tonight i let these
phantoms fall
a restless waking
tempered
tonight i let this
hunger go
and yield to
feasting
tonight i let these
shadows fade
and lighten all
illusions
tonight i let this
torrent out
rushing course
unyeilding
...
i am bought
with a price
paid for
in full
who do i see
about making
a return?
...
death shroud
vi.
how can i not
love you
who received
my worship
how can i not
long to see
you again
how can i forget
deny the love
in your eyes
how can i not
worship you
again
had i all the myrrh
with tears i would
wash you
my hair the
fragrant towel
of my choosing
across your face
your body
i remember well
your life
how can i not
long to see you
again
hold the silent echo
of your voice
within my heart
how can i not long
to worship
you
...
Tuesday, December 20, 2005
Saturday, December 17, 2005
believe
there has always been a cheering section in my life. i am blessed that way. and lately, i've just lost the will to prove myself to anyone. i've never been much of a joiner, but i'm terrible about it now. to the lookeron it might appear as if i am just being difficult. but no, this is how it is folks.
i've quavered and quaked in my boots of late because i've been so petrified of moving forward, stepping out into what i believe the Lord is calling me to and at the same time i'm afraid not to move out. it is quite a damned if you do dilemma.
i make no professions of wisdom. certainly none of certainty. maybe i'll make you laugh, probably i'll piss you off and that is fine with me. i trust that you have your reasons for reading these words as i have my reasons for writing them.
it seems the Lord just won't let me crawl under a rock and stay there. although at times i want to. it is an odd place, not fitting in community and being unable to manage without it. again, damned if i do.
but i'm just trying not to check out of life but stay in the game, painful as it may be at times. i wear this necklace my daughter made for me, a flourescent pony bead, gawdy thing. i wear it to remind myself my life is not my own. i am accountable for more than just myself these days. i have to remember her. i have to think of her. i have to make it to tomorrow for her.
sometimes, that is all i've got.
i've quavered and quaked in my boots of late because i've been so petrified of moving forward, stepping out into what i believe the Lord is calling me to and at the same time i'm afraid not to move out. it is quite a damned if you do dilemma.
i make no professions of wisdom. certainly none of certainty. maybe i'll make you laugh, probably i'll piss you off and that is fine with me. i trust that you have your reasons for reading these words as i have my reasons for writing them.
it seems the Lord just won't let me crawl under a rock and stay there. although at times i want to. it is an odd place, not fitting in community and being unable to manage without it. again, damned if i do.
but i'm just trying not to check out of life but stay in the game, painful as it may be at times. i wear this necklace my daughter made for me, a flourescent pony bead, gawdy thing. i wear it to remind myself my life is not my own. i am accountable for more than just myself these days. i have to remember her. i have to think of her. i have to make it to tomorrow for her.
sometimes, that is all i've got.
Wednesday, December 14, 2005
benediction
may you find friends worthy and true. may they be life and blessing unto you. (damn rhyme!)
a poem i wrote this morning in gratitude.
it is not
that you
love me
i doubt
the earnestness
of your regard
i feel
it is
that you
love me
i doubt
you see
my shortcomings
it is not
that you
love me
i doubt
it is
that you
love me
i believe.
my friends have saved me alive in more ways than the literal. even now they rally to encourage me to keep on in my appointed task. they have, it seems, more faith in me and my abilities than i do. i am grateful beyond words.
a poem i wrote this morning in gratitude.
it is not
that you
love me
i doubt
the earnestness
of your regard
i feel
it is
that you
love me
i doubt
you see
my shortcomings
it is not
that you
love me
i doubt
it is
that you
love me
i believe.
my friends have saved me alive in more ways than the literal. even now they rally to encourage me to keep on in my appointed task. they have, it seems, more faith in me and my abilities than i do. i am grateful beyond words.
