The Language of the Heart

It's been much too long since I've posted anything here. I started this blog in hopes that I would post something about once a month. I fail. And since I haven't yet discovered the words to describe all the things currently happening in my life, I've decided to share a little of my latest scholastic accomplishments.

This semester I am taking a Poetry class. Now, I am  by no means a poet, but every poem I write contains a background and a story my classroom critics know little of, so here are a few of them (the better-ish ones in my opinion.) I've heard that poetry is the language of the heart, I hope that these little overflows of my heart might touch you or encourage you in some way.

BLANK VERSE:

Dark Brown Eyes

“Just a few bills, that’s all I ask, no more.

I cannot work with one more on the way,

I’ve naught to fill my other children’s’ mouths’.”

Her dark brown desperate eyes still stare at me.

Small brown hands beat on my car’s window

“Would you like fresh fruit, cheap toys, fake jewels?

If not for you I may not eat today.”

Their big brown pleading eyes still stare at me.

Be on your guard for brown hands don’t just beg,

For begging never filled their empty hands.

Picking pockets is now their way of life.

Crafty dark brown eyes still stare at me.

Pick pocketing just barely kept them fed.

Perhaps if he stole more it would be best.

Caught. Forceful hands pound him into the ground.

His dark brown lifeless eyes still haunt my dreams.

 "Dark Brown Eyes" comes from several, very specific, very vivid memories of the homeless beggars back home in Brasil. There is not a verse in the poem that I have not personally witnessed. The general picture I was trying to create was a little boy growing up, the first stanza being about his mother, moving to him as a child, then a teenage pickpocket, and then finally a thief who ends up losing his life. It breaks my heart. If only someone would have come along side that boy turned man and shown him Jesus, maybe, just maybe he might have lived. And maybe just maybe I never would have seen him lying dead just yards away from a whole community that could have changed his life, my christian, private school.

SONNET:

Journeys

The streets are laid with cobblestones of old

My sneakered feet, though sore, skip eagerly

Through cities bearing secrets never told

These same streets bore my long passed family.

The black top streets are nothing old, but new

But just the same my sandaled feet skip on

For these paved roads my mother loved and knew,

From jumping rope and hopscotch squares now gone.

So few have walked the dirt roads I adore

My shoe-less feet skip for the joy of home.

Worn bike trails mark adventures had before.

This trail is mine though many paths I roam.

Perhaps one day much younger eyes will see

These muddy streets and know they’re part of me

 This Poem was just fun. Basically the gist of it is, each stanza is a different location - different continent for that matter,  the first is Europe, the Second the USA, more specifically Kansas, and the third, my own Brasil. the rest i think speaks for itself each verse is a generation of memories in a sense, and the final couplet is looking toward future generations.

Are You There?

There is no God my crushed soul cries,

His promises all turn to lies.

Such death, such loss, such agony,

This writhing pain inside of me.

The night can never turn to day 

My world has halted, here it stays,

Where crushed in cold reality

My mind’s embraced insanity.

Commotion stilled by still small voice.

I know there is another choice,

I know He still gives love and care,

Still now He’ll all my burdens bear.

Okay, now this poem i actually got out of a word document on my computer. I was browsing around looking for something to inspire my required poem of the week and stumbled across a prayer I had typed out a few months ago - the prayer said a whole lot more than this poem. I think there is a point in each person's life when they seriously doubt that the sun will continue to rise in the morning, but it always does. I can not help but think of it as a beautiful analogy of the faithfulness of our God. He is still there, He is faithful to fulfill his every promise.

I did have another awesome visual poem about Brasil that I tried to fit in here but the format messed it up so I guess I'll just have to live with out it =( But i wrote a poem in the shape of Brasil, it was quite a success in my class, and I'm sorry i can't share it with you.

Finally this poem has nothing to do with my poetry class, and don't ask me what form it is - I have no idea, so we'll call it free verse. It is actually one I wrote for a friend in hungary. I've shared it with several of my girl friends and most of them have commented on how touching it was. The more I thought about it the more wondered that if God could use these words to touch the hearts of so many of my friends the perhaps he could use it to touch the lives of others to. So i'm just putting this  out there, and I hope it can be an encouragement to someone. 

Beauty

Dedicated to: Abi Mahon

Tiny life begun by God

Quite purposefully was formed

Each tiny toe and finger tip

Nothing left unformed.

The image of God’s beauty,

This precious baby girl

His mark is seen in every trait

Each feature, mark, and curl.

As baby became older,

Her beauty only grew,

With eyes that sparkled when she smiled,

Shining bright and blue.

“This one is precious”

God declared, “I claim her as my own.”

Indeed this sweet girl loved her God,

His love through her was shone.

“I formed her with my own two hands,

Not one thing did I miss.

Wonderful in everyway.

Her beauty I can’t resist”

But God’s beauty couldn’t see beyond

The lies her mirror told.

Lies whispered in her head by him

Who’s lies were formed of old.

“You’re ugly.,” Taunts the shameful voice,

“Too fat, too short, too plain.

You’re nothing special,” mocks the voice.

It’s driving her insane.

All she sees is other girls

Who’s beauty “out-shines” her own

The voice tells her she’s pitiful

Lost and so alone.

With time the mocking whispers

Control her every thought,

She can’t resist the taunting now,

She heeds the voice she fought.

Crushed sweet girl breaks down in tears.

Heart broke and sorrowful

The voice as marred her everything

Her body, mind, and soul.

She gives into the painful trap,

Starvation now her friend

Creator God cries out in pain

His beauty falls in sin.

“My precious child, please hear me now

You know not what you do!

You have more beauty than you know

My beauty shines through you!”

Please do not hurt my masterpiece,

Don’t buy the lies you see!

I wish that you could have my eyes,

And see yourself through me.

The price I paid was for this too

Don’t let this be your fate

You’ve all my strength to see you through

My power’s yours to take.

I love you precious little girl

I know you know it’s true

And though you may not feel it now

My arms are holding you.”

Precious, rare, and priceless girl,

I see what He sees too

In all the world there’s no one else

As beautiful as you.

So I’ll be here to hold your hand

Stand with you in the rain.

But Creator God’s the only one

Who can save you from this pain

Please take His hand - don’t you dare let go

I know He’ll care for you

He’s done it time and time before

I promise He’ll see you through.

~Shaela