Semi-Sweet, Bittersweet | {story#1}


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


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]


‎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!


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]


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]


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]


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]


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…


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”

My Ex-Girlfriend, the Blog: a story of relationship, loss, & finding again


[All links in this post open in new tabs. You’ve been warned.] 

We know the story well. You start a relationship and it’s exciting at first: it’s new, it’s unfamiliar, and each day seems to hold a new discovery or a new inspiration. There’s a dynamic sense of interaction and give-and-take that inspires you to share more and more of yourself with this person. You learn more about yourself. You learn more about them with whom you are sharing this stuff. Your thinking sharpens and you spend much of the day musing about what you might tell them and when you might interact with them once more, wondering about how you might phrase something or to what detail to speak of a certain thought, feeling, or sentiment you had.

When days go by without interaction: you ache; they ache.

But then it happens. These interactions begin to feel a little more like a duty than a delight. You feel the weight of expectation and it begins to stifle the feelings you once had. Those days that go by without interaction feel more like reprieves than punishments. You feel the strings of your own heart beginning to unwind from the ball of yarn that is there’s.
Continue reading

On Easter: “Adam Killed a Bird, But Jesus Brought Him Back” (a poem)


_____________________________________________________

Adam Killed a Bird, But Jesus Brought Him Back

Now looking through the glass not dim, Coltrane all around;
he sets a tone of dissonance, rightly now it seems.
For as the beauty clothes me in, a tragedy is found:
woodchips below – a resting place – long for love supreme.

For there he lies with outstretched span, stricken by a car;
afflicted by our fallenness, and smitten by our thorns.
He struggles with the weight of pain, not getting very far.
To stop, release his spirit’s breath – give way to Death’s dark door.

I prayed a prayer, and thought some thoughts, and something in me burned.
Oh I see my Savior, the pains he took! For me: protect,
for prone to wander, weak I am, to that which I once yearned.
Until you did in me and Him- my soul: You resurrect.

And thus to show He heard my prayer and strengthen my weak frame,
up pops the bird, into the air; and now my soul shall do the same.

[read my other Holy Week poetry here]

all writings licensed: Creative Commons License

On Holy Saturday: “Better Your Arms Around Me (Penelope’s Window)” (a poem)


_____________________________________________________

Better Your Arms Around Me (Penelope’s Window)

You know why I’m standing here.
You know what I’m going to say.
The look behind your eyes betrays you.
Your sleeping head goes away.

Dreams lie as you do;
Dreams lie all night;
like you do.

Pacing back and forth on Friday,
Before you lay these words in my head.
Hoping my closed mouth mined gold
to give you, to give you.
Continue reading

On Good Friday: “Scotchful Thoughts on Treason & War” (a poem)


_____________________________________________________

Scotchful Thoughts on Treason & War

You’re stronger than Scotch, though that’s not what my throat urgently screams at the moment. Ah, the struggles of an artist, a mystic, one whose deep cries out for yours – to express the inexpressible.  To package in words that which can’t be contained.  You’ve caringly — lovingly, even — taken me, torn open my chest, pulled out my heart, and have affectionately run my broken body into your knee such that I am torn in two
_____– one spirit, one flesh:

All of reality stands at this heralding moment:
_____Wide-eyed, eager – youthful
_____anticipation abounds.
Hands on knees looking forward, rocking back
_____so on and so forth they watch:
_____smiles ear to ear.
Continue reading

Beauty: Revisited


Last year I gave a seminar/lecture/sermon thing at my old church, Epiphany Fellowship. The topic I spoke on was Beauty. I spent about nine months doing research, reading, talking, and thinking before ultimately delivering it last August. After the break is the full “Table of Contents” for each part of the blog series I did going through each individual part of the manuscript.  Those blog parts have not yet been updated.  Here are the the updated full written Manuscript, the audio of my “lecture”, and an appendix with the Greek/Hebrew breakdown of the words for “Beauty” in the Bible.

Full Talk
Full Audio
Language Appendix

Series Table of Contents:

Why do we long for Beauty?

What is Beauty?

What Things are Beautiful, and why?

How do we respond to this Beauty?

Conclusion

On Holy Saturday: “Better Your Arms Around Me” (a poem)


_____________________________________________________

Better Your Arms Around Me

You know why I’m standing here.
You know what I’m going to say.
The look behind your eyes betrays you.
Your sleeping head goes away.

Dreams lie as you do;
Dreams lie all night;
like you do.

Pacing back and forth on Friday,
Before you lay these words in my head.
Hoping my closed mouth mined gold
to give you, to give you.
Continue reading