More Poetry!

A bit more poetry for ya'll... I thought I'd switch the moods and talk about something a bit more hopeful with this post, and instead focus a bit more on hopeful things. These are still some works in progress, but if you like them, then let me know!

Quiet Mercy
-Ben Stoddard

The wind speaks softly through the trees
A quiet prayer for me to hear
Beneath the emerald canopy of trees
The voice grows quiet as it draws near

It speaks to me of Love’s soft hand
That beckons from a distant land
It whispers silent assurances sweet
Given by one with pierced hands and feet

To feel the raw emotion of passion sinned
And the weight of worthiness thinned
The pain of discouragement and lost hope
When dreams and loves vanish in smoke

One is there who helps to raise up fallen arms
An eternal hope to sustain us through harsh storms
A beacon that guides us with light to come
Over rocks and stones, to bring us safely home.


My Dad
-Ben Stoddard

Glass that ripples and breathes
Sending shiny waves upon the rocky shore
Pebbles worn smooth by constant friction
Branches from nature’s bridges floating

A quiet island sits in the middle
A place for thought and work
Too many things to do, no time for fun
Worn hands and old backs have no excuse

Fierce storms have ravaged the surface
But rich soil still lies beneath
Sun kissed grass and sturdy growth
The island stands alone.

Blue Eyed Angel
-Ben Stoddard

This angel has a wheelchair instead of wings
Blue eyes and golden hair
Loving countenance and giggling voice
A smile that can melt even the hardest of hearts
And a capacity to suffer what others could not
She giggles and laughs and calls out your name
Then teasingly reverts to her own language again
She smiles and beams at you, radiant beams of light
A sure sign of pride, she has claimed you as her own
Till the day she leaves, she will love you still.

This is NOT a cry for help!

I tried to get this done before June was out, but I just barely missed it, sorry everyone! I hope this one is good enough to sate you over until the next one comes out (I promise it will be sooner, school is almost out and I'm going to do better at writing for this, I promise!)

Okay, I'm a bit hesitant to post this one because I know I'm going to get some emails or calls asking me if I'm okay or telling me not to do anything rash. I promise you that I have no intention of doing anything drastic and am actually quite happy with life at the present moment. What inspired this story is this girl that I met the other day, we began talking and found out that we both enjoy writing, so we decided to write about a topic. Well we had been discussing the idea of what would you do if you knew that this was your last day to live, and we decided to write something on that topic, this is what I wrote. I call it, "The Agreement"

The Agreement…

A man is only as good as his word, as the saying goes. The setting sun of in the distance holds an ominous glow as it spread its golden arms across the deepening landscape. The mountains, the great and mighty Tetons, stand as silent testaments to these final minutes of the dying light. This had been a special day for me, and I want to savor these last few minutes, made all the sweeter by the agreement that I had made.

It was a heavy decision that I had been required to make, but I didn’t regret it, and even now I wouldn’t have changed my final choice. It’s strange how such heavy changes in our lives can put things into such perspective, and in reality it almost seems as though our decisions are made before the crucial moments actually come, and our characters are the real things that are shown to be the result of our choices when the moment of truth comes. Cliché? Most definitely, but as with most clichés this one has been around for such a long time because it makes a valid point. My decision was a private one, and I hope that my character passed the test, if not then it doesn’t matter.

My day had started early, which is strange for me as I’m usually a late riser. The morning light, a strange reversal of the beautiful sunset that now lies before me, crept in through my window like soft fingers gently willing me to wake up. I crept out of bed in order to enjoy the quiet stillness that accompanies the sun’s quiet awakening. I boiled some water for some hot cider and took my cup outside to listen to the sounds of a waking world. The steam from my cup curled lazily above the rim before dissipating in a series of intricate swirls and twists, catching the sleepy orange light of the morning in the steam before curling away into the brisk air of the young day.

Everything seemed so much more vivid in comparison to my previous mornings of rushed exits in order to make it to class or work on time. Today, there would be no rushing; I wanted to savor these moments like some superb dish that is rapidly diminishing. Colors were more vibrant in this light. In my head a silent melody seemed to accompany the quiet stillness of the early hour. Strangely enough, I was forced into a quiet awe as to the overwhelming calm I felt at my decision. Another strange phenomenon of this thing we call life: once a decision is made and committed to, the worry and stress that plagues the process of making a choice dissipate like the steam from my cider, as though the pressure of responsibility has been removed.

