I Look for a new Song

I look for a new song
The old one hasn’t died
Though it has been tried
It’s still a rhapsody
A fragrant harmony
But now suffers dormancy

I beg for a new song
To gladden my heart
Like love’s fresh start
When song sparrows’ trills
Resound through their bills
Burgeoning thrills

I ache for a new song
To reveal His presence
Christ’s holiest essence
Reigniting the fire
From a sweet singing lyre
Spawning dance of desire

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un-assuaged

it feels as if I’m without hope

     un-assuaged

while questions ricochet

like echoes bouncing

     in a cave

roaring continuous

     as the waves

crashing around in my brain

     leaving me week, drained

perilously I teeter

     on a cliff

          therefore I turn to the Holy Writ

but for the promises within

     I’m drowning in chagrin

yearning for relief

     pile-driven into grief

and yet my prayers

     they merely whimper

demons laugh

     and point their fingers

yelling “you, you are to blame!”

     overwhelmed I hide my shame

it has to be my fault (it just has to)

     for the enemy’s assault

but it’s been proclaimed

     marry your faith to belief

          whence the pathway to relief

but when reprieve isn’t granted

            misery is fast implanted

it’s hard to stay enchanted

nonetheless I cling to Hope

     one that survives, thrives

          in Gethsemane’s garden

          while clinging to His garment

          sheltered from doubt’s bombardment

 

By Rocky James Curtiss 04/26/2018

Again, Where is Home

It’s often just the place
Where I’m feeling most alone
With crowds or some close friends
I’ll scarce opine a groan
Doubting anyone ready
For the stutters of a stone
I continue in my search
Again, where is home?

 

In a world that’s been fashioned
By the extreme left and right
I choose retreat into solitude
Rather than jump into a fight
But this hiding bears a cost
As I disappear from sight
For I’m bound to keep the candle
Of Peace and Truth upright

 

I confess I lean far left
My aim is not to hide it
But for reasons I can’t solve
The churches I’ve abided
Deign my ilk ungodly
My disposition damned misguided
Alone in crowded pews
My loyalty divided

 

Yet again, where is home?
No answer smacks me clear
Nor lightning bolt from God
For the faith I hold so dear
Sixth decade of my journey
Eden has ne’er appeared
Peace descends within His whisper
Of “I love you” in my ear

Where’s Home?

I ask myself, “Where’s Home?”

Then recognize an enigma

Is it where I now reside?

With my wife

In an apartment

On Spokane’s south hill

Where mail clutter tracks us down

It’s true, but it doesn’t feel like such

*

I look back into my past

To the stucco house Dad built

Where I was raised

(Raised? We moved when I was 15)

And besides, the house is gone

Replaced by a modern monstrosity

Sarcastically dubbed a McMansion

My boyhood world extinguished

*

So then there’s Temple City

LA suburbia from birth (to 21)

But as I travel its streets today

Familiar landmarks evaporated

Orange groves exterminated

Friends’ homes abdicated

Familiar faces obliterated

The loss of roots exacerbated

*

Well, how about Redlands

Where we dwelt long forty years

Friends relocated

Children migrated

Parents expired

And then we retired

The familiar emerged unrecognized

Solid ground liquefied

*

I ask again, “Where’s Home?”

The query still unsatisfied

Intimate faces with disparate lives

Common faces without history

Local spaces void of memory

Shallow roots cannot abound

Attempt to anchor runs aground

I guess home exists beside my bride

…and I’m satisfied

Dream to Rise

an ode to MLK and Maya

on the 50th anniversary of his death

and the 90th anniversary of her birth

Dream to Rise

I was raised on an island

   So to speak

  A Southern California oasis

       Of white privilege

         White bread

         White T-shirts

         White sweat socks

*

Now privilege didn’t mean wealth

   But spoke of a freedom

     We took for granted

Exempt from inhumane laws

   That stripped dignity from souls

   Robbing them of their “inalienable rights”

