Monthly Archives: June 2013

Failure by Rupert Brooke

Because God put His adamantine fate

Between my sullen heart and its desire,

I swore that I would burst the Iron Gate,

Rise up, and curse Him on His throne of fire.

Earth shuddered at my crown of blasphemy,

But Love was as a flame about my feet;

Proud up the Golden Stair I strode; and beat

Photograph of author in front matter of The co...

Photograph of author in front matter of The collected poems of Rupert Brooke: With a Memoir (Second Impression, Aug 1918). Cropped to remove text and signature. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Thrice on the Gate, and entered with a cry —

All the great courts were quiet in the sun,

And full of vacant echoes: moss had grown

Over the glassy pavement, and begun

To creep within the dusty council-halls.

An idle wind blew round an empty throne

And stirred the heavy curtains on the walls.

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“How often the …

“How often the priest had heard the same confession–Man was so limited: he hadn’t even the ingenuity to invent a new vice: the animals knew as much. It was for this world that Christ had died: the more evil you saw and heard about you, the greater the glory lay around the death; it was too easy to die for what was good or beautiful, for home or children or civilization–it needed a God to die for the half-hearted and the corrupt.” -Graham Greene, The Power and the Glory

Something to think

Cover of "The Power and the Glory (Pengui...

Cover via Amazon

about for this Sunday afternoon…

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June 9, 2013 · 8:39 pm

“Her heart was …

“Her heart was a secret garden and the walls were very high.” -The Princess Bride

I recently stopped dating a woman who could have said this same thing.  We connected on a variety of levels – from sex to intellect we found each other stimulating.   I have always been so trusting with people that my heart was a public garden for all to have a share.  After the past several relationship failures and losses of friendship, the walls are growing and my heart is becoming a secret.  Trusting others becomes harder and my genuine interest in others devolves into selfishly preoccupied thoughts of the present, past and future.  Surely there is a better way than me-first and high walls of distrust?!?  I know that God has more for me than that but right now I am licking my wounds in high-walled secret garden- there hangs a sign, “stay the fuck out”.

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June 8, 2013 · 10:11 pm

Living in the “hood”

Harlem
by Langston Hughes
What happens to a dream deferred?

 

      Does it dry up
      like a raisin in the sun?
      Or fester like a sore—
      And then run?
      Does it stink like rotten meat?
      Or crust and sugar over—
      like a syrupy sweet?

 

      Maybe it just sags
      like a heavy load.

 

      Or does it explode?
I was pointed to this poem while reading a book which is about a community and church that I am a guest of for the summer.   Mr. Hughes grasps the decay that abounds where I temporarily reside.  Decay, it’s everywhere.  From the dope dealers on the corner to the couple down the street that argues over the cost of weed, moral decay pervades.  Yet, in the midst of such decay, there is life.  Houses are rebuilt.  Struggling addicts, like myself, find needed help and support.  There are cracks in the sidewalks and flowers grow between them.

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