International Poet...

The Internet is a marvelous tool.  The scope it can reach is astounding.  In the past six months my blog has been viewed, not only in my own country, (the United States,) but in Russia, Germany, Macedonia, Sweden and Thailand!  Before I started this blog, my poetry had reached very few outside my own family and friends, and now people I have never met on three different continents are reading the things I write!  It is truly a wonder, and one that too often we take for granted.
I don't have much else to say on the matter, except thank you to all those who have ventured forth and taken upon themselves to join me in my celebration of the great wonder that is poetry.

P.S.  Three continents down, four more to go!

Thoughts on poetry?

So, I know how I feel about poetry; I think it's quite obvious since I am writing a blog on the subject.  But what are your thoughts and feelings about poetry?  What place does it occupy in your life?  What kinds do you like or dislike?  Do you prefer to write it, read it, or both?
It's always nice to discover how others feel about your passions and interests.  If you have the time, please comment and share your thoughts and feelings with me.
Wishing all of my readers a wonderful day!

Everyday Angels

I'm sorry I didn't get this up yesterday, but here it is now, the poem on gratitude I mentioned in my last post.
I am thankful for unheralded miracles, the ones that come when we need them most, but come disguised as coincidence.  Today's poem is based on one of those miracles in my own life.
This poem is dedicated to JB, an everyday angel.

Swallowed in dark of night,
too discouraged to ask;
our hearts plead for angels
for a hard, looming task.

God doth hear our pleading,
and sends angels each day -
angels to comfort us
with His own shining ray.

But blind we do not see
the angels there before;
for we know their faces,
they live just right next door.

Angels are all ‘round us,
dressed just like you and me,
and in our darkest hours
they help so cheerfully.

We think ‘coincidence,’
but the odds are too great
for it to have come now,
not too soon or too late.

Coincidence is God’s
help anonymously;
a masterpiece without
a signature to see.

Everyday angels,
messengers wearing jeans,
watching o’er us in each
of life’s troubling scenes.

God is truly with us,
His hand is here to stay.
In love He doth send us
angels every day.

David Jamison

Poetry Challenge

Happy Thanksgiving to all my American readers!  If you are reading this somewhere other than the USA, well Happy Thanksgiving to you too!
On this day it is traditional to count your blessings, remember what you have been given, and to give thanks.  So in honor of this day, I hereby challenge and invite you to join me in giving thanks in a new way, namely by writing a poem.  The topic: something that you are personally thankful for, or just gratitude in general.  I have already started mine, and will try to post it tomorrow.
If you take me up on my challenge and would like to have your poem displayed on this page, just email me a copy at poetsdesk@gmail.com, or place it in a comment to this post.  I will review any I receive, and will post them as long as they are appropriate.

P.S.  I am thankful for poetry, the heartbeat of creation.

The Gettysburg Address

I know that when I started this blog, I stated that it would be for the purpose of publishing poems and thoughts on the subject of poetry.  However, with your approval, I would like to deviate from that slightly in today's post.
This is the 148th anniversary of the giving of the Gettysburg Address by U.S. President Abraham Lincoln.  While it is not poetry by the strict sense of the word, it was and still is one of the greatest speeches of all time.  In it, a speech that lasted only two minutes, he captured the spirit of freedom, the greatness of our nation, and the courage and devotion of all honorable soldiers.to the next.
It was in his mind a simple, unimportant speech, and yet it is still remembered to this day, as well it should be.  How much we underestimate the power our words may have, for good or for ill.  How little we grasp how long our words may ring from one end of the earth
Whether you are from America or another nation, this speech captures in it the essence of liberty, a gift that is not just for one nation, but for all lands, peoples and creeds.
May his words change your life as they have mine.

Four score and seven years ago our fathers brought forth on this continent a new nation, conceived in liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal.
Now we are engaged in a great civil war, testing whether that nation, or any nation, so conceived and so dedicated, can long endure. We are met on a great battle-field of that war. We have come to dedicate a portion of that field, as a final resting place for those who here gave their lives that that nation might live. It is altogether fitting and proper that we should do this.
But, in a larger sense, we can not dedicate, we can not consecrate, we can not hallow this ground. The brave men, living and dead, who struggled here, have consecrated it, far above our poor power to add or detract. The world will little note, nor long remember what we say here, but it can never forget what they did here. It is for us the living, rather, to be dedicated here to the unfinished work which they who fought here have thus far so nobly advanced. It is rather for us to be here dedicated to the great task remaining before us—that from these honored dead we take increased devotion to that cause for which they gave the last full measure of devotion—that we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain—that this nation, under God, shall have a new birth of freedom—and that government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth.

