craft the day
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Description:
from notes I've written in the past weeks
craft the day
what is a day? the longings of a soul spent wisely like pennies in a wishing well; time's future thoughts composed of excellent memories between the rhythms, ancient ghosts seek healing I release them from skins and fire-licked skies send them toward heaven; so mysterious to me that they need our hell to transform into colors and use them to paint the sky. your heaven is real when it refuses to die in darkness. conscience tells me, I must enter your heart between beats, not intending to deceive, honor has swiftly rendered fools of many who pry open a shell to find a pearl believing they've found treasure, soon take flight love is not a question but a beautiful answer that does not leave you will find me inside the miller's grist a mist consumed by these lines my body weeps anthems to the stars I am obelisk thrust skyward, hungry for the sound healing makes as rivers pour engravings down tarnished sides ritual joy day love practice I craft the day on sheets of love. |
Submitted on 2006-10-25 20:38:16 Terms of Service / Copyright Rules
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| I don't know how I managed to miss this!!! I don't profess to fully understand this lovely piece, but just wrapping myself in the music of the words is enough. | Posted on 2009-12-25 00:00:00 | by Maverique | [ Reply to This ] | what is a day? the longings of a soul spent wisely | like pennies in a wishing well; time's future thoughts composed of excellent memories between the rhythms, ancient ghosts seek healing I release them from skins and fire-licked skies send them toward heaven; so mysterious to me that they need our hell to transform into colors and use them to paint the sky. your heaven is real when it refuses to die in darkness. conscience tells me, I must enter your heart between beats, not intending to deceive, honor has swiftly rendered fools of many who pry open a shell to find a pearl believing they've found treasure, soon take flight love is not a question but a beautiful answer that does not leave you will find me inside the miller's grist a mist consumed by these lines my body weeps anthems to the stars I am obelisk thrust skyward, hungry for the sound healing makes as rivers pour engravings down tarnished sides ritual joy day love practice I craft the day on sheets of love. WOW!!! what a great write, nan! what i get from this piece is that all of us ought to live life to the fullest. you know, that is one of the burdens of God's heart for us. Jesus said in Jn. 10:10 that "the thief (devil) comes to steal, kill and destroy, but i (Jesus) have come to give life and that more abundantly". carpe diem to seize the day could be a another title of this poem. we all really do have the power to craft our days, don't we? making the best choices, such as, loving the unlovable, spending time with the shut inns, visiting the sick in the hospital, feeding the hungry etc. life is to short to do otherwise. heres to LIFE ... 1jn. 5:12-13 " 12He that hath the Son hath life; and he that hath not the Son of God hath not life. 13These things have I written unto you that believe on the name of the Son of God; that ye may know that ye have eternal life, and that ye may believe on the name of the Son of God." excellent write. wonderfully full of a potent theme and images. Jesus bless you. john-paul this is going to mt favs. | Posted on 2006-12-12 00:00:00 | by rev.jpfadeproof | [ Reply to This ] | This is absolutely beautiful! And I love your last line "I craft the day on sheets of love." | Nan...this is most definately another favourite of mine! Thank you so much for sharing your thoughts! Lisa | Posted on 2006-11-24 00:00:00 | by Lisa-Marie | [ Reply to This ] | She sighs | Somehow your work leaves me grasping for words, and even when I babble at length I am not satisfied that I can import to you the true depth of my feelings. I have read this several times since I returned, ( ditto for many of your poems) and just have to tell you how much I love this one (ditto for many of your poems) The intro captivates with its question--- ["what is a day"--what is a year--what is a life?--]and leads smoothly to the second strophe with even more evocative imagery--- as you strive to provide your answer. “between the rhythms, ancient ghosts seek healing I release them from skins and fire-licked skies send them toward heaven;” [ God! I love those lines--seriously how can I comment constructively on this?] You follow with " so mysterious to me that they need our hell to transform into colors and use them to paint the sky." These lines make me think of a forge, a metallurgist's crucible--or alchemy, --a process where transformation occurs, --something common and ordinary is made precious. This speaks to me of transcendence , of flip-sides, or illusion and reality, and how thin , yet imposing the gap is between all opposites. Another fave line--"love is not a question but a beautiful answer that does not leave" But is it really?