A
Little Doll In Her Broken World
Like an orchid in virgin bloom she rises and greets us all an
exuberant display in her classroom of life’s good morning
Her countenance celebrating darkened skin and pearly smile grace,
hope and a little white dress with happy frills
And
we listen to this little one, to this tender voice
so sweet and firm whispering softly the Ten Commandments
of God for His own
This
little doll in her broken world learning life can
breathe learning language, a schedule, love, faith
and reason to live
Lucy
and Sylvia and Blessy, teaching each day by life
and by words reaching her and her friends, calling
to darkness in the slums
And
then we see her teacher struggling with something
wondering if she should translate to us that little
voice
This
little doll , in her Indian tongue, responding
to my wife presenting
an impossible question to us
Asking “Can
I go home with you?” so we cry and bring
her home, but only in our hearts
Picture
In frailty they came
with grace receiving us
like gentle ghosts
thinned and gaunt
In appearance like ripened seeds
stripped of husk
at rest and firm
Bodies bent like wasted straw
Unpretentious
sweet resigned
absolute for God
Our brothers
prisoners these
for the faith
In appearance, it seemed
lacking human excellence
In features weathered
clothing torn and scant
eyes hollowed from oppression
and scarcity of food
Evicted from homes
and wives
and little ones
Unable to supply their families
unable to live a minimum life
Midst it all their tired faces glimmer
faith inspires
conviction rules
We see them walk on the waters of God
Paris, by Richard
Paris
History as recorded,
Reports, imagination and photos all need to be set aside, for
life here is not like that
These things all prepare and
suggest, but not adequately for the grandeur
of nostalgia in this ancient land
The past- conspicuous, powerful,
advanced and brilliant names in stone confirming
conquest and thought
Napoleon,
force and death,
philosophers
and pride pragmatism
seems embedded
in designs and
lives
Former
things done,
culture that
is shaped and
declared, religion
made compatible
with kings and
pride
The
past, affirmed in
monuments of
defiance and
power architecture
explaining thoughtful,
freer minds
The
Eiffel tower, Notre
Dame and a myriad
of chisel walls,
cobbled streets
and a labyrinth
of thoughtful roads
Street
markets, wintered
skies reflecting
wintered fears
I can taste the
early years, but
am looking for
more
The
present, a
time of searching,
of uncertainty
with feet the
future comes,
looking over
shoulders and
doubt
05
Nov 04, Paris, Hotel du Cadran
Gathering in Daniel’s
House in Mumbai
Streets
tonight filled with people, cars and shanties by
the road, orderly
chaos of lives, horns and begging hands. Hands
outstretched by wanton mothers with children fevered,
children borrowed or stolen for schemes of men
some with broken limbs to stir the beggar’s
case
Street
after street we pursue, turning, winding between
tortured buildings on dark and narrow paths, weaving
past street sellers and fruit stands, dodging men
and families working in the night.
