For Huey and Betty

I love my grandparents dearly. I have been blessed for 21 years to know Huey, my fathers father, and Betty, my fathers mother. This summer, my grandfather passed away. I was 460 miles away from home in Dallas, Texas when he passed, and I was unable to attend his funeral. I have not been brave enough yet to visit his graveside, because I know deep down that I am not ready to let go of him. One thing that I will carry with me until I die is the love that they shared. Tonight, as I write this blog and share this poem, they are heavy on my heart. Even though I would trade away four years of college for just one more day with my Him, I know that he is at home in Heaven, away from all the suffering and pain that plagued his last two years.

Huey and Betty, this poem is for you, as a reminder of happier times.

I have all these words in my head to tell you how I feel, and yet words are not enough.
Everything I try to say and want to say just comes out in a mess of tangled words “beautiful…amazing…lovely…” with no structure by which to show  you that I care.
But then, there’s that thing you do. Where you turn your head to the side and smile that crooked smile and I catch the sun in your eyes, and despite my bumbling and stumbling, it’s like you’re saying to me “I love you, too. And I will always be here. Don’t you worry about a thing.” I guess I should realize that after fifty years of marital bliss, you can read my mind, and I don’t have to say a thing.

Love,
Your Grandson

Seasons

December, December.

I will always remember your touch. Your cold-shouldered love.

You were always better at lust; luring me to trust

To believe you were right for me.

June, June.

We met too soon.

We were too much the same.

I loved your eyes in the summertime.

I didn’t know you then/I wish I didn’t know you now.

But we see better after long and heartbreaking days.

August, August

I knew I didn’t need to trust

that you were good for me.

Thankfully you flew by fast, and too long you didn’t last.

September, September.

You’re really the one I don’t want to remember.

Streetlights and park benches late at night

Only lead to catastrophe.

October, October.

You looked promising, I will admit.

But I knew better than to believe

The tears you cried in my front seat.

November, November.

No, no we will not remember the 5^th of November. (Such a horrid time)

That month especially I wish I could erase.

I knew then that you were trouble.

And so one more time we meet December.

I confessed my love and I thought I had arrived.

But even then, it was all a lie.

I don’t know what drug you slipped me for those next few months

But I was yours. Heart and Soul.

January, February, March, April and May,

How I wish they never came.

I was a slave. And I was one gladly.

I wish I could take my love away from those few days

I wish my soul from that time I could replace.

The months of Fall came round and I returned once again.

Oh December, December.

I will always remember your touch. Your cold-shouldered love.

You were always better at lust; luring me to trust

To believe you were right for me.

Come Home

"Priest, please come home.
I am so sorry
for all my wrong,
for all I've done.
I'll say my prayers
& I'll confess. I'll come
to mass and pay indulgence.
Priest, please come home!
Your son will miss you
& I cannot kiss you anymore.
Come home, come home
no more to roam."

As Tall as Lions

As tall as Lions.
As tall as Lions.
I'm holding to bravery
As tall as Lions.

Retreat! Retreat!
The Sergent yells.
Retreat! Retreat!
Or dine in Hell.

As tall as Lions.
As tall as Lions.
I'm facing death
As tall as Lions

Clang, clang!
The bullets rang.
Clang, clang!
My vision now a bloodied stain.

As tall as Lions.
As tall as Lions.
Here I will die,
As tall as Lions!

Update: Another Blog

I'm bringing back to life a blog I used to do and changing the nature of this blog.
This blog will be used to update my poetry/creative things.
My other blog jordanwilhite.wordpress.com will be used from now on for theological discussion and things of that nature.

Peace and Blessing

A poem, reflecting on James 3

The words in a man’s heart are oft words he dare not speak

lest he make a world of enemies. Oft these words are tainted things

less profanity and more truth. Sometimes the words in a man’s heart

praise the One who laid the stars, and other times they curse the man of whom he is the seed. Though these things ought not be, they are. And men of many words must live in that reality, adding salt to what they voice and rebuke to secret words inside.

Some Poetry: "The Hostage" and "Looking for God"

The Hostage:

I remember the encounter well

It is the story that I now tell.

There I stood, atop the ledge

With all devices in my hand;

Gun and rope and wire and knife.

I was prepared to take my life

The man below spoke soft and slow

He was a man I did not know.

Minutes in, I knew that man did I oppose.

For no friend of peace was I, I know.

The ledge now gone, a memory.

I am grateful for the life I do now lead

For the outcome I am thankful.

Indeed, guns sometimes tell messy stories

But that’s not the tale you’ll hear from me.

For that day upon the ledge, the man who talked me down, the victory he won.

For it was God who said “Let’s talk-just put down your gun.”

(based on a section of this interview with C.S. Lewis http://www.cbn.com/special/Narnia/articles/ans_LewisLastInterviewA.aspx)

Looking for God:

I wonder if we are all looking for God

And mistake it too often for freedom.

We leave small town life

For the lust of city lights

The lie we buy says that we are better than most

As we set out to make our claim, our claim amongst the steel and concrete temples of New Amsterdam, that never sleeping giant.

.

After all my years were spent, I found that life would not relent;

And so I died with dreams unmet and not fulfilled. Life became

Redundancy, looking for God in places he was not

So in the grave my body slept, my soul retreating to the depths.

I wonder if we are all

Looking for God where he is not at all

Like freedom or New Amsterdam.

(Based on a tweet by Jamie Tworkowski. You can follow him on Twitter at http://twitter.com/#!/jamietworkowski) 

"To be young in New York or anywhere. Everyone doing what they want and calling it freedom. i wonder if we're all just looking for God."-Jamie Tworkowski