Tuesday, December 31, 2013

What I'm Into [December 2013 edition]

It's been a while since I linked up with HopefulLeigh because I've barely had time to post these past few months. I'm coming in late anyways, but I figured I'd write something short.

This month I got to come home after 135 days in sunny California. It's still hard for me to believe the semester is over, though I've already started practicing next semester's music and reading books for the next semester. In some ways it feels like I wasn't even gone, and then I remember everything that happened at school this semester and I know it's been ages since I was home.

This month I'm working on Aristotle's Nichomachean Ethics and Tolstoy's Anna Karenina for schoolwork. We studied Joshua, Deuteronomy and Leviticus, and Hebrews for session. I read The Hero and the Crown by Robin McKinley on my way home and am currently working on Annie Dillard's The Maytrees before I start The Book of Merlyn by T.H. White. I managed to total a rough estimate of the books that I read this year and if I include my Torrey books (including each book of the Pentateuch + Joshua + Hebrews) I finished around 50 books this year. I also managed to post around ten poems, though I think if I was to go back and total all those that I wrote they would be something more like twenty.

Month in review:

Monday, December 23, 2013


Last year children died
in spurts of fire and blood
And we together mourned
The cruelty of the world
To have found and arrested
Them so young, not just
Arrested but destroyed.

I thought of Rachel weeping
Inconsolable for children
No more, and then of Hebrew infants
Cast into the Nile in desperate
Gestures of small panic.
To this violent opposition
Small Christ is borne from woman's womb.

~ j.l.s. ~

Saturday, December 14, 2013


A guest post by Rachel Brady

Light pours smoking
Into dry dust
Which lifts its lips
And drinks in glory.

Thursday, December 12, 2013


I saw a girl once
in a gas station in the desert
where we stopped dusty, frustrated and tired
To duck in from under the stars glitt'ring out of cold
Into the dirt and grease of old chips
And exorbitant stale crackers and wish we were back
On the road as soon as we'd stepped in.
We were maneuvering people just to stand
long in line for gray-peeling dirty stalls
in a tiny dim-light room where crumpled papers
scattered floor, and flies buzzed low.
She was kneeling on cement with child
in front of her to change wet for dry
practically in public out of respect for the line
which stretched clear to the refrigerators in the back.
"I wouldn't do it," was muttered behind me
Road-sharp voice, "why doesn't she just use the
back seat of her car?" The baby in her patience
stood with sleepy-wide brown eyes and thick black locks
hanging shining in her face quiet and bewildered.
And I thought of inn walls straining fit to burst
and a child laid squalling into straw and hay
So I only could see grace in that woman's shamelined face.


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