Everyone in business for themselves it seems each person with
their own lives in hand one selling bananas and apples, Another
combing through a little wrinkled box trying to find which shriveled
pepper to sell
Here in India, by the road, in the night, little fires burning
by the road cooking some late-found morsels to eat. By the road,
in the night little ones naked and alone, wandering midst hurried
adults toddlers dodging traffic like hunted prey a gun
By the road, in the night waves of oversized child-filled boxes,
plastic for a roof and pretentions of a home
Young and old bearing another night tomorrow too far away to
consider today’s agony quite enough for their minds, today’s
turmoil draining hope for another day, today’s conclusion,
despair like all the others
But we are still walking, still progressing in the dark
in the midst of a ruined world we meander, following our brother
Chacko and family, our white faces unique in the maze of motion
At last! Welcomed into an abode of love, Daniel’s house,
with Nutan and Seeta, Tasheila, parents and nephew there
Joined
now with other precious ones, our brothers and
sisters in the body of Christ
We,
not firstly Americans and they in India found firstly
also in God
No
effort lives here, no adjustment of cultures required,
bearing life of our Father we love and we mesh
More
than twenty gathering like one person in His name
one New Man, we live anew, born for this day
stepping
from the cobbled, wrinkled way
stepping
into this little fronted room…
The
floor being covered with joyful faces, faces like
on the outside, hearts glad on the inside, like
family reunited, like a homecoming achieved
And
oh the praying, the singing, the joy, midst pain
and poverty and crisis of life, midst the culture
of despair and need
For
just a moment, for just a little while, we live
together in another world, a place where God is
visible in the church, a
place always real, but not always felt
And
Jesus comes, we drink new wine in John chapter
two, we love with His love, we worship Him together
and words rise to feed, to nourish, to lift, to
inspire, to declare and confirm
We
are all safe, and yes, India, God is personal and
real
God
is now, God cares and God is seen and heard, in
the midst of the impossible He is enough
No one watching would wonder anymore, if God had taken notice
and visited the earth
I
am blessed here in Daniel’s house, here I
find the plantings of divine regeneration, of hope
in a hopeless land, of a family standing firm in
a world betrayed, of cheer in a desperate place,
of resurrection in a place abandoned, of our precious
Christ in a Christless world
And
so I pray, “Lord, bless Daniel’s house
thank
you for letting me see You, and
touch Your beautiful Life in this
lovely place”
10
Dec 04, Mumbai, India
|
India, The Mystery Awakens
India,
what a mysterious gathering of human history
generations
of variety heading in one direction
One
street filled with nice cars, ancient
trucks
three
wheeler taxis, goats and
donkeys
carts
pulled by long-horned god-cattle
Rushing
with curiosity or drifting
in ancient style
the
street welcomes all of
any sort
zooming,
crawling, or standing still
somehow
all move as they need
Horns
relentless, ten carts wide
on a two lane street
seeming
to defy Newton’s
law of physics
two
things seeming to occupy
one space
Never
seeing a turn-signal and
seldom an angry face
never
seeing a wreck, (except
of human life)
always
seeing cars within an inch
on side
India,
this is, on a typical day,
day and night
relentless
like the tide
Presumptuous
thought that motion equals
direction
chaos
unnoticed in the pursuit
of survival
solutions
temporary, goals immediate
pain
normal, vision absent,
lives expendable
India,
ancient in days and in
appearance
yet,
she tosses in her slumber,
she awakens
doubtless
to me, this generation
will find new skies
India,
filling nearly one fourth
of humanity’s cup
looking
past complexity, something
seems to rise
Dec/2004
Paris
History as recorded, reports, imagination and photos
all need to be set aside,
for life here is not like that
These things all prepare
and suggest, but not adequately
for the grandeur of
nostalgia in this ancient land
The past- conspicuous,
powerful, advanced and brilliant
names in stone confirming
conquest and thought
Napoleon, force and death,
philosophers and pride
pragmatism seems embedded
in designs and lives
Former things done, culture
that is shaped and declared
religion made compatible
with kings and pride
The past, affirmed in
monuments of defiance and power
architecture explaining
thoughtful, freer minds
The Eiffel tower, Notre
Dame and a myriad of chisel walls
cobbled streets and
a labyrinth of thoughtful roads
Street markets, wintered
skies reflecting wintered fears
I can taste the early
years, but am looking for more
The present, a time of searching,
of uncertainty with feet
the future comes, looking
over shoulders and doubt
Autumn
(in TN)
I
feel my thoughtful eyes being warmly drawn
inside the parlor where beauty stirs
She sighs in ecstasy, robed with colored flair
and leads me into the candor of nature's delight
I sense joyous delirium arising from autumnal whiffs
and inclusions of my world in her autumn dance
My thought turns away from the glory to its meaning
and my relishing turns to fear
“ Are these leaves and their spectacle really dying?”
