A World Aflame with Words

A World Aflame with Words: Musing on Malcolm Guite’s “On being told my poetry was found in a broken photo-copier” Note: By day, I work as a high school English teacher, regularly cajoling, threatening, wooing, enticing, bribing, and even tricking teenagers into reading thoroughly and, if and when at all possible, enjoying their reading, especially poetry. As such, I covet such kind thoughts...
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Some Time Still

Many thanks again, both to Kelly Belmonte for prodding me to guest post, and to Holly Ordway for indefatigable help in editing a half a dozen drafts of this! Some Time Still Emily Dickinson says: The soul selects her own society, Then shuts the door; On her divine majority Obtrude no more. Unmoved, she notes the chariot’s pausing At her low gate; Unmoved, an emperor is kneeling Upon her...
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In the Face of What Devils May Do: C. S. Lewis’ Re-Adjustment and the Defeat of Despair

Many thanks to Kelly Belmonte for her offer to guest for her fantastic, intrigiuing, and very redemptively challenging blog All Nine.  Here’s what I wrote for her: I have been grappling recently with a cycle of unpublished sonnets by Joy Davidman, Lewis’ future wife, and in so doing have delved back again into Lewis’ sometimes troubling, sometimes transcendent poetry. When her kind...
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The First Day of Christmas

The first day after angels sing, That’s when all it begins, for babies scream, yes, even Him, and smell, and eat, and do not understand, and so squall all the more. There Mary sits alone, for Joseph’s gone to find the Registry, Likely to stand in line for hours and frustrated, with far too much time to contemplate this child he didn’t choose, but now must change (for...
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I don’t believe in Christmas (2010 revision)

I don’t believe in Christmas, this American disease, this chance to flaunt our less-than-seemly sides and they are Legion. In other seasons mostly I don’t mind so much this jangling sound, this cry like an alarm designed to stir me from the stupor of the everyday; yes, usually let bells ring out, even the rusty ones, and out of tune, but all this noise just jars me now, and pushes me to...
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"Perhaps the point of fairy tales"

In Matt. 18, Jesus said (essentially), “Unless you turn into a little child, you’ll never get where you really want to go.”  Lewis said that when he became a man, one of the childish things he put away was the fear of appearing very child-like.  Yes.  Exactly.  And so here’s  little poem from a while ago for you to chew on while I work on some new...
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