National Poetry Day

October 8 is National Poetry Day!

There are just too many poems to share to celebrate this momentous occasion. We could spend hours upon hours reading Keats, Byron, Emerson, Longfellow, Silverstein, and that's the tiniest list of poets I've ever seen! Imagine how long it could take to share all those poems!

Instead, I'll share something that I've written. I may not be as famous as Emily Dickinson or E.E. Cummings, but that's all right, because anyone can be a poet. Anyone who says the words that are written on their heart is a poet. Good thing there are so many forms to choose from, we can be our own poets.

And so without further ado, here is a series of poems I wrote. Happy National Poetry Day!

"Trees" 

by Janelle Spiers

I.

They cut the trees with merciless ease

Felling the stories and rings.

With shattering sighs and gasps for breath

They leveled the growing things.

The dryads screamed for mercy

But they were drowned out by the roar

Of the mighty machine with its teeth like knives

Hungrily gnawing for more.

Green leaves fell down like salty tears

And watered the broken ground

As the spirits in the trees

Were crushed without a sound.

They cut the trees with merciless ease

To thin the verdure, green

Such sight and sound I now have heard,

But I wish it hadn’t been.

II.

In a wood they stood

Tall and proud

But now they lay

In aching shroud.

They used to sing

And tell us tales

But now I hear

Only pitiful wails.

Where once was beauty

Now is dying

Like worn out washing

Hung for drying.

Like corpses laid

On a funeral pyre

They wait for the end.

It will end in fire.

  

III.

All things must come to an end.

All things must come to pass.

Even fallen bodies lying

Cold upon the grass.

Drenched in oil, lit with sparks

But nary a word or tear.

Dancing flame upon the wood

And those who listen, hear:

Crying voices, all in pain

Shrieking from the heat.

Their moaning turns to whispers

As they suffer such defeat.

Death creeps close along the logs

Reveling in his feast

His orange tongue licks achingly

Over the deceased.

IV.

Burning snowflakes fall to earth

And land in drifts of dust.

The whispers of voices float around

And speak of fire’s lust.

Gentle ashes touch the ground

And darken up the soil.

A tiny touch on any piece

And the shape will surely spoil.

The memories of root and bark

Are floating through the sky

And when they touch the ground again

Their memory will die.

Burning snowflakes fall to earth

And sing their final song.

They tell of days when life was green,

Before their life was gone.

Tribute to Ellie

Tribute To Ellie

I didn't know you well, dear girl,

But I knew your precious heart.

Your smile, your grace,

Your beautiful face

Reflected who you are;

Reflected who you were. 

I wish I'd known you better, friend,

But from what I'd seen of you

You're kind, you're smart,

You're a work of art

And it shines with a light like gold;

It shone with a light like gold.

When first you met me smiling,

I saw beauty sharp and clear.

When last I saw you smiling, 

There was love, and never fear. 

I saw a glow that shone through you

With pure and radiate light.

You showered love like rain

And you fought the hardest fight. 

I think I know you now, dear girl,

I've seen your precious heart. 

Your joy, your grace, 

Your beautiful face

Reflected how you love;

Reflected how you loved. 

I wish I'd known you better, friend,

But from what I know of you

You were sweet, you were smart

You're a work of art

And it shines with the brightest light;

It shone with the brightest light. 

When first you met me smiling,

I saw beauty sharp and clear. 

Now we're left with a vision

A shadow of you, dear.

We see the light that shone in you

That will never cease to gleam.

You've changed the world in a gentle way;

You're the sweetest, brightest beam. 

We Must Sail...

Apparently, I'm not the only one who has sea-fever...

“I find the great thing in this world is not so much where we stand, as in what direction we are moving - we must sail sometimes with the wind and sometimes against it - but we must sail, and not drift, nor lie at anchor.” 
― Oliver Wendell Holmes Sr.

