my parents hosted a baptismal service at their place tonight. a number of members of their church took the plunge, which is always amazing to witness. the backyard hot tub served as the Jordan River.
mom and dad took the plunge, which was extra special to see.
The furnishings in the Air Canada Lounge in Vancouver are more than a little worse for wear. It looked like some high school students had a bender the night before. Entire tables cracked and slouched. Armchairs ripped and exposing stuffing. Marble tables chipped and jagged. Leather seats gouged and ragged.
Who thought traveling ‘elite’ could be so, well, trashy? Here’s a photo essay of my experience. I didn’t have the heart to take shots of the wet and lumped paper towels discarded all over the floor of the bathroom.
Fight for Story
You know if you do, though
they’ll tap into it
shove the needle in without warning
channel the fluid that runs between the dura
layer of your brain and your spinal column
fill their syringe with the nutrient rich
bio matter
inject it into their bones.
You’ll wake up wondering why your head hurts
bend to work out the kinks in your back
discover the spot in your skin that’s been chunked;
a divot no larger than a mole.
The real magic is to trick the body
to produce more. There’s nothing
you can do, any longer, about the hole.
It’s been opened up whether you were ready for it
or not, flows to fill the small cracks
openings, where there is want of space for imagination.
Like a hungry Galilean you’ll be happy to have
even one fish and a loaf to feed on
provide nourishment for the month. Like a fool
with a beating heart and a prayer
you strain to believe there will be leftovers.
Food to microwave in the morning
alongside the coffee.
Because tomorrow
there is another story to tell.
© 2009 Andrew Kooman
rhythm is a funny word.
try to spell it right the first time from scratch.
i’m almost sure you can’t.
like life, you gotta go back.
sound it out.
trace your finger along the letters. rearrange.
sometimes you gotta sound it out.
check an outside source.
the book often left on the shelf, with the sturdy spine.
the one in need of dusting.
life, like rhythm, has a certain beat.
you breathe in and out.
the air gets trapped in your lungs, or
you exhale deeply.
it’s good when rhythms change
and you feel out a new beat
tap your toes. sing in another key.
i’m feeling that rhythm out.
even as we speak.
trying to sound out words with too many vowels.
consonants where you don’t expect them to be.
arrange my words right
in a way that is pleasing to my ear
and the other ears that happen to be listening.
some notes are just right.
and i’m hoping to increase my range.
harmonize by dropping some notes a third.
bumping others up an octave or two.
when i learned to play the piano i studied clefs and theory.
was taught how to locate the dots on the page
placed in or between thin black lines
translate those notes to ivory and ebony keys
curl my fingers just right.
it’s not only a trope when i say i wanna learn
to play by ear.
get lost in the music.
play the notes that aren’t already written
the ones someone else put on the page.
the ones deep inside.
my eyes are closed and i’m
listening.
Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn, the writer and dramatist who made the world aware of the Russian forced labour system, said in his 1973 Nobel Lecture that the artist’s duty is to be a receptor for that “one word of truth that outweighs the world.” For me, there is no better way to describe the essence of the heart of worship. Words are the seeds of our creativity, seeds that are planted, take root, and grow into expressions of worship in due season.
These are a few of the words I used to describe my understanding of what worship looks like in my application for the Leczszynski & Wales Scholarship. I was pleased to learn on Sunday that I was one of the recipients of the first annual award. I’m thankful to Streams Church and the committee for their generous grant, which I applied for in order to publish my children’s novel Ten Silver Coins.
The grant is a worship arts scholarship meant to foster and develop artists in the body at Streams.
I am encouraged and look forward to seeing the book in my hands, and getting the story into the hands and hearts of others.
- enchanted by joe wright’s pride and prejudice
- saw my nephew ceremoniously move on to high school
- shin dug it in calgary
- met with APN dramaturg for feedback on play
- considered further rounding out a character
- ate some schwarma
- prayed with the KAG
- hit the highways
- put in some book orders at the library
- experienced extended family game madness
- tag-teamed with the faja on beanbag dominance
- drank a decent amount of coffee
- slept in
- woke early
- farmer’s market
- sold some books
- snuck popcorn and butterfingers from my absent brother’s pantry
- took advantage of said brother’s empty dishwasher
Fill the Empty World Full
He said, with his shoes still on
shirt pocket full of moonlight.
Pour and keep pouring
until we need canoe down the street
paddle around vending machines and
office desks that float like buoys.
Loose the heavens like you’d spend spare change
for forty days and nights let it rain.
Fill the empty world full of wonder again.
© 2009 Andrew Kooman
