(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
Friday, March 7, 2008
(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.
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
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
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
1/30/7
Soulsick
(distracted by what I think is the craze of life)
(confronting neglect to which I so easily return)
Remembering now, as I crash to a stop, it's so strange to talk to you alone; I can barely say your name aloud. The love song I wrote you, I meant every blessed burnt-out word; the miraculous scars you wrote on my heart could not, cannot help but cry out, but as for the rest, I feel like I've never been more than an affectionate stranger.
The quiet reminds me of how I hate to think that this will always be a piece of the character I won't shed while I'm here. How confusing! not to be hopeless but to be not hopeful of ever being cured of myself. Do I sell myself short? or you?
Do I really wish for the hound of heaven to be pressing ever at my heels?
Funny how all the terrible metaphors -- wasted talents, thankless heirs, whores who cry, they apply to me and nobody knows but you but you don't care at all. Except for as far as they keep me away from the reach of your arms.
I don't do you right. I live this life wrong. So thanks for the hope, for the grace, for the song you gave me to write to you, but bear with me still; one day the strangeness will fade into the crushing familiar I long for and I'll pray your name aloud without a single glance to the ground save for those weighted down, with a smile on my face, by my great love for you.
(distracted by what I think is the craze of life)
(confronting neglect to which I so easily return)
Remembering now, as I crash to a stop, it's so strange to talk to you alone; I can barely say your name aloud. The love song I wrote you, I meant every blessed burnt-out word; the miraculous scars you wrote on my heart could not, cannot help but cry out, but as for the rest, I feel like I've never been more than an affectionate stranger.
The quiet reminds me of how I hate to think that this will always be a piece of the character I won't shed while I'm here. How confusing! not to be hopeless but to be not hopeful of ever being cured of myself. Do I sell myself short? or you?
Do I really wish for the hound of heaven to be pressing ever at my heels?
Funny how all the terrible metaphors -- wasted talents, thankless heirs, whores who cry, they apply to me and nobody knows but you but you don't care at all. Except for as far as they keep me away from the reach of your arms.
I don't do you right. I live this life wrong. So thanks for the hope, for the grace, for the song you gave me to write to you, but bear with me still; one day the strangeness will fade into the crushing familiar I long for and I'll pray your name aloud without a single glance to the ground save for those weighted down, with a smile on my face, by my great love for you.
1/27/07
Oh my...
...is what i have to say about my frame of mind
tonight when i am reaching out,
feeling around for something that is not there
and goodness knows my arm is getting tired
from all the stretching
that happens not just this night
but every night of my life until...
...until...
...?
tonight when i am reaching out,
feeling around for something that is not there
and goodness knows my arm is getting tired
from all the stretching
that happens not just this night
but every night of my life until...
...until...
...?
(i wrote that bit after looking at this picture I took)
1/18/07
This poemsong is dedicated to T. Shannon Prasad R. Michelle Efird, because even if no one else can appreciate my dorky side, I know they will! :)
Oh Idiosyncratic Me
If you don't think it's weird
that I love scifi and ballet
and I talk out loud in Spanish
if there's no one else to hear,
If you don't shrink in fear
to know that I have little tact
and that sometimes Office scenes
...well, they make me tear,
If you don't think it's silly
I turn red for no good reason
and my laughs are big explosions uncontrolled,
and I sing torch songs in the shower
but don't know how to be a flirt
and I wear flip-flops even when it's freezing cold,
And I talk extremely loudly
when I'm hyper and excited
and I'm type B but write up lists for everything,
and I start a lot of projects
that I'll probably never finish
and I think chocolate's not a want--it is a need,
with all these idiosyncracies,
well, dear, why don't you just hurry up,
hurry up and get here please!
I knoooow I'm only twenty-threeee,
But, heavens, I'm alreeeeeady twennnnnnty-threeeeeeeee!
In short:
Whoever you may be,
If you're not bothered that I'm crazy,
you could be the one for me!
