Free?

It is a rush not a roar.
Eyeless, gazing upwards.
Dozens of lipless mouths
Locked in foaming grins.

I smile back.

They gnaw night's thumbnail till it's
Cracked and lost its
Will to shine.  It's frac-
tured pieces turned to
Playthings of a surging
Darkness.  A deflated nightlight
strangled with invisible fingers.

This creature my offer of peace.

There were no words in the
Crashing rush.
But after the thunder came a
Still, small voice - "come,
Come drink of the
Water of eternal
Sleep."

The softer he spoke the louder his
Urgings rang in my heart.

Years of temptation,
Nights of torturous dialogue
Reduced to a single word -
"Come," and again, "come."
A gentle "come", a soothing "come,"
A motherly "come," an inaudible "come."
Each one directed to a specific,
Empty chamber of a lost
Heart.

I thirst for this water to
Quench my lungs.  I leap to
Embrace this savage, I jump to
Wrap my arms around this
Intangible figure.

Till at last it holds
My body tightly, squeezing
Her in a lover's embrace.
In a frenzy filling it with
Itself till I am full of it.

The muscles relax in its hold,
And the body floats in the arms
Of a rush not a roar,
As the still, small voice hums a
lullaby.

waiting

Banners High

Life’s Lens: The value of freezing miniscule moments of reality in a convulsing world

         The “main point” of photography is tied to its primary ability; the ability to speak – to communicate through silence.  Every photograph says something without cluttering the paper with empty words.  And in many ways photography speaks more to the photographer than to the viewer.  A photograph can tell a funny story, sing a goofy song or dance a jig.  It can whisper words of love and mouth the sweet nothings of poets.   It can divulge well-kept secrets, solemnly deliver words of war and peace, and shed dry tears while choking on grief.  

            I believe photography, like any other art, possesses the ability to speak directly to the heart and soul of those exposed to it.  Recently, I have been grappling with the elusive term “Christian art.”  Being more heavily involved in the theatre program here this semester, I was forced to confront my understanding of a Christian’s place in primarily secular art fields.  This fueled my searching flame kindled last semester during a discussion attempting to define what it means to be a Christian poet.  Time and time again I have arrived at the same conclusion; as Christians our art should convey truth.  Consequently, I believe the main point of photography in our lives is to speak truth.  While this may appear to be a broad statement, I hold that the implications for a Christian run deep.
            Beauty for beauty’s sake is not what I believe photography is all about.  Nor do I think truth for truth’s sake is necessarily sufficient.  While this sentence may seem contradictory to my previous statement allow me first to expound.  When I say “truth” I do not merely mean “factually correct.”  Instead, I am talking about “truths” like the sinful nature of man, the reality of love, the existence of hope, the brokenness caused by loss, and the cruelty of a world reeking of self-absorption.  These truths, these small moments of pain and joy, untouchable by science, are what I believe photography should capture.  If there is injustice and suffering, a photographer has the ability (and responsibility) to alert the world to it.  A photograph portraying unfathomable sorrow should do so with the intent to eliciting sympathy, action, and hope.  As Christians we do not need to be dismayed by the devastation in the world but can acknowledge its existence while still offering the hope of a remedy. 
            Personally, this is how I hope to use photography if I have the opportunity in the future.  I would not only use photography to remind people of pain but also to provide a spark to ignite warmth that has been forgotten.  Photographers have the power to communicate and are thus responsible for their “words.”  I think the bottom line for me is that I cannot fully commit to something without seeing its purpose.  I need something more than an aesthetic arrangement of pixels.  While I know others may say that by portraying beauty we are acknowledging the beauty of God’s creation, this is personally not enough for me.  I also know there is no one right answer.  Photography is personal and thus uniquely individual.  But I guess you could say that for me, photography cannot be merely a well-written story; it must have a moral.

            For me, photography is a form of self-expression.  In my photos I hope to convey truths I see in the world.  They may be small truths, but they are mine in that they are seen through my eyes.  Someone else could convey the same truth I am portraying in a completely different way.  And this, I believe, is the beauty of photography; it is the personal expression of universal truths. 

Letters

I sifted through the yellowed
stack. The unmistakable crispness of age
scraped my fingertips.
Still sealed, forever sealed, this unread
holy-ground stamped with too
precise a care.
The muted ripping – breakers
crashing on some distant, undiscovered shore –
Paper grating on paper – flattened
waves scuttling back across the sand –
I blink – the heart revealed to
human eye.
Thoughts transposed, not transported;
the unnoticed glance, unexpected touch,
the soft excitement of wishing transferred from
heart to paper instead of
heart to heart.
My fingers drew with less
exactness of patient detail the
strokes arranged in ink:
“Remember that time it
rained on us, walking back from the
store? Or what about the
time – “ I stopped. Before me a
collage of “times” too
meaningful to a human
heart to be
blasphemed with impure eyes.
Where one man sees a rainy day
this unnamed writer sees
a “Time.”

I returned the paper to its
home, resealed it, and
understood too well
Letters never sent.