Poetical Ponderings

Lost Beloved

This morning, as I prayed asking God to bless Raina, fulfill her, give her happiness, heal if healing is needed, and seek her if seeking is needed, I realized that I referred to to her as my Lost Beloved. It got me thinking and I realized that I have been using this epithet for a couple of months now as God has granted much healing of heart.

I realized that I haven’t given up on God’s ability to restore my marriage, I’ve just turned the whole thing over to Him, and whatever He decides to do will be the best and most fulfilling outcome, whether that means a restored marriage, a new marriage, or living out a remaining lifetime of singleness.

I believe I’ve finally decided to stop being crippled and broken. I’ve come to the point of casting off the crushing burden I’ve carried for so long.

Three years ago, nearly to the day, I composed a poem as part of the healing and dealing process:

Boxed it All Up and Put it Away for Good
BoxOnTheShelf-CleanedUp-130x130

No longer strewn across my life, mental dross to trip and fall.
Reminders of the long ago, hang not upon each wall.

Gathered in a cardboard box, packed and ordered well.
Flaps folded in and interlocked, form corrugated shell.

Place upon a storage shelf, away from thought and mind.
Discarded not, disturbing not, from now till end of time.

That was a necessary step then to cope and function because I -was- crippled and broken and I was tripping and falling and injuring myself over and over.

I’ve had the box open once since then and I think that too was necessary to bring me to the point where I am now, at Peace. The re-opening was recent and I didn’t beat myself up because I gave myself the grace to grieve again as part of the healing process. Now I realize that I wasn’t grieving as I had in the past, and I wasn’t tripping; I was saying farewell.

Farewell not just to my Lost Beloved, but to all of my hopes, broken promises (the ones I broke as well), lost happiness and broken dreams, all tied to her in connection, and around my neck as a millstone.

I’ve said farewell and I’ve found desperately sought after peace which I had never hoped to find. I didn’t believe it possible. I think I’m ready to close that box and this time, seal it shut with tape. I may one day throw the box away, but I don’t by any means wish to forget what had been up until 7+ years ago the best and most rewarding portion of my life.

I’m open now to new best and most rewarding portions.

My finger is now unadorned.

She is lost, to me. I have found myself, and only by God’s loving grace. I don’t know what’s next, if anything, and for now, I’m not fussed. I like it here. It’s so much better than where I have been previously.


’Іοϋλίαν ποθω*

snoopyhugwood

Farewell Hug

Five long years, wishing for just one thing
Dreaming, imagining, yearning. Knowing.

Knowing each friendship offering meant, to me, more;
Meant more than would permit accepting.

Each, refused in love, to take unfairly.
Sneak attacks not withstanding.

Resolved never to accept without ring;
That single, solitary, most yearned-for thing.

‘Till today, blessed event, joy-filled radiant smile.
On beautiful hand a beautiful ring.

Parity achieved deep within.
Offered. Accepted, at last without sin.

The first the last.
A fondest farewell.
A new desire kindled;
Benediction of blessing;
Prayer for all joy.

May God bless and preserve;
New life together in Him.

Christian Puddleglum Ransom Harper
December 19, 2015

*Until today.

Update: January 17, 2017. I’ve had this as private for a while but decided to just let it be what it is and make it public. I thought about removing it all together as it’s not technically true, ‘The first the last’. I’ve been hugged and hugged hard and hugged back a little, and endured/enjoyed sneak-attacks, and nearly been knocked on my keester by the wonderful unrestrained exuberance. The wonderful thing though is the enduring truth of the line “at last without sin.” She’s like a crazy little sister now and I can enjoy spending time and conversing with her and her husband. God blesses.


I Want to Fit into My Birthday Suit

Oh I was much cuter than this even!

Oh I was much cuter than this!

I want to fit into my Birthday Suit.
It used to be small and soft and cute.
It fit like a glove with room in the boot.
Yes, I want to fit into my Birthday Suit.