Pirate Dreams

Needles and pins, Needles and pins,
Sew me a sail to catch me the wind.
Sew me a sail strong as the gale,
Carpenter, bring out your hammers and nails.
Hammers and nails, hammers and nails,
Build me a boat to go chasing the whales.
Chasing the whales, sailing the blue
Find me a captain and sign me a crew.
Captain and crew, captain and crew,
Take me, oh take me to anywhere new.

― Shel Silverstein

Lines

I die but when the grave shall press
The heart so long endeared to thee
When earthy cares no more distress
And earthy joys are nought to me.

Weep not, but think that I have past

Before thee o'er the sea of gloom.

Have anchored safe and rest at last

Where tears and mouring can not come.

'Tis I should weep to leave thee here

On that dark ocean sailing drear

With storms around and fears before

And no kind light to point the shore.

But long or short though life may be

'Tis nothing to eternity.

We part below to meet on high

Where blissful ages never die.

― Emily Brontë

Bilbo’s Last Song

Day is ended, dim my eyes,
But journey long before me lies.
Farewell, friends! I hear the call.
The ship's beside the stony wall.
Foam is white and waves are grey;
Beyond the sunset leads my way.
Foam is salt, the wind is free;
I hear the rising of the Sea.

Farewell, friends! The sails are set,

The wind is east, the moorings fret.

Shadows long before me lie,

Beneath the ever-bending sky,

But islands lie behind the Sun

That I shall raise ere all is done;

Lands there are to west of West,

Where night is quiet and sleep is rest.

Guided by the Lonely Star,

Beyond the utmost harbour-bar,

I’ll find the heavens fair and free,

And beaches of the Starlit Sea.

Ship, my ship! I seek the West,

And fields and mountains ever blest.

Farewell to Middle-earth at last.

I see the Star above my mast!

― J.R.R. Tolkien

Dracula ~ A Book Review

Dracula

Book By Bram Stoker

Review by Janelle A. Spiers

“Never did tombs look so ghastly white. Never did cypress, or yew, or juniper so seem the embodiment of funeral gloom. Never did tree or grass wave or rustle so ominously. Never did bough creak so mysteriously, and never did the far-away howling of dogs send such a woeful presage through the night.”

~ Bram Stoker, Dracula

“There are darknesses in life and there are lights, and you are one of the lights, the light of all lights.”
   ~ Bram Stoker, Dracula

WARNING:  Please be aware that if you continue reading this Book Review, you may be subject to reading spoilers and or secrets of the original book.  However, all attempts shall be made to hide the crucial points, in the event that this review encourages you to read this book.  Any information divulged will be deemed by the author of this review necessary to the review, or, not capable of ruining any major surprise. 

Bram Stoker wrote Dracula in 1897 and changed the fictional realm of horror forever.  Stoker’s haunting story of death, love, and fantasized monsters brings both inspiration and chills to the reader, thrusting them into a tale mixed to the brim with modern life and early European folklore.  Dracula has made such an impact in the literary world that Bram Stoker’s ideas have been used in many stories since that time.

Despite the grim circumstances and breath-taking drama, Dracula is a powerful story about good vs. evil.  The light of goodness, truth, and holiness are starkly and beautifully contrasted with the darkness of evil, lies, and horror.  Stoker wove a powerful, golden thread of redemption throughout his dark tapestry, so that no matter how dark the night or how desperate the character, there is always some hope left on which they can cling.  The idea of love being more powerful than fear is also present.  Each of the characters are challenged to decide how far they are willing to go for love for each other, and for life itself.

The unforgettable story begins with a man named Jonathan Harker travelling across the Carpathian Mountains to the castle of Count Dracula, where he will be helping with a legal affair.  After the frightening experience of trying to get to the secluded, mysterious castle, Jonathan finds himself the guest of an equally mysterious master.  As time passes, suspicion and fear begin to build, and Jonathan realizes that he is no longer a guest, but a prisoner; Dracula has locked him in the old castle.  A series of harrowing events plague Jonathan and he barely escapes with his life back to England where his fiancé awaits him.

