"The Mystery of Saint Etienne"

 "The Mystery of Saint Etienne"

      Between reason and faith, we make our way through a hard world with edges sharp enough to wound the unwary. Oh Lord, guide our steps.
      Faith is what we hold, a lamp to light our way and to let blind eyes see. Oh Lord, let Your light shine on us.
      Between what is and what should be, we are stretched, a cord between two black horses. Oh Lord, send to us Your mercy.
      Heaven is our hope in this world without hope. Oh Lord, may we bring hope as You brought hope unto us.
      Between the precipice and the fall, we take faltering steps, children lost in the dark woods. Oh Lord, give us a lodestone that points to You.
      Here we stand unclean in our souls and dark of hearts. Oh Lord, send to us Your cleansing rain.
      Oh Lord, we are fallen but You lift us up.
      Oh Lord, we are scattered but You gather us.
      Oh Lord, we are unworthy but You take us.
      We raise hands to You, a thousand tongues give unto You praise, and the rocks and hills and dales resound with voices that cry,
      Hosanna,
      Hosanna,
      Hosanna.

(Copyright by Stephen B. Bagley. All rights reserved.)

Little Things

The Saints of Little Things

Let us now praise

the saints of little things,

the cherished saints

of coffee and bright mornings,

hugs from children and grands,

the laughter of our friends,

leftover Halloween candy,

warm blankets fresh from the dryer,

contented purrs from contented cats,

rolly puppies and happy dogs,

songs sang loudly slightly off-key

old TV shows streaming all seasons,

worn jeans and comfortable shoes,

blue skies during the day,

nights filled with stars—

your sweet kiss on my lips.

(Copyright 2022 by Stephen B. Bagley. All rights reserved.)

The Mystery of Saint Etienne

Several years back, I worked on a book titled The Mystery of Saint Etienne. I never finished it. It was a book of prosetry; in other words, a book that used the techniques of poetry to tell a story in prose. I was inspired by the works of Calvin Miller, particularly The Song and The Singer, a retelling of Christ's story in an alternative reality. Great books.

Anyway, here's an excerpt from my unfinished book. It seemed fitting for these times.

From The Mystery of Saint Etienne

Between reason and faith, we make our way through a hard world with edges sharp enough to wound the unwary. Oh Lord guide our steps.
Faith is what we hold, a lamp to light our way and to let blind eyes see. Oh Lord let Your light shine on us.
Between what is and what should be, we are stretched, a cord between two black horses. Oh Lord send to us Your mercy.
Heaven is our hope in this world without hope. Oh Lord may we bring hope as You brought hope unto us.
Between the precipice and the fall, we take faltering steps, children lost in the dark woods. Oh Lord give us a lodestone that points to You.
Here we stand unclean in our souls and dark of hearts. Oh Lord send to us Your cleansing rain.
Oh Lord we are fallen but You lift us up.
Oh Lord we are scattered but You gather us.
Oh Lord we are unworthy but You take us.
We raise hands to You, a thousand thousand tongues give unto You praise, and the rocks and hills and dales resound with voices that cry,
Hosanna,
Hosanna,
Hosanna.

In the Valley of the Dead

In the Valley of the Dead

Make no songs that say our names;
we will not listen now.
Don’t compose poems to sing our virtues;
past small things, we do not care.
Do not praise us in speeches
written to glorify the cause;
eulogies are said by sly politicians.

If you truly would honor us,
walk quietly among white wildflowers.
Share memories of your families,
the children we cherished, the babies’
first steps, the turning of the world—
the stones hold us down, down, down,
and we cannot see beyond the loam.

Was our falling worth the cost?
Some say yes and others say no;
we do not care about the words,
the many falsehoods. the justifying.
Let us lie quietly here; our sorrows
vanquished as strife is not—wait,
what sound is that? A trumpet calls—

Copyright 2019 by Stephen B. Bagley. All rights reserved.

Poem: "There is a creature"

"There is a creature"

By Stephen B. Bagley

Within me, there is a creature

who seeks the broken shards

to spill opaque blood on razor edges.

to sanctify unnatural furies

to purify what cannot be

Within me, there is a storm

that twists and rages and burns

to shatter hollow cathedrals

to bring low the exalted

to raise up the castoff

Within me, there is a child

who is tormented and torments

to share its unknowable sorrow

to bring low those who judge

to weep for unreachable peace 

Within me, there is a creature

that twists, rages, and burns

to share its unknowable sorrow

to purify what cannot be

to raise up the castoff

to weep for unreachable peace

There is a creature.

Copyright 2019 by Stephen B. Bagley.

 All rights reserved. Thank you for reading.

"Turn Does the Year"

"Turn Does the Year"
By Stephen B. Bagley

the old year turns
either onto a new path
or onto the same
with only minor changes

we raise a cup or not
hoping a toast brings luck
even as we realize
it might not be as wished

in this changing moment
between then and now
and what will come after
drink deep the bittersweet

promised nothing, we still
scheme and plan
and if the fates be kind
a plan or two will bloom

we make promises
we might not keep
even though we will try
and cry and laugh and run

dance with me
love with me
pray with me
kiss your sweet lips now

think of what we leave behind
walk toward what is before us
most importantly hold my hand
as the old year turns new

(Copyright 2018. All rights reserved.)

