The Winter poetry theme is posted on Burnside’s website. I welcome submissions for the theme of transience. As we enter a new year, I believe it’s a healthy meditation. Please submit your poetry on Burnside Writers website through the Hey Publisher form. Poems submitted with this theme will be given priority over others.
Thanks and Happy New Year.
In this meditation, I consider how Picasso’s cubism represents life and sanctification. Please read and comment on Burnside.
From the inception of time, losing what is most precious has plagued the human imagination. William-Adolphe Bouguereau’s The First Mourning captures the horrific realization Adam and Eve experienced when discovering Abel’s body following his murder by Cain. It is impossible to understand the weight of such a cruel moment unless one is a parent. From the first breath to the last, a parent’s world is consumed with the love and joy, frustration and fear, hope and appreciation for her child. Words cannot properly express. So I shall not try. You parents know what I mean. Losing the one who should bury you ranks among the most hellish moments one can envision. If hell exists, it must include such loss.
This painting has riveted my attention for the past few months since discovering it on Wikimedia. I have one son whose life has wrought upheaval in mine – for the rest of my life. I cannot envision what losing him would mean. I am not going to try.
What captivates me about this moment in time is a much more introspective realization I’m terrified to face. I do not have to bury my son. I have a metaphorical funeral awaiting me or behind me. I’ll let you determine which. Perhaps this confession will be the first step in a proper burial. I can only hope for resurrection or infusion by another.
My loss cuts to the fabric of my being an editor at Burnside Writers. Recently, I shared with Betsy Zabel my Muse is in dire straits. Hell fire awaits, perhaps. Inspiration comes like a dainty, mythical creature, resting ever so gently upon my psyche. And then, she whimsically departs with a residue. I feel used, hollow and desperate. I cannot do this alone. It is her working that has brought me thus far. Could it be?
I need her to do this right now. But this piece is not hers. It is my own. For I have buried her. Or she buried me. I know not which. This is a plea for any other such spirits of revelation to alight upon me — even now.
But I see Bouguereau, and I have known the conclusion to my story. Enlightenment does not always bring light. Sometimes it is a recognition light has departed. Darkness reigns.
My life as a writer — full of its ecstatic delusion of success — lies limp in my lap. Surely this cannot die now? Surely it would accompany me to the grave? Surely there has to be more than this? What about the novels flowing from my finger tips? What about the websites, blogs, articles…? I feel the cold silence.
I gaze upon it with tear stained cheeks. And I am at a loss for words. I, too, grab my chest and look at my Muse. Her head turned down away from me. She has determined to grace her smooth skin upon the forehead of you my peers. She might be gracing you right now.
Upon taking the commission to edit for Burnside, I thought this would be a natural way to revive the Muse. To persuade her to be mine and mine alone. If such a generous, self-sacrificial act would not seduce her, then what am I to do? As I felt her presence less and less, the email came to help. My logic deduced this will win her back to me and I will be hers. She will be mine. Only mine.
Why share my sorrow? Why burden you with this tale of mourning? Because I see her working in your midst. You know my Muse and numerous others. I have been so revived by your work as poets and writers. I am seeing your Muses working ceaselessly. And, every once in a while I see my all to familiar Muse appear on your pieces. I am humbled to promote the many wonderful expressions of inspiration you so unselfishly share with us all. I sit Museless yet contented.
So my Muse has died, or I have died to her, and she has been reincarnated into countless other manifestations. I know the many arms, legs and faces that she takes and I can only say, “Let it be so.”
Burying my selfish ambitions I can see more clearly.
In losing we discover what is most precious.
In dying we can possibly discover new life.
On the death of my Muse, I anticipate.
I’m beside myself at her grave.
Resurrection awaits.
Let it be so.
Amen.
I explore the first Advent and its context on Burnside today in “There must be more.” For Mary, for Joseph, for Jesus and for us there are chilling consequences of a God who risks reputation and honor for the greater work of salvation in the Earth. Messages of comfort, wealth and notoriety suffer under such an Advent lesson. Please check it out and comment there.
