Category: Poetry

Correction

On By Charis PsalloIn Flowers, Photography, Poetry6 Comments

strawflower blur

It’s hard to touch my eye without flinching.

It’s hard to open my suspicious eye

to receive the lens on finger inching

toward the center of the light that my

unyielding lid wants merely to protect.

I know without the help of lens to mend

I can, at best, perceive an imperfect,

blurred version of what You, my clear-eyed Friend,

can see without deform. I steel my nerve

against the fear of rumoured pain which all

my disappointment says that I deserve.

I want to shed the doubt that makes me stall.

 

Forgive me when I shut You out. I think,

in time, that when You touch me, I won’t blink.

strawflower 3DSC_0201

“My child, do not ignore the instruction that comes from the Lord, or lose heart when He steps in to correct you;  For the Lord disciplines those He loves, and He corrects each one He takes as His own.   (Hebrews 12:5 The Voice)

Because He Loved First

On By Charis PsalloIn Just folks, Photography, PoetryLeave a comment
Because He First Loved Us
Because He First Loved Us

My Psalm

Like a child standing on tip-toe,

unable to reach the light switch,

like a girl groping cellar walls,

unable to find the stairs

I waited in the dark.

The drone of traffic in the streets

in rising and lowering songless pitch

neared my heart

then passed me by,

hope deferred yet once again.

 

I cried, “Oh God! Where are you?”

Pouring my effort into limp flowers

potted in desiccated soil

I watched as hope seeped through again and again

staining the white tablecloth beneath.

 

“I can never be good enough,” I whimpered.

But you,

Abba

Papa

Father

said, “Come.”

You placed your strong arms under mine

and lifted me up.

You tossed me high

into the sunlight

and caught me with your grace

stronger than any fear of failure.

You held me in your lap wide as a green orchard

and fed me words from your mouth.

 

Abba, you are my light in the hall.

Papa, you are hope like the door left ajar.

Father, I hear you in the kitchen preparing a feast for me.

You are my strength, my light, my hope, my joy.

I love you.

(re-blog from April 2, 2012)

Wintered Over on the Window Ledge

On By Charis PsalloIn Flowers, Photography, Poetry, Uncategorized, Winter4 Comments

wintered geraniums frosty window
Everything hasty

gone to seed

Bedside prayers

rise silent

from hearts in despair

Glory gone but

hope rises like tomorrow’s dawn

Joy smiles wisely

under confetti skies

Gentle snow

clings diligently to

frost-blown pane

Greater still the glory

dying like evening sun

bringing glory

to glory

Promise in wilderness rest

product of grace fulfilled

in time

Shalom –

nothing missing

everything in place

Breakout

On By Charis PsalloIn Black and white, Photography, Poetry, Trees and forests5 Comments
Bars
Bars

(Rhyming poetry is not my usual style, but my thoughts came out in rhyme this time, so here you go.)

 

Breakout

There are no bars, but I am a prisoner,

held by the fear that loving brings pain,

afraid to break free from the guards of my feelings,

afraid to love others, afraid to attain.

 

Lord, I want to love them the way that you love me.

Teach me to care the same way that you do.

Open my soul to the gift of sweet sorrow,

that I might love in a way that is true.

 

I want to know You and Your risen power-

to know what’s it like to be held in Your heart,

to truly know love in the depths of my being

to love them with Your love –to know how to start.

 

Break my heart free from the prison of comfort.

Help me to press on to Your upward call,

giving up all that lies back there behind me.

Teach me to love, Lord, for You can do all.

 

A great post written to prisoners to be found here. (Language warning)

http://disciplegideon.wordpress.com/2012/12/12/waking-up-from-the-nightmare/trackback/

I Was Nominated for an Award! or How to Encourage the Entire World in Seven Steps

On By Charis PsalloIn Art, Photography, Poetry13 Comments

Photo: Bouquet

When I received my first blogging award nomination my reaction was kind of like this –if you can imagine a very plump middle age woman in the place of this talented child. Well, perhaps this is not the best visual, but still:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CewC3deBFCs

I didn’t post it right away because I was just so humble (ahem) and also because I couldn’t figure out how to get the pasty link thing to work. So I dropped it to contemplate the gravity of the honour. Then there were some more very flattering nominations, which I truly appreciated.

Then I read the rules on some of them. Pass the award on to 15 other bloggers? As I often say to my husband, I said, “Husband, I am an English major. You do the math.” So he did. He figured that if everyone receiving an award passed that award on to 15 other people the very next day and they did the same, in little more than a week we could pretty much encourage the entire world –at least several billion of them.

This relates to my post On Being a Descendent of Royalty. Just because the designers of rules for receiving blogging awards were exceedingly generous doesn’t mean that they are not of value and that some kind people out there took the time to read my blog and nominate me for an award. I am truly grateful. I thank you. I am honoured.

So to catch up on some inexcusably overdue acknowledgements I would like to thank the following bloggers for their generosity and kind words:

Admin at Pure Gory

Deborah at “Ye shall know me by my fruits”

Victoria at Made for Victory

Melody at Meanwhile Melody Muses

Gracie at Frames and Focus

I highly recommend their sites.