Turn the page

Closing The Book

By Stephen B. Bagley

It surprised me when I swept off

all the books on the shelf. I thought

I had long since spent my passion

in purchasing your faithless heart.

You feel uncertain of our life,

you tell me. What you mean is your

better love than me may still be

out there. Why settle for less here?

So go. Leaving is how you show

how little you care, how little

you understand the rarity

of love in this non-fiction world.

If this were a story, you would

come back broken, and I would let

you love me or even better

introduce you to my new love.

Since this is not, I will pick up

the scattered books and set them back

on the shelf, being careful to set

yours to one side to box later.

.

Excerpt from Undying by Stephen B. Bagley & Gail Henderson. 

Copyright 2015. All rights reserved. 

Purchase Undying at Amazon

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"Places I'd Rather Be"

Places I'd Rather Be 
By Stephen B. Bagley

On a beach --

No, on a beach with white sand --

Wait, on a beach with white sand and the only sound the ocean --

Hey, on a beach with white sand and the only sound the ocean and a tall cold fruity umbrellaed drink in my hand --

Yes, on a beach with white sand and the only sound the ocean and a tall cold fruity umbrellaed drink in my hand as I lounge in the shade beneath palm trees and you walk toward me, smiling, the sun glistening on your wet skin as you rise out of the waves ...

In your arms.

(Copyright 2017 by Stephen B. Bagley. All rights reserved. From the forthcoming book "Eternal." Thank you for reading.)

Whispers

Whispers
By Stephen B. Bagley

He whispered as he held her:
This could get messy --
this thing between us.
We could lose everything
for a stolen moment.

Stolen from this empty world
that breaks everything
eventually. We will break
too, you know.

A cross word, a sideways glance,
a silence at the wrong instant.
I'll be cold, you'll be hot,
timing is everything and all 
clocks wind down.

We shouldn't. It's not wise.
It's beyond stupid. We're 
risking battered hearts.
We might not survive.

So we walk away now.
We forget. We go back.
We do the smart thing.
The smartest thing.

She whispered:
I'm sure you're right
but if it's so,
why then am I
still in your arms?

He didn't reply
and held her close
as the moon sailed toward
the shores of morning.

(Copyright 2017 by Stephen B. Bagley. All rights reserved. From the forthcoming Many Rivers Harbor book Eternal.)

Inuit poem

I love this poem. It's quoted at the end of the movie Never Cry Wolf.

I think over again my small adventures,
My fears,
Those small ones that seemed so big,
For all the vital things
I had to get and to reach;
And yet there is only one great thing,
The only thing,
To live to see the great day that dawns
And the light that fills the world.

- Anonymous (Inuit, 19th century)

If Only

Over the years, I've written a lot of poetry, so much so that sometimes I forget a poem and rediscover it after several years in my journal. I found this one the other day. I changed a few words, but overall, I left it as it was. Funny thing is that I don't even remember who--if anyone--I was writing about.

If Only
By Stephen B. Bagley

If only I could stop loving you
my life would be better now
in more ways than I can imagine.

If only I could forget
the taste of your lips,
your face as you slept,
those blue, happy eyes,
the silly way you smiled,
I wouldn't feel so empty now.

If only I could stop hurting
when I recall those days
of loving and laughing
and yes even fighting,
crying, and arguing--
I wouldn't run from love now.

If only I knew you, too,
had regrets when you
think of me--if ever
you do--and missed
me and our flawed love,
I could finally begin to heal.

If only you read these words
I'd know you'd finally know
I still carry the memory of us
and it's breaking my back
because you lack the courage
to share this heavy burden.

In more ways than I can imagine
my life would better now
if only I could stop loving you.

(Copyright 2017 by Stephen B. Bagley. All rights reserved. Thank you for reading.)

Lost & Found

Lost & Found
By Stephen B. Bagley

I was lost in my town
living in back alleys
of lost youth and wasted time
until you found me

I wandered aimlessly
from one love to another
all just sad and empty
until you found me

Blind to important things
my light taken by ashes
with sorrow as my friend
until you found me

until you found me
I didn't know
how a real kiss (sweet and sharp)
tasted like cherries

until you found me
I didn't know
how true passion (sweat and shouts)
burned in delicious fire

until you found me
I didn't know
how I had not been
truly alive

Until you found me.

(Copyright 2017 by Stephen B. Bagley. All rights reserved. From the forthcoming book Eternal. Thank you for reading.)

Passion

Passion
By Stephen B. Bagley

If I could, I would seduce you
into poetry. I would run
feathery words over the bare
shoulders of your muse, touch gently
the moist secret places of your
metaphors, delicately brush
your lips with similes and plunge
rhythm and rhyme into your soul.