I could buy an ensemble off Savile Row;
Double-breasted with waistco’t; gold buttons in row;
Fashioned and tailored with savoir-know;
It’d cost lots of money and contain all my dough.

Gone are the days when first it was fine;
Now stretched, distorted, all bezier lines.
The volume integral I cannot define.
Reminiscing my salad days [pureéd], when first it was mine.

Stretched thin in places, and darted midway;
Taut on the ends, support catenary sway.
Avian footprints imprint both my eyes;
and inverted horseshoe lacklucksters my smile.

Twice the compliment;
Allotted just one.
My beard-holder’s doubled;
With more like to come.

Furniture Disease, diagnosed not in time;
No treatment or tonic may halt the decline.
Gravitation. Migration. Direction? The floors;
What once was my chest, occupies now my drawers.

I suppose I’ll just have to love what I’ve got;
Content with evidences of battles well fought.
Sure, right, tattered, battered, in places threadbare;
The darned thing a patchwork of sewn notions of care.

The elbows gone shiny; cuff buttons not there;
I know not the when, less know I the where.
Rumpled and crumpled with creases and tears;
Rump fabric well felted where posterior meets chair.

I realize it now. I have all I’ve sought;
A lifetime of love, wonderful memories wrought;
My Birthday Suit given, but this one, I bought;
I don’t miss what I once had, near much as I thought.

lucklasters?


Boxed it all up and put it away for good

BoxOnTheShelf-CleanedUp-180x180
No longer strewn across my life, mental dross to trip and fall.
Reminders of the long ago, hang not upon each wall.

Gathered in a cardboard box, packed and ordered well.
Flaps folded in and interlocked, form corrugated shell.

Place upon a storage shelf, away from thought and mind.
Discarded not, disturbing not, from now till end of time.


Redeem for Joy (unfinished)

Redeem for Joy (Working title, work in progress)

An economy established, most fragile;
Nay Smith, nor Friedman, but God.
Bespoke of His heart, when time became time;
In garden where feet divine trod.

A balance contrived by holy design;
In pairs to be joined one to one.
Never again to be separate, till death us do part;
Together until life is done.

Untouched it would remain perfect;
The GDP both joy and life.
These products; harvest of such union;
When man doth cleave he to wife.

Now enter a serpent most deadly;
With him lies and corruption of heart.
Emotions, desires, selfishness inspires;
That serve to tear them apart.

——

And here inspiration fails me… I’m thinking that it may be that in God’s economy, we are given but a single marriage token to wisely invest. I see in Genesis that God establishes Man and Woman and Marriage… all a simple straightforward plan for which He had to make Man and Woman. I see that man deviated from that plan often in the Old Testament by practicing plurality, but never ever does God endorse that deviation, and usually in every example there’s a little morality tale of that deviation causing no end of heartache and trouble. When Christ speaks of marriage in the New Testament he basically says, “The model you were given was…” and then quotes the establishment of marriage from Genesis. He mentions that because of your hard hearts, deviations were tolerated (but never endorsed… marriage was never ‘ratified’ to include man’s amendments). The the additional treatments of this topic by Paul speak of the ideal and then he goes on to provide some personal thoughts on how to handle the problems that come from situations that fail the ideal… He takes pains to say that he’s not speaking words given him by the Holy Spirit, so even that advice is not ‘canon’ or modification of the original design. I really struggle with this topic… especially because nearly the entire world tells me that I’m dead wrong on this, but I keep coming back to these things in scripture that seem to me… to me… to say otherwise.


Unbegun Symphony of Promise

Hand Dirt Seedling Gift Refrain:

They saw the harvest inside me.
They saw what was not there to see.
Purpose which God embedded within;
Created with promise to be.
The seed the farmer rejected;
Hull and husk long fallen and gone;
The surface pitted and battered;
Discarded, deemed worthless and done.

So small the seed holding promise;
Which for lack of nurture and sun;
For rich soil never embracing;
Germination never begun.
[Refrain]

Giv’n themselves as His instrument;
Samaritans on the stark lane,
Upon which lay, discarded kernel,
Hopeless. Wretched. Consumed by pain.