---just one or the other?-love is both , just as life and death are part of each other--and day and night,---you draw us these circles, in the skies with moonbeams and mists and all your words underline the mystery that is life. The last strophe was so vibrant and passionate,--you evoke emotional highs and lows , contrasts again-- with images that blend the physical and tangible with the more nebulous and unknown,-- a mystical abstract ride that leaves the reader to their own soul-searching while inspired by your strong affirmations. And ohhhh, "I craft the day on sheets of love." That is beautiful, --though I may not grasp exactly what you meant--I feel an empathy here, --your words are uplifting , and that after all loss/pain there comes a point when grief subsides and we gain a little more understanding of the nature of life and love,--and from there healing begins that we can truly celebrate each day, --each experience, --each person who has touched us. "The sheets of love "are all these things, and knowing that sets free the butterflies caged deep inside. In today's world it usually takes some grievous personal loss to give cause to reflect on these matters,--and even then some never find such serenity. Your poet's soul has sung to us all. Love Sallycat | Posted on 2006-11-14 00:00:00 | by Silverdog | [ Reply to This ] | this is beautiful, Nan. i imagined you writing down these thoughts as you were watching your father go through his pain and eventual flight from this world.. | i love your last line, which wraps it all up so wonderfully.. "I craft the day on sheets of love." the only way to live, really. even in the midst of sorrow and pain, we love, and that is the best way to heal ourselves on this earth, by loving.. i see your work has evolved a lot in the last year. i know you've been through so much with your father being ill. it is times like this that bring life into a clearer focus and puts everything into perspective. excellent write, lady. i'd like to add this to my faves. it's great to read you again. your poetic gifts sometimes astound me. love, ~Cat | Posted on 2006-11-11 00:00:00 | by magnicat | [ Reply to This ] | Okay... I've returned, after like a year (or so it seems), and realize I have little I can say beyond this is beautiful. I obviously have no nitpicks. But maybe, I don't know, you might consider moving: | your heaven is real when it refuses to die in darkness. onto it's own line? It's such a powerful statement, I don't know, it feels like it should stand alone. But really... this is stunning. As is everything I've read of yours... I'm beginning to see a pattern... Justin  | Posted on 2006-11-08 00:00:00 | by IamYourTragedy | [ Reply to This ] | "your heaven is real when it | refuses to die in darkness." I love this line. I think it is the center piece of this poem. I like your mature tone and style of writing, it shows years of practice. This poem is really good. I'm off to view your other poems... | Posted on 2006-11-05 00:00:00 | by Paradox | [ Reply to This ] | This poem is not as well-crafted as most your work, and understandably so. I lost my brother-in-law last week, and just couldn’t write at all. How much closer a father is! “Between the rhythms, ancient ghosts seek healing”. Indeed. | Having said that about the craftsmanship, this is still very fine. The images are admirable, and the editing required to complete this is actually minor. The emotional communication is so complete, it drags us along in its wake, welcome though uncontrollable. This is the core of poetry. Please take it as a compliment that I consider this one of your “lesser” works. Let me know how things are now. fred | Posted on 2006-10-31 00:00:00 | by fredmelden | [ Reply to This ] | between the rhythms, ancient ghosts seek healing | I release them from skins and fire-licked skies send them toward heaven; so mysterious to me that they need our hell to transform into colors and use them to paint the sky. your heaven is real when it refuses to die in darkness. That is just too cool. It's so full of great images. I suppose "they need our hell to transform into colors and use/ them to paint the sky" is my favorite. "your heaven is real when it refuses to die in darkness" is also very strong. conscience tells me, I must