In life, often times what we see as the end is only a link into another beginning. Another cliché, but also a true one. This morning signaled the end of another night, a time of quiet contemplation and wearied worrying, and also the beginning of another day. When our perspectives expand someday, perhaps we will see that the concept of beginning and end are one of the many fallacies that our human minds have conjured up, along with our warped perceptions of what is fair. This day was an embodiment of that statement, with the morning being a final testament to confirm that truth to me.

I visited a cemetery, a rather morbid choice for such a day, but I considered it an investment in the future. I went to visit someone very dear to me, or at least the last physical representation of her that was left to me. This is not one of those dismal graveyards that are so eerily described in horror books. This was a resting place of many good people, and in a morose way of thinking I would almost label it as a happy cemetery. This was a testament to lives well led, and loved ones left behind to finish their own journeys. I stopped at the address that I already knew by heart, the residence was marked with a large pine tree hanging over it to give shade in the hot summer and shelter in the cold winter. The place was on the downward slope of the hill and held a good vantage point over the surrounding farmland. On several sides one could see small little farmsteads with happy lawns and if one arrived at the right time, the sounds of children playing can be heard drifting over from the small red brick schoolyard less than a block away.

In reality, cemeteries are meant for the living. We use them as reminders, bookmarks in the book of life’s story where the narration trades hands from one author to the next. The dead have far more important things to do than lie around, but it gives us a strange sense of peace to be able to give them a place that, should they want, they could come and rest in peace. I looked at the name on the headstone as I drew close to it. I called out the dear person’s name, or at least the name I know her as, in order to get her attention and have her come to the window so I can talk to her. “Mom,” I cried.

Of course she doesn’t answer, she’s not at this address anymore. We all know the forwarding address where she can be reached, but the phone systems are a bit tricky there so we just make token visits to the last place we left her, hoping that she’ll check her messages there sometime and know that we are thinking of her. I carried on a one sided conversation with the tombstone, smiling the whole time at the irony of the situation. I explained about the agreement that I had made and why I had made it. It felt good to be able to tell somebody about it.

In all honesty, the circumstances of the agreement are very personal, I hadn’t wished for this situation and honestly would have avoided it had there been any other way. However, in retrospect, I can think of far worse reasons for making the choice that I did, although, I would have preferred to have avoided the result for a bit longer. Such is life, I suppose, it’s more about making do with what time we’re given, and not trying to exceed what we shouldn’t. Time is a tricky substance to understand, which is why I’m glad that its only application is for mortals, it’s like a cup of tea: the first taste can be powerful and intriguing, but as we drink we become accustomed to the taste and lose interest. Yet when we reach the dregs of our cups, the power of the flavor is intensified and we experience a type of euphoria at the renewal of the taste, and perhaps that’s what makes time so vital to the wonderful plan of this life.

After the cemetery, I spent the day visiting friends and family. Of course none of them knew about the agreement because I didn’t want them to act differently around me, and waste the moments of happiness that were left to us. This act might seem selfish of me, and it probably is; yet still I wouldn’t have changed my decision. I watched a movie with one of my brothers and his family. A wasted choice, one might say, but I wasn’t watching the movie for entertainment, I was watching it for the sake of company. It felt good to be in comfortable surroundings with people who loved me. I hung out with my friends and did the things that we love to do, laughing at stories that we shared and drinking cold drinks that accompanied the sweet taste of barbeque as we enjoyed the warm afternoon. All of these things may seem trivial, but they have meaning to me, and that is what is important on this day.

The sun is just about gone, dipping close to the ends of the horizon. I look around me at the calm and peaceful surroundings. The smell of moist earth from the fields beside the house, the metallic rhythm from the watering spigots off in those same fields as they fed the thirsty soil, this sound is accompanied by the subdued chirruping of several crickets in their hidden concert halls. I sigh as I look back on my life, the friends and family, the memories, and the achievements that had been given to me. The only regret I carry with me at this point is not having anyone singular to share my experiences thus far with, and again I sigh as I sadly realize the implications the agreement will have on that regret.

The sun finally bids its final farewell in a last flash of color and is gone. Then he is standing next to me, wearing a black, long sleeved shirt and comfortable jeans. He has slightly longer hair that goes below his jaw line and brushes his shoulders and a well-trimmed goatee. He smiles and asks if I’m ready. I return the smile and nod. He laughs and slaps me on the shoulder, his touch isn’t as cold as most people think, it’s actually quite warm. Of all the characters in all of history, this one is the most poorly portrayed in my eyes. He tells me how much work it was to file the papers necessary to have someone switch places. He also informs me how rare it is to have such a submission accepted. There are millions of submissions every day, but all of them are usually denied. I continue smiling as I listen to him and we start walking off in the direction the sun took when it went to bed…