Now, the obligatory seven things about myself list:

1.            When I was in grade three I rode my imaginary horse, Ginger, home from school every day. The neighbours thought I was seriously gimped.

2.            I’m usually in the process of reading at least six books at the same time and I often start in the middle.

3.            I can’t dance or remember the 7 times table, but I always have music in my head. It can be annoying.

4.            Between my husband, my children and their spouses and myself we have about 49 1/2 years of university education (so far). Some of it is paid for. I’ve done umpteen year’s worth of courses in music, education, theology, art, and English, but I don’t have a degree.

5.            My parents were told I was dead.  Mom had a caesarean section to deliver a stillborn, but some friends gathered all night to pray for this young couple and their baby. God must have heard, because I am here. Still.

6.            I am seriously in love with Jesus Christ. So is my husband. It’s a magnificent threesome.

7.            I published my first poetry at 12, sang in my first opera at 14, performed in a nightclub when I was too young to get in, dated a politician when I was too young to vote, learned to fly a kite at 45, went through adolescent rebellion at 39 and started splashing right through the middle of puddles at 55. It’s not just that I have a tendency to be ahead of the curve or behind the curve — the curve and I have never met.

The point of awards is, I think, to bring attention to worthwhile blogs, so rather than contribute to the devaluation of awards I choose to bypass the whole system and get to the point of saying check out these blogs. I shall try to do this on a more regular basis. The following bloggers may consider themselves winners of Charis’ very own first I LIKE YOU award (if I could figure out how to make an icon I would):

Check out these blogs:
(Edited to add: after 25 edits on this post I think this is as good as it’s going to get. Click on the URL and not the name of the blog and you should get there. sigh.)

Admin at Pure Glory   http://pureglory.net –prophets Gabriel and Hazel bring strong words of encouragement

Deborah at Ye Shall Know Me by My Fruits   http://girlwiththepen1118.wordpress.com/  incredibly talented poet who writes the most evocative sensuous real stuff. She really should be famous. Seriously.

Victoria  at Made for Victory– http://madeforvictory.com/an over-comer of epic proportion

Melody at Meanwhile Melody Muses–  http://melodylowes.com/ fellow lover of words, flowers and hope who is not afraid to pump up the colour

Gracie at Frames and Focus–http://graciebinoya.com/   a sensitive, talented photographer with a gift of holy discontent that keeps her striving to be even better

And some others that have really touched my heart:

Quilla at Ruach333   http://ruach333.wordpress.com/–photography and poetry from a quiet but deep, deep man of faith

Disciple Gideon at Disciple Gideon  http://disciplegideon.wordpress.com/ -an honest humble man with a listening heart and a gift for being profound

Janelle at My Men and Me  http://mymenandme.wordpress.com–a pure soul who loves the Lord, loves her family, loves her farm, and loves her readers

Stephanie at The Potter’s Hand –  http://thepottershand2011.com  -a worshipping Singaporean who sees the glory of God all around her and captures it with her camera

Trina and Micheline at Whimsical Publishing  http://whimsicalpublishingblog.wordpress.com–a writer of children’s books and an illustrator/artist/photographer team who are much too lively and fun to stay in a box

Mirjam at Mirjam Aldolphi Photography  http://mirisphotos.org  -in Ukraine -a woman whose love for needy children needs no translation

There are other blogs I enjoy, of course. I’m just starting in order of when I first started reading them. If I forgot an award, please remind me, so I can make an excuse, and then acknowledge it.

Blessings on you all. You have enriched my life!!

Remembering the Future

On By Charis PsalloIn Mountains, Photography, Poetry, Sky, Trees and forests7 Comments

I was looking forward to this journey to my Father’s house on the Alberta side of the Rockies. Usually the mountain views are stunning, but instead I drove through fog for nearly four hours. I could see very little beyond the verge by the highway most of the time. Sometimes the fog would lift for a moment only to re-form and descend again. I stopped near some cabins, closed for the season, to take a break from the tension of driving in poor visibility and found a beautiful stream.  When I descended the Kootenay Parkway the clouds vanished.

 

 

 

 

The Reservoir

On By Charis PsalloIn Art, Poetry6 Comments

Painting: Reserved

(The stream that flows out of this reservoir is called St. Joseph’s Creek. It flows through the town below, out into the countryside and across a First Nations Reservation where it joins the St. Mary’s River just before it’s confluence with the Kootenay River. After a brief sojourn across the border, the Kootenay turns north, back into Canada, and waters a wide valley where fruit is grown commercially.)

