My personal favorite was the part, "I'd trade an Ave for each rose, I can use that more than those"

This poem was a little inspired by the good amount of time I've been spending in a graveyard, visiting the graves of my father (who died last year) and aunt (his sister, who died not too long after him). I am always seeing people leaving flowers, statues, and all kinds of worldly items on the graves. Now I can see religious items, because they remind visitors of that other life, and to pray for these souls. And I can even see the flowers in a way, though ultimately, whether artificial or real, they're expensive as can be, and will often end up under the groundskeepers' lawn mowers (you try getting a ride-on mower between each grave!).But dog and cat statues, Bears and Packers gear, the deceased person's shoes, "gone fishin'" signs, and what I unaffectionately call "gypsy globes" ... those odd glass "gazing balls" people put on stands in their yards... do not help the soul in any way whatever. Rather, it carries on the ridiculousness of materialism where it has absolutely no place.

The ancient Egyptians used to bury their kings and nobles with statues of false gods, a store of food, other gifts and even their living slaves. As one who casually follows the archaeology news, I heard of a (viking?) grave that was dug up, where a woman had been buried with her kitchen utensils. Other religions offer food at the graves. These are pagan practices, which means they are not good.

Granted, Catholics leave flowers, I'm sure. And as I said, there is many a cross and an angel in that field of bones. Flowers... well, they are beautiful, and make the 'monument' of the loved one more beautiful, but... if you want to be technical, it doesn't help the person. And believe me, I can say almost with certainty, that whatever you pay for real flowers, you could probably... almost definitely had a mass said for the person's soul instead.

Gravestones are almost another matter. You can put a message on a headstone, asking prayers for the person. You can't really fit a message on a "budget" headstone. People used to write on the stone how the person died, and who they left behind... some declaring "wife and mother" or "husband and father." This means you could even know that there are relatives to pray for. Other stones once carried inscriptions along these lines. "Where you are now, I once was, and where I am now, you once will be." ... not exactly the same effect as "gone fishin'" or "Go Packers!" is it?

I dropped something like $32, I think, on two big and four smaller ARTIFICIAL roses, for the purpose of marking my father's grave before his headstone came in. Sadly, we could not afford a nice one with any kind of inscription. The quality of the flowers was NOT that great, and before long, it was run over by the lawnmower, not once, but several times, until it was just the flowers sticking out of the naked earth (no vase), and finally THOSE got run over. I'm not upset, as I can sympathize here with the man who mows the lawns. Contrary to our hurt feelings and sore pocketbooks, it really is unreasonable to ask the groundskeepers to stop every foot or so, carefully remove the decorations covering most graves, mow, and then carefully replace them. I would rather have had the mass said, in retrospect, but for the fact that there was no other way to remember at first where he was, while we were yet unfamiliar with the layout of the place or the natural landmarks. It is really very sad to see these souls showered with worldly gifts that do them no good, knowing how few of them are getting prayers (and we can be sure it's few, as even many Novus Catholics no longer believe in purgatory.)

And of course, think of the sadness of the poor souls, not only to see some of their good friends in error and danger of loosing their own souls, but also for the fact that those who declared themselves regularly to be their dearest friends on earth, and who claimed they would do anything at all for them, day or night... will not so much as 'humor them' now, by saying so much as "God have mercy on them" just in case.

The way many "Christians" deal with death these days is just bizarre and downright unnatural (like throwing a party and pretending to be happy about it). Other people go the other way and fall into bitter despair. And then there are those like my father's "neighbor" two graves over, which, every time I visit almost, has something more put on it... starting with a tiny picture on a stick, it now has a gravestone with a full color photo on it, many bouquets of real flowers (which must have cost hundreds by themselves), a great stone bench for sitting on, I think a second picture, a strange red dome-like thing that they use to cover the photo on the headstone, a 14 or 16 in Seraphim Classics angel... which to be sure had a three digit price tag... other statues besides, and most recently, three or four very large red stone brick formations, placed around the headstone no doubt to keep the lawn mower at bay. I almost expect one day in the future to look and see a full fledged building erected in the young man's honor.

But I think many a soul, if they could, would sign their names to these words!

Sorry to hear about your father (and aunt). I shall pray for them.

  Translated from persian. Perhaps 800 year-old.

a desert man's leg was beaten by a dog,
he was so much in pain and cried aloud,
with so much pain, he returned to his tent,
and in his tent there was a little girl,
The child was puzzled and asked:
"Couldn't you too bite him in return?"
the man tried to laugh amid so much pain
and said:" My dear little girl,
I could bite the dog if I wanted so
, but a man should never behave like dog."

a nursling baby began to grow teeth,
his father was in anguish and so much worry,
"soon he will ask for bread and we have none to give."
"we are poor ourselves and don't have enough of it."
His wife smiled at him and answered in this way:
"don't worry yourself so much in vain"
"because He who gives teeth to a man, gives him the bread"

Here is a poem I wrote in Spanish almost three years ago:


Mi Familia

Mi familia está muerta y viva
Algunos están en el cielo
con Dios arriba
también muchas se entierran en el suelo

Mis memorias de mi familia son como una joya pulida
El tiempo que teníamos es riqueza escondida
Dios nos dio memorias como rosas durante el invierno
¿Cuántos han olvidado esto en el mundo moderno?

