Poetry: Symbolic Innisfree

Symbolic Innisfree

I will arise and go now, to meet the Trinity -
And a small temple build there, for the Spirit’s fire made.
In Him, my soul exalts, His love pours from within me.
My life at His feet have I laid.

And I shall sense His peace there, peace comes to us below.
We sit still in His quiet, and wait for those dark days.
Here, all else is forgotten, and as the night comes slow,
My quiet soul leaves His haven of praise.

I will arise and go now, for during the nights and days,
I remember Your Haven and the songs of angels’ encore.
When I strive with evil powers, when in troubled ways,
I remember and worry no more.

—

This, if I remember correctly, was written around 8-10 years ago, while I was attending Trinity Baptist Church in Burlington.  It was in response to the famous poem “The Lake Isle of Innisfree” by Yeats. Many people over the ages have gone to various places to find meaning to life. How thankful I am to have found that solution already in the Biblical God!

Poetry: Redeemed

Redeemed

I am the Bride, who walks in hope,
Looking to the Lord of Love;
But on my way, my eyes are caught.
Within, a battle, not yet fought,
Is lost, and drags me from above.
Adulterous and wretched, I grope.

I am the one who put Him on the Cross.
The scoffer who deserves the pain.
My love of me has brought no gain -
I am the wretch whose life is merely dross.

I am the Dirt that lies upon,
And in, the grave at which I kneel.
Yes, with my shovel, I have mined
A six foot hole, that death divined
For cheated lives that none can heal -
Yet by His Love, my Lord has won.

I am submission, now upraised,
For even death can be undone.
Although death is what I deserve,
He crucified Himself to serve.
My Self must learn to love the Son -
To sing to Him, “Your name be praised!”

I am the one who put Him on the Cross,
But still He loved me as His bride.
In love of Him, in Him I died -
I live for Him, all else in life is loss.

-

This poem was written as a challenge given to me by a friend. After giving me 10 words, I had to write a poem with as much of them in it as I could. I know for sure that the words “grave, dirt, adulterous, love” were some of those words – I can’t really remember the rest of the list. At any rate, I really enjoyed writing this – it smacks of hymn, somehow, (lol), but some beautiful thoughts came out, I think.

Poetry: True North, Strong and FREE

True North Strong and FREE

Frailty, thy name is that WORD.

Freedom will never be found -

nailed by gold plated spikes.

Buried, our nation-coffin

and corpses, wrapped in normativity,

lay 6 ft under

our home and native land.

-

This is for Professor Daniel Coleman, revered Canadian Literature prof at McMaster University. Against all odds, he gave me a respect for our nation’s literature – and a more interesting view of what we can create – what our potential is in this land of variable futures.

Poetry: Life on the Cutting Edge

Finding one’s balance
On the blade of a scimitar
Is truly
Experiencing life
On the
Cutting Edge

-

Found this in an old blog. Apparently I wrote it after watching some martial arts film. Somebody balancing on a sword, I think. *shakes head* My old self is quite random, I feel.

Snow

[untitled]

i raise my face to the gentle fingers of snow
so large, the flakes catch on hair and eyelashes
as the song goes

it’s lovely – how it muffles the roar of engines and the voices
as if, a blanket is wrapping all around us
cold and still
and i smile

because for once, nature wins in an age old battle
and class has been cancelled again

—-

[untitled] [soutetsu?]

i am the cold wind
harsh against the lips
dark hair like a flag, watching the sea rise and fall under the blows of wind

the fragility of snow
it is this land of people broken
it is lying in my hand

—-

Snowflakes in Sunlight

Golden flakes falling from the sky -
Changed through Nature’s alchemy
By the celestial stone.

Some sort of miracle before my eyes -
That snow and light can free
Wild souls which stand alone.

—-

White Vimy Ridge

1. so much depends on the first flake
    the first pure martyr

2. one delicate blanket melts – a thousand die
    for the rest to follow

3. its a battle to survive and remain entrenched
    to gain ground

4. to raise the flag on enemy terrain
    the white standard of winter

おはよございます！[ohayo gozaimasu!]

Ohayo gozaimasu!
[Japanese: Good morning. Very polite term.]

Well… it’s not really morning – more like very early morning… *glares at clock* But at any rate… Just an introduction… saying ‘hi’ and all that…

—–

And without further ado… a SONG! Made by me, for my coworks. (Hahaha!) Written for a funny creative gift for my supervisors, this is a nod to all the kitchen staff who complain bitterly about the hardships of working as cooks.

Sing Hey! For the Kitchen Minions
(and for those with the nameless moniker)

Here’s a little song, to the unknown workers,
bent-backed, hands a blur, whirling around and around
in a hot as hellfire place.

Here’s a little song, ho! Forth, nameless slave!
Who never sees the light of day, stoking the bonfires
of toasters and microwaves.

This is merely a [little] song to the ones who have fallen on the way -
Yes, those victims of disgruntlement and greed
now gone to a brighter day.

For them let us have silence.

……………………

Let us end this little song, with a toast – chock full of bliss -
for those whose hands continue to work at the speed of bullets:
To all of you, a kiss!

—–

Hahaha….