Abraham Lincoln 1809-1865

Sonnet 145

In looking up information about the last poem I posted, I came across this additional poem by Shakespeare.  I cannot say I like all of his writings, but some of his love sonnets are very striking.
Here is one that he wrote for his wife, Anne Hathaway.  Once again, try reading this one out-loud.  As you reach the last two lines, look for her name in the words; if you can't see it, look at the comment I have attached to this post.
Without further ado, Shakespeare's love for his Love.

Those lips that Love's own hand did make
Breathed forth the sound that said 'I hate'
To me that languish'd for her sake;
But when she saw my woeful state
Straight in her heart did mercy come,
Chiding that tongue that ever sweet
Was used in giving gentle doom,
And taught it thus anew to greet:
'I hate' she alter'd with an end,
That follow'd it as gentle day
Doth follow night, who like a fiend
From heaven to hell is flown away;
'I hate' from hate away she threw,
And saved my life, saying 'not you.'

William Shakespeare 1564-1616

Sonnet 17

I've been really busy with my day-job, and so haven't prepared any of my poems to put up here.  So filling in for me today is The Bard himself.  This is one of my favorite of his poems, and I used it (as well as a certain someone...) as inspiration for a sonnet of my own.  For the full benefit of this poem, try reading it out-loud if you are in an area that you can.

 

Who will believe my verse in time to come,

If it were fill'd with your most high deserts?

Though yet, heaven knows, it is but as a tomb

Which hides your life and shows not half your parts.

If I could write the beauty of your eyes

And in fresh numbers number all your graces,

The age to come would say 'This poet lies:

Such heavenly touches ne'er touch'd earthly faces.'

So should my papers yellow'd with their age

Be scorn'd like old men of less truth than tongue,

And your true rights be term'd a poet's rage

And stretched metre of an antique song:

But were some child of yours alive that time,
You should live twice; in it and in my rhyme.

William Shakespeare 1564-1616

Nothing is constant but change...

As the title states, life is about nothing if not change.  A big change has arisen in my life which will affect my readers, and so I write briefly about it here.
I have been invited to spend the next two years as an official representitive and ordained minister for my church.  I have accepted, and will be leaving my home come the New Year.  At my own expense I will be living in the Four Corners Area of the United States.  (The southwestern portion of our country for those who live outside the USA.)
I will be spending all my time teaching those I meet about Jesus Christ, His love for them, and helping them strengthen their family relationships.
Due to this, I will not have time to post here after January 1st.  You are still welcome to visit this page, and when I return I intend to once again write here as often as my schedule permits.
I will attempt to post as much of my poetry here as I can between now and then, so check back often.

Like it? Share it!

First off, thanks to all those who have come here and read my work.  It's satisfying to have people pay attention to your efforts.  I hope that you have enjoyed reading my thoughts and poetry as much as I've enjoyed writing them.
Second, if you like what you see here, please let others know about my blog.  My whole reason for starting this blog was to share the gifts I've been given and my love for poetry with others.  Thank you for helping me in that quest!

The Standard Bearer

In honor of this Veterans Day, of 11-11-11, and of my 40th post on this blog, I decided I would put a poem here that is very near and dear to my heart.
This poem was one that I started more than four years ago.  Since then I've rewritten it several times, expanding and refining it, though the story and message have remained the same.  It is now my longest poem by far, with fifty stanzas of four lines each and just over one-thousand words, and holds a place in my top three favorite of any I've written.  Along the way I've had help from several friends with turning it into the piece it is now.  This post is in part dedicated to them, though I will preserve their anonymity.
It was with this poem that I won an international award last year (the same contest I finalized in this year,) and I got to perform it in front of a crowd of several hundred at the awards ceremony.  It was a very wonderful and memorable experience, one for which I am very grateful.
The story of how this allegorical poem came about is thus: I was listening to a Christian-themed song; one of the lines talked about lifting the standard when there was no one else around.  At that point I had an experience which is extremely rare for me; an image appeared in my mind of a young boy facing an opposing army, holding a tattered flag (also known as a standard.)  In an hour or so the first version was completed.
I apologize for the long introduction, but this is one poem I felt needed some preface.  I would appreciate your comments; let me know what you think and feel.  So, without further ado, here is "The Standard Bearer."

