Katrina's Sundial

I did not write this; Henry Van Dyke did. But I love this simple little poem, enough that I've been working on a bit of a song to go with these words, so I feel like I have enough creative claim to this poem to justify sharing it here :) -

Katrina's Sundial
by Henry van Dyke

Time is too slow for those who wait,
Too swift for those who fear,
Too long for those who grieve,
Too short for those who rejoice,
But for those who love,
Time is eternity.

Hours fly,
Flowers die:
New days,
New ways:
Pass by!
Love stays.

I love that poem. I do not love that I only wrote one poem for myself in 2008 (though, got a few days left, right?) 2009 needs to be different.

(S)wearing Smiles

"Well, damnit," but I'm smiling
It has been a good long while
not that i love it oh but i do
I'm up against my will but what's a girl a do?
Yeah.well.um, here it goes again
Tried to stop it, but forget it
It's not a bud that you can nip just 'cause you want to.
"Damnit," frowning, smiling,
thinking, wishing--don't be silly
(Praying? really?) "It's not so silly.."
Crazy. Crazy - halfway willing -
Partly waiting for the ending,
mainly wanting the beginning
...and here we go again..

September 2007? really?

I can't believe it's been almost a year since i wrote any poetry of any significance...and honestly i actually think i haven't written any at all. too busy; must change; need to reflect.

9/4/07

(This is the "continued ruminations" referred to in this post)

Still a much-felt theme even today (3/7/08), what with my increasingly burdensome injury and, of course, sweet Linda's passing.

Again, though, "loss is just a part of life." It doesn't necessarily equal despair or a lack of hope.


Simply, Loss

a friend I used to have
a song I used to play
a place I used to go
a prayer I used to say
a prayer I used to know
a dream I used to own
a cry I used to hold
a truth I used to get
a thought I used to claim
a joy I used to grasp
a heart I used to reach
a peace I used to taste
a card I used to send
a smile I used to trust
a call I used to make
a book I used to read
a calm I used to feel
a time I used to take
a soul I used to find
a rhyme I used to sing
a word I used to write
a grief I used to fight
a loss I used to grieve
a tear I used to loose
a breath I used to breathe

a girl I used to be

(2007, date unknown)

On Losing It Sometimes

I just realized I'm trapped
and the thing that's the worst is
I trapped myself inside
feel like cursing
feeling a little like Salinger's Holden
people say well wow I didn't know, you don't
show so much emotion, you know?
this is why, you let the dam weaken
a little, a little crack, then it'll
burst open, a whole flood of crazy
all thoughts like the voices of
Fiona or Regina,
tripping off the deep end...
and oh no oh no here it comes again,
that sparking in the legs and darting of the eyes
that too-common feeling of two hands
wrapped around my insides,
wringing my stomach like a towel
I'm toeing the hair on the ground,
confused. See all this blonde hair
on the floor, God they're everywhere,
and I realize it's 'cause I pulled them out
and put them there. oh.
and it always seems like
the little things convene to
freak me out but I know
it's not all about me and
those words aren't so brilliant or pitiable
and I know this but
it's not for me to care too much,
right now.

3/18/07

Always Back Here


this is where I am
this is never finishing a poem these days
this is never getting out what I want to say
this is thinking that it's all crap, all the unfinished words
and the crazy-talk thoughts that bear them
this is the swirling of weighty thoughts that craze me down
this is needing to get a life, get cleaned up,
this is needing to quit living for myself
so I can help somebody else
this is sick of I don't know what's going on
this is where the hell in heaven's name are you taking me?
this is clinging to your grace
this is clinging to your feet with my face pressed to the ground
this is always coming back to this
this is where I am

2/20/07

Oopsie Daisy Baby

I bet I'll never be stopping
the spilling of overgrown words
They fall out of my mouth, roll off my hand,
and who knows where they land but
I'll be saying them anyway, everyday always

Though they may seem not to fit,
though at the trying on of them
they seem too much meant for the sophisticate,
their pith and marrow fill my own bones
and make me feel strong and sharp and able,
helping me pretend that I am wise and
can handle the handfuls of whatnot,
can step over the wretched tripping clods
that let me forget-them-not,
that trip my baby feet and steal my baby breath

Funny though
how someone with such a supposed arsenal at her disposal
will dance around, weapon in hand,
that which she really means--
See me dancing and maybe I'm kicking up ramparts
to stall the running of marrow that matters
to the bones of my heart--

But who knows
maybe one day I'll be dancing up to the top of the walls
some strange melody lulling me to sense of safety
and with me singing away
like the Shakespearean apes,
I'll accidentally say everything I mean