Reflection on the Reservoir

Idle in the wild

the waters

reserved by earthen dam

wait

Welling up over the wall

the outpouring spills

to thirsty valley

surging gushing rushing

on its pilgrimage

to freedom

babbling ecstatic companions

overturn hapless pebbles

and undercut established banks

between soccer and tennis scores

beside disciplined lawns

through sweet barbeque smoke

under red painted bridges

inside covert culverts

behind rainbow-puddled gas stations

over destitute shopping carts

past sitting walkers

around rusted wrecks

amid static mobile homes

Without reserve they flow

through Reserve

until St Joseph pouring at last

into St. Mary’s joy

is carried by her abundance

to greater confluence

and wide hillsides of heavy orchards

In the reservoir

the congregation of waters

held back in saturated bed of clay

deep in stillness

dark in secrets

ceases striving

and reflects

ruby opulence

in golden autumnal glory

Lord

I have watched

waiting

in saturated bed of  tears

eager for my turn

to burst over damming reserve

to bring tribute to tributary

to whirl and dance in eddies of joy

to shout the songs

of sky-glittered brook

to journey to ripened fruitful fields

Lord

here

subdued in the secret depth

where you make

your thoughts known

still my heart

that might I reflect

your glory

 

A Woman’s Role

On By Charis PsalloIn Flowers, Poetry15 Comments

 

 

Mary II

Without opening the door

the curious host

let the Teacher in.

Beside him the once-dead man,

having left his grave clothes on the stone,

reclined to dine.

 

Beside the calloused feet

of hungry men

the sister flitted

with bowls of ripened fruit,

slabs of risen bread,

platters of spiced meat,

pitchers of waiting wine.

 

In the doorway

the listening one,

emptied of darkness,

loosed her hair.

 

With no authority,

no covering,

no office,

no documents,

no priestly garments,

no holiness of her own,

she broke the box,

poured out her adoration,

and anointed

the King of Kings.

 

(The story of this dinner party is told in John 12 and Mark 14)

But you are a chosen race,
a royal priesthood,
a holy nation,
a people for his own possession,
that you may proclaim
the excellencies of him who called you
out of darkness
into his marvelous light.

(1 Peter 2:9)

 

Save

Night Vision

On By Charis PsalloIn Art, Poetry9 Comments

Painting: Night Vision, acrylic on canvas

This poem goes with the painting “Night Vision” of a woman dreaming on a crystal sea under a night sky full of lights. It uses the imagery of the lovers in the Song of Solomon and also makes reference to the story in the book of Hosea of a man who keeps rescuing his unfaithful wife. Ishi is the old Hebrew word for husband/saviour/hero. Through the prophet Hosea God tells his people there will come a time when they will call him Ishi and not Baali (master). The ancient Hebraic written symbols for seer are a wall, a cutting implement and an eye. For kindness they are thorns, a cutting implement, and a door.
Night Vision

Come away with me,
her lover calls.
He peers through the lattice;
he tosses pebbles against her frosty window.
Arise, my love, my chosen one
and come, come away with me.

The winter is past; the sleet is gone; the flowers lift their heads.
The season for singing has come.
Leave your compass on the desk;I am the way.
Our secret place lies in the rock’s cleft.

She stares through the glass darkly.
Ice shatters her view.
Where are you, Beloved? Where are you?

She rises, lifts the bar
and crosses the threshold on freshly washed feet.
Behind her ears, the white wolf,
descended from the city’s seven mountains,
accusing
cursing
threatening
yelps as his howls
meet the linen fence.
With her newborn eye she cuts a hole
through the thinned place in the thorn wall
and climbs into greater truth.

A pillar of lilies awaits her.
With one look you have ravished my heart, he whispers.
See? I rend the curtain of heaven
and like a gazelle leap the hills for you.

Let us swim in the sky, fly under the sea.
Come dance with me, my bride.
We are like children spinning amid the galaxies’ swirling skirts.
Together, let us puzzle the pieces
adding breadth and width and depth and height
until you sit at my side,
the earth our footstool.
Your eyes will hear.
Your ears will see.
Your fingertips will taste and know that I am good,
and in the language of the Spirit
write of colors you’ve never seen before.

Her lips move gently with the mouth of sleepers.
Ishi, my breath, she breathes.
Ishi,  my hero.
Yeshua

Yeshua

You may feel some discomfort

On By Charis PsalloIn Poetry, Uncategorized5 Comments

Photo: ceramic dome

(Inspired by a Learning Channel video about a Canadian surgeon who taught brain surgery to doctors in a tiny Russian clinic. The patient was required to be conscious in order to participate in the procedure.)

 

You May Feel Some Discomfort

Perhaps I had my eyes closed when your assistants bashed

my horizontal chariot through the swinging doors.

I didn’t see that sign.

Just as well.

If I had known

the surgery you intended to perform

(removing the run-away tumour of mal-formed thought)

required me to be awake for the procedure

I may have searched for an alternate practitioner,

one who would anesthetize me

with framed platitudes hung beside

hand-penned personal testimonies

of painless probes

and joyful function (temporarily) restored.

I would have,

at least,

googled the back pages of ancient pdf-ed medical knowledge,

or youtubed reports of accidental new age discovery,

or followed the links to a parallel universe of  pharmacos deliverance.

I confess to some disrespectful misuse of your name

when the raucous drill began its breakthrough,

(can you really buy those at Walmart?)

but once my thoughts lay open before you

I merely concentrated on

raising my arm

and opening my hand.

Thanks for letting me rest

as you reassembled my humbled dome

(and for being careful to leave room for expansion).

There.

Done.

Invader gone.

Mind renewal.

Thank you, God.

You’re good.

Very good.