A trio of poems from MISA

A Murder of Crows

As night descended
the birds intended
     to raise some havoc.
A murder of crows
their angry shouts grow
     a rageful black flock.

Dark from head to toe
all who see them know
     not to mess with them.
They control the streets
all who see, retreat
     lest they stand condemned.

Grouped voices murmur
crows planning murder
     opposing the peace.
They rule the night
when they take flight
     dark anarchy seized. 

Relative Silence

I sit in silence
listening for God
     but silence is a relative term.

The refrigerator hums
     birds chirp
          once in a while. 

My stomach asks,
     "When's breakfast?" 

I think I hear people moving,
     but perhaps not...

Watercolor Morn

Watercolor morn
I step out my door
     and gaze to the West.

Cool gray sky,
     wet on wet
stands in stark contrast
     to the ragged treeline
          nearly black.

Our minds are trained to fill in missing pieces
     --interpretively--
          blue skies
               green trees
but the Artist's palate 
     contains more color.

As the sun ascends in the East
     and the earth genuflects in reverence,
new brush strokes are added 
     to nature's scene.

Green blue and Indian yellow
     edges mystically softened.

Soon contrasting shapes and colors and edges
     amorophous scene becomes beauty
     bearing the signature of the Creator. 

T.H.A.G.S. and the Beauty of Sacred Clutter

"For as long as they could remember, Nia had taught the children what she called T.H.A.G.S.* Janner studied writing and poetry. Tink spent his time painting and drawing. Leeli learned to sing and to play the whistleharp. Tink had asked his mother once what was so traditional about learning the T.H.A.G.S. when not one other child in Glipwood was forced to spend hours upon hours drawing the same tree over and over from different angles. 

"'You're an Igiby,' she said as if that answered the question. 

No other boy in Glipwood had to read as many old books or write as many pages as Janner and no other girl in town knew how to play an instrument. All three of the children had some proficiency in each of the T.H.A.G.S. but spent the vast majority of their time perfecting only one. 

*Three Honored and Great Subjects: Word, Form, and Song. Some silly people believe that there's a fourth Honored and Great Subject, but those mathematicians are woefully mistaken. 

-Andrew Peterson, On the Edge of the Dark Sea of Darkness, page 78

If you've spent any time in our home, you might describe it as a beautiful mess, or just a mess. You might think we own too much stuff. Perhaps we do. The vertical spaces are covered with guitars and artwork and shelves and fingerprints. Books and animals and tablets and pencils occupy the horizontal. Sacred clutter.






As I look around our home, I am reminded that beauty matters here. Sometimes, there is an overgrowth of unwashed dishes, unfolded clothes, and unpaid bills, but almost always, creative blooms continue to break through.











I am thankful to Andrew Peterson who gave us the term T.H.A.G.S.--Three Honored and Great Subjects. Before I ever read the Wingfeather Saga or knew of the acronym, our home was a sanctuary where the T.H.A.G.S. were valued.


 If you ever stop by on one of our "family create nights," I'll show off my wife's paintings because she's too humble to show them herself. If you're lucky, Grace and Tessa will show you their artwork as well. Ian will gladly play you a song on his ukelele and sing just a bit off tune.

My writings are coming along nicely, though my paintings are further behind. But, with time, I'm learning the process matters more than the product.

Let me encourage you as well.
Get a little bit messy.
Make some mistakes.
Create your own sacred clutter.
Trust me, its beautiful.