Death's Last Stand

This is Death's last lonely stand,

Outpost of pain in the most verdant land:
That Love's deepest unearthly power
Of being faithfully present to all places and men;
The gift of un-self though adversity tower;
Of seeking to better with heart, hands, mind, and then—
To find in oneself a piece of that place, that friend
That growth, separation, or their pain can rend
Into suffering as Love, which love itself cannot mend.

To love truly is fierce joy and pain as one—
Not to love, Death has certainly won—
Nay, Love's last triumph in sore human soul
Shall be Death's last chain broken,

Our hearts made more whole.

Monday Morning Musings: Of Autumn & Death to Self

It is October now, and the trees have begun to transform into their autumn glory.  It is inevitable, observing the world and reading fall poetry, not to think of death as everything appears to lose color and life for the barren beauty of winter.  And as I watch the trees I cannot help but think to myself: If only we could accept our daily, weekly, yearly deaths with such exquisite grace!  If only we could bow and joyfully, humbly give up the adornments of self, our very selves, and whatever else the Lord may ask.

Can we trust that He bares our branches for His greater glory and the triumph of Spring? Can we trust You shall still consent to walk alongside us in our barren state?  O give me grace to die to myself every day, graceful and obedient as the autumn tree!

Fall Poetry: Frost + St. Vincent Millay

Autumn Chant

                       Edna St. Vincent Millay

Now the autumn shudders

  In the rose's root.

Far and wide the ladders

  Lean among the fruit.

Now the autumn clambers

  Up the trellised frame,

And the rose remembers

  The dust from which it came.

A Brief Update

In January, this blog will have been going for four years.  I'd like to think there are still a few people who read it from time to time, even given my sporadic posting this past year.

The past year has been hectic.  I had a seven-year-old define "hectic" for me recently, after which she said thoughtfully, "I think a grocery store could be hectic."  My brain has been the grocery store this year, one on a Saturday afternoon full of people bustling in all directions with different shopping lists, lining up to get out the door with the product of my thoughts.  There are cashiers trying to be generally helpful and serve; workers trying furiously to re-stock the shelves and help the shoppers locate merchandise.  Meanwhile the electricity runs constantly, keeping everything functioning as it ought.

It has taken a long time to recover since the last sleepless finals week in May.  In between work and such things there has been much sleep and many good books--maybe I'll tell you about some of those books soon.

Now, slowly, I am beginning to feel my brain working again, to hear thoughts moving through my head of their own accord, and I feel the old writing urge again.  It goes slowly, but it is good.  I hope--and believe--that this return to thoughts and creativity will enable me to resume blogging regularly again, and I pray it is beneficial not only to myself but to any readers who are left.

It's autumn again, which as everyone knows means I will be singularly enthralled yet again by the muse of the season, especially where poetry is concerned.  In that spirit the next post shall include two of my new favorite fall poems.