Theological writer, researcher and poet.
BA English Central Washington University
MA coursework Lewis & Clark College, Public Admin
MA coursework Gonzaga University, Theology/Philosophy
Twitter: Cinderella @smaagaard_cinda
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"See, at his feet, some little plan or chart.
Some fragment from his dream of human life.
Shaped by himself with newly-learned art."
- William Wordsworth
Fuzzy face, my beloved bearded beast.
My blast from the past at last, but never the least.
Managing me like a moveable feast
with an intuition like a priest unleashed.
On holiday while others sailed away,
you put caution to the wind thinking come what may.
Then you, so true, flew back to stay,
parading like a pirate, turn about fair play.
Aware of all around you gladly given
and I so pleased that you had arisen
for my fasting would have passed by more like a prison,
but you held my future in your vast master vision.
Would you do me now the greatest of favors?
Try to be stronger and that much braver.
We have known each other all this time
and I'd be honored if you would drop me a line.
But privately and only in chambers,
away from the eyes of internet strangers.
"It's a process," I heard you firmly say,
which would cause one to pause
and maybe run away,
but fascinated, I simply had to stay
to catch the progress of your process in play.
Creation to completion,
competition and crowd.
Uninitiated visitors never allowed.
Few you knew put on a pedestal - so proud
as you tried to catch the ring off the carousel
observing your protégés now living out loud.
Putting in place persons of skill.
Keeping the pace with gracious good will.
Raising up buildings to hold them until
somebody (you, of course)
foots the bill.
Business and pleasure rarely combine.
What's yours is now yours, little leftover love mine.
When I dream I try to take back time
to relish in your resume
while writing timeless rhyme.
Part of the team with one part to play.
It's hard when the other part not seen everyday.
Absence has made these hearts stronger they say.
But I do miss when each part partitions away.
One in particular takes my attention.
He would have told you before,
had I not forgotten to mention.
He protected the poor
and stood up fast on the floor
where his commanding calm presence
poured out even more.
"Get up," said he.
I thought get back in the game.
But hearing and doing not really the same
until in seconds the connection
while hearing his voice so clear
makes your heart want to please him
this one deserving and dear.
So you arise and surprise
by facing every fear.
Knowing your inspiration so physically near,
though each unto itself, always part of a pair.
One making it happen; the other hoping in prayer.
Out of context, complex call.
Could not see it coming which caused a stall.
You would think such an absence would make me fall,
but God said, "No love, not at all."
Boundaries make the bondage better.
A soul can now go beyond the letter
of the law and circumstance
to rise even higher, to take a chance
on lingering love and ripe romance.
No other can bother or come between
so solid a sanctified two-way screen.
The more blessed the love, the greater seen,
no matter how masterfully managed or lean
the opponent component will try to demean.
So, this I tell you without regret.
Your mental wish list has now been met.
Paradise found and parameters set.
What we have established, no one will forget,
so long as you like it, so long as you let.
A Bit of Shakespeare
"And all my fortunes at thy feet I lay,
and follow thee my Lord throughout the world."
"True, I talk of dreams,
which are the children of an idle brain,
begot of nothing but vain fantasy,
which is as thin a substance as the air,
and more inconstant than the wind."
Can you imagine my surprise
seeing Seattle through your eyes?
It was as if all time stood still
in my intellect, emotion and will.
My mind could hardly grasp the thought
at what your broken heart had bought.
My love for trains and all things transcendent
immediately became transparent.
Heavenly view of sky and sea
built into everything for me.
Like you looking out for my return,
a grace which I could never earn
and it took me until today to learn.
The work you do to find a way
to make me whole again some day.
Of course, to save the world as well,
but why you cared at first, only I could tell.
Did you not know I left for God?
This life of mine considered too odd.
He drawing me close in loving intent.
Your being hurt was never meant.
You sought an angel in a musical chord,
but my devotion lies with the Lord.
A grand design who can foresee?
I only know what is here for me.
A simple, silent life at last.
Reflecting on a love long past.
Music, art and poetry
our hearts will share eventually.
Your life grown greater at such a cost
because of love that had been lost.
In chess or checkers kings do rule.
Just wind their way around champions and fools.
At the end of play we all are prone
to see that the one and only King stands alone.
Black or white or red pieces in play.
Nonetheless at the end of the day
the Queen is castled, the board is cleared,
those squares you shared no longer feared.
Two minds aligned for a short time.
Mutual respect, some regret,
you can see each other sweat.
But every game comes to its logical ends.
Good sports, of course, remaining good friends.
One King commands the players that are.
He could be a cosmic killjoy
or help the reigning superstar.
But whatever His decision is
it would surpass you fast by far.
Upside down and over easy.
Don't ever want to know
if you leave me.
Tell me never,
that we are still tight.
Always keep yourself in sight.
Need to know our hearts
I am like a paragraph of lines
hidden from your book unsigned,
once defined deep in your mind
now emphasized in overtime.
But if I wrote this nostalgic story,
it would be told in all its glory.
Easter week known way to well,
our younger years spent raising hell
at Maiden Bay, our hideaway
laughing like teenage runaways.
We stood on the dock both looking away
at the logging barges making their way
across the lake, our only light,
just the chug of their engines
piercing the night.
My blue velvet dress as soft as snow.
Your hand holding mine saying, "never let go."
While church bells chimed on the opposite shore.
