trees

the tall majesties that cover my path

they hover together

creating an intimate fantasy

their canopy beckons me

how many branches and leaves and heights

does it take to create darkness

peace and rest from the sun’s piercing rays?

I enter their loving embrace

grateful to be alive just to experience this

beauty their alluring grace

riding on my bicycle the wind ripples

through the leaves

and peace envelops me

I feel so small in a world so in control

so in charge

their presence is so commanding

yet so endearing, still, inviting

I do not feel threatened by their authority

Instead I want to rest

my wheels are turning slowly now

just to hold on

I never want to let go of a spectacular moment

like this

I exit the canopy to see and feel the

sun’s warmth

I received the luscious drink of cool shade

Now to be comforted again with the warming rays

Nature works together to help us

To soothe us

We who are so underserving

Will we continue ignoring these

precious gifts?

Drink them in and don’t forget

To offer back the treasures you have received.

Advertisements

Split hairs

This was a piece I wrote for my writing group (unedited). We write words or phrases, then put them all in a bucket. We then draw one out and then spend 10 to 15 minutes writing on it. The phrase was “split hairs.”

Split hairs are hard to find but you know they’re there. For some reason, you just know when it’s time to get a hair cut. Something just feels off.

I feel “off” and “on” at the same time.

I am trying to really get at the “me” that is within.

But where do I find her?

Or maybe it’s useless because the more I try to find her, the more I push her away.

I want to live fully and be okay with it.

For some reason, I am not okay with my split hairs.

I am always trying to go get a hair cut

As if the change will turn me into the me I’d always dreamed I would be

But the problem is, whenever I get my split hairs cut off

They come back. It seems there are more and more of them.

So many problems. Why do I only see the problems?

The problems become me.

I want to at once be rid of the split hairs and embrace them.

Will I ever learn the art of doing this?

Is it even possible?

I am peace while I am raging

I am still while I am incessantly moving

I am free while also focused

I am rigid and smooth

I am whole and broken

I am cold and warm

I am stagnant and I am productive

I am lively and dull

I am childlike and mature

I am steady and fragile

I filled with hope for tomorrow and drowning in despair

I am light and I am swimming in my heaviness

Lord when will these extremes end?

Or can I just allow myself to flow into them

In and out breathing on my waves

I will reach the finish line

Whether I have curly or straight hair

Damp or dry

A bob or buzz cut

Perfect Barbie hair

Wavy or frizzy

Stylish or split hairs

It is all of me and I have learned to live with it.

Suffer Ye not the Children

Stripping off clothes

They enter my classroom

Trudging and twirling and yapping from the gym

I’m hot!

I need a drink!

I’m going to throw up…

Okay, Go sit by the garbage can.

My head hurts.

Okay, go put your head down on your table.

Can I have BandAide?

As they protrude a little bloodless finger in my face

I can barely make out a thin red line.

No. You’re fine.

I have to go to the bathroom!

Too late. Sit down.

Pouty and tearful they give me a vicious glare

Which I take in stride.

Tap tap tap on my back side.

Little lips are muttering

Little fake tears are trying so desperately to wince out of half shut eyes

Can I go to the nurse? It hurts right here

I’m sorry to hear that but just try your best

and let me know how you feel in five minutes

My theory is right: They forget.

They succumb to the song and the laughter

And once again

The world is working properly

In their little minds

They stopped thinking about themselves for once

The Path

Staring at the screen of my life

Wondering what I am doing

Am I making a difference

For those who will come

Those who are watching me

Those I leave behind?

Who are those I long for?

Who do not even exist yet?

I long to hold one in my arms

My very own blood

Running through her veins

Fear grips me to think I can lead

They will follow whatever I do

So what will I do?

Where will my footsteps take me?

I mouth the words for the little ones

To repeat

I hear my mistakes echoed in their precious tones

My heart aches knowing she will be led astray

If I step off the path

His little hand copying exactly what I do

Oh Lord, I long to lead these little ones

Toward the lamplit path

Where they can know Truth

My words come out and they don’t stop

Tones that seem out of my control

Chattering and blubbering

Are my words daggers to their little souls?

