me restive and resigned,
a tired debtor. Time is lost,
and even as the stars are realigned
at such a cost.

So take your pleasure as you ply
your bed and berth; the grasping hand
of dawn is greedy and the sky
is reddening. Upon command,
the stars and I exchange a last goodbye
above this land.

Saturday, January 8, 2011


I used to worry that I wouldn't have enough to do with all my free time. I could not have been more wrong. Now, I make do with what minutes and hours (more often the former than the latter) I can grasp. It makes it difficult to find time to write even one short poem during the week; hence, this six-line runt churned out fifteen minutes ago.


I've hurtled through the week
like a careening cannon ball,
too worn to write or speak
and so the pen and paper fall
asleep and silent, meek
as I, but ready at my call.

Saturday, January 1, 2011

Country Stars

An urbanized sky is a sorry thing, with barely a handful of dim and dreary stars. Travel to the country, however, and you will find a treasure trove of brilliant and luminous constellations. It is easy to forget the beauty of God's creation when you spend your life trapped in the hazy, cement walls of a city, but a quick trip to the wilderness will remind you, in an instant, of the inestimable vastness of the universe.

Country Stars

The stars of the city are pale and grey,
a glimmer of heavenly cheer,
awoken to shutter the elderly day
in shadow. This stale career

is all that persists of the glorious crown
that once superseded the earth,
as timid ascension and settling down
deposits the stars in their berth.

But travel a little beyond the divide
that severs the city and wood,
where rivers run deep and horizons are wide
and wild, and then if you should

look up on a cloudless and equable night,
the stars that you see overhead
will glory the sky in a radiant light
that rouses the living and dead.