But a long, arduous life has just begun for the heroes of this tale.  A shipwreck on the coast brings with it strange and deadly results and a young woman with sleepwalking issues suddenly begins to look more pale than usual.  With the help of two brilliant doctors and two other stout gentlemen, Harker and his newlywed wife, Mina, are faced with the fact that there is a mythical creature in their midst, and if they do not stop the threat, Dracula will destroy the world they know and love.

Jonathan Harker is a very steadfast, cool-headed man, but his encounter with Dracula and his eerie home leaves a great strain on him, especially when he thinks his life is at stake.  He spends the rest of the story with a burning passion to defeat the monster, but at the same time, he can lapse into a very weak and fearful state, typically more for his bride than himself.

Mina Harker is the faithful, “guiding star” for the men of this tale.  Her loyalty and compassion to her husband is equally, yet properly, shared with the other gentlemen who bond together to destroy Dracula.  When Mina is attacked by Dracula and her life takes a terrible turn, she longs to stay with those she loves, but she is willing to sacrifice herself in order to keep her friends safe.

Dr. Seward is a major piece of the puzzle and he is necessary to the destruction of Dracula.  He specializes in helping the insane and mentally disabled, and when one such man is found to be working for the Count, Seward manages to pry information from the man to help them in their conquest.

Perhaps the greatest protagonist is Abraham Van Helsing, a Dutch doctor and former teacher of Dr. Seward.  Van Helsing is the first one to discover what Dracula is and how he can be stopped, and despite the fact that no one believes him, he manages to prove Dracula’s true identity and the means to ending him.  Van Helsing is a quiet, thoughtful man with much faith and brain that ultimately result in the demise of Dracula.

Dracula himself is a creature of much discretion and sinister intent.  As a vampire, he is neither dead nor living, and is called “un-dead” as a result.  He preys on anyone and everyone but with so much secrecy that it is almost impossible to detect.  One of the most remarkable traits that Count Dracula possesses is that he is very patient and slow; with no fear of dying from old age, he has hundreds upon hundreds of years on his hands, and so every movement he makes is bold, but in no rush.

The writing style of Dracula is very unique.  Instead of constant narration, the entire book is split up into journal entries written by the main characters, gatherings of newspaper clippings, letters, telegrams, etc.  In addition, the ways the words are written or constructed vary, depending on which character is writing or recording.  However, on an overall note, the understandability of the story can be difficult, due to the older way of speaking and writing, also, based on the long, winding plot line and information that comes with it.

Abraham Stoker was born on November 8, 1847, in Dublin, Ireland, the third of seven children.  Stoker was bedridden for the first several years of his life from an unknown disease or illness, but by age seven, he was completely recovered and able to attend a private school; he never suffered from any major illness again.  In his early adulthood, Stoker married Florence Balcombe, who had been previously courted by his friend, Oscar Wilde.  The Stokers moved to London, where their only child was born, and Stoker became the theater manager for Henry Irving, a famous actor.  There he was introduced to notable people, such as Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, and on traveling to America, president Theodore Roosevelt, William McKinley, and Walt Whitman.  Dracula was written in 1897, but never attracted much popularity until after his death on April 20, 1912.

Though the story and its characters are fascinating and enjoyable, some of the content may be unsuitable for young or sensitive readers.  There are a few instances of swearing, but they are mild and not used flippantly.  There is some romance between two couples without the book, but nothing intimate is ever recorded or hinted.  Several of the female vampires that appear in the story are described as intensely lovely and they act rather seductively in hopes of luring in prey, but the characters shun such creatures.

            The intensity of the story can be overwhelming.  Several beloved characters die, and one, who died a as a vampire, must be mutilated after death to keep her from attacking innocent children, which she had been doing.  Blood is a central theme and gory idea that fuels the story along, so it may be unpleasant to read.  There is also a mentally insane man who eats flies, spiders, birds, and wants to eat cats, as well, and his death may be distressing.