Tuesday, December 13, 2005
reader
in order to keep my child reading and not avoid big thick books. i require her to always be reading a big thick book. my 8 year old has read all the little house on the prarie series, little women, black stallion, and assorted other big books. i keep looking for big fat juicy literature (not just calvin and hobbes, believe me, she gets plenty of that), but noteworthy books for her to read. (suggestions welcome.)
when she was three or so, maybe younger, she sprawled out on the floor and said,
i got a big stupid grin on my face and a smile in my heart at hearing that one. i did not make her say it or ask her to say it. she just said it one day while scribbling on some sheets of paper.
she has written poems (quite good ones i must say) and draws like the dickens. she has had a change of heart in the past couple years and no longer wants to be a writer. she says
and she draws well, but i don't want her to put a mental block there. so my typical response is,
although the heartache and grief she would be spared by NOT being a writer is immense, i just don't want her blocking herself. and fifty years later in therapy finding it was that little profession that bound her up (like mick's rum soaked fruitcake).
so she is sitting there reading some big book this morning and we have to leave. i go shopping on tuesdays. and she says,
the kid may not be a writer, but she is definately a reader and that is plenty.
when she was three or so, maybe younger, she sprawled out on the floor and said,
i want to be a writer
i got a big stupid grin on my face and a smile in my heart at hearing that one. i did not make her say it or ask her to say it. she just said it one day while scribbling on some sheets of paper.
she has written poems (quite good ones i must say) and draws like the dickens. she has had a change of heart in the past couple years and no longer wants to be a writer. she says
i am not a writer, i'm an artist
and she draws well, but i don't want her to put a mental block there. so my typical response is,
say i choose not to write now, i choose to draw rather than setting your mind against writing
although the heartache and grief she would be spared by NOT being a writer is immense, i just don't want her blocking herself. and fifty years later in therapy finding it was that little profession that bound her up (like mick's rum soaked fruitcake).
so she is sitting there reading some big book this morning and we have to leave. i go shopping on tuesdays. and she says,
i'm going to read another chapter, that one was good.
the kid may not be a writer, but she is definately a reader and that is plenty.
Monday, December 12, 2005
budgies
it is so woefully human to want to train things. to make them little replicas of us. such is the case with the little parakeets my daughter recently acquired. one is a white, ecru, lavendar aptly named orchid. the other is an aqua blue named chyna (aka. mr. feisty).
having read parakeet books and training books, she informed me the way to make these birds talk (although they are not talking at all, merely mimicking), is to separate them. to keep them apart during the training process.
these are young birds. striped foreheads and all. they call to each other when not in the same enclosure. and i know capturing birds and enclosing them is cruel to begin with, believe me, i hear you. but i do not make any claims at perfection or having even approached some semblance of it.
watching the maneuvering of birds, the logic behind their separation, while reading works of fiction on native history had me thinking about how these means of training have run through the ages. somehow i don't think dominion included bits, bridles, and cages, but that is another issue for another time.
yes, i kept thinking of indian boarding schools. and couldn't help but ache when chyna would call for orchid or they would sound just to hear each other, unsure of what was happening only that their counterpart was missing.
my girl asks me,
and i reply,
something in me wants them to not learn mimicry. not to make them little models of humans and thereby establish their worth. they have value because they are.
we have learned, they fly away from us when they are not together. in order to keep them on our arm and get them accustomed to our handling, if we just hold them both on the same hand, they have the comfort of being together. and, i'm learning to speak a bit of parakeet, whistling calls in return. they appear content, as am i, to see them not being little humans.
when i first tried to write this post, i got called away to a funeral. since then, a full eleven days have passed and most recently my girl and i went to the caldwell zoo in tyler (more on that later), but at the end of the day, we found a little wild bird walkabout enclosure. we entered. some fifty to seventy-five free flying parakeets and cockatiels were in there. they would dive bomb your head and swoop by your ears. my kind of exhibit. (my first thought was, bet they don't try this with the lions.)
we left after oohing and awwing, only to return one last time. that time the birds kept flocking to our feet and nibbling on our tennies. we purchased seed sticks (glued seed on popsicle sticks).