Oh Idiosyncratic Me
If you don't think it's weird
that I love scifi and ballet
and I talk out loud in Spanish
if there's no one else to hear,
If you don't shrink in fear
to know that I have little tact
and that sometimes Office scenes
...well, they make me tear,
If you don't think it's silly
I turn red for no good reason
and my laughs are big explosions uncontrolled,
and I sing torch songs in the shower
but don't know how to be a flirt
and I wear flip-flops even when it's freezing cold,
And I talk extremely loudly
when I'm hyper and excited
and I'm type B but write up lists for everything,
and I start a lot of projects
that I'll probably never finish
and I think chocolate's not a want--it is a need,
If you won't think something's wrong
when I sing random words out loud
or when I'm staring with a frown (it means I'm thinking),
If you don't want to run and hide
when in the corner of your eye
you see me dancing 'round the room like I'm a gypsy,
with all these idiosyncracies,
well, dear, why don't you just hurry up,
hurry up and get here please!
I knoooow I'm only twenty-threeee,
But, heavens, I'm alreeeeeady twennnnnnty-threeeeeeeee!
In short:
Whoever you may be,
If you're not bothered that I'm crazy,
you could be the one for me!
12/19/06
Traitors!
how come,
you can write things out
to try to make them go away
but your words just stare back and laugh
because they know that things will stay
very much the same because you'll never
really
be able to empty yourself onto paper
because it's not a sponge, only a mirror
yes you'll always be so full of something,
of thisthing or thatthing,
or of something else,
that you can barely take it
and with the mirror words laughing,
you get mad and throw down your pen
'cause you don't even want to write anymore,
and you won't.
at least not until you can barely take it, again.
how come,
you can write things out
to try to make them go away
but your words just stare back and laugh
because they know that things will stay
very much the same because you'll never
really
be able to empty yourself onto paper
because it's not a sponge, only a mirror
yes you'll always be so full of something,
of thisthing or thatthing,
or of something else,
that you can barely take it
and with the mirror words laughing,
you get mad and throw down your pen
'cause you don't even want to write anymore,
and you won't.
at least not until you can barely take it, again.
12/14/06
oh terrible instinct!
history twisted for fear's misuse
memory meanings abused, confused with the worst
out, damn'd spot! of past,
cast no more across this path your smoky shadow
linger no longer on the threshhold to the home
in which you never did belong
why must every spark of light considered
bring about the slitted eye and furrowed brow?
[..remembered..]
oh God, wipe it [all] away
your grace wipe it clean away
history twisted for fear's misuse
memory meanings abused, confused with the worst
out, damn'd spot! of past,
cast no more across this path your smoky shadow
linger no longer on the threshhold to the home
in which you never did belong
why must every spark of light considered
bring about the slitted eye and furrowed brow?
[..remembered..]
oh God, wipe it [all] away
your grace wipe it clean away
11/30/06
(i love puzzles)
my reason, my logic and I
are trying to put in a corner but
won't sit still won't stop
tripping through the landscape
of my imaginings
'cause I'm thinking i know,
i danced with once upon a dream
but in truth, i don't even know
that are real at all
i'm thinking i should stop
so why exactly am i trying so hard
to have strong eyes that don't falter downward
when they see around?
...and it seems all wrong like this,
does it not?
my reason, my logic and I
are trying to put in a corner but
won't sit still won't stop
tripping through the landscape
of my imaginings
'cause I'm thinking i know,
i danced with once upon a dream
but in truth, i don't even know
that are real at all
i'm thinking i should stop
so why exactly am i trying so hard
to have strong eyes that don't falter downward
when they see around?
...and it seems all wrong like this,
does it not?
