a little monday poetry

"No More Boxes"

Fear and doubt make up the walls
Of my tiny little box

I am only this, I am only that
I am only as small as the box I put myself in

Light and love have no such boundaries
God has no such boundaries

Created with purpose for glory
Tear down the walls and shine

Light, love, and perseverance
Grace and freedom are mine

© April Milam 2012

Cerebral Quercus

The Assignment: Write a poem using the tree of life as inspiration.

Don't read too much into this.  Given that it only took me about 15 minutes to write, it's not exactly my most thought provoking piece.  But it was a  fun experiment, and the results were quirky to say the least.  Enjoy.

"Cerebral Quercus"

I sit at the base of an ancient oak that whispers at twilight,
half-light, day and night converge, a quiet breeze, crisp fall air, here my questions merge.

How did curiosity kill the cat?
And why did satisfaction bring him back like an addict that can’t get enough?
Questions haunt.  Answers nag, craving resolution.  The answer is somewhere in the tree.

So deep run the roots.  Let me be grounded.  So tall are the branches. Let me reach for the sky.
Such a commanding presence has the trunk of the tree, fully present as it weathers any weather. 
Let me be here and now, ever present, ever aware.

A single leaf falls to the ground clothed in hues of gold and red defiance.
Tumbling downward it calls out to the others, “We are Autumn.  Resistance is futile.”

I am what I am why I am.


© April Milam 2012

(Quercus is Latin for oak tree.)

A Rewrite

Some of you may recognize the first part.  Revisiting old things, this felt in need of a rewrite.

A Human Becoming

I am not a human being. 

(That would imply something stagnant.)

I am a human becoming. 

(I grow with the passing of time and circumstance.)

To be or to become, that is question.

For if I be, then I stay in my comfort zone that’s safe.

And we were made for so much more than that.

But if I become, then I grow, face my fears, my life, and know.

I am not a human being.

I am a human becoming.

Authentically, courageously, honestly, vulnerable and compassionate. 

Strength and struggle, connected by community, experience, and spirit. 

I am who I am, not a collection of suppositions.

I am not a human being.

I am a human becoming.

I live and love when it’s hard, when it hurts, when I doubt,

when it’s good, when it’s great, 

when it’s so much more than I could have imagined.

A soul that searches and struggles honestly

Inviting grace, joy, truth, and freedom in the process of human becoming.

* * *

~ by April Milam © 2006 - 2012

Poetry for Pi

Wednesday mornings I meet with a fantastically wonderful group of people who love to read (and eat breakfast), led by the beautiful and charming Nate Loucks. At the moment we're reading Brian Mclaren's A Generous Orthodoxy.  Last week we discussed Chapter 9, "Why I Am Mystical/Poetic".  A week later, those ideas were still running loose inside.  So I put pen to paper and set them free.

"Poetry for Pi"
~ by April Milam

The mystic and the mathematician sat down for pi
To talk about logic and reason and why.

“The soul needs poetry”, the mystic insisted
“It’s math that’s madness, not me.
Mystery and wonder keep us sane.
Solving every puzzle would make me crazed.”

“You don’t appreciate logic and order”,
The mathematician insisted.
“Without it you have only chaos.
Tell me,
What good would your poetry do,
If 2 plus 2 equaled 2?”

Round and round in circles they went
Til the pi was all eaten and their arguments spent.
Then they paused for a moment,
Taking note of their place,
Both in the same room, same table, same space.

“Perhaps we can agree to disagree,”
The mathematician suggested.
“Perhaps we could even learn from each other,”
The mystic carefully ventured.

The head needs the heart,
The heart needs the head,
Two very different ideas,
Mystery and Order,
Logic and Faith,
There’s value in formula and flower.

Fresh Fiction in Progress

I'm tinkering with a new story idea.  One of the main characters figures out that the "music" she's been hearing since her early childhood is simply Creation's Song.  While questioning why this revelation took so long, she writes a poem in her notebook.  I don't think she'd mind if I share it. *wink*

Creation’s Song                                                                    
                                                                    
Can you hear it?
The ancient hum of the old forest,
the sway of the harvest in the fields,
the gentle babble of the stream over smooth stones,
the choreography of fireflies on a summer night.

Can you hear it?
The rumble of the storm in the distance,
the quiet dance of falling snow,
the rhythm of ocean waves crescendo on the shore,
the symphony of the stars.

Creation sings!
Glory to God,
a vibrant expression of praise.

Creation sings!
Praise to the Lord,
a melody of joy rising within.

Creation sings!
A gracious glimpse of His glory,
for those who would stop and listen.

Shhhhh.
Can you hear it?




Psalm 96:11-13 "Let the heavens rejoice, let the earth be glad; let the sea resound, and all that is in it.  Let the fields be jubilant, and everything in them; let all the trees of the forest sing for joy.  Let all creation rejoice before the LORD..."

Old Poetry

I was digging through my computer archives when I ran across this old poem.  It's funny how our lives go through seasons.  Healing is a work in progress. 


"Two Halves"
~ by April Milam

Two halves resided
In the heart of one.
One half was free
The other was numb.

I once had a heart
that had two halves. 
One half I gave to God,
saying, "Take me as I am. 
Well, not really all,
just this part of me,
the half I'm willing
to let you see."

Either selfishness
or lack of trust
had me hiding the other half
in a box.
I locked it up tight
wrapped it in chains
determined that no one would see
the ugliness I hid in my heart
and I threw away the key.

But the numbness, you see
would not be contained
by the box and all of its chains.
Slowly it spread
to both halves of my heart
until all I had left was my pain.

That terrible ache
would wake me at night
with nightmares of heavy stones
that pinned me down
as I lost my breath
fearful at hearing
my own cracking bones.

With tears in my eyes
I prayed, "Dear Lord,
I come to you, just as I am.
Take the good.  Take the ugly.
Take all of my heart.
Lord, please make me whole again."

And He threw off the chains
and He unlocked the box
exposing darkness to light.
And the weight that was crushing me
disappeared
as the Son chased away night.

He took both pieces
of my broken heart.
He made it whole and complete.
And with mended heart
I stood by His side
and I knew
I was finally free.

Joy Is

I was going over my small group lesson on grace and joy, and I was reminded of how easily my five year old daughter seems able to find joy in the little everyday things in life. So I wrote out a list of her joyful occurances in the past few weeks. It really helped me recenter my focus. I hope you enjoy it.

Joy is twirling a pink umbrella
without reason
without rain

Joy is dancing with a yellow ducky
‘round the bathroom in delight
wearing the only suit you were ever born in

Joy is laughing at purple violets
that sprung up
overnight

Joy is starring up at blue skies
in wonder
of the many shapes of clouds that pass by

Joy is a pair of fancy white sandals
worn every day, plus Sunday
just because

Joy is sneaking chocolate chip cookie dough
straight from the mixing bowl
before it has a chance to get baked

Joy is praising God for green leaves
that are too high on the tree to reach
for now

Joy is a red sand pail
all shinny and new
that waits for the promise of warmer weather

Joy is all these little things
seen through the eyes of a child

Joy is where you find it

Joy is...

Simple Feelings

Your love is a healing kiss to my soul
Your truth is what sets me free
Your grace is like hope to this failing heart
Your joy is a blessing to me