David W. Ballard: Professional Writer specializing in Web content writing, copywriting, feature writing, fiction writing, and poetry. » Perspective

Lordy, Lordy . . .

David Ballard — Fri, 16 Dec 2011 18:58:39 +0000

As a child, birthdays are great. Better wheels always beckon: from big wheels, to spoked wheels, to hot wheels, to roulette wheels. As each year spins forward, life gets bigger and more glorious all the time.

For me, every birthday after 21 has felt like anticlimax. Even turning 21 wasn’t that great: I had to stand in line at the DMV (again), and to make matters worse; I had to give up the sauce. That day, a reintroduction to mind numbing bureaucracy, knowing I wouldn’t ever be able to sufficiently numb out again, made me feel unwheeled.

Then, each successive year felt like the ocean wearing down a hapless shell. Someone once called it leading a life of quiet desperation . . . they left out the disquiet part.

Then, in November, I turned 40.

Jeez! Now I’m a geez!

Right?

Surprisingly. No.

By every indication, my 40th birthday should have scored low on the seismic register: I had no birthday party, cake, day off from work, etc.; in short, it lacked tremor.

But, in the stillness, I realized, God willing, I’m halfway home. I felt like I had outgrown a lot of the irrelevancies of youth. And the best was still yet to come.

Looking back, each decade has brought a few lessons:

0-10
1. Those closest to you hurt you the most.
2. Prosperity is a state of mind.

11-20
1. Sleep on your dreams, and they might never awaken.
2. Candy is dandy, and liquor makes sicker.

21-30
1. Never, ever give up.
2. Do the right thing even if it costs you.

31-40
1. Overcome your challenges now because they always reappear.
2. Love is not an option; it’s a command.

At least halfway home, I more clearly understand the paradox of the glass is half empty versus half full.

If your heart is full then the glass is half full; if your heart is empty, the glass is half empty. Fill your heart with faith and love, and your life, no matter your age, will never run on empty.

Shutting Out the Rest

David Ballard — Tue, 29 Nov 2011 21:00:14 +0000

She circles the table
Going round and round
As fast as she is able—
Full of song and sound.
After a spell, she leaps for my lap,
And I stoop to pick her up.
I hold her fast against my breast
Her face—hot on my chest.
I squeeze the moment tight,
Shutting out the rest.

Joy

David Ballard — Sun, 23 Oct 2011 12:29:39 +0000

An inner sense of Providence
Not measured in circumstance
But compelled by the Spirit’s presence,
His gift of grace as recompense,
The price, complete obedience
Without willful defiance,
Just belief without sterile evidence.
What is this?
Glory of undeserved favor
From the only faithful counselor,
Jesus, our Lord and Savior.

Down to Earth

David Ballard — Thu, 20 Oct 2011 16:42:52 +0000

My heart climbs the clouds to a sun-opened space.
But my way leads on a different way:
Far from the glory of the proud—
Into storms and humbled places.
Where valleys deepen doubt, require trust.
In the low places
Our eyes fall to others’ feet far from faces
To preordained spaces
Down to earth,
Where God provides on a need-to-know-basis.
The clouds are for the few, high aloft.
Perhaps, they are cursed to have so many choices.

Half Crossed

David Ballard — Sat, 01 Oct 2011 12:34:14 +0000

This morning’s breathtaking shock of cold
Greeted me like a friend from old.
So I layered my skin with downy clothes
And stole into my car, going west
Into the darkened pit of this morning’s night.
The light
Trailed behind
Like Truth denied.
In the rear view mirror I watched the horizon
Begin to glow rosy with light.
Clouds
Crowded
The horizon massed on the tree line
Like a fanned
Hand
Of cards bluffing the sun.
Getting a chill, I turned the car around
To go
Thinking heaven knows
The Fall is close:
The bridge half crossed
From life gained
Later to be lost,
Heaven soon obtained
At the foot of the cross.

Heart

David Ballard — Sun, 18 Sep 2011 12:10:29 +0000

He glimpses our heart’s fullness and less,
Its tendrils fashioned from stone to flesh
Our part: submissive belief—
Saved from death’s mortal darts:
What relief!

Miscarriage

David Ballard — Sat, 17 Sep 2011 19:55:09 +0000

Though it’s nearly fall,
Winter is inside me.
The baby is gone,
And I’m all alone
In the white hospital,
Waiting to go home,
Away.

I know seasons change,
And spring will come again.

I see
Dogwood trees,
In my mind,
Reminding
Me winter fades,
Like a bad dream,
Come waking time.

I know seasons change,
And spring will come again.

Blessings are disguises
Like my stomach hurts
And heart aches
Even though
I know
I’m not ready to be a mother,
Promised to another.

I know seasons change,
And spring will come again.

I’m swinging on a swing
Going
Up and down,
Up and down and up.
There is good and bad—
Good in bad,
Bad in good.

My seasons always change,
Little ones never stay the same.

My Love

David Ballard — Sat, 17 Sep 2011 18:29:19 +0000

Wrapped in bedding, my love sweetly slumbers.
My wife and two daughters’ mother,
Loves not what could be,
Should be,
Or would be,
But what is.
What a great gift she is!

Harbor Light

David Ballard — Fri, 16 Sep 2011 03:32:11 +0000

Silent snubs may burn inside
Melting away waxing pride
And can leave you bare
With no wick to spare,
But there is shelter there
In your love’s last light
For souls seeking harbor
In the night.

Everyday

David Ballard — Thu, 08 Sep 2011 08:38:24 +0000

Somehow a dead leaf got tracked inside.
I didn’t ask from whom or whence it came,
Only wondered, if I did nothing, would it remain.
The more I thought the less I did,
Philosophy’s contribution to underbid.

The leaf, brown and crisp and stale and old
Was passed by everyone and disregarded,
Perhaps preparation for the coming cold,
Summer’s dreams now retarded,
Yesterday’s heat burned away.

Nothing young can remain that way,
Merely born again everyday.