11/21/06
Romans 7:15ff, reinterpreted
80ofu90i spend my life3jslfjsal34fjseljfshhu238sdd
sdfassdf8j4l5r908fjxl403508w5809e085l
90sd3oru3890dflas one big confused messfywojdljfssldk
2sj,xyvnlu&3jiosdcutsoiujd.sw.sjsdkjhcljow39
hgh3and i never get what i do deserve,sldjrwo83djckcke
asulserujfsl283776fn,g084nf908tfksdjalsukd
jkdjfls76ij,cthank God,sdfsfsdjktywethogri493kd4yy
sfldjfljf90jsldfjskajs90j23unbdf79483j5kldf7458
rsthough who the hell knows whywklcpeiwxz7fdsasf5
sldkfjklsjf3289rjtyh;asdgh73lskdflsdahslfc82ehsa
skfa'cause i seldom seem to do the right thingsfrwfds
sdfjskljfoilskdugn2387rhgdf9745unskx842389hs9fs
dlskhfsdkfand-every night-i ought to go to bed amazedasd
welksdusklfj23897589yternth3489tsh7w4rhw49r7sr
sdlibecause i know that for some strange reasonsdlfjoa
su9238io457wr890570238453o5u0tdjsi482034jlsc8t
d3ad you will graciously deign to trifle with mesdksdfsl6
lskjdfwoj2903u59uthg5yhye9gher87t3480u5j230sd8r
fjsliwewemw-every tomorrow-;rth6gdgsdfdasdfdsa
s0e4u290utowerujflsjaopf9375osehgnvnvoyaposj[w.z
fgjsf546djr9wej9yhj,jhYou're too good.jsdklt9asu9d
roj0yer0ug;ksdrh89345uiadf[ejgn.ztj[0wusoritjasdk.ru
11/19/06
there's a poem in the trees
and on the road
and on my tongue
speaking volumes
to maybe no one but myself
there's a word inside my mind
that can't escape
as i can't name it
so it waits
for the right time to be found
and i go on
and on
thinking, thinking thoughts
along the road
driving through the fog
there's a poem in the trees
and i can see it
moving through the leaves
i want to run through
but instead i drive ahead
driving toward the sun
that's burning through the fog
and i go on
and on
wondering what is wrong
or if there's nothing
nothing really wrong after all
and i go on
and on
thinking, thinking thoughts
along the road
driving through the fog
and on the road
and on my tongue
speaking volumes
to maybe no one but myself
there's a word inside my mind
that can't escape
as i can't name it
so it waits
for the right time to be found
and i go on
and on
thinking, thinking thoughts
along the road
driving through the fog
there's a poem in the trees
and i can see it
moving through the leaves
i want to run through
but instead i drive ahead
driving toward the sun
that's burning through the fog
and i go on
and on
wondering what is wrong
or if there's nothing
nothing really wrong after all
and i go on
and on
thinking, thinking thoughts
along the road
driving through the fog
11/4/06
ridiculous
there's no restraint
it's been too long
too little change
can't concentrate
don't think about
don't wonder more
can do without
fill emptiness
no flightiness
curb sadness and
the pessimist
the written word
a helping hand
do what you know
do what you can
don't look too hard
don't search too far
it hurts the eyes
can hurt the heart
impersonal
strike out the name
protect the wall
ignore the game
too quick to hide
can't help but run
stop compromise
no shutting eyes
how quickly smile
to blue thought fades
will questions rise
give birth to change?
insinuate
their words to hear
all them, too loud
their words too weird
so quiet walk
away come back
make up the mind
the self attacks
oh wanting to
explain the past
just longing to
admit at last
11/1/06
such a rush of color feeling
painted landscapes brushed and brilliant
i'm left breathless blinded reeling
living canvases revealing
leaves that make me feel
like i'm in love
(From my once-upon-a-time-hour-long-commute, that was generally wretchedly boring...except in autumn.)
painted landscapes brushed and brilliant
i'm left breathless blinded reeling
living canvases revealing
leaves that make me feel
like i'm in love
(From my once-upon-a-time-hour-long-commute, that was generally wretchedly boring...except in autumn.)
mid-2006...