A young, unseasoned warrior
upon the field did stand;
waiting for his captain
to give his first command.

The battle hadn’t started
when the captain gave his charge.
"You're to hold this flag up steady
despite gunfire, small or large."

Then he gave o’er the battle standard
(with its colors brave and true,)
saying "Stand upon this hill, my lad,
till death or I release you."

The boy then grasped the banner
with his heart and face alight.
Though the battle hadn’t come yet,
he was sure they'd win the fight.

For theirs was a battle
for land and liberty,
guarding from invaders
from another country.

He was glad to do his part
and to cheer the soldiers on;
for as long as he stood on that hill
the enemy had not won.

With daybreak came the trumpets,
and the troops were in array.
The sun had barely risen
when all had joined the fray.

The battle still was going strong
when the sun had reached its height;
now its cruel, uncaring rays
were burning with their might.

How hot it was upon the field!
And the boy, his lips were parched.
But yet he stood steadfastly,
as the soldiers ‘round him marched.

The afternoon was wearing on.
He soon forgot his thirst;
for explosions all around him
had now begun to burst.

The fight, ‘twas going badly,
the victory switching sides.
All ‘round the boy came fleeing back
the men, in rising tides.

"Stand firm for your country!"
(He called to urge them on.)
“Yet, e’en though I stand alone,
I'll still be her true son!"

The bullets were screaming closer,
they tugged his hat and coat.
The cannons roared the louder,
‘round his feet they dug a moat.

The captain saw the danger,
and he rushed to our dear boy’s aid;
but, before he could quite reach him,
to the ground the man was laid.

The boy never saw his leader
fall onto the ground;
his eyes were on the enemy,
his ears upon their sound.

A sound, oh how frightening,
‘twas the cries of demon-men
who did the work of terror,
and found glory therein.

They drew on ever closer,
like a roaring prairie fire;
stirring in the lonely boy
a coward’s base desire;

to run like the wind,
to flee from their sight;
and yet he stood fast
and held his standard tight.

The flag was violently waving,
though there was nary a breeze;
‘twas lead shot that sent it stirring,
their buzz - like angry bees.

But still our boy stood steady;
firm and unmoving was he!
Though standard-bearers ‘round him
had long since begun to flee.

There was only one other standing;
then, with a blast, he too was gone.
Our dear boy shook with terror;
he was now the only one.

It seemed every gun was aimed at him;
oh, how he yearned to run!
Slowly he lowered his standard,
despairing "It’s over. I’m done."

Then came the words of his captain,
"Don’t fall until you die."
Up swiftly came the banner
and he screamed the battle cry!

"For liberty, land and family!
For all that you hold dear!
For all that is worth fighting for,
show your weapons, not your fear!"

It flew with tongues of lightning,
from one voice to the next,
stirring iron into the hearts
that by fear were vexed.

One small cry, heard by many,
did change the tides of war.
Swiftly men came flooding back,
recalling what they fought for.

And with the strength of dragons
the enemy they did beat;
back quickly fled those scoundrels,
in terror and retreat.

"Victory," thought the boy,
"I didn’t fight in vain.
It was worth the danger,
it was worth the pain."

Just then, as they surrendered,
someone fired a parting round;
it lodged deep within the heart
of our boy upon the mound.

The joyous cry of victory
was cut short from his lips.
Then slowly, but surely,
the banner began to slip.

His fading life-clock, ticking,
began to fast unwind.
A thousand, sweetest mem'ries
and thoughts flash through his mind.

‘Twas time spent with the families
that he was fighting for,
both with the one he now had,
and the one no more in store.

The wife he’d never have,
children he’d never hold;
a tear sank down his cheek
as his hands grew cold.

Now all that he can see
is the terror that he fought,
not the several men
but the evil that they sought.

An evil just as faceless
as the violent, massing hoard,
an evil that says, "Virtue,
is something you can’t afford."

Denying men the freedom
to make themselves free;
a freedom gained by living
strict lives of purity.

He looked up at the banner
and saw, not a flag much torn,
but the many virtues
the world mocks with scorn.

For oft betimes ‘tis heavy,
and oh, so cumbersome,
to carry close your honor,
despite what e'er may come.

And loyalty and truth
are then called "out of date"
by those who, forever,
the narrow path do hate,

And chastity, strength-giver,
is scorned by the weak,
who live only for themselves,
thus losing what they seek.

