I post the next poem for LKD, who has had struggles with faith as I have. It may be minimalist, but for me it's true, a sort of Christian Existentialist Desideratum.
Creed I believe in God the computer
who programs the universe
or at least keeps the trains running
and in Jesus the archetypal man
who was doomed to suffer
but prayed to get out of it
just like I would.
And I believe in God the Spirit
when my hopes are crushed
and an old friend calls out of the blue
and I believe in the forgiveness of sins
because punishment only makes them worse
and I believe in life everlasting
because its alternative, non-being,
I find inconceivable.
Maybe my creed isn't what they teach in catechism, but it's where repeated bouts of chemically-induced suicidal despair have brought me. I frankly admit that I have problems with the second person of the Trinitiy. If I read Paul right, however, we no longer know Christ "after the flesh." He's become the universal Christ through the Holy Spirit. Ever since the resurrection it's supposed to be all about the Holy Spirit--how, by yielding to the Spirit we come to incarnate a portion of divinity. Ultimately that means loving your neighbor because it's your nature, not as a moral exercise.
$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$
Rob Mackenzie noticed that I had lamented that poets didn't know the craft anymore and that few could write a sonnet in 15 minutes. He took the challenge and produced one in 20. I produced the one below in ten. Go to Rob's site to play, or follow him to Poetry Free for All where a thread erupted.
Is a ten-minute sonnet like a two-minute egg?
Tectonic Illusions Arches and blowholes—-it is not the land
That’s being eaten here but sea. Bedrock
Is rising here, a great hand-over-hand
Extending northwest or roughly ten o’clock.
The bedrock’s hard to carve but harder still
For the pacific plate to buckle under,
Submitting to the North American will.
(It’s lucky our state isn’t torn asunder.)
Yet when you look out at all the dark islands
With their tunnels, arches, and mysterious caves
You’d think the flowering meadow of the highlands
Was being assaulted as the sea enslaves.
Things are not always as they appear.
The land is dining on the sea—how queer!
I was at 1 kilorat yesterday. Don't know why. I guess I'm still recovering. The outer personality of my Tootsie Pop looks fine but its center is still dark.
The
Melic Poetry Tutorial is open for new students, see the link in my blog's list of links. References on request.
Thine,
CE
Creed
I believe in God the computer
who programs the universe
or at least keeps the trains running
and in Jesus the archetypal man
who was doomed to suffer
but prayed to get out of it
just like I would.
And I believe in God the Spirit
when my hopes are crushed
and an old friend calls out of the blue
and I believe in the forgiveness of sins
because punishment only makes them worse
and I believe in life everlasting
because its alternative, non-being,
I find inconceivable.
Maybe my creed isn't what they teach in catechism, but it's where repeated bouts of chemically-induced suicidal despair have brought me. I frankly admit that I have problems with the second person of the Trinitiy. If I read Paul right, however, we no longer know Christ "after the flesh." He's become the universal Christ through the Holy Spirit. Ever since the resurrection it's supposed to be all about the Holy Spirit--how, by yielding to the Spirit we come to incarnate a portion of divinity. Ultimately that means loving your neighbor because it's your nature, not as a moral exercise.
$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$
Rob Mackenzie noticed that I had lamented that poets didn't know the craft anymore and that few could write a sonnet in 15 minutes. He took the challenge and produced one in 20. I produced the one below in ten. Go to Rob's site to play, or follow him to Poetry Free for All where a thread erupted.
Is a ten-minute sonnet like a two-minute egg?
Tectonic Illusions
Arches and blowholes—-it is not the land
That’s being eaten here but sea. Bedrock
Is rising here, a great hand-over-hand
Extending northwest or roughly ten o’clock.
The bedrock’s hard to carve but harder still
For the pacific plate to buckle under,
Submitting to the North American will.
(It’s lucky our state isn’t torn asunder.)
Yet when you look out at all the dark islands
With their tunnels, arches, and mysterious caves
You’d think the flowering meadow of the highlands
Was being assaulted as the sea enslaves.
Things are not always as they appear.
The land is dining on the sea—how queer!
I was at 1 kilorat yesterday. Don't know why. I guess I'm still recovering. The outer personality of my Tootsie Pop looks fine but its center is still dark.
The Melic Poetry Tutorial is open for new students, see the link in my blog's list of links. References on request.
Thine,
CE