Thursday, October 23, 2008

Some poetry from Ben

My sweet eldest son, Ben, is a poet. He knows that sending me his poetry is a sure way to brighten my day. So yesterday, he sent me some wonderful pieces. And since I am in a drug-stupefied state due to post-op medications, this is one of those days I have a hard time putting a coherent sentence together. It is a perfect opprotunity to share Ben's beautiful words with you!

A Sonnet for my Wife
How can I start, with what sincerest words
should I presume to some humility
or sadly boast of all my faults and failures,
or maybe calmly raise the possibility
that mine are not the hands that I would wish
to feel your fragile faith or touch your trust,
that I am fallen, broken, a work unfinished
shaped by shameful sins and lowly lusts?

While I am earthware, dust and gilded wire,
my frame and substance all corruption, you
lift your eyes and pray refining fire
because your love for me is pure and true.
You are clay the same as I, but bold,
bravely, humbly daring to be gold.

A Meditation on Alpha and Omega
At the first
beginning, in the first fall,
endeavored to
force even High
God to fail.
in the end,
just as in all eternity the flame
kindled is never quenched, just
like when Christ would be humble
man himself,
no death could hold the
omnipotent incontrovertible
plan or grant
rest beyond the
seventh or the last day.
Time, the
unrelenting, unsleeping
vampire, could not tire or
wear down even the theos-
xenos-sarkos, God the flesh-guest. He rose as
young as he went down, and ascended; the number of
zeroes in eons means nothing to him.


Mrs. Edwards said...

I'm so grateful for the good outcome of your surgery! And these poems are wonderful. The blessings of motherhood are precious indeed. Thanks for sharing your son's work. It shows his devotion to the craft of poetry and to the role of husband--a double reason for you to be proud.

Randy Greenwald said...

His father, I believe, was a poet as well, but was much more reticent to share his creations. That's a shame.

MagistraCarminae said...

Indeed, Randy. He lives the life of a poet still on the inside. :-)