#76: A Beggar

Have you ever noticed the way a beggar positions his hands? It is in such a way to receive a gift from someone above. This is a posture that is important as human beings, to be willing to receive something when asking for help. It is not an easy posture to take as it requires much humility. I know we tend to look down on beggars, and pity them, but there is much to learn from how they ask and receive. 

The desires of this life shackles my soul

Now I am just a beggar

With nothing to offer

Now I am just a beggar

With nowhere left to go

Now I am just a beggar

Who will sell his soul

Could anyone love a beggar

Who lives the life of a fool?

There’s nothing left in me

Except a poor man

There’s nothing left in me

Except a bitter heart

There’s nothing left in me

Except a wretched soul

If there’s nothing left in me

Then what can make me whole?

#75: My Father

This one is for my father. A great man with loads of wisdom and love. He has taught me a lot about life. Happy Father's day

My dad showing me his Leadership Award from Work  

I hear you Dad,
For your words resonate
Based with wisdom
Sprinkled with grace

You often say
What needs to be said
A kind word, when I'm down
A firm word, when I'm wrong

But it's not just me
Your words impact everyone

Why?
Because of your integrity
Because you do the right thing
Because you are led in the way that Jesus leads

The depth of your words are eternal
Your words are etched in my mind
And I am a better man for it.

#74: Your kindness

In the wake of the Orlando shooting at the Pulse Nightclub, my heart aches for the pain and suffering this terrible act has caused. Even worse, there are those that praise this act of terror. 

In light of such a dark day, please love others selflessly, commit acts of kindness as often as you can, and see your world change for the better. This poem was written for my friends who have shown great kindness and graciousness to me over the years. I am eternally grateful.

Your kindness so contagious

Your acts of love, outrageous

It is the place where bells will ring

Where children laugh and dance and sing

The sights and sounds of glorious things

Found in reality of perfections being

It is the place where no one is rotten

Where all wrongs are quickly forgotten

We will shout and sing our songs

#73: Pollock’s Canvas

Sometimes scientific discoveries are born out of madness. Take Jackson Pollock's famous fractal paintings for instance. It doesn't seem too brilliant at first glance, but the scientific community has been studying and learning from them. He may not have been a physicist or mathematician himself, but he did help us in understanding our world and the visual beauty that can be found in it. 

Check out the below 2 articles about how Jackson Pollock's work has been studied.

http://discovermagazine.com/2001/nov/featpollock

http://www.wired.com/2011/07/pollock-physics/

The poem below is written from the perspective of the canvas.

Jackson Pollock

The easel is a stand

That holds me, a canvas

A canvas as white as a winter storm

A blizzard

I've heard the stories

Of canvases transformed 
Into masterpieces

Their painter’s brilliant strokes

Brush in hand
They stare and stare and stare

Till they could see what their canvas could be

Their brush a tool of precision

Every meticulous stroke

Every dip and every dab

Until the canvas became perfection

Today I meet my master

Jackson Pollock

He throws my easel in the trash

He gently sets me on the ground

Amid buckets of paint

And brushes strewn about

I’m perplexed

His brush would never touch me

Nor would his hand

He paced around me

Circling around and around and around

His brush soaked with paint

Drip, drip, drip as he circled me

He’d grab another brush

Sopped in paint he’d fling it across me

Cigarettes and booze

Maybe they were clues

To his genius

I thought to myself

Is this the work of a master,

Or a crazy person?

Perhaps both.

#72: Last Smile of a Long Goodbye

I vividly remember the last time I saw my grandma. She had been living with Alzheimer's disease for 10 years or so, many of those years with my parents in Orange County. Seeing her mind slip away was tough. For the last few years, she no longer knew who I was. Sometimes, she thought I was her father, or one of her teachers. Many times, she would be afraid and would ask how she would be taken care of. She would think she were a little girl, or a child who was lost. 

I see now why they call Alzheimer's disease the long goodbye. She was still here with us physically, but her mind had slipped away years before. My grandma did pass away eventually, but I still remember the last time I saw her. My dad and I visited her at the hospice on her birthday in 2012. She laid in bed and could barely move. It took her awhile to even sit up. A nurse came by to help move her to her chair. She was hunched over and barely responded to us. 

My dad had a nice card for her that he read to her out loud. But it was hard for her to respond or acknowledge anything. I doubt she recognized myself or my dad, but that's okay. In her sweet nature, even though we were strangers to her, she was able to put two and two together and see that we were here for her. She mustered up her strength and looked at me, and gave her warm sweet smile. In my haste, I was able to get a snapshot of her smiling at me with my old Samsung flip phone (yes, I still had a flip phone in 2012)

Grandma Ruth Aalseth - On May 11, 2012

I remember you

Sweet grandma

From days long passed

Picking raspberries in your garden

I was so small

And you so content

As I grew up

Your memory faded

A long goodbye

You’d remember me sometimes

I’m sure it was scary

To forget

We all became strangers to you

For months

For years

Your memory a patchwork

Your mind deceiving you

As the end approached

Your body weakened

To hold your head up

Was a challenge

But I remember

On your last birthday

Your son, my dad

We visited you at the hospice

To be honest

You looked miserable

I could see you were in pain

And my dad wanted to express

To you

That He loved and appreciated you

It was hard for you to listen

Hard for you to even stay awake

But with all your strength

All your might

You looked up

And smiled

#71: Mirror

Woe is me

I cannot see

Anything.

I now fear

As all I hear

Is nothing.

With this face

All I taste

Is bitterness.

I scream into the mirror

It screams back at me.

Hope is an illusion

A concept I cannot grip.

The size of my heart can’t carry me.

As the weight of it will bury me.

Undone, unfulfilled

Wasting away.

The Papandayan Dead Forest–Java, Indonesia

The saddest moments in my mind are of nothingness. If my significance is defined by what exists, then the idea of non-existence is frightening. The moments where I can't hear, see or do anything are terrifying, but it is also these moments where faith is the most important thing. Just because you don't see or hear something, doesn't mean something is or isn't there. 

#70: The Tragedy of Perfect Love Denied

There is no fear in love. But perfect love drives out fear, because fear has to do with punishment. The one who fears is not made perfect in love. 1st John 4:18

The tragedy of perfect love denied

It is a broken people with pointless pride

Where lies spit from their mouths

And the truth of love is despised

The selfishness of humanity destroys our compassion

Of a greedy people who buy into deception

Where lust and pleasure burn hearts into dust

And we lead ourselves to a path of destruction

The spirit of the affluent always wants more

Of goods that could give help to the poor

Where women and children starve on the streets

Yet the wealthy own more than ever before

The absence of grace is the death of hope

Of the law that slides down a slippery slope

Where justice on its own cannot stand

And humanity finds fear at the end of its rope

Faded Love Wilted Rose On White  by M K Miller