You staring at the cross I wore.
I did not know the week before
you had bought a Star of David
from the Holocaust museum store;
a gift for me to wear for you
to show my love for you was true.
Silently you paused and paced.
Hoping soon I would embrace
that tiny box you held so tight
behind your back and out of sight.
The time to talk had painfully passed,
your heart was racing way too fast
and finally feeling forced to ask
if I would be your girl at last.
But just as your words came tumbling out,
a group from school had gathered about.
You weren't from mine, they knew you not,
which made them leery on the spot.
They pulled my arm while putting you down,
laughing and teasing at what they had found.
You dropped the box in your surprise,
falling down through the dock
to its watery demise.
Then they turned like a whirlwind
with me tight in tow
heading back to the mall
and a late midnight show.
I hate to think your heart hurt so,
and where that tiny box did go,
but to this day, just God will know.
But every prayer for miles around
crept into your conscience and came crashing down.
That world of yours awaiting a wonder,
even though we were children and oh so much younger.
The joy that you thought you were needing from me,
God gave to you then abundantly,
and you knew at that moment
how great life could become.
A gift of God given to only this one.
Now I'd rather see that memory
like an afterthought on your page.
Remembered as your childhood love
dismembered from a tragic teen age.
How wonderful to know
that you had so
impressed my heart,
that even now I cannot write
to share that sacred part,
but if I did, it would be hid
in poetry and art.
"Response to My Soul Mate"
Always respond respectfully.
Common questions come
testing our emotions' agility.
But we're resting in righteous reality
which grants the ability
to truly be free
- in love and with God
which one clearly can see.
So, technically and
and even at times
wicked one whimsically
found upon our faces
now given up
your mind apparently pondering us
and from sheer joy
that's what is being revealed
to the world.
My favorite feast is to pass the time
on every line which I think is mine
coming out of your mind
which I can find.
And then like the public
I'll suddenly go blind
pushing my feelings
even further behind.
While inquisitors crawl
out of every wall
looking for an excuse
to let idiots loose who
apparently putting some paper to press
over feelings expressed
force our love to regress.
But they cannot. We are not
where they are.
It's been taken away
to a place way too far.
We can't even explain
this dimension and plane.
We took all that we learned
and took all that God gave.
We know these gifts are gems
which will go beyond to our graves.
Secrets solely and soulfully
for believers to savor.
So respond respectfully, love.
Be gracious in behavior.
After all is said and done.
When one game lost, another won.
You take your apparatus down.
Your heart delighted and unbound.
You gaze across the vast divide.
So many hearts, so little time.
You see the joy, how nice it was,
right down until the final buzz.
Is that how it will be for us?
Another city, another bus.
When do you finally come to rest
upon this kind companion's chest?
Well, if you're anything like me,
the end seems never clear to see.
Just as another ascent comes near,
we're tossed across to the backcourt in fear.
Another challenge appearing much too great.
Some crazed competitor choosing hate.
But God has filled us full of grace.
A momentarily magical place,
when one is standing face-to-face.
Him granting His gracious gift of light
to tell us we'll make it through this alright.
Be bold and brave, a beacon of bright.
Knowing the love of God tonight.
Along with all His angels too; well, maybe one
whose dream has come true.
Who asked the Lord that she might see
and be a part of your history
and like a cat
upon your knee
will watch the wonderful yet to be.
Rose Quarter Commons stars
arising out of radio to be the greats you are.
Doesn't take a genius to see how far
your patience and your passion
have paid off thus far.
Isn't it grand to understand?
To be the voices of everyone's choices
and to call where players land.
You can now give credit where credit is due.
While the rest of the best
go about without a clue.
We are blessed, as you guessed.
God is doing something new.
So hold on to those hats
as we make our way through.
Still a lengthy languished way to go,
perhaps a mishap or two.
But this circumstance can sustain
through rain or shine, each game behind.
So long as we believe that "they"
do wander, unable to find
that all things good
like the fans who stood,
do cheer as one shouts out
without a doubt
his priceless peculiar piece of mind.
He won her over with a simple sample song.
Cleverly coming on wayward and emotionally strong.
She would have fallen for him all along,
because the miracle worker went where only wanton words belonged.
One could clearly see his craft was highly hyper-honed.
She so obviously taken by the tiniest tender tones.
His pause, his growl, a voice so distilled.
Controlled by him taking her where he hoped and willed.
His instrument a simple accompaniment
to a mind one only finds in a genius.
He put in history and mystery, musical switchbacks and more,
just a few simple verses, but they caused her heart to score,
for she hadn't heard anything like its like before.
"Out of Bounds"
Her timeline was very telling,
not to mention the misspelling.
Something obvious in appearance
showed His expert interference.
But she grew by what she didn't know
or at least she tried to think it so,
especially when His answer was "no"
and He often told her, "where else are you to go?"
Now taking up the challenge
to be better at each turn.
Yet another opportunity
to pick His brain and learn.
Another chance for Him to glance
at what His efforts earned.
They'll eventually get it
going deep inside their minds.
Life's really more like fired diamonds
than aged bottles of fine wines.
You can't spot the Master's hand at work,
but He's got this all the time.
All rights reserved copyright Cinda L. Smaagaard @2016 No reprints without permission
These are works of fiction and products of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to persons is coincidence and beyond the intention of the poet and or publishers.