To the Periodical Cicada - A Poem

We have been fascinated with the advent of the seventeen-year cicadas. Their presence is overwhelming and many consider them a nuisance, but I see their life cycle as a thing of wonder. This poem is an expression of that wonder.

Spellbound for sixteen years
But on the seventeenth -
Spell breaks.
Earth breaks.
Silence breaks.
Grub of the dust
Is clothed in wings
of flame, body of ebony, eyes of ruby -
a sudden dragon -
and it sings!
Poor things
old earth treaders scorn the sound
of long-pent revelry
from creatures of the underground.
Clamourous and clustering,
Dissonant, disruptive
Impertinent, invasive,
and incredible
What giddy joy of wings!
Whirr, tumble, dive,
electrify the air,
and stop to sing.
Soon all this rush of noise,
resonance of the short-lived glorified
each orange-veined glass of skyblown wing
Will drop into the quiet grass
and crumble to the patient earth
Until another birth

December Prayer

I have begun to note my annual propensity to write early winter poetry as a way of lamenting and comforting the loss of the fair seasons. My eyes almost ache at looking out the window on gray trees and browning grass, and so I must adorn the drear with words. December Prayer is my offering for 2020

We do not see Thee smiling on the land,
But hear the cries of swift departing birds,
Alone the sharp wind sweeps the plundered sky
Between the quaking arms of naked trees.

Far gone from us the sudden hot embrace
Of thunderstorms upon the panting earth,
Rain rushing warm and sweet into our dust
To drench with green each thirsty blade and leaf.
The winter skies despair, lie down, and weep
Long chilling tears into the withered grass.

The outskirts of Thy city in the clouds,
Piled golden eastward of the setting sun -
Those shining trumpet calls of summer's dusk
Have vanished with the dawning of the dark,
And westward glows the hasty yellow gleam
Of noon's surrender to the gaping night.

Yet though we do not see Thee, Thou art near -
Thy mercy is Thy name, Emmanuel.
Come unto us as tender cov'ring snow,
As cardinal flames alight the frozen trees,
As sunrise turns to gold the frosted ground,
Great Lover, give us glimpses of Thy grace.
Thy ways of love surpass what we can tell,
And winter is Thy home, Emmanuel.

 

 

Waiting Summer - A Poem

I've been determinedly reading through the Oxford Book of American Verse - a long project, and one I've questioned as the poets seem to become increasingly disillusioned and corrupt as one advances chronologically through the pages, but it also portrays a mental history of our nation that is enlightening. There are gems in those pages, and also glimpses of hell. When I finished the section of Hart Crane's poems (highly non-recommended) this morning, I felt inspired to write a fresh poem to lift my spirits and remind me that the world is beautiful and good under God. This one is about the hope that summer reflects to me.

Waiting Summer

Green this heavy
I only dreamed,

When east wind rattled the crying twigs

pleading the chill white sky -

How long?

'Til the red life blood of spring

Will make us live,
and robe us with a

weight of glory?

I scarcely dreamed

when the first gold shone

on the waking boughs.

That now was the

beginning of

It won’t be long.

The Power and the Glory

"Look! There's a little finger of cloud coming down! It's a tornado!!!!"
It is a calm, breezy day with wispy clouds in the sky, but my five-year-old son is unwilling to believe my assertion that he is mistaken.

"What if a star just came down and fell on the whole earth? What would happen?"

"Oh! Look at that gray billowing smoke in the sky. Over there! It must be a volcano erupting!"
I answer - "That's a puffy gray cloud. It might rain. But it's not a volcano."
I say it not because I'm a killjoy but because I believe truth is ultimately more satisfying than delusions. But this child will keep on looking for signs of wonderful disasters (not to mention appearances of supernatural beings and exotic animal species).

Lots of children are like this, especially young boys - I have early childhood memories of an older brother who made the same wishful assertions.  A real tornado or volcano in the dreamed-of proximity to our home could be the destruction of our whole way of life - and if there is anything little children don't want, it is the destruction of their way of life. But deep down they want to see something explode. People laugh about it, because for many the desire lasts long past childhood.  Evolutionary theory could perhaps contrive some explanation for the hunger for great scenes, but this hunger cannot jive with the idea that we exist merely to survive and perpetuate the species. We were created by God to behold the glory of God. Every little boy who wants to see something blow up spectacularly is expressing an undirected longing for his little heart's big Creator. That's just one of the reasons I think it is important to present the whole Bible to our children, and not just Bible character story books that tend to leave out the richly worded passages about God's character and actions.

I've been reading through the Bible to the children for the past year and this morning we read 2 Samuel 22. The volcano boy listened with riveted attention over his bowl of oatmeal as I read -

“In my distress I called upon the LORD;
to my God I called.
From his temple he heard my voice,
and my cry came to his ears.
“Then the earth reeled and rocked;
the foundations of the heavens trembled
and quaked, because he was angry.
Smoke went up from his nostrils,
and devouring fire from his mouth;
glowing coals flamed forth from him.
He bowed the heavens and came down;
thick darkness was under his feet.
He rode on a cherub and flew;
he was seen on the wings of the wind.
He made darkness around him his canopy,
thick clouds, a gathering of water.
Out of the brightness before him
coals of fire flamed forth.
The LORD thundered from heaven,
and the Most High uttered his voice....