For the crime of being born other…

     Black, Brown, Yellow, Red

*

In time we heard the stories

   They filtered through

     The walls of our ignorance

   Much as the sun diffused through

     Our shuttered Venetian blinds

So tight we closed our eyes

   But we couldn’t close our ears

     Until your voice, Dr. King

     And your spirit, Ms. Angelou

       Stirred us from coma

*

Your dream lives on, Reverend

   In the hopeful hearts of the cleansed

     For “free at last, free at last”

*

And still we rise, Dame Maya

  (If I may accord you regal honor)

     For rising above the “bitter twisted lies”

*

Like the fledgling who pecked his way

   From the constraint of his shell

     And then flew in the draft of eagles

Yes, it’s taken me a lifetime

   But…I have a dream that somehow

     Someday I may make a difference

     And move one more heart

       To rise from hate and intolerance

       On to the path of love and acceptance

*

Lord, move my spirit with theirs to rise

Friday Morning

I wrote this almost a year ago, in keeping with the season. Be sure to read all the way to the end;

 

Friday morning
Slept barely but a wink
An evening celebration
Plunged headlong off the brink

 

He asked me to pray
To cushion His agony
I didn’t sense the pain
Treating Him so casually

 

I tried to atone
By following Him to trial
But when others called me out
I answered with denial

 

The guilt is overwhelming
The torment so intense
I rack my soul for answers
But forsaken of defense

 

He entered Zion in victory
To adulation and high praise
But now the sounds of sobbing
Is all that’s being raised

 

The crowds are on the move
To the hill called Calvary
As anger overflows
In spiritual anarchy

 

I dare not follow close
And be sucked into their hate
Will I echo denunciation
Adding insult to His fate

 

I can’t believe my eyes
As spikes pierce hands and feet
But He looks on me with love
My shame is now complete

 

It’s Friday morning
And my Savior’s on a cross
His death becoming real
While hope for man is lost

*

*

*

 

It’s Sunday morning!

 

Rocky James Curtiss 04/14/2017

Croci

On an errand recently, just a few days before the beginning of spring, I spotted these croci (crocuses) sprouting up from turf at the base of a large maple tree. The flowers seemed to have won a valiant battle over roots, grass, and pieces of bark. They weren’t overwhelmingly beautiful, but I admired the courage it took to find and homestead such a precarious piece of turf no more than two feet from the street. In their honor I composed this poem:

 

No definitive pop

You emerged with a pfft

Those tinctured pastels

Gave Terra Firma the slip

As your Mother Earth

Awoke from her sleep

You hurried your trek

From half-frozen deep

No blaring trumpets

Nor strings aplenty

Warbled your birth

From winter’s eternity

Yet quiescent blooms

Stirred my eyes from their glaze

Awakened my passion

From slumberous malaise

*

Rocky James Curtiss 03/22/2018

 

O Little Town

I was blessed to share this in Church today. I wrote this for this year’s Christmas Card.

O Little Town…

 

O little town of Bethlehem

You were not still that night

As travelers arrived at every hour

Their clamor drowned the quiet

 

The inns full to overflowing

But truth, the rooms were few

Such greeted one faint couple

With precious cargo due

 

It wasn’t a Hallmark moment

In a Thomas Kinkade Town

When the Son of God alit on earth

Sans His golden crown

 

No warming glow from rustic barn

Swathed in nostalgic verse

Nor regal pomp and splendor

Regaled the holy birth

 

Spent from arduous journey

Joseph pled their urgent case

But the vexed and haggard host

Rebuked him to his face

 

The best he had to offer

A stable lay out back

Among cows and goats, flies and mice

Fetid squalor did not lack

 

Worn beyond weary

Mary ached for curing rest

She scanned the humble structure

For a tolerable place to nest

 

And within that covert hovel

A private miracle then took place

By a virgin, God delivered    

The Ark of peace and grace

 