“death can not be so lovely”, I thought,
But then relief breathes, for right I was...
these turnings are not a mellowed death
Rather, Fall’s rotation is but another stage of life
a maturity squeezed through leaves once green
Hillsides and valleys in rainbowed crescendo
exploding gently like a paint store all mixed up
Contents splashing wildly and randomly everywhere
on these Tennessee hills and winding roads
“ Death is not here”, whispers my heart
summer’s glory meanders through my eyes
Soon the trails and happy skies and trees will rest
growth’s limit this year will snooze in the woods
Work is done, shedding of the harvest draws to a close
my heart is tugged in the parlor by memory and hope
Winter comes, laughing at those who think of death
And autumn’s child knows spring is in the womb
Richard A. Nelson/ 24 Oct 2004
Thailand
and Laos
(previous trip)
The joy with which they sing
The love in which they celebrate
flows like a sky smooth
with nighttime moths
Like silken servants
of the Redeemed one’s flight
Winging themselves deliriously
toward the light
For ecstasy caring not
the fire awaits them
Finding in the flames a life ending well
Flames kissing their joyous night
Testifying to wisdom
of God’s overflow
The Creator’s wealth through them being praised and exalted
More blessed than had they nested
in a place cool
and in a path of safety
|
From
Words To Wings
Her passing thought slips
into a passing word
becoming
then a seed in one who
loves
Seasons and
storms ebb
and flow
no
mentioned word of the
seed again
Yet underneath lonely
soil the seed awakens
sun
and dew the tender plant
fine
The word
growing into
a gift itself
the
thought embraced by the
one who loves
Words shared,
thoughts imagined,
yet doubt feels true
hope
itself seems strained
to rise
Wishes
and dreams seem
distant, then gone
yet,
impossibilities wilt
and the day comes
Today,
breakfast in Bangkok
lunch
passing over Indonesia
and
soon we dine in Australia
A little
word from her,
a little work for me
today,
a special gift from
the Lord
Words
don wings as
we coast in the sky
to
the south country, she
and I
Twenty-some
years…her
word in my womb…
happy
birthday today, to my
dear Christine
28 Dec 04
Over
Indonesia in the sky
Paris
(1)
Two thousand years of words following
men
Describing migration, conquests,
anguish and the gods
Caesar-like victories and Roman-like falls
Of confused perfection, of Charlemagne
and religion imposed
The dynasties of Louis XIV and his line
under guillotine closed, Of Napoleon’s blood running through
men, country and streets
Imaginations of glory still soaring,
of influence still expanding. Of the Republic now
mature, wondering where to go…
For when architecture has
a world standard become… When philosophy and
poetry…
When music and politics
and the painters’ brush… When the Renaissance
and all the glory of France
Must live, must plan, must hope
by always looking back
Versailles, Notre Dame, Voltaire and Van Gogh are
gone, How can this nation perform, what shall they do? How can
they become more when more has already been?
Can future plans dream
only of recovery, or of maybe less? Tourists, government,
religions, and a few truths themselves
All seem frozen by the
printers’ hardbound press
So we look, we admire, we revel at the best of fallen men
We partake through translucent glass,
and we give thanks
And I hope and I pray, but
I feel sad at perfection embalmed
Paris, Hotel Du Cadran, 06 Dec 2004
Last
Trip to Bangkok, Coming Home
Bangkok To Chicago
We
sleep, you and I…
Around me
clouds like feathers
dance softly
as my bed moves the sky
At noon where I recline
thinking of you
and your restful face
Midnight welcomes you
where you lay
And perhaps dreams
make you warm
Soon I’ll be home
and we
will sleep gently together
Mumbai,
India
“I am the world” each face says
“ If I survive today
tomorrow may start again
“ My country, my family, my life
“ Life itself for me
is simply despair in a hurry
“ I have nothing
but I’m sold out to a dream
“ A life that fantasizes
of food and hope and things.”
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