enter your heart between beats, not intending to deceive, honor has swiftly rendered fools of many who pry open a shell to find a pearl believing they've found treasure, soon take flight love is not a question but a beautiful answer that does not leave "conscience tells me, I must enter your heart between beats" is a very cool idea. you will find me inside the miller's grist a mist consumed by these lines my body weeps anthems to the stars I am obelisk thrust skyward, hungry for the sound healing makes as rivers pour engravings down tarnished sides ritual joy day love practice I like "the sound healing makes as rivers/ pour engravings down tarnished sides" too. I like how this is built upon binary oppositions: that reminds me of Blake for some reason. Nicely done, Amy | Posted on 2006-10-31 00:00:00 | by cuddledumplin | [ Reply to This ] | This is very powerful Nan. Some real treasures in the piece (and a treasure as a whole, too) | I really found some profundity in this line: they need our hell to transform into colors and use them to paint the sky. You take the balance of things and place them into an interesting and new light, a light that we can see. It true genius to take abstract concepts and turn them into something real, something that we can almost stand on. And some of the lines hear nake beautiful qoutes, to remember and cite at desperate times l"ove is not a question but a beautiful answer that does not leave" You are a sage Nan, truly.... | Posted on 2006-10-28 00:00:00 | by screams | [ Reply to This ] | This is truely and utterly beautiful. I felt some of the line breaks in the second staza lacked the ability to puctuate your thoughts; it was done so powerfully in the first stanza. | I could have done without the pennies and wishing well and stayed with the previous line contently, but i don't think that they take away from the piece and there a good set up for you future memories concept. As far as the ending goes i think the effort to put the title in the poem weakens the ending the las line all by itself just feels unecessary. The ghosts escaping skin be and fire scoarched skies made me think of drum circles and yearly cycle. I love your reflection on heaven/ hell realms being more of realms of conscious thought rather than specific places. Anyway beautifully done, but i think a little refining could perfect this. As you said it spawned from notes and I thank you for it. peace | Posted on 2006-10-27 00:00:00 | by shaman | [ Reply to This ] | what is a day? the longings of a soul spent wisely | like pennies in a wishing well; time's future thoughts composed of excellent memories between the rhythms, ancient ghosts seek healing I release them from skins and fire-licked skies send them toward heaven; so mysterious to me that they need our hell to transform into colors and use them to paint the sky. your heaven is real when it refuses to die in darkness. conscience tells me, I must enter your heart between beats, not intending to deceive, honor has swiftly rendered fools of many who pry open a shell to find a pearl believing they've found treasure, soon take flight love is not a question but a beautiful answer that does not leave you will find me inside the miller's grist a mist consumed by these lines my body weeps anthems to the stars I am obelisk thrust skyward, hungry for the sound healing makes as rivers pour engravings down tarnished sides ritual joy day love practice I craft the day on sheets of love. On sheets of paper or sheets of linen? It is interesting, Nan, that you've pointed out the intertwined relationship of pain/pleasure/heaven/hell in a sense similar to a meteor etching a trail in the sky as it dies in midflight. Such a death is both tragic and beautiful as it unfolds, but I'm not certain that was your intention. I believe you're also speaking of creating beauty from sorrow, disappointment, the mundane, and the commonplace through the means of poetry as it salves both soul and eyes like a healing balm. Otherwise there'd be no need to enter the reader's heart between beats. Just some thoughts, young lady. I may be babbling yet again. Take care. Bill. | Posted on 2006-10-26 00:00:00 | by rws | [ Reply to This ] | Ah! This is... stunning. And beautiful... and I am so tired I have nothing else to say write now, so I shall PM myself a reminder to come back and give you a real comment tomorrow. For now though, I just wanted to tell you I thought it was stunning. And beautiful. | Justin I shall return!...with a vengeance! (well... maybe not a vengeance, but, I shall return!) | Posted on 2006-10-27 00:00:00 | by IamYourTragedy | [ Reply to This ] | |
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