Fiction & Poetry

Domestic Tranquility (in memoriam of 9/11) | {story#7}

/ Paul Burkhart / 4 Comments

This is an original fiction piece written for StoryADay September. Read more & follow here.
________________________________

I come from a long and distinguished line of men committed to defending this great nation from whatever attacks may befall it. This has been an honor and privilege for my family’s name for many years, even though it has brought it’s fair share of heartbreak to us.

For several generations now, my family has heralded from New York City and it’s surrounding areas. Nearly a hundred years ago now, my great-grandfather, Frank Crawford, fought in the Wars both in Korea and Vietnam: two of the greatest military victories our undefeated nation has ever seen. In both conflicts, my great-grandfather witnessed the violence and atrocities that were perpetrated against our forces with such cavalier brutality that it threatened to break our will. But, as is true of the American Spirit, we persevered to victory. And this was in spite of all of the proto-terrorist uprisings happening all over the nation on college campuses.
Continue reading →

The Gentleman with the Little Lady | {story#6}

/ Paul Burkhart / Leave a comment

This is an original fiction piece written for StoryADay September. Read more & follow here. Today’s story is based on the first part of my favorite short story, Anton Chekhov‘s “The Lady with the Little Dog“. It’s a retelling from the woman’s perspective, trying to capture Chekhov’s tone and style.
________________________________

I

Anna Sergeevna knew not whether to wear the beret again this day, as the dust and sun of Yalta were beginning to change its color.  She looked at herself in the mirror that so many had peered in before and would thereafter.  It had been hers for the past five days.  What all had this mirror seen?  What lovers had found themselves stealing a glance at the Other in this room; not at a person, but a reflection mediated by polished glass, preventing them from seeing the truest contours of human flesh.  Anna scolded herself.  Now was not the time for such sentimentalities.  She decided to wear the beret.  Putting it on reminded her of her husband’s feeblest attempts to cover his own shiny zenith that burned so easily.  He was so self-conscious about it.  But why?  Not for what she may think about it–that much was certain.  It was for all of them–all those that could provide medals, accolades, and honor.  She realized then that this was the purpose behind his fortuitous side-whiskers: compensation.  She believed his lack of hair made him distinguished-looking in certain lights; at certain, ephemeral moments where he may have said the right thing or noticed a different shade of rouge she had picked up on a whim.  He was a lackey.  These moments were few.
Continue reading →

Chance Encounter (an Ode & Lament to Beauty) | {story#4}

/ Paul Burkhart / Leave a comment

This is an original fiction piece written for StoryADay September. Read more & follow here.
________________________________

As I was walking down the crowded downtown street, I noticed a woman walking the opposite way, walking toward me. She was stunning. Long black-brown hair framed a clear face with a touch of rouge; the face contained two deep and dark eyes, ornamented with the perfect accents of eyeliner and shadow. Tall and slender, she walked with a poise and confidence that could do nothing but draw one’s eye. The cool of the coming Fall brought forth her seasonally-appropriate dark colors, layered clothes, and charming violet shawl.

My gaze was immediately arrested and mercilessly held without bond, tortured for the information I had no words to say. I had only thoughts. Only sensations. Only slight, but deep, sensual perceptions rising to an unfulfilling place of fleeting desire and longing. I felt the invitation to come, tempered only by the canyon of anonymity between us.
Continue reading →

A Kaleidoscope & Mirror, Both Darkened | {story#3}

/ Paul Burkhart / 1 Comment

This is an original fiction piece written for StoryADay September. Read more & follow here.
________________________________

Yes, I am.

What?

I am.

Who?

Karen. From the office.

How long?

To what degree?

“To what degree?” What the hell is that supposed to mean?

I mean, “How long since what?” Since it became physical? Since we started talking? Since the idea popped in my head? Since I contemplated opening myself up to the possibility in the first place? To what degree are you referring when you ask me “how long”?

Why are you talking so calmly about this?

Because we’re adults.

No, “we” are not.
Continue reading →

Tomorrow | {story#2}

/ Paul Burkhart / 1 Comment

This is an original fiction piece written for StoryADay September. Read more & follow here.
________________________________

It’s not until you’re laying there that you realize how different reality is from the movies–especially in this case.

That moment exposes the assumptions you had about how this sort of thing would happen, and the various details and nuances of those assumptions are really affected by the cultural influences you take in.

The biggest difference? For me, at least, it was the sound. Or rather, to be more specific, the lack of it.

Music. Squeal. Cursing. Bending of metal. Breaking of glass. Breaking of branches. Landing of body.

And then, silence.
Continue reading →

Semi-Sweet, Bittersweet | {story#1}

/ Paul Burkhart / Leave a comment

It was from loudly sucking the last of his milkshake that Ted finally understood the way she really was. Grabbing tissues, he made the call.

________________________________

This is an original fiction piece written for StoryADay September. Read more and follow here. (Because today is Labor Day, I am following today’s writing prompt by StoryADay.org to write “Twitter fiction”: a story in 140 characters of less. Come back tomorrow for my first “full length” piece.)

Creative Commons License
This work by Paul Burkhart is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.

Visions of Arcadia: the most terrifying art exhibit I’ve ever seen

/ Paul Burkhart / 5 Comments

This weekend I had the privilege of seeing the Philadelphia Museum of Art’s new exhibit Gauguin, Cézanne, Matisse: Visions of Arcadia. The exhibit showcases works exploring the idea of “Arcadia“: an idyll pastoral world envisaged in Virgil’s first major poetic work Eclogues where nymphs and fauns dwell alongside Bacchus and Pan; where human dwellers exist in peace, rest, and joy in the natural world.

(To put it simply: you can usually recognize Arcadian themes at work in a piece of art when it has naked people hanging out in nature–usually around rivers.)