These walls, they've covered up too much
and they're not crumbling fast enough
I'd love to see them tumbling down, crushed
Into fine powder time's wind will swiftly sweep away
But they're not crumbling fast enough
I guess I need a better reason
to turn myself inside-out, beyond the walls, exposed,
'cause I'm too much covered up
layered in hard folds of time and fear
and memories that aren't my own
I've never had a reason to let them go
So no more stories, please
No more sages quoted
I need a reason of my own
and they're not crumbling fast enough
I'd love to see them tumbling down, crushed
Into fine powder time's wind will swiftly sweep away
But they're not crumbling fast enough
I guess I need a better reason
to turn myself inside-out, beyond the walls, exposed,
'cause I'm too much covered up
layered in hard folds of time and fear
and memories that aren't my own
I've never had a reason to let them go
So no more stories, please
No more sages quoted
I need a reason of my own
2/6/06
Long Time Coming
Inside
deep inside, I want to be that girl I see,
that girl I read whose faith burns out brightly through her eyes
Her joy spills rich, unabashed, from her lips,
her pen, her hand, her hug
Her words, a balm, encourage always
Prayers of hope, of strength, are what her presence brings
Her very air, full-soaked in grace
"Written on her face," a phrase coined for such as these
She laughs, in love, smile gleaming with what I want
She seems to see the role of cynic a worthless cause
Dear girl, whom I've seen with snobbish disbelief,
I may have wondered at your fervor
but still have only dismissed you as naive
Then I recall, the fools are used to teach the wise...
Yes, but you are no fool, now, are you
I'm still the one who wants her air to shine
I still want this faith to burn bright in these eyes
Inside
deep inside, I want to be that girl I see,
that girl I read whose faith burns out brightly through her eyes
Her joy spills rich, unabashed, from her lips,
her pen, her hand, her hug
Her words, a balm, encourage always
Prayers of hope, of strength, are what her presence brings
Her very air, full-soaked in grace
"Written on her face," a phrase coined for such as these
She laughs, in love, smile gleaming with what I want
She seems to see the role of cynic a worthless cause
Dear girl, whom I've seen with snobbish disbelief,
I may have wondered at your fervor
but still have only dismissed you as naive
Then I recall, the fools are used to teach the wise...
Yes, but you are no fool, now, are you
I'm still the one who wants her air to shine
I still want this faith to burn bright in these eyes
11/18/05
Restless is a welcome state,
if wisdom reigns
and movement's truly prized above complacency
It can wake you from a worthless slumber of complacency
Restless is a friend, a foe
I know it grows me,
though contradiction hides itself inside:
Would I skirt it if I found I could?
No doubt I'd try, in spite of what I've learned
Restless is a dull old tune
Annoying, nagging,
waiting, always waiting,
for that something new which only sometimes comes
Restless is a question mark
Sparking rich anticipation into our bones
as we grope about for light in inky dark
Who knows what light some new day dawning surely brings?
Restless is a common place
Unbiased, bonding every soul with common fate of wandering
(Go ahead, just have a thought, a single care,
and it is sure to find you there among your thorns and petals--
Dare not hope for an escape)
Restless is an angry word,
fighting for its suicide
Yet knowing life denies this,
every
single
time
if wisdom reigns
and movement's truly prized above complacency
It can wake you from a worthless slumber of complacency
Restless is a friend, a foe
I know it grows me,
though contradiction hides itself inside:
Would I skirt it if I found I could?
No doubt I'd try, in spite of what I've learned
Restless is a dull old tune
Annoying, nagging,
waiting, always waiting,
for that something new which only sometimes comes
Restless is a question mark
Sparking rich anticipation into our bones
as we grope about for light in inky dark
Who knows what light some new day dawning surely brings?