- 2 Samuel 22:7-16

I thought "Yes!". This is strong meat for my boy. There is nothing better I could give him right now.

The full-orbed character of God is all that is required to satisfy every longing of the human heart. We can only see all of it by reading all of Scripture, and our children need it just as much, if not more than we do. It is a great mistake to think that children's longings are more easily satisfied. Adults are far more easily pleased. Some days we just want to see our God as provider and praise Him for the paycheck. But the little guys are primitive and they want to see glory, and their childlike faith is ready to believe that God has all of it, which is good, because He does.

Several weeks ago, on a fresh snowy day, I was outside with my son and he posed the best of his thousand questions for the day:
"How does the snow show God's glory? Because it's not powerful."
I paused a bit then said, "It gives us a picture of God's cleanness and purity, and how he can cover our sins and make them disappear. The Bible says, 'Though your sins be like scarlet, they shall be white as snow' when God forgives them."
He just looked up into the sky and seemed to think, while I strolled off to fill the bird feeders. My heart was glad, because once again I was reminded that God is sufficient for every longing of the human heart.

Let's not let our children be satisfied with Superman scenes on a screen, when they have a God who puts all the super heroes to shame. He can defeat not only our external enemies but the very sin of our inmost hearts. "Worship Him all you gods" should be written above the movie screens, and if it is not, we can remind our children that before the majesty of the Lord of Glory, their favorite super hero has no option but to bow down.

The LORD reigns, let the earth rejoice;

let the many coastlands be glad!

Clouds and thick darkness are all around him;

righteousness and justice are the foundation of his throne.

Fire goes before him

and burns up his adversaries all around.

His lightnings light up the world;

the earth sees and trembles.

The mountains melt like wax before the LORD,

before the Lord of all the earth.

The heavens proclaim his righteousness,

and all the peoples see his glory.

All worshipers of images are put to shame,

who make their boast in worthless idols;

worship him, all you gods!

- Psalm 97

Cotopaxi by Frederic Edwin Church

The Airing Day

This deliciously spring-like February day with its fresh breezes and happy children watching the laundry waving on the line put all kinds of poetry in my head. A happy wind blew it right into me and here it is. 

[Confession: I did not put out to air all of the items listed in this poem!]

The Airing Day

Sweet wind from the southwest the rain mist is sweeping.

Bold blackbirds awaken the sky from its sleeping.

The chillied new year a fresh spring cloak is wearing –

It’s time for the house to turn out for an airing!

Bring out your doilies and tea towels and cosies,

Hang out your pillow shams, blankets and duvets,

Pull out the rugs from the bugs and the dust,

And beat them in league with the wind if you must!

Bring out your mattress, your couch and your foot puff,

Drag out your latch-hooked rugs, all of the floor stuff.

Clear out the nooks and the crannies and closets,

Eradicate all the dust bunny deposits!

Pin pillows to clotheslines, hang bath mats on porch rails,

While breezes turn all of the bedsheets to boat sails.

Old quilts from the closet come out like brave banners,

Exhibiting brisk, unconventional manners.

All of the linens, grown dusty from living

With winter, are waving a giddy thanksgiving!

Fresh air, flood the windows, thrown open to greet you

Spring day, the whole house is delighted to meet you.

- Alyssa Bohon, February 2018

That Masculine Strength

Here's a delightful tidbit of Lewis from the last book in his space trilogy - That Hideous Strength. The Director's words to the doubting, searching Jane gave me a fresh perspective on how my girl's life has been drastically changing as I've married a man and am now preparing to have a boy child. Maleness and femaleness are much deeper than biology and we oughtn't to run from what God intended these realities to do in our lives. 

Here's the Director's response to the unhappily married Jane, who is realizing, with some disturbance, that masculinity is not the primitive and barbarian thing she once thought it to be:

"There is no escape [from being invaded by the masculine]. If it were a virginal rejection of the male, He would allow it. Such souls can bypass the male and go on to meet something far more masculine, higher up, to which they must make a yet deeper surrender.  But your trouble has been what the old poets called Daungier. We call it Pride. You are offended by the masculine itself: the loud, irruptive, possessive thing - the gold lion, the bearded bull - which breaks through hedges and scatters the little kingdom of your primness as the dwarfs scattered the carefully made bed. The male you could have escaped, for it exists only on the biological level.  But the masculine none of us can escape.  What is above and beyond all things is so masculine that we are all feminine in relation to it..."

I love these words - not only for how they give me a healthy perspective on my own life, but also for how they fly like a fresh wind in the face of current reasoning about the legitimacy of homosexuality. I'm not like Jane in that I'm quite happy to be married to a real masculine person. But words that can pull one person from disapproval to appreciation, can also move another person from vague appreciation to hearty appreciation, and that's what they did for me.

The conversation continues:

"...You had better agree with your adversary quickly."
"You mean I shall have to become a Christian?" said Jane.
"It looks like it," said the Director.

"Over all His works"

"Even the unclean beasts, which were least valuable and profitable, were preserved alive in the ark; for God's tender mercies are over all his works, and not over those only that are of most eminence and use."- Matthew Henry

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