Or are they salve to soothe the broken edges?

Teach me so my roots run deep into Yours

So my words are not my own

My laugh is free

And my hands are full of grace

My lips form clear truth

Kindness etched in the aftertones

My feet carry me to heights

Out of this world

So my followers are mesmerized

By what they can see above the clouds

I stand here amazed at the power in

Hands and eyes and feet and body

I don’t have to wait

For my very own

I can start to lead today


(written with prompt of “post”)

Random Poema

I’m just not inspired

I’m just so tired

My head is spinning and soft

And I’m stuck in the mire

Sometimes I feel like I’m walking on a wire

One wrong move

And something horrible will transpire.

Cooling soothing looking

Hoping nodding seething

Sulking

Pausing praying

Prancing dreaming

Falling slowly

Rising swiftly

The world is under me

My roots run deep

Day one of PAD (Poem a Day) Challenge

I am going to do my best to participate in the PAD (Poem A Day) challenge. If you want to join, here’s the link

http://www.writersdigest.com/whats-new/2013-april-pad-challenge-guidelines

The website gives you a prompt each day which I find kind of helpful.

I have always enjoyed poetry. I have written it ever since I can remember; it’s sometimes how I breathe. Poetry is definitely how I live my life; I guess I should write them more. And since I’ve been reading L.M. Montgomery, I have been even more inspired… So here goes: Day 1. (theme is “arrival”)

Numb she sat in a trance
The doctor’s words were distant
Comforting
But the young woman was not there
Her head was clogged
But worse was her brain
Stopped
Breathe.
“medication…for the sinus infection”
“then we will get you up to
Station 77”

Receptionist behind the glass had a nice smile
Smiled at her
“We will need to look through all your things.”
She watched as her boyfriend’s bright red
sweatshirt was confiscated
The string drawn out
The girl felt guilty for ruining his sweatshirt
Journal, please don’t take it, she thought
It’s my life. But I know is has metal in it.
She was given a plain composition book

A worker led the girl to her room
Her pants were falling off because they took
away her belt
When will I wake up?
When will I go back to work?
Maybe never, I can just get away.
She saw a girl around her age blowdrying
her hair sitting on the floor
A makeup bag near by
in full view of the workers
A man with some scruff walked very peacefully
Slower than a sloth
His eyes reminded the girl of how she felt inside
Hollow but with a remnant of hope, peace

She heard kicking and screaming
Coming from behind some glass
Off to the left
“That’s where they go before they come here.”
A resident told her later.
The young woman made it to her “room.”
“This is your roommate, Alicia.”
Alicia had graduated from the other hallway.

Alicia sat crosslegged on her bed
The new girl clutched her bag.

Her connection to the real world.
Sat on the white hard hospital bed.
A little light was on next to the bed
Seeping out into the growing dark.
A light to open a heart.
A new home.
For a while.
A place to heal.
She had arrived.

longingclingingdoubting

This is for “Christians” who doubt. This is for those with runaway, self-condemning, constantly turning, bubbling, distorting minds that won’t shut up and cannot rest. Please know you are not alone. You are loved and no matter how much you doubt, you are loved! Hang on to Hope. Hope is something my soul never forgets no matter how many times my brain tries to deceive it.

Soft and floaty

My world is nice

Like a cushion

Shielding me from unpleasantries

Noises are distant

But I am within.

Still.

Questions there but fuzzier

But deception is tastier

And fire less dangerous

My vices are my friends

And I can’t stop

Wanting what I can’t have:

What’s only in my fantasies

I always know I’ll be let down

When the high ends

This foreign thing in me.

I know it and other things

Bring me to this place

A place where my will is taunted

And bad turns into good

And all reason has fled

Maybe it’s harmless

And I blow everything out of proportion

Maybe, probably. In some ways.

But this substance in me, I know,

Is just another example of what I do:

Yearn for what will leave me

Empty.

Always.

Even now my drug is leaving

And I’m going to be empty

But if I could just stay in

This place…

Why can’t I taste and see and know

Truly experience

What will never leave me yearning?