Restless is a common place
Unbiased, bonding every soul with common fate of wandering
(Go ahead, just have a thought, a single care,
and it is sure to find you there among your thorns and petals--
Dare not hope for an escape)
Restless is an angry word,
fighting for its suicide
Yet knowing life denies this,
every
single
time
11/14/05
Your face seeking truth
so close to mine
I'd rather not lie to you
But the truth is, I don't know what I'm doing
Such undefined sense of duty,
lines shrouded in ambiguity--
It's doubtful time will remedy entirely
those potential discrepancies
between what is right and what I do
I doubt you mind, I doubt you know,
I doubt you realize I don't know
what I should be doing
But bonds are strengthening all the while,
in spite of weak grasp of duty
So I'm clambering to somehow continue
whatever it is I do that's right
So that I might have a hope of being true to you
so close to mine
I'd rather not lie to you
But the truth is, I don't know what I'm doing
Such undefined sense of duty,
lines shrouded in ambiguity--
It's doubtful time will remedy entirely
those potential discrepancies
between what is right and what I do
I doubt you mind, I doubt you know,
I doubt you realize I don't know
what I should be doing
But bonds are strengthening all the while,
in spite of weak grasp of duty
So I'm clambering to somehow continue
whatever it is I do that's right
So that I might have a hope of being true to you
10/21/05
Nutshell
My soul,
she looks into her mirror,
speaking words of contradiction
to herself about what she sees
She knows not what she speaks
Won't someone interpret those escaping words?
She can't understand why she'll feel what she does--
which is everything,
which is nothing
She fights it all, she fights herself,
she can't let go (but should she?)
She'll pin this thing to the ground with thought,
this "thing" of a thousand things
but her grip grows weak
because her right hand does not know her left--
Together they are called Contradict and Confuse;
apart, Sense and Self
My soul,
her steps fly in every direction,
going everywhere at once and yet getting nowhere,
seemingly gaining no ground
Years compound the complications
of so much beauty and so much pain
that she's lost which way's up
And she's tired of hurting, tired of waiting,
tired of hoping, feeling, fearing,
tired of fearing
Her back is heavy-laden with the burden of self-doubt
and distrust in her own mind;
Her guilt and foolishness bend her to the ground,
as all the while she still believes it need not be so,
that she does it to herself
Does she do it to herself?
My soul,
she won't despair, but still she sighs
and wonders how much time it takes to move
and wonders if there are words somewhere that might make sense,
that might speak clarity into being
You'll find little reason or rhyme here, because--
my soul,
her face is drawn with the absence of it
My soul,
she looks into her mirror,
speaking words of contradiction
to herself about what she sees
She knows not what she speaks
Won't someone interpret those escaping words?
She can't understand why she'll feel what she does--
which is everything,
which is nothing
She fights it all, she fights herself,
she can't let go (but should she?)
She'll pin this thing to the ground with thought,
this "thing" of a thousand things
but her grip grows weak
because her right hand does not know her left--
Together they are called Contradict and Confuse;
apart, Sense and Self
My soul,
her steps fly in every direction,
going everywhere at once and yet getting nowhere,
seemingly gaining no ground
Years compound the complications
of so much beauty and so much pain
that she's lost which way's up
And she's tired of hurting, tired of waiting,
tired of hoping, feeling, fearing,
tired of fearing
Her back is heavy-laden with the burden of self-doubt
and distrust in her own mind;
Her guilt and foolishness bend her to the ground,
as all the while she still believes it need not be so,
that she does it to herself
Does she do it to herself?
My soul,
she won't despair, but still she sighs
and wonders how much time it takes to move
and wonders if there are words somewhere that might make sense,
that might speak clarity into being
You'll find little reason or rhyme here, because--
my soul,
her face is drawn with the absence of it
10/9/05
I just started scribbling this when I was supposed to be listening to the sermon one Sunday. There is actually music to this one -- the only song I've ever finished, more or less, and in spite of its simplicity, it's the most continually-resonating poem I've ever written. Unlike everything else I've "created," I always feel like I didn't actually write this myself, and that I do not at all own these words...which is kinda weird, but in a good way.
The Only Song (so-titled for lack of a better one)
What words could I bring,
that haven't already been said?
What words could I offer up to you
That reach beyond the lines I've read?
My tongue inadequate,
My heart unsatisfied,
I never seem to give you what you're due
No matter how hard I try
Oh, I am overwhelmed
By the faithfulness you've shown
'Cause just how undeserving I can be,
Only you and I know
So deeply do I feel,
With head bent down in awe,
Your love so astounding, so surreal,
I scarce can speak at all
Read my soul,
Hear my mind,
Be glorified by what I would say to you,
If I had the words
Such power in your name--
Who can comprehend?
