The Piano - a poem

Another poem, inspired by a story idea I haven't been able to use yet.



Fingers caress ivory keys,
smelling of ink, of herbal teas.
Skirts whisper against faded floorboards,
where thousands of fears,
and silent tears were poured.
She slips onto the ancient bench,
braving the memories that entrench.
Weaving each note like a thread,
she hides a beloved story,
a tremor in her heart unsaid.
Somber melodies rise and give voice,
to the ache, to the sorrow
that helps her rejoice.
The piano stands proud
and with class, guards the heart of a silent
weary lass.
A fragile smile surfaces,
lifted by a hope that reverses
all of her shattered dreams,
and chases away
all of the dark one's schemes.
Wrists lift for an extra beat,
giving pause for a phrase complete.
Fingers tie each thread in a chord,
it hovers over her and the piano,
the piano so dearly adored.

Words of War

These words are for the
times of
tears and times of sorrows.
Times when
darkness feels close and
bitterness tastes sweet.
When,
fear wraps its firey arms
around your heart,
and lies cool your pain
with gentle fingers.

Never give up, don't ever
give in.
Brace yourself now, 'cause
this is war
and we intend to win.

These words are for
times of
complacence, times of plenty.
Times when,
everything is meaningless
and life is mundane.
When,
your strength becomes weakness
while loss becomes gain.
and your perception is distorted
with the sweetest of truths.

Never give up, don't ever
give in.
Brace yourself now, 'cause
this is war
and we intend to win.

These words are the
times of
chaos and times of storms.
Times when
your walls are breaking apart
and the sky is falling in.
When,
terror strikes at the dead of night,
to steal the life you always had,
and memories guard your heart
with soothing songs of mourning.

Never give up, don't ever
give in.
Brace yourself now, 'cause
this is war
and we intend to win.

Thes words are for the
people of
the earth, of this shattered world.
A people that
have lived on a diet of deception
and misinterpretations.
That,
have wandered from the river
containing their life-blood,
and though roots may go deep
they may also be mislead.

Never give up, don't ever
give in.
Brace yourself now, 'cause
this is war
and we intend to win.

Train to the Unknown

Yeah. I know it's late, but this idea just would not leave me alone. So. Here, a little piece of flash fiction for your pondering. Sleep is calling. G'night! (Oh, and I did draw the picture, like a year ago :P)

     You are boarding on a train. You don't know where it's going, just know that it's moving forward through  the wasteland of  lies, pain, shame, and brokenness. This journey is not for the one who is easily swayed, the one who sees no wrong in their world. It is not for those who are content to live peacefully in this warped reflection of reality. You settle in a seat next to a window. Rain drops spatter the glass. Sliding down through the grime, they gather on the ledge under the pane, then hurl to the cracked earth below. You wrest your gaze from the window and look at the others who will be joining you. Their expressions are somber and when you meet their eyes they nod appreciatively. All who have come know that the way will be difficult.  There will be no retreat. Some will jump when the wanderlust is gone, look for a new adventure, but they will  fall deeper than they ever were into the damaged life they left behind. 

      

     "Listen up all you Sojourners, Seekers, Followers, and Hopefulls - Your last chance to turn back unscathed is here. Take it or leave it," 

     

     The voice reverberates in your head. Last chance. Turn back. Griping the arm-rest until your knuckles whiten, you breath quickens. People shift in their seats, exchanging apprehensive glances. Four, five honest souls clatter off the train. Silence reigns.

     "Anyone else?" The voice queries.

     Two more straggle out the doors. 

     "All right then, hang on tight, here we go!"

       The floor lurches beneath you and you press your hand to the cold window. The landscape whips past, your heart pounds in your chest. In a matter of moments everything that made who you were is gone. When you look backwards an abyss of shattered dreams stares back mockingly. Trembling, you yank the shade down. 

     Footsteps break through your numbness. Someone slides onto the seat next to you. Gentle fingers press a warm cup into your chilled hands. Strong arms encircle your shoulders, "You aren't the same person now. Don't be afraid, my Child, I will never leave you, I will never give you up. I am your Abba, and I will never stop loving you." 

     

Outlines

I sit here, the power of words at my fingertips, yet I don’t know what to say. I have the ability to create worlds, strategize battles, pen a romance, touch the hearts of the people – and yet, I don’t know that I want to.