In not announcing such a marvel

The Herald Angels seemed remiss

They failed to alert the village

That God was in their midst

 

No, they took their news out of town

To the nearby quiet hills

Where a band of loathsome shepherds

Received the vocal thrill

 

No trumpets blown in chorus

In an inaugural display

That the King of all the earth

Lay in the town that day

 

For Jehovah had a purpose

When He sent His Son to earth

He was bringing hope and mercy

To the least in power and worth

 

It wasn’t a Hallmark moment

In a Thomas Kinkade Town

When the Son of God alit on earth

Sans His golden crown

 

No warming glow from rustic barn

Swathed in nostalgic verse

Nor regal pomp and splendor

Regaled the holy birth

 

Rocky James Curtiss 12/13/2017

Psalm 107

This has been inside me long enough. I’ve always wanted to write a poem based on Psalm 107 which, to me, is one of the most poetic of the Psalms. The Psalmist repeats a certain phrase several times and you’ll notice I’ve done the same. It is long, 80 lines, but I hope you don’t let that deter you.

Inspired by Psalm 107

Everyone, give thanks to Adonai
Shout out praises as the thunder
For the goodness He has wrought
When you were added to His number
As you thirsted in the desert
Hope was buried in the sand
He snatched you from the enemy
Then shaded with His hand

He heard your stressful cries
As the enemy attacked
And took the evil blows
Those raked across His back
Everyone, give thanks unto Yeshua
for His refreshing, cooling streams
Which soothe your thirsty hearts
And relieve your burning pains

Shackled deep in deadly darkness
Afflicted and in irons
Constantly turned your backs
Eschewed His offered arms
He left you to your slavery
Until from your knees you cried
He unchained your grieving hearts
And drew you to His side

He heard your stressful cries
As the enemy attacked
And took the evil blows
Those raked across His back
Everyone, give thanks unto Yeshua
For the freedom he provides
He loosed you from the Rogue
And took you for His bride

Fools clinging to your vanity
Parading arrogance like a crown
Abhorring His mercy and His peace
Behaving like a clown
Insisting you know better
Though trapped by your own sin
Until wearied, you cried out
Jehovah, Savior, I repent!

He heard your stressful cries
As the enemy attacked
And took the evil blows
Those raked across His back
Everyone, give thanks unto Yeshua
For His humble path to death
His blood has marked the way
To His blissful arms of rest

Each voyage fraught with danger
From chilling highs to dreadful lows
You’re at the mercy of the storm
As you fight the deadly blows
But Jehovah is the Master
Over winds and stormy seas
When we rest in His protection
He showers us with peace

He heard your stressful cries
As the enemy attacked
And took the evil blows
Those raked across His back
Everyone, give thanks unto Yeshua
Who stills the tempest’s madness
With a simple, spoken “Stop”
Then fills our sails with gladness

He dries up every river
And blocks life-giving springs
Turns your labor into folly
For the wickedness you bring
But He turns desert into grassland
From a Rock He floods the plain
Jehovah-Jireh, your Provider
When you kneel to His reign

He heard your stressful cries
As the enemy attacked
And took the evil blows
Those raked across His back
Everyone, give thanks unto Yeshua
For He drenches us in Love
Which he carried from the Father
On His mission from above

Rocky James Curtiss 07/12/2017

One More Truck to Pass

Cruising on the highway
Learned these metaphors for life
Smooth asphalt is a good day
The bumpy road our strife
Regardless of conditions
Rough or smooth as glass
The one constant in our journey
Is another truck to pass

Straight roads stretch on forever
As we speed to infinity’s end
While curvy roads they check us
With hilly turns and bends
Regardless of conditions
Whether slowed or moving fast
The one constant in our journey
Is another truck to pass

I’ve learned “What’s the hurry?
The drive ends soon enough
While focused on the highway
I missed God’s dazzling stuff
This sojourn I’ve been given
Was not consigned to last”
He says, “Slow down, enjoy it!
There’s one more truck to pass”