This image of Arcadia, having been explored in art epochs in the past, overtook art once more right as modern art was being born, right around the turn of the 20th century. In fact, the exhibit subtly makes the argument that this image of a rural, paradisal ideal is an essential element in modern art’s development. The modernists’ dilemma–the tensions between longing and reality, finding and losing, permanence and transience, human and mythic–all find their embodiment in this Arcadian world.

The exhibit begins with excerpts from Virgil’s poetic treatment of this theme, set beside works that visualized his words. These run along one wall. On the opposing wall of this introductory hallway, there are excerpts from Stéphane Mallarmé’s modernist treatment of Arcadia, L’Apres-midi d’un Faune, accompanied by pen-and-ink drawings from Matisse that visualize his words.

The exhibit is great, but very theoretical. It works subtly and on nuance. It’s not just a bunch of pretty things thrown into a room. Instead it is a thesis–an argument–in visual form. It watches a theme develop from myth to poetry to visual art (and then from Renaissance to modern) and explores how they are all connected and converse with one another. It’s really like no other exhibit to which I’ve ever been. If you get the chance, see it.

But that’s not why I’m writing today.
Continue reading →

Thoreau on the Eternal God, made Present [QUOTE]

/ austinricketts4 / 1 Comment

‎In eternity there is indeed something true and sublime. But all these times and places and occasions are now and here. God himself culminates in the present moment, and will never be more divine in the lapse of all the ages. And we are enabled to apprehend at all what is sublime and noble only by the perpetual instilling and drenching of the reality that surrounds us…The poet or the artist never yet had so fair and noble a design but some of his posterity at least could accomplish it.

—Henry David Thoreau, Walden (via Austin Ricketts, who’s contributed to this blog before. My thoughts on this topic here.)

Hey! It’s Still Easter!

/ Paul Burkhart / 4 Comments

When I had appendicitis last week, our preaching pastor visited me in the hospital. Having missed the service that Sunday–the first after Easter Sunday–I asked him what new sermon series he had started, now that Easter was over.

He looked at me a little surprised (as I’ve been so into liturgy and the Church Calendar the past couple of years) and informed me of something that I had apparently missed:

Easter is an entire season that is 50 days long.

(Wikipedia confirms.) Oh why do we shorten our time to rejoice and celebrate? This season is our excuse to go crazy and be joyful, bold, secure, and confident before our God and this world.

We have 33 more days before we celebrate Pentecost.
Continue reading →

on Easter: “to Life, a sonnet” [a poem]

/ Paul Burkhart / Leave a comment

to Life, a sonnet

____________________________________Praise.
_________________________________Ovate
______________________________Now
___________________________How’s
________________________Why’s
_____________________Cries
__________________Birth
_______________Groans
____________Crows
_________Creation
______Weep
___There:

Here:
Sleep…

[read my other Holy Week poetry here]

all writings licensed: Creative Commons License

on Holy Saturday: “to death, a sonnet” [a poem]

/ Paul Burkhart / 1 Comment

to death, a sonnet

A fear as frank as frankness be
I hold within this frame so dear;
so dear please hold me, till this dark is past
_____— till the darkness passes mine eye.

But to be so engraced I know I must face
_____– and lose-
___________to this spectre this prospect requires.

O this still darkest night, I lie here betwixt
competing rays
__________of glory’s gaze.
One lies ahead; one lies to my face
___both wooing and charming a choice from my hands:

___________to re-seize and be lived,
___________or release and be sieved?

[read my other Holy Week poetry here]

[image by Mark Rothko]

all writings licensed: Creative Commons License

on Good Friday: “Coffee Crucifix” [a poem]

/ Paul Burkhart / 8 Comments

Coffee Crucifix

Crescent ring under porcelain smooth
___stain the wood-stained finish.
______(It is finished.)
___Marked with muddy water;
___mark the merry day; to
___marry the murdered man.

Floral notes in blackened waves
___crash the shore of trembled lips.
Choral bright, in darkest night,
___wake the tone of trebled kiss.

Younger tastes left open-wide; older eyes made
satisfied.

Mark the wood: complex simplicity.
Pierce my heart: storied infinity.

[read my other Holy Week poetry here]

all writings licensed: Creative Commons License

From His Father [GUEST POEM]

/ Paul Burkhart / 1 Comment

by Jen Huber

He can easily say what he has lived by:
God and belonging; known from childhood.

He was raised to believe in what was taught
To stand by his father’s belief in his Father
Accept the judgement of another,
The forgiveness of one another
Believing in something unseen

From generation to generation
This belonging to faith has remained
And grasped his life long-lived
And to know that his Father carried
Him throughout his time

He can easily say what he has died for

[image credit: Lauren Chandler]

a simply beautiful prayer…

/ Paul Burkhart / Leave a comment

I saw this tacked onto the bulletin board of the psychiatrist at my previous employer. She is one of the best mentor I’ve ever had, and this is one of the most honest, simple,  and beautiful prayers I’ve ever read. I feel it captures my relationship with my Creator more perfectly and more simply than most anything I’ve read (except maybe for this). May this encourage all you weary travelers out there:

My Lord God, I have no idea where I am going. I do not see the road ahead of me. I cannot know for certain where it will end. Nor do I really know myself, and the fact that I think I am following your will does not mean that I am actually doing so. But I believe that the desire to please you does in fact please you. And I hope I have that desire in all that I am doing. I hope that I will never do anything apart from that desire. And I know that if I do this you will lead me by the right road, though I may know nothing about it. Therefore I will trust you always though I may seem to be lost and in the shadow of death. I will not fear, for you are ever with me, and you will never leave me to face my perils alone.

Amen.

from Thomas Merton’s “Thoughts in Solitude”