poems
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ob•tes•ta•tion n. The act of protesting; a protesting in earnest and solemn words, as by calling God to witness; protestation. n. An earnest or pressing request; a supplication; an entreaty. Likely, obtestation isn’t in your daily vocabulary. It wasn’t in mine, until today. The word even baffles most spellcheckers. But no better word encapsulates what…
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I first encountered “The Raft of Medusa” (1818-1819) by Théodore Géricualt this past summer through Eric Bess’s article “Hope for the Impossible” from the June 8th edition of The Epoch Times (I strongly recommend the article!). I’ve revisited the painting repeatedly over the past five months, continually meditating on the faces and figures strewn about…
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God speaks to me through Red-tailed Hawks. I don’t really remember when it started, but I have been drawn to hawks for many years. Perhaps it was reading Robinson Jeffers’ poem Hurt Hawks under the direction of my cooperating teacher, Jack Warner. Maybe it was visiting the aviary in Pittsburgh, where my children held sticks…
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“For he raised us from the dead along with Christ and seated us with him in the heavenly realms because we are united with Christ Jesus.” The Apostle Paul, Ephesians 2:6, New Living Translation I got out of my seat. Even after spending months meditating on these words of the Apostle Paul and finally getting…
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“Got a whole lotta reasons to be mad, let’s not pick one.” from “Ain’t No Man” by The Avett Brothers Today in my Creative Writing & Contemporary Literature class our discussion of Tuesdays with Morrie by Mitch Albom turned to the life lesson of forgiveness. Timely, to say the least. As I shared with my…
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When it rains it pours. Those aren’t the five words I intend for you to ponder in this post, but a reflection of my current state of the union. The appliances arrive tomorrow, the HVAC company will be here as well to install the heat pumps and AC, the wood for the trim arrives on…
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As promised, the Japanese Tanka on Silence, in honor of every awkward waiting-room-train-platform moment, and the gap between my posts, that measures the audible space between humans. Silence Vincent H. Anastasi 2015 This silence is raw,like the skinned elbow of Time,and you and I sitimmutable and awkward:two columns of decorum.
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“It is the time’s discipline to think of the death of all living, and yet live.” Wendell Berry, “A Discipline” Into a third late night of balancing the demands of being an educator, a cooperating teacher, a husband, a father, a son, a home remodeler, and a writer, I offer this gentle reminder to live.…
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“We do not ride on the railroad; it rides upon us. Did you ever think what those sleepers are that underlie the railroad? Each one is a man, an Irishman, or a Yankee man. The rails are laid on them, and they are covered with sand, and the cars run smoothly over them. They are…
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“Painting is poetry that is seen rather than felt, and poetry is painting that is felt rather than seen.” Leonardo da Vinci My thanks to Jack Warner, former colleague and cooperating teacher, for introducing me to one of Pittsburgh’s hidden gems, The Mattress Factory Art Museum. Since that initial visit almost twenty years ago, I’ve…
the deepening ground 