I don’t know that I want to.

How selfish is that?

I have power to make people laugh, or cry, to teach a moral, to give praise to God, but to do it I have to give up me. To write myself into the story, to let them experience what goes on in my head - is nerve-wracking to say the least. But if I don’t, is my story worth reading, will it really be all that it could be?

No.

I sigh and stare at the outlines, the maps, and character sketches. I read up on psychology, write a few poems, attempt to create a government.  Organize my papers, put them away, take them out, read them, add a few notes, add a few more notes, cross out a line, then another and another. A lovely voice says I should scribble all over the page, ball it up and throw it away.

I drop my pen and push away from the desk for a few minutes.I find my iPod and let soft instrumentals wash over me. The littles run past towing the youngest with them in a laundry basket-boat. I smile and store the memory away, noting the glint of excitement in their eyes as they venture to new worlds.

After setting a pot of water to boil on the stove, I take a moment to reflect on why I am writing. Why is it so important?

I find vague thoughts and emotions that jump tauntingly out of reach before I can catch them. 

Steam hisses up from the spout and I pour hot water over a tea bag. I sprinkle in a little sugar…okay, well, maybe a tad more than a little, and stir in a bit of milk. Wrapping icey fingers around the mug, I press my face close to the heat and blow puffs of warmth into my face.

He whispers gently to me, “Write this for me, Kate.”

I curl up with blanket and fingerless gloves that help my hands brave the cold. Armed with my favorite pen, a red marker, and tea, I pour over my notes once more and prepare the story He has asked me to create. I begin on the outlines again. A scene pops up, surprising me, giving me new insight on a character. The excitement returns and as I work through the mess of papers I decide that yes, this is worth it. I want people to cry with me, laugh with me, and beg my characters to see the consequences of their choices with me. I want them to experience what I have experienced… and maybe, just maybe, they’ll learn something too. And that makes it worth every everything I’ll have to endure.

Masacure - a (late) Christmas Poem

A poem/song I originally wrote about the mascure of baby boys after Mary and Joseph fled to Eygpt, though it makes sense for the mothers of those who killed in CT shootings.

Your eyes so small, so innocent,

A beautiful smile, so fragile, so sweet.

Tiny fingers, tiny toes,

My son I love you more than you'll ever know.

Your laughter is my greatest joy,

your four toothed grin, the only reward I need.

To be without you is unthinkable,

My precious boy, oh my dearest son.

They came on wings of darkness,

stealing love, stealing life.

They left you broken and torn,

sending you Home, washed in my tears.

I raised my voice and sang for you,

wept this massace of  innocence.

I held you close, refused thier comfort,

begging for your life, my son, oh my son.

Always will I harbor your memory,

deep inside, I will ponder your story.

I don't know why, the Lord chose you, to die today,

but I will try to understand, the underlying theme.

Even though they came on wings of darkness,

stealing my love, stealing your life.

Even though I've never been so broken and torn,

I know you are Home and it's everything you need.

Never will I forget your life, my gift.

Never will I forget, my son, oh my son.

Chivalry

In our culture, chivalry and young men in general are under attack. No one expects a guy to open a door, or offer to carry a heavy package. If they do it is most often seen as offensive, met with statements like, "I can do it myself!"

Sadly most people have accepted it. This post was written by a young man who is determined not too.(used with permission)

Declaration of Chivalry

by Luke Alistar

When in the course of human events, it becomes necessary for us young men to decide how we will treat the fairer sex in personal interaction, and to assume among the people of the earth the honorable station which the laws of God have ordained for us, decency of character requires that we declare widely the chivalrous beliefs we hold, in hopes that others will join us.

We hold these truths to be self-evident: that all men are created strong, as protectors; that they are endowed by their creator with certain unavoidable duties; that among these duties are chivalry, honor, and purity. That to carry out these duties, we must look to the Bible for wisdom, deriving our just direction from the Word of God through prayer; that whenever any man becomes destructive of these honorable qualities, it is our right to alter or abolish him, and to comfort those who have been hurt, keeping our values founded on what is true and good, which all comes from the Creator.

Prudence, indeed, will dictate that the wisdom of older Christ-following men who have proved their values should not be disregarded for the drives of the passionate young heart or even our own interpretations of God’s word; but still all experience behind the advice we receive must be considered, and tested against the Holy Scriptures.