            The progression of Dracula’s stunning plot line is neat, concise and has left very little room for argumentation, barring the fact that vampires are works of fictitious imagination. All the characters, from gentle and graceful Mina to the intelligent and thoughtful Van Helsing are almost like living creatures that grow and live within the tale.  Bram Stoker has painted a breathing portrait of a world about to be undone by the un-dead.

            Dracula was not the first story about vampires, but by it, a path was forged through the uncharted territory of fiction that still progresses today.  One of Bram Stoker’s characters once said, “I want you to believe...to believe in things that you cannot.” Stoker tried to create a piece of far-fetched fiction into a tale that would seem so real it could bite you, and that is exactly what he did.   Dracula is an amazing, thrilling, haunting tale about the search for light in the darkest places, love in the most hopeless times, and peace from the dreaded monster, Count Dracula.  

(Based on a rating system entirely made up of pros and cons, I judge by different categories to ensure that the reader of this review can aptly choose if this book is an appropriate for themselves or others.)

Theme ~ Positive! (For excellent topics that are inspiring and applicable to life.)

Plot Line ~ Positive! (For a gripping, unmatched storyline)

Characters ~ Positive! (Very memorable and extremely consistent)

Writing Quality ~ Negative! (For difficult, archaic writing style)

Mature Content ~ Negative! (Intense and graphic sequences, more suitable for an older audience.)

Congruency ~ Positive! (For extreme consistency in plot, characters, and quality)

The total score for Dracula by Bram Stoker is 4 out of a possible 6 positive points.

How Deep the Father's Love For Us

This is an Easter post that I wrote a couple years ago and read at our church service. I don't remember how I got the inspiration, but I have always liked the idea of supernatural warfare. I pray that you remember this morning how much He loves you, and how deep His love will go. Happy Easter, and He Is Risen! 

How Deep the Father’s Love For Us

Janelle Spiers

March 2013

Icouldn’t look.  I had to turn my face, because I knew if I saw him, I would move.  If I moved, I wouldn’t be able to stop myself, for I would have given into the temptation that tortured me.  If I had given into temptation, I would have ruined the plan, the plan that would bring salvation to the world.

            I didn’t think it could go like this.  I was sure something had gone wrong.  How could God intend this to happen?  But he didn’t give the word.  He didn’t unleash the angelic army waiting by his side to rescue the suffering Prince.  He just watched.

            I felt that I should have done something.  My Prince was down there, suffering for all humanity, but I couldn’t go.  I was obeying the High King of Kings, the Emperor of All, and so I did nothing.  But when I heard the cry of pain that escaped his lips, betraying the utter agony and torment he endured, it made me angry.

            I had been sorry to see him leave.  Thirty-three years before that cruel day he had entered the world called Earth.  I was overjoyed when I welcomed him, singing, “Glory in the highest, Peace on Earth, Goodwill towards men.”  I watched him carefully as my Lord was trapped inside the little body of a human child.  I watched him longingly as he grew, waiting for him to become a man.   I cringed when he was scorned and mocked, and I smiled when he was accepted and loved.                    

             They had come for him in the night.  The soldiers had arrested him, giving him a trial while the sky was dark, because they were cowards.  They couldn’t face a crowd that might have saved my Prince the pain he was enduring.  They found a guiltless man guilty, though they themselves were guilty of breaking the laws ordained by God.  The darkness hid more than the sun, it hid the demons lurking, back and forth, pacing the room where they testified against him, jumping gleefully when they led him away to the governor’s house, and darting quickly through the gathering crowd.

             I was furious that they treated him so.  I fingered my sword, but stopped, knowing that if my Prince wouldn’t fight back, neither would I.  I knew that my Lord could see the beings; he could see their beautiful faces, their scarlet robes, and their shining wings.  I knew he could see us, too.  Our beautiful faces, our jade robes, and our shining wings, but our faces had a different expression.  Instead of happiness, scorn, and mockery, there was pain, determination, and anxiety. 

