Friday, September 30

The Eucharistic act

But God is not a minimalist, he allows for so many sorts of beauty
There are so many layers of beauty.

Look at a beautiful landscape,
And even there
One day the wind blows, and the feeling is so
And on another day the sun shines and the feeling is such
And if that is not art
And if that is not rhythm
Then you don’t know about art at all.

A wind blows
A wind blows
And it brings its music to my landscape
And like the leaves I dance.
And my only wish, is that I had more wings,
and I had more branches, and I could dance some more.

Listen now, let me put down the poetic form and tell you something.
God is not a minimalist
And the beauty that is out there is enough for every being.
Open your eyes and open your ears and let you hear.
And what is artistic skill?
What is the ability to play an instrument or to draw forms
To paint
To mould clay and stone
To mould words?
The artistic skill is only your wings, your leaves, the colorful flaps of your dress
For when God’s wind blows, you can dance bigger
You can be extended further
You can reach higher
Your pot is a little bigger and the water you will carry from the river to spill into the sea will be a little more
And your joy more complete.
Do, do develop your skill
Develop your voice, your hand, your feet.
Not because you can ever make art that way.
But because when God’s wind blows,
Your dance will be more.

Poetry is the rhythm of the wind as it blows
And looking at it
And laughing at it
Enjoying it, and writing it down here for you
Is just the Eucharistic act.  

Thursday, September 29

do you understand the artist's problem?

I put my pen down
And I looked up at the Writer of everything
But then I worried
What can I write from now on
Why would I ever write, and not lock my eyes on You?
I put my ball down
And I looked up at the creator of all laws
But then I thought how can I ever play again
When I could just sit in your shade?

But I won't worry.
And like a baby I get back up
And without knowing, from the start I learn to walk.
I am in Your world now, like a baby.
A new life starts. I am excited.

I don’t know in Your world if the rhythm of art will flow in my blood again
But maybe it will.

The beat, of art, it bounces around.
The poetry,
The music,
That bounces about. And anyone who will see it will laugh from their heart.

I don’t know if I will find that again in Your shade
If I will touch it again
If I will laugh at it from my heart.
But like a baby, I am learning again
This time for real.

Saturday, September 10

in April

I am contaminated
with the pain and sorrow of this world.
I cannot be amongst the pure, and happy birds
except as an imposter.
An ocean of sin enclaved in my heart
would pour out and ruin their party.

the sins that I have seen
the sins that I have done
what I did
and to me what was done, are all the same.
One same ocean of sin,
contained in my heart
and I can’t fly.