Woodworker
Posted by Brian Dan Christensen in literature, Poem, Poetry, Uncategorized, Verse on May 13, 2016
I loved trees
I became a woodworker
I loved the ocean
So I drank it
I loved dirt
So I rooted
I loved music
I was quiet
I loved the truth
I spoke up
I loved God
So I knelt
I loved birds
So I flew
I loved wisdom
I said little
I loved the view
I became a mountain
I loved silence
So I hushed
I loved a woman
So I loved her
I loved the Earth
I left it
Alone
Let There Be Light Verse
Posted by Brian Dan Christensen in Humor, literature, Poem, Poetry, satire, Uncategorized, Verse on May 4, 2016
When facts are scorned
And lies prevail
It’s Hell on Earth
And Heaven in Hell
For common sense
Is quite amiss
Where ignorance is
No longer bliss
We need now, people
More than ever
The blueprints for
The Tower of Babel
To build it high
And let those climb
Who poison the minds
With guile and slime
Good riddance, we chant,
Now truth shall blossom
And let there be light
It’s totally awesome
Sonnet 2
Posted by Brian Dan Christensen in literature, Poetry, sonnet, Uncategorized, Verse on November 18, 2015
One day my children, who’ve yet to be born
And the sweet music that rose in my chest
Will walk the grave of I, who’ve yet to pass on
And my bones, once again, will be blessed.
The angels that in their time grazed my lips
The cheerful hands that wiped apples and tears
Will leave gentle marks in air that I kissed
And in the fine dust that fell on our stairs.
The doors we painted, each a tint of scarlet
Will turn grey, and in the garden, the dew
Will fall on leaves, amber, maroon and garnet
Inside the small rectangle of my view
Where drawings drift of a hundred new worlds
Of matchstick men in hats, mittens and pearls.
Arlington Sonnet
Posted by Brian Dan Christensen in literature, Poetry, Uncategorized, Verse on November 17, 2015
The day our enemy said he would darken our way
Fall was splendid, it was summer almost
I boarded a train for the Chesapeake Bay
My scarf fell, my sadness, and also my coat
They had declared our capital the next to quiver
Not short of breath, nor short of will
I crossed, ‘cause I could, the Potomac River
And walked the bittersweet Arlington hills
I came from afar; I wasn’t born on this shore
Of loud thunder and keen voices calling
Yet here lies the father of my mother-in-law
In the white ocean, the stones of the fallen
I stand there alone by Kennedy’s tomb
Where magnolias, imperfection and oak branches loom
Pocket Doors
Posted by Brian Dan Christensen in literature, Poetry, Uncategorized on October 16, 2015
In New York, you can’t get to the water
But the water can get to you,
I say to someone at the opening of an art exhibition
Of paintings by Vilhelm Hammershøi
Who painted with light and shades of white,
Leaving the water to the imagination
And then was forgotten for a lifetime.
I stroll with my wife through Murray Hill,
Sharing a plate of Indian food among the cab drivers.
At Gramercy Park, a man in a blue suit gives us
An impromptu tour of Governor Tilden’s mansion,
The dark wood, tall ceilings, the old bricks visible
Inside the mahogany pocket doors and I point
To a framed drawing among hundreds of portraits,
Saying, “Isn’t that Itzhak Perlman?”
“Could be,” he shrugs, turning to assist a young
Intoxicated Russian lady in the doorway.
At home, I look at old photographs, flickers of light
In pieces of glass from the shattered window of childhood.
It’s October, these mornings are clear, and with my eyes closed
I can hear my mother’s radio in her kitchen –
All the stories about the Middle East,
The burning of books and violins
That they somehow still insist on calling The News.