I would take you past the threshold
where passion and structure meet, where
one image means the difference
between indifference and glory.
If I could, I would do these things
and do them long and do them well
until when you heard poetry,
you would gasp, don’t stop oh don’t stop.

Excerpt from Undying by Stephen B. Bagley & Gail Henderson. 

Copyright 2015. All rights reserved. 

Purchase Undying at Amazon

Purchase Undying at Barnes and Noble

Passion

Passion
By Stephen B. Bagley

If I could, I would seduce you
into poetry. I would run
feathery words over the bare
shoulders of your muse, touch gently
the moist secret places of your
metaphors, delicately brush
your lips with similes and plunge
rhythm and rhyme into your soul.

I would take you past the threshold
where passion and structure meet, where
one image means the difference
between indifference and glory.
If I could, I would do these things
and do them long and do them well
until when you heard poetry,
you would gasp, don’t stop oh don’t stop.

Excerpt from Undying by Stephen B. Bagley & Gail Henderson. 

Copyright 2015. All rights reserved. 

Purchase Undying at Amazon

Purchase Undying at Barnes and Noble

"Our Personal Armageddon"

Our Personal Armageddon
By Stephen B. Bagley

In our personal Armageddon
no armies of glory marched.
No horned fiends with sulfur smiles
raised mailed fists against Heaven.
No Lucifer, no Michael met
with mighty thunderous blows.

The only beast, our dying love.
The only sword, our razor words.
The only flag, weary white.

Six months now have passed
since our marriage ended at Megiddo.
Today I surprised myself
by smiling at a woman I didn’t know.
I guess even after Armageddon
blades of grass eventually grow.

From Undying, a poem of poems by Stephen B. Bagley & Gail Henderson. Copyright 2015. All rights reserved.

"Perfect"

Perfect
By Stephen B. Bagley

Once there was a perfect boy
who made perfect grades,
enjoyed perfect friends,
dated a perfect girl,
and lived a perfect life.

He grew into a perfect man
who had a perfect job,
raised perfect children,
resided in a perfect home,
and loved a perfect wife.

So we were perfectly shocked
when this perfect man
bought a perfect gun,
wrote a perfect note,
and shot himself one perfect night.

From Undying, a poem of poems by Stephen B. Bagley & Gail Henderson. Copyright 2015. All rights reserved.

"Our Romance"

Our Romance
By Stephen B. Bagley

Not each other’s first love
or even each other’s second.
We both lived a life before
and carried the scars to prove it.

We did not love at first sight—
life would never be so neat—
you grimly committed to him,
and I determined to stay with her.

How we fell into each other’s arms
proved more to be a laugh there,
a shared moment here, a meeting
of minds and battered hearts.

Remember our sweet surprise
when this casual acquaintance
grew into a firm friendship
and deliciously something more.

Not each other’s first love
or even each other’s second,
but if fate is finally kind,
we will be each other’s last.

From Undying, a poem of poems by Stephen B. Bagley & Gail Henderson. Copyright 2015. All rights reserved.

"High Maintenance"

High Maintenance
By Stephen B. Bagley

If I could somehow offer you
my heart on the proverbial silver tray
garnished with gold truffles
topped with a sprinkle of diamonds,
would it finally be enough?

Or perhaps I steal for you
the sweet hymn of heaven,
which only the archangels
have gloriously sung,
would you be satisfied?

Maybe even wrestle time itself
and plunder from its secret vault
the elixir of eternal youth
so age never touches your lush body,
could you be content then?

But the more important question may be
if I could do these wondrous things
if such miracles I could bring forth
as easy as buttering your bread,
why oh why would I waste them on you?

From Undying, a poem of poems by Stephen B. Bagley & Gail Henderson. Copyright 2015. All rights reserved.

If only I could

If only I could stop loving you
my life would be better now
in more ways than I can imagine.

If only I could forget
the taste of your lips,
your face as you slept,
those blue, happy eyes,
the silly way you smiled,
I wouldn't feel so empty now.

If only I could stop hurting
when I recall those days
of loving and laughing
and yes even fighting,
crying, and arguing--
I wouldn't flee from love now.

If only I knew you, too,
had regrets when you
think of me--if ever
you do--and missed
me and our flawed love,
I could finally begin to heal.

If only you read these words
I'd know you'd finally know
I still carry the memory of us
and it's breaking my back
because you lack the courage
to share this heavy burden.

In more ways than I can imagine
my life would better now
if only I could stop loving you.

"Blackbird"

Blackbird
By Stephen B. Bagley

Your words fall
like razor shards of glass
uncaring of
my black pain
my bloody wounds
my black sorrow.

But I rise
like a blackbird in flight
soaring above
your small mind
your sly voice
your puffed ego.

I see you
only as a tiny figure
on a distant horizon
farther away daily
a fleeting glimpse
fading into nothing.

From Undying by Stephen B. Bagley & Gail Henderson. Copyright 2015. All rights reserved.