Porqué no los amamos cuando están aquí con nosotros
pero luego lloramos cuando vemos las fotos
No pasé tiempo con ellos aunque tenía la oportunidad
en el contrario perdí el tiempo en la ciudad

La familia es un gran regalo
es un santuario en un mundo malo
No podemos escoger nuestra familia, es un regalo de Diós
Solamente quiero decirles “adios.”

This is my first ever poem. Hope you enjoy!

Did your recent sorrows inspire this? I’d like to offer some more or less disjointed thoughts.

It’s a nice statement of faith and has its moments. Overall, though, the audience gets the impression that you’re trying to convince yourself. Needless to say, as traditional Catholics we don’t believe that art is all about ‘self-expression’, we believe it’s about bodying forth the Good, the Beautiful, the True. Nevertheless there must be authenticity, or truth-to-self. Sorrow for sins is a truly big subject, and I think the best moments of the poem are in fact the lines where you address it (“I fail striving for his way … Unworthy of her prayers”) rather than try to suppress it with positive statements.

I’ve been told that the first principle of good poetry is “show, don’t tell”. To put it another way, you should use imagery and metaphor, and describe obliquely, more often than you state forthrightly.

Now, I found parts of your ‘overwhelmed’ post to be genuinely moving, but I’m not moved much by this poem. The explanation for the difference, I suspect, is that you’re more comfortable with prose, and so the sudden formality demanded by poetry caused you to stiffen up. Might I suggest a method to help with this? Try first writing something in prose, just as it occurs to you and without over-thinking or editing it, and then taking the best parts of that basic material and drawing them into a poem.

I hope you find these comments helpful, even if you weren't looking for criticism.

Here's a poem I wrote a couple years ago, but touched up just now. Thoughts are welcome:

The roots of the Chinese bellflower
unearthed, scraggled, cracked, yellow,
and long as a madman’s beard,
are worked through with dirt.
 
The leaves of the Chinese bellflower,
lime with edges sawlike,
secrete juices,
reagents for potions and evil alchemical stews.
They curl inward at the end,
like the shoes of an imp.

Down-turned, sad and lissome sink
the flowers of the Chinese bellflower.
Like tissue-paper lamps, a bit
like bells that briefly ring
in the time between midnight and morning.

Hi Graham-

Thank you for your comments and the criticism. First of all, that was a beautiful poem. As you can tell, I am not qualified to make any critique, so I will leave it at that  :wink:

That's kind of you.

My recent sorrows did not inspire this directly. Perhaps, I should have spent more time on it before posting? (It took me about 5-10 minutes or so) Regardless, I do enjoy reading poetry, and thought it may be nice to try it out. I will try your method of writing in prose first, and hopefully have some material to provide soon. It seems challenging, but I think enjoyable as well.

As beginners, we usually have to spend time on practice. Later on when we've internalised the practice we can write things more quickly. I hope the method works for you.

Question: would it be okay, after satisfied with the amount of material written in prose, to combine both the "best parts of that" with something abstract? What I'm afraid of is someone not figuring out what I mean (by the use of metaphors).

Well, I think the rule of thumb is just to show more often than you tell. But I also think it can do injury to the poem to be fully aware of what you mean by it. That typically requires you to narrow it down artificially.

After several attempts at poetry in various languages that resulted in, to be nice, nothing more than maudlin garbage, I think finally after further practice and study of the poetry of the old masters, I have managed to turn out a few poems of some little competence.

Here is one that doesn't suffer too much in translation:

"Under the waning moon, the empty mountain is silent.
Lonely clouds vanish into utter darkness.
Somewhere rises up the sound of a zither
summoning with it an ancient melancholy.
Ten-thousand sorrows are born."

(translated from the Chinese)

After studying the life of the Little Flower, I was very humbled by her faith and sanctity. I was saddened by the doubt that I would never achieve such humility and  great faith anywhere near the level she embodied. I wrote the following little poem, and later found a quote where she said it would make her happy if poems were written to her someday, since they would serve to glorify God.


A Blade of Grass
(in honor of St. Therese)

If I can't be a flower
Then I'll be a blade of grass,
To cushion Our Lord's footsteps
Where He is wont to pass.

Others are more worthy
His holy gaze to meet;
So I will be content to
Simply lie beneath his feet.

Not a sticker nor a thorn,
(There are enough of those.)
Let me be a blade of grass
If I can not be a Rose.