Now, when a long trail of abuses and perversions arise while men of all ages pursue beautiful girls, it is our right, it is our duty, to condemn such actions, and to provide our services for the future security of said beautiful girls. Such has been the sufferance of many innocent victims, and some not so innocent but still victims, and such is now the necessity which constrains us to sign this declaration and endeavor to alter the decadent decay of our culture.

The history of the present state of the world is a history of repeated injuries and perversions, all having in direct object the destruction of purity and honor, the selfish fulfilling of fleshly desires, and the oppression of all that is innocent and true. To prove this, let facts be submitted to a candid world.

Men have refused to stand up for what they believe.

They have shirked their responsibilities as males, their divine duties, and utterly neglected to show unconditional love to those who depend on them.

They have refused to honor innocence when it would interfere with the satisfying of their selfish desires, or the reaching of their goals.

They have called together legislative bodies to pass laws, which give them the right to abandon families and pervert the perfect system of marriage instituted by God without facing any immediate consequences.

They have torn down the opposition repeatedly for resisting with manly firmness their invasions on the rights of the fairer sex.

They have endeavored to prevent the pursuit of pure and Godly relationships; for that purpose introducing all manner of intolerant attitudes and evil alternatives to purity.
They have obstructed the administration of Biblical justice, by refusing their assent to laws that would hold men to a higher standard.

They have raped; they have murdered; they have abandoned children. They have broken countless hearts; they have refused to admit when they are wrong; they have committed every atrocious work of evil that could be imagined.

We, therefore, the representatives of the Bible-believing Church of God, of which Jesus Christ is the greatest authority, in Christian brotherhood standing together and appealing to God for the rectitude of our intentions, do, in the name and by the authority of Jesus Christ, solemnly publish and declare, that we will do everything in our power to spread honor and chivalry through the world; that all women and girls have the right to be treated with respect; that we will never touch them without permission, and then only if the contact is in keeping with the exhortations of the Bible; that we will refrain from all lewd remarks and keep our eyes and thoughts where they belong; that those perverted men who cause harm and/or fear to women will be swiftly and justly dealt with; and that as sons of God we will treat all girls as sisters, standing firm to protect them from harm, to honor their wishes and requests as far as we ourselves are concerned. And for the support of this declaration, with a firm reliance on the perfect and true Word of God, we mutually pledge to Jesus Christ and to the good of all women, our lives, our fortunes, our devotion of pure intentions, and our sacred honor as men, the divinely ordained protectors of those weaker than ourselves.

Let all those in agreement solemnly affirm this promise, and seal their commitment by adding their signature below.

*************

This declaration is my prayer for the men who will read it. I pray that the Lord will enable you all to stand in the gates and be forerunners ofa new generation who will follow in your footsteps. And I pray the girls reading this will remember their duty as partners and encouragers in this venture we call life. We should spur the men in our lives on, affirm them, and build them up, not tear them down and participate in the cultural degradation of men.

So what do you say, guys? Will you sign your name large enough for Satan to read without his spectacles, as one of my friends so passionatly put it?

And girls, will you let them? For let’s face it, girls, we often are the largest stumbling block for men to overcome.

If anyone, man or woman, chooses to take up this cause, then I bid you this in closing. Give your enemies no quarter. Fight well. Don't lose heart. Embrace your calling.

About Luke Alistar

Luke is the published author of seven books including Offset which was a finalist in the 2010 One Year Adventure Novel contest and Snapshots! which took first place in the 2011 contest. He also writes for http://kingdompen.org/, a newsletter by Christian teens for other Christian writers.
You can find more of Luke's writings at his blog http://lukealistar.com/.

Identity

       I wrote this poem to describe the different voices that Satan takes in our culture to tell people who they should be. I got the ideas for  each stanza from  people that I've observed.


Voices
echo around her,
shrouding her mind,
telling her who she is:
"Incapable, misguided, and worthless."


Fears
hold her heart
dominating her thoughts 
telling her who she is:
"Alone, silent, and unseen."


Pains 
build walls around her,
closing her eyes,
telling her who she is:
"Tormented, broken, and  hopeless."


Memories
wash over her,
sapping her strength,
telling her who she is:
"Imperfect, vulnerable, and lost."


God
whispers in her ear,
asking for her heart,
telling her who she is:
"Beautiful, loved, valuable, to die for, His daughter."