Patriotism grows heavy
before the firing-line,
like the standard-pole
the boy's fingers did entwine.

It would be so easy
to let go and go numb.
Oh, to just give up
and to death succumb.

No! With his dying strength
he planted it in the ground!
Then, without a single moan,
he joined the dead all ‘round.

His life ended with the day;
but, as the sun went down,
his spirit left his body
and calmly looked around.

Then steadily rose his spirit
to stand above the plain.
His captain also had perished
and now they meet again.

"Well done, my young hero,
you bravely held your station.
Before you go to your reward
I have for you one question."

"Why didn’t you run with the rest?
You didn’t have to die."
"I have no regret," the boy said,
"I held my standard high."

"I was fighting in a cause
far greater than you or me.
I stood my ground, facing fear;
I’m glad I didn’t flee. "

They found the lad upon the mound,
the flag still in its place.
A calm little smile was still upon
our good young hero’s face.

They buried him on the hill;
by his stone the flag did fly.
By his name were etched these words,
"He held his standard high!"

David Jamison

Amazing Grace

My mind has been much caught up with the subject of Grace this past week, what it means and how far it reaches.  I am in the process of writing a piece about grace in my life, but since it isn't finished yet, I thought I'd post my favorite poem on the subject.
This poem/hymn was written by John Newton, a slave merchant of the 1700's, and a self-described "wretch."  His was a life filled with sin and mistreatment of others.  Then, while caught in a storm at sea, his eyes were opened to the Grace that had always been there for him.  From that day on he continually worked to turn his life around, eventually becoming a well-respected preacher and hymn writer.
Here are the original words of this best known hymn of his, since heard around the world.

Amazing grace! (how sweet the sound)
That sav’d a wretch like me!
I once was lost, but now am found,
Was blind, but now I see.

’Twas grace that taught my heart to fear,
And grace my fears reliev’d;
How precious did that grace appear,
The hour I first believ’d!

Thro’ many dangers, toils and snares,
I have already come;
’Tis grace has brought me safe thus far,
And grace will lead me home.

The Lord has promis’d good to me,
His word my hope secures;
He will my shield and portion be,
As long as life endures.

Yes, when this flesh and heart shall fail,
And mortal life shall cease;
I shall possess, within the veil,
A life of joy and peace.

The earth shall soon dissolve like snow,
The sun forbear to shine;
But God, who call’d me here below,
Will be forever mine.

John Newton, 1725-1807

Steadfast and Immovable

As I promised, here is the poem that was chosen as a finalist in the international contest I entered.  It's one I wrote some years ago, thinking about the strength today's younger generation holds, and the power that they have to change the world for the better.

I am a rock in the midst of the sea,

with waves crashing all around.

But I will stand firm in the face of those swells,

no matter how long they sound.

I am a tree with roots so deep,

that hold me steady and still.

Let the storm blow its worst, I’ll be strong

and hold fast to this hill.

I am the mountain that parts the skies,

that’s stood here fore’er and anon.

I was here before you were born,

and I’ll be here long after you’re gone.

I am a youth, and young though I am,

something of these three lies in me.

In the face of life’s storm I’ll stay true -

steadfast and immovable I’ll be.

David Jamison

Faith

I have not forgotten my promise from the last post to upload my poem, but that isn't the poem I am doing tonight. 
This evening I was looking ahead towards some big changes coming up in my life, and I realized that I was feeling just a hint of fear about the uncertainty of my future, and that that fear was quickly growing.  As soon as I noticed this, I remember something that a religious teacher of mine, and a man whom I highly respect, has often said.  To paraphrase, he says that fear and faith cannot both exist in the same body at the same time; one will expel the other. 
As I thought on this principle, a couple of lines appeared in my mind.  I was driving, and could not write them down, so I repeated them out-loud to myself until I could get a pen and paper.
Then my thoughts turned to my poor, neglected audience, whom I have not paid proper attention to, and here we are.  I know this isn't your average topic for a poem, and that my words are few and simple, but I know they are true.

Let fear not hold my heart,
nor lay claim to my soul;
faith shall be my lighthouse,
my trust in God e'er full.

I shall not e'er give way
to my soul's enemy;
faith leaves no room for fear -
my Lord my Guide shall be.

With all fear cast behind,
I shall not it recall;
my eyes look but one way -
to my Captain, my all!

David Jamison