Friday, March 21, 2014

Poetic Prayer

They've said the reason that the modern man,
in piety is less than early men -
those men who gave up life, and gladly so
to wider spread the joyful news with their
own death, that man need never die again
when once he's risen in the Son's ascent - 
is simple: we do not in actual-
-ity desire it. We'd rather hedge
our bets with wisdom of the world, to which
the Cross and admiration thereof is
so foolish.
                 Father mine, please keep from me
this human penchant for desiring my
own truth above the Real, and drive my soul
to Calvary, from whence then send to me out,
all full of Christ's sufficient grace, to bring
there, by the hand, those who've yet to be filled.

Thursday, March 13, 2014

Young Man: Sockless



Yes, my feet were blown highlights, wisenheimer.

It's a good feeling.

Conor

Wednesday, March 12, 2014

Old Man: Color vs. Tone

Over at The Curriculum, Billax - one of the most knowledgable guys still hanging around this scene - has a great thread about the difference between color contrast and tonal contrast: which one is more important in the perception and/or reception of a certain outfit?

Check it out. It might surprise you.

This might explain the appeal that all those black and white photos in Dressing the Man and the like have.

Conor

(note: at this time, it looks like Billax is too knowledgeable, in that he has maxed out his Photobucket bandwidth allotment for the time. Check back often though, as it's a great thread.)

Poetic Prayer, Day 8

My God, You give, and not only
with one hand, but with both,
with both eternal, gracious hands,
as when you pour rain forth.

You send Your gifting Spirit down,
replete with talents great,
and You have given me the want
to think, to say, to write.

Control my pen, as even still
You mold my thought and word,
that all I write may pour forth praise
to the Ascended Lord.


I'm digging Common Meter.

Sunday, March 9, 2014

Poetic Prayer, Day 5

Father, my feeble and frail attempts
to drag myself deeper, and draw myself into
devotion, to vanquish my sin and win victory over
my flesh: how far have I come? A foot to a mile
would be progress more potent. So I pour out my strength.
Fill me with fire not fraught and impure
and allow it to light all my limpid attempts,
and bless it to burn down my bitter pride.



An attempt at alliterative verse. Too bad I don't know a synonym for verse that starts with "a."