Because my will is strong

And human is what’s in my veins

And little experience with

Clarity, stability and

Understanding

Leads me to a place

Like this

Somewhere I’m sure to

Find peace

However short-lived.

And I’ll always keep going:

Reaching to fill my cup

Reaching, reaching

But the liquid never stops

Because it cannot quench

This thirst.

Experience and life has told me:

There’s nothing to be sure of

In this world.

Even Jesus.

No matter how true and stable and constant

He’s supposed to be.

I’m human and I have my doubts.

Sure, sometimes I’m strong

And hold on, stay on top of the water.

I do see truth and beauty and life

More than I have ever before

But I sometimes question:

Is it necessary

To believe He is the Christ

When everything contradicts itself?

And Truth seems inabsolute

When people you trust

Suddenly confuse you

And you realize you can trust

No one.

When your healing can be

The result of fifty things

Not necessarily the True Thing

What is Christ anyway?

And I I’ve beat my head into

Fifty thousand walls

Trying to know if He really cares

Or if I’m just making it up,

Just acting like I believe…

When will it end?

I feel like, if I’m so desperate

For Him

And for Him to reveal His

Presence

To speak loudly so I will have

No doubt,

So I’m not constantly questioning

My sanity

Or what’s right and wrong,

And if it take a PhD to understand His Word

Or non-Christians are more

Near and dear to me than so many “Christ-followers”

And if I long to be free of “Christianity”

And rigidity and guilt

And to KNOW freedom

From my torment, doubt and never-ending questions…

IF IF IF

Should I just give up…?

But HOPE

Is holding me

Because my soul clings

To Something,

Someone I can barely see

Who I know is my TRUTH

And is some THING that

Goes beyond any fucked up

Shallow thing I was ever taught in any Sunday school

Class or youth group or church sermon

Or (well-meaning yet misinformed) “Christian” mentor or relative

This THING is someone who I can see glimpses of,

Someone

My soul belongs to,

But somehow I cannot attach the name Jesus to,

Because sometimes that name

Is ash in my mouth

Because I’ve heard it so much

I just wish it was precious and new and wholesome again

Like a drop of water

In a thousand miles of desert

Or a new color that’s never been seen

That’s how I want to see and know and experience

This Savior

That’s supposedly my Lover and Creator

Who can fill me more than this lovely wine

Or heart-pounding, life-giving caffeine

But I’ve let deception in

And every human eye on me (supposedly)

Is more important than the eye

Of the one who sees only ME

Because he sees ME

As his precious daughter

As if I was the only heir

To his throne and the only one he could use

To accomplish His beautiful purpose…

That’s the ONE for whom my soul longs

Has always longed

The child in me has always known

But who most days I

Disregard

As a fantasy, a figment of my imagination

Someone some crazy people

Just made up

Or tainted…

My mind turned this lovely I AM

Into someone I NO LONGER

Trusted and the Man God

Into a GHOST, a vapor

A Wannabe-Savior

Or even worse

A Nobody

So as much as I long for the simple life and this

Beautiful “OTHER,”

Something is always there

Telling me of my Stupidity

To actually believe He exists

And His Father deserves my praise…

That I will always be longing for more…

Because I can TRUST no one

(just look at church

and the confusing so-called “Word” he supposedly gave us)

LORD if you are who You say You are

I plead with You (as always)

To make Yourself known to me in a way

I’ve never experienced

I want to hear You

Like “they” always talk about

So I can KNOW FINALLY and be FREED of all

This ugliness

The questions and doubts and SELF

Please, I beg of You

As always, my heart is open,

I’m on my knees

But my will is weak

And I’ll keep turning the other way…

But somehow I get up and

Come back to You or

Who I think You are,

Who I long for You to be

And maybe it’s You who is

There to pick me up

Will I ever be sure?

Or will it always be the same questions?

Are you my God?

And is Your Son really

My Savior or is it just something we all believe to

Try to make sense of our selves

Our lives our sin

Our shittiness?

(written January 15, 2012)