i held the stick curled around over my chest. in short order i had about six parakeets walking all over my chest and arms. and a small flock on my tennies still sampling the goods.
it was utterly delightful.
i know i wax melancholy most often, but not today. i'll leave you with that sense of sheer joy i had feeling like jane in disney's tarzan with birds all over her up in the canopy. it was the best day i'd had in quite some time.
having read parakeet books and training books, she informed me the way to make these birds talk (although they are not talking at all, merely mimicking), is to separate them. to keep them apart during the training process.
these are young birds. striped foreheads and all. they call to each other when not in the same enclosure. and i know capturing birds and enclosing them is cruel to begin with, believe me, i hear you. but i do not make any claims at perfection or having even approached some semblance of it.
watching the maneuvering of birds, the logic behind their separation, while reading works of fiction on native history had me thinking about how these means of training have run through the ages. somehow i don't think dominion included bits, bridles, and cages, but that is another issue for another time.
yes, i kept thinking of indian boarding schools. and couldn't help but ache when chyna would call for orchid or they would sound just to hear each other, unsure of what was happening only that their counterpart was missing.
my girl asks me,
can't we train them to talk?
and i reply,
let's just let them be parakeets.
something in me wants them to not learn mimicry. not to make them little models of humans and thereby establish their worth. they have value because they are.
we have learned, they fly away from us when they are not together. in order to keep them on our arm and get them accustomed to our handling, if we just hold them both on the same hand, they have the comfort of being together. and, i'm learning to speak a bit of parakeet, whistling calls in return. they appear content, as am i, to see them not being little humans.
when i first tried to write this post, i got called away to a funeral. since then, a full eleven days have passed and most recently my girl and i went to the caldwell zoo in tyler (more on that later), but at the end of the day, we found a little wild bird walkabout enclosure. we entered. some fifty to seventy-five free flying parakeets and cockatiels were in there. they would dive bomb your head and swoop by your ears. my kind of exhibit. (my first thought was, bet they don't try this with the lions.)
we left after oohing and awwing, only to return one last time. that time the birds kept flocking to our feet and nibbling on our tennies. we purchased seed sticks (glued seed on popsicle sticks).
i held the stick curled around over my chest. in short order i had about six parakeets walking all over my chest and arms. and a small flock on my tennies still sampling the goods.
it was utterly delightful.
i know i wax melancholy most often, but not today. i'll leave you with that sense of sheer joy i had feeling like jane in disney's tarzan with birds all over her up in the canopy. it was the best day i'd had in quite some time.
Monday, December 05, 2005
faith
today i can only make
french toast
soaked slices
in milk and egg
dashed cinnamon
pat of butter
sizzles in the pan
no great thoughts
or plans
just french toast
plated and served
gratefully devoured
the measure of my
faith today
swirled in syrup
all that is required
of me today
is french toast.
french toast
soaked slices
in milk and egg
dashed cinnamon
pat of butter
sizzles in the pan
no great thoughts
or plans
just french toast
plated and served
gratefully devoured
the measure of my
faith today
swirled in syrup
all that is required
of me today
is french toast.
Saturday, November 26, 2005
fragile
i am afraid
to let you
go from my
embrace
for i may
never hold
you again.
i am afraid
to let you
go beyond the
sound of a
whisper
for you may
never speak
with me again.
i am afraid.
hold me
whisper
return to
me again
i am afraid.
i have begun to realize how fragile life is. we are not guaranteed the next breath. nor the next embrace. while we can't live our lives in fear, i find it utterly human to admit the simple anguish of being temporal. mortal. finite.
to let you
go from my
embrace
for i may
never hold
you again.
i am afraid
to let you
go beyond the
sound of a
whisper
for you may
never speak
with me again.
i am afraid.
hold me
whisper
return to
me again
i am afraid.
i have begun to realize how fragile life is. we are not guaranteed the next breath. nor the next embrace. while we can't live our lives in fear, i find it utterly human to admit the simple anguish of being temporal. mortal. finite.
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