I’m curating a poetry carnival on Burnside Writers Collective. Link a poem to this page. I’ll include your submission in the year end round up in December. I’m going to organize the poems, including excerpts from each and bios on poets, so we can learn more about each other as a community of writers. If you don’t have a site or blog you can paste your poem in the comments section on Burnside’s site. Thanks for supporting this cause and making us know more about your passion for written beauty.
I’m delighted to join the editing team at Burnside Writers as the Poetry Editor. I’m not going to be posting here as frequently, but I’d welcome you all to visit Burnside Writers Collective and read along as I promote Christian poetry there. Thanks for reading, liking and sharing together the beauty of art and joy of great thoughts.
I’ve published an excerpt from Convergence: A Parable today on Burnside Writers. It is the first encounter between the protagonist John Soren and the teacher.
This is just a teaser, but I’m going to make the first chapter available on a free downloadable PDF soon, so stay tuned.
Please read my Advent reflections upon the coming of Jesus on Christmas day on Burnside.
It’s been a little while since I’ve updated this. The following posts have been on Burnside Writers for the past couple of months. I’d love to read any comments there as always.
“God’s Jury” – Read a revelation I received about the nature of church while sitting in jury duty
“Losing My Religion” – My thoughts about R.E.M.’s calling it quits
“Forgiveness” – A meditation on Rembrandt’s Return of the Prodigal Son
“An Interview with Aimee Maude Sims” – My discussion with the editor of RAW: A Poetic Journey
“I Write Because” is an edited version of a series I did on this blog about what makes me write. Please read and comment on Burnside if you feel compelled. This is a very personal piece since it touches on the primal urges I feel when I take up the keyboard and write. I am self-conscious of it, but I believe it might strike a chord with some of my readers who also write.
A recent idea I had sprouted and manifested as Daily Burnsider. I initially started it on my own, but Jordan Green liked it so it’s been renamed and absorbed into the official Burnside Writers Twitter account. If you are interested in the contributors you can see the official list.
photo © 2006 joel kabahit | more info (via: Wylio)
Over the coming week, I have a series on Burnside entitled “Art & Faith” which will explore the ways that art speaks to us today as Christians. My first piece uses Edvard Munch’s classic work The Scream to discuss the postmodern sense of isolation we feel in this virtual world. I welcome your comments there.
Last month, David Wojnarowicz’s video “A Fire in my Belly” brought tremendous Christian outrage, prompting the Smithsonian to remove it from the Hide/Seek Exhibit. Since then the video has been purchased by the Museum of Modern Art. I have recently written my thoughts on the contentious relationship between Christians and artists. This rift grieves me. I see myself somewhere in the middle. I love and appreciate art, but I profess a faith in Christ.
My second poem is currently on Burnside. In “A Prodigal Embrace” I explore the mind of the Father in the Parable of the Prodigal Son. I relate so much more to this parable now that I have a son. My father used to use the cliche, “This hurts me more than it hurts you.” I now understand what he means and on a cosmic scale how the Father’s heart aches for his children.
I always love Rembrandt’s “Return of the Prodigal Son.” I hope to capture just a glimpse of this in my work although I could never imagine being able to equal the Dutch master in emotive quality. If you missed my first poem, you can read it here.
It looks like I am on a role this week on Burnside. Just posted “LMAO Jesus Style.” In this piece I consider some challenges at laughing at ourselves as Christians. How different would Christianity look if we thought of Jesus having a sense of humor? There is a small glimpse of this in his exchange with the Syro-Phoenician woman in Mark 7:24-30.
photo © 2010 Diraen | more info (via: Wylio)
Now on Burnside: “The Inception of Deception”
I have a poem on Burnside about God’s love entitled “pierced.” Please read it here and comment as you feel led. This is one of the more vulnerable pieces that I have written, but I really feel that it may resonate with others who are likewise amazed at the power of God’s gracious pursuit of us.