            We were anxious to go, anxious to do something as he stood silently before the man called Pilate.  Why wasn’t God doing anything to save his son?  Was he not paying attention to what was happening on the earth he had created?  I had glanced at him, during our long vigil that night, breaking into the terrible day.  He sat high on his throne and he watched.  He was fully aware of what was taking place, but he did nothing.

            Then they took him to a courtyard where blood from human men was spattered across the walls.  And then, as they flogged him with a cruel, heavy whip, human blood flew, but it was mixed with something greater, far more powerful than the life source for humans.  It was the blood of Jesus. 

            He was brought out and placed along side a murderer and the crowd chanted.  The demons shouted with them, whispering to the undecided, changing the minds of the ones who had called him their king days before.  And the cold-blooded killer was released, set loose to continue his gory deeds.  And they took the guiltless man, at the crowds affirmations, to be crucified.

            I wanted to scream when they drove a crude circlet of heavy thorns into his head.  Blood streamed down his face and I wept to see my Prince treated like a criminal, when he had done nothing but good.  They gave him a purple robe, and hailed him as their king, but the empty lies they taunted him with were their own demise.  They hit the King of the Universe and laughed.  But the King of the Universe said nothing.  Though he knew that all of heaven would have swept down and stopped the unbearable pain, he said nothing.  He endured it.

            And so they led him to the hill stained with the blood of sinful men.  But as they nailed him to the splintered, rough wood and placed him upright for all to see, innocent, pure blood poured from his body onto the accursed ground. 

            And so I stood in heaven in our battle lines, waiting..but he never called us.  When the sun was at its highest, God blotted it out.  He took hold of the corners of the earth and shook it, calling the people of the world to their knees, but though they fell, few fell to repent.

            And then the hardest part of all came.  After six hours of bleeding, suffering, and suffocating, God closed the curtain of Heaven to its Prince.  The curtain fell, forsaking the dying man on the cross.  He cried out in a loud voice, but we could hear nothing.  The demons screamed with laughter as the Father abandoned his Son. The sins of the world had fallen onto the Prince, and the King turned his back.  But as he gave up his spirit, the curtain tore. 

            The curtain between God and Earth was ripped like the skin on my Lord’s back, and the curtain in the temple separating Earth from God was cut in two.  Jesus Christ took on the sins of the world, and flung them as far as the east is from the west. 

            For three days the demons celebrated their triumph.  They laughed and screamed with glee, for they thought their battle was won.  But on the third day, the earth shuddered, the universe groaned, and the heavens shook.  For out of the earth where they laid him, my Prince came out. 

            He was no longer confined to the body of a man.  My Lord was himself, the God of Heaven, the God of Earth, and the God of Life.  The demons shrieked and fled in terror as Jesus proved to the world, that no power, not even death, could defeat the Son of God.

            I watched with joy as my Prince appeared to his friends and followers, because I finally understood.  It had been so hard for God to watch his Son suffer, but it was his plan.  His humans were sinful and they needed a savior, so Jesus paid the price.  He gave up his life as a ransom for many.

            The sacrifice was immeasurable, the pain was unimaginable, the separation was unfathomable, but the results were unsurpassable.  The Prince loved his people so much; he was willing to take up their sin, and to carry it.  He carried the weight of the world upon his shoulder, and as it was washed by his perfect blood, it dissolved like snow.

How deep the Father's love for us,

How vast beyond all measure

That He should give His only Son

To make a wretch His treasure

How great the pain of searing loss,

The Father turns His face away

As wounds which mar the chosen One,

Bring many sons to glory

Behold the Man upon a cross,

My sin upon His shoulders

Ashamed I hear my mocking voice,

Call out among the scoffers

It was my sin that left Him there

Until it was accomplished

His dying breath has brought me life

I know that it is finished

I will not boast in anything

No gifts, no power, no wisdom

But I will boast in Jesus Christ

His death and resurrection

Why should I gain from His reward?

I cannot give an answer

But this I know with all my heart

His wounds have paid my ransom