POEMS OF THE WEEK - MEN'S VOICES: ERIC, BJORN, AND NICHOLAS

This week, let's listen to the voices of some of the men in our community. We selected poems by Eric, of Erbiage, Bjorn, of Bjorn Rudberg's Writings, and Nicholas V., of  intelliblog. Take a break, pour yourself a cup of tea, and settle in. We hope you enjoy.

BRICK HOUSE

there is a me in here
…                         (somewhere)
between the mind, the ego, the inner child
those are the bricks. i’m looking for the house

                    *****               *****

Sherry: I was very taken by this poem, Eric, recognizing that you are on the seeker's journey. I love, "i'm looking for the house." I suspect it is close by, behind a few bushes. Smiles.

Eric: There has been so much growth in my life in the last two years, and it really has been wonderful and a tremendous blessing.  One of the difficult pieces of this though is I'm really not liking who I was.  I used to have an opinion of myself that was not shared by very many people. This was painful to realize but it does explain a great deal.  It’s so easy to get lost in that. 

My wife's counseling practice incorporates a Mind-Body-Spirit framework, but all these things, they are just elements.  The self includes all of these things, that little voice in my head that says I'm not good enough etc., but the self is more than the sum of these parts, the way a pile of bricks becomes a house.

This is probably way too much for a tiny little poem, it came out kind of stream-of-consciousness.  

Sherry: I love your explanation. We all have that voice in our heads that says we aren't good enough. Our life's work is to silence it. Thank you for sharing, Eric. 

Sherry: Bjorn recently wrote a poem that seems to answer Eric's first poem rather beautifully. Let’s take a peek.

Moccasins

You crave a house;
a garden with a stately oak,
a library
a place to rest.

Walls you build with thoughts,
and windows form from dreams,
the roof is tiled with friendship;
so keep your gates unlocked.

In winter you need warmth
that only love can give.
while summers could be
sea-breezed far away.

But if your fancy is
for mansions, moats and turrets
you have to leach the land,
cut the trees,
dredge the bluffs
and crush the dreams of others.

Your house should wear its moccasins —
never boots. 


Bjorn: I wrote this poem based on a prompt on houses. I often try to find another meaning than what’s obvious at first. I see “developments” of housing, how we as humans absorb nature and expanding. The area per person is constantly increasing, and fills out our small properties. I feel that there are no limits to the needs of humans for space, and we do not mind trampling the toes of others.

At the same time a house is a wonderful place. We need it for warmth and company, we need it to meet our guests. I dream of houses that blend and are part of nature. I want houses that invites nature in summer, and shuts the cold wind out in winter.  

I also feel that we need houses that we are ready to leave. We should not grow roots unless it’s needed. Maybe houses should have the soft soles of Moccasins rather than making deep footprints like the boots of mansions. 

Sherry: I so agree about the heavy footprint monster houses leave on the landscape. I much prefer small cabins and cottages, tucked among the trees, not set on a scraped-clean lot - enough space, no need for thousands of square feet. I love this poem, Bjorn. Thank you so much.

A short while ago, Nicholas wrote a bittersweet poem we enjoyed very much. Let's read:

SWEET BITTERNESS

The wine you offered, Love,

Was ruby-red, sweet muscat;

A fine vintage with a rich bouquet,

A velvet taste that lingered on the palate,

But the aftertaste, so bitter!

The kiss I took from you, Love,

Was fragrant, fruity, dulcet:

From lips so red, and smiling,

A kiss so freely given, remembered evermore,

And yet the aftertaste, so bitter!

Your softly-spoken words, Love,

Honeyed, soothing, like balsam!

My ears unstopped, to hear, to listen,

Words full of harmony, like music

But their echoes, a cacophony.

The soft caresses, Love,

We gave each other liberally,

Cloud-soft, candied, pleasant,

Soothed away all pain, healed all wounds;

And yet, they left deep aching scars in their wake.

You are a sweet bitterness, Love,

You enchain us all with gossamer,

You wound with feathers and you heal with thorns;

You nourish us with mellow poison

And we starve when we have surfeit of it.

Love, you’re contrary, and your steadfastedness

Betrays all trust, punctures all boats of hope;

You lift us up to heaven, only to dash us down to Tartarus,

You give us strength, only with silken threads

To captivate and weaken us, making of us in our death, immortals.

Sherry: Love does all of those things, brings us the sweetest of joys, and the depths of sorrow. But we wouldn't be without it! This poem resonates with me, Nicholas.

Nicholas: My poem “Sweet Bitterness” looks at the contrariness that love is: Feelings pleasant and heady and heavenly mixed as it were with those of melancholy, disconsolation and hellishness. If one is in love, there is the sweetness of honey, but also the sting of the bee. Love raises us up to the sky but in the same instant may cast us down into the darkest of abysses.

Sherry: That it does. Thank you for sharing it. 

There we have it, folks: houses, moccasins and the bittersweetness of love. And us, enjoying it all. Do come back and see who we talk to next. Who knows? It might be you!