God’s sorrow-filled heart apparent;
The song He put there unsung.
Yearning to see the seed planted;
The prelude well written begun.
[Refrain]

Redeemed by hand of a stranger.
Examined through lens of God’s love.
Found there what others were missing,
Hidden in quotidian shell.

Warm embrace of earth enclosing;
Showered with undeserved love;
Radiant grace of acceptance;
Infusing the core from above.
[Refrain]

Slowly the shell starts to soften;
New growth breaking free from within.
The process now set into motion;
God’s symphony of joy begins.

Secure roots of hope descending;
Supporting as shoot starts to raise;
Bursts forth from cocooning seedbed;
Lifting dicotyl arms in praise.
[Refrain]

This is written as a poor attempt to express boundless gratitude to my friends and family, the love and acceptance of which, have taken me from the broken, hopeless, joyless, and rather feckless man of recent past, to someone who is beginning to embrace life and full of joy and the knowledge that God has a purpose for him.

A dear friend of mine, Allena Volksay Yates, blessed me by putting this to a tune, which may be heard here.


Looking Back

Looking at him the way she used to look at me.
I knew that look was only for me.
Could only then be for me;
Could only ever be for me.
That look told me that I need never doubt
and would never need to seek or fear again.
The words underscored and reinforced the look.
The look is no longer turned upon me.
I look upon the empty void, and I sorrow.

It’s good to be able to share this here on PoaM in the now and indeed, be able to Look Back and see the terrible hurt I was experiencing then, whilst being able to Look Now and see the healing God has blessed me with, and having confidence as I Look Forward that, even if there are more such sorrows, there will be more such love, healing and blessing.


Tatterdemalion Mended

Left but vapor, will-the-wisp in air.
Tatterdemalion remnants; transparent, ethereal, hardly there.

Gath’ring in what’s left, a soul misplaced;
A scrap, a shred, a cast-off trace.

So light, insubstantial, in hands cupped safe.
Away from harm in Savior’s grace.

So gentle must the gather be; Crush not to dust, the fragments frail.
Careful. Find each tiny piece.  Overlook but one and fail.

Nurture spark in tinder bed, fuel for growth now being fed.
Gently blow, give life by breath. Fan the flame that counters death.

Place back within the hollow shell. Seam the tear. Mend it well.
Massage full well ’till felt to beat. Restored now soul and heart complete.

My heart may not remain broken with God’s healing touch.

(more…)


We

    Playing at house; pretend husband and wife.
    If this works out well, we’ll make it for life.
    And if it unravels, at least we had fun.

                                                              Didn’t we?
 
    We said pretty things to capture a heart;
    Sincere for the moment, playing a part.
    The threshold passed, no pathway back.
    Joined and committed.

                                                            Weren’t we?
 
    But where have you gone? The fantasy lost.
    Summer’s warmth over, panes crazed with the frost.
    The silence now speaks, in deafening voice.
    But we’re still in love; still each others’ choice.

                                                             Aren’t we?
 
    Fun while it lasted. But moving ahead.
    Finding new playmates to pretend to wed.
    What we had was special, no one could replace.
    Our dream plays again.

                         Now without me.
 
    Another wound, to hide deep inside.
    So many scars, tears of flesh, tears of eye.
    Betrayal of heart; pain rending wide.
    But we’ve healed.

                                                            Haven’t we?
 
Inspired partially by Joshua Harris’ “I Kissed Dating Goodbye” and “Does Anybody Hear Her” by Casting Crowns. June 23, 2011
 
I don’t usually wri… I -don’t- write poetry. This rather came on it’s own. Not fantastic prose, but it was meaningful for me. June 27, 2011

[I guess I did start writing poetry after this first outpouring. I don’t know if it’s good, but it makes me happy and it helps to take it out and fashion something from it rather than leaving it blocking things up inside. July 30, 2013]


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