I'm often rendered speechless by the ways
Our fallen lives you mend
For human hearts will fail,
But in yours we will find strength
And words cannot describe your vastness, Lord,
That quiets me to peace
Read my soul,
Hear my mind,
Be glorified by what I would say to you,
If I had the words
The Only Song (so-titled for lack of a better one)
What words could I bring,
that haven't already been said?
What words could I offer up to you
That reach beyond the lines I've read?
My tongue inadequate,
My heart unsatisfied,
I never seem to give you what you're due
No matter how hard I try
Oh, I am overwhelmed
By the faithfulness you've shown
'Cause just how undeserving I can be,
Only you and I know
So deeply do I feel,
With head bent down in awe,
Your love so astounding, so surreal,
I scarce can speak at all
Read my soul,
Hear my mind,
Be glorified by what I would say to you,
If I had the words
Such power in your name--
Who can comprehend?
I'm often rendered speechless by the ways
Our fallen lives you mend
For human hearts will fail,
But in yours we will find strength
And words cannot describe your vastness, Lord,
That quiets me to peace
Read my soul,
Hear my mind,
Be glorified by what I would say to you,
If I had the words
9/14/05
Note to Self
hush
the stillness would speak,
should you choose to listen
should you quit your pomp and circumstance
should you quietly deny the commotion that would command you,
running rampant about your life, your room, your mind
hushmaketime
sing no bold-yet-vacant lines~
utter naught but whispers, if need be
and give ear to that which calls
lay down your arms, your pen, their words,
and pick up His own
then with eyes drawn shut and heart laid bare, know freedom
for a moment...fall out of the fight, and into the silence~
one of which never was yours,
the other which longs to be
for the whisper in the wind to you would speak,
should you choose to listen
silence shines golden in the light of what is waiting
so h u s h...
Costa Rica '05 - date unknown
Yo oigo mi casa llamando mi nombre
Asimismo mis queridos me llaman
Mis ojos padecen de una gran hambre
Para ver otra vez sus vistas que aman
[I hear my home calling my name
Just as I hear my loved ones calling me
My eyes suffer from a great hunger
To see once again the sights they love]
Asimismo mis queridos me llaman
Mis ojos padecen de una gran hambre
Para ver otra vez sus vistas que aman
[I hear my home calling my name
Just as I hear my loved ones calling me
My eyes suffer from a great hunger
To see once again the sights they love]
spring 2005
Reflections
The mirror's shattered
Pieces scattered
The reflection I once knew, you struck,
You dashed it to the ground;
A million pieces now surround
And these million pieces now have found me
Staring up at You
Expectations,
Limitations --
So worthless now; You'll not be bound
By any human hand's design,
But rather, transcend all of man's confines
I'm awe-struck and struck dumb and blind
And with these million broken pieces,
Build up a brilliant work of art
Mosaic of shattered reflection
Reflecting and scattering Your light --
A million-pieced mess-turned-masterpiece
The mirror's shattered
Pieces scattered
The reflection I once knew, you struck,
You dashed it to the ground;
A million pieces now surround
And these million pieces now have found me
Staring up at You
Expectations,
Limitations --
So worthless now; You'll not be bound
By any human hand's design,
But rather, transcend all of man's confines
I'm awe-struck and struck dumb and blind
And with these million broken pieces,
Build up a brilliant work of art
Mosaic of shattered reflection
Reflecting and scattering Your light --
A million-pieced mess-turned-masterpiece
somewhere between '04 and '05...
I'm struck by the truth that escapes you,
yet again
So I'll turn my head to the side,
Once more
As disbelief evaporates into familiarity--
My old friend.
But there's nothing for me to hide from, not any more,
I now know what I'm looking for
A better beginning I see in this end
yet again
So I'll turn my head to the side,
Once more
As disbelief evaporates into familiarity--
My old friend.
But there's nothing for me to hide from, not any more,
I now know what I'm looking for
A better beginning I see in this end
June 2004 (?)
your beautiful, brutal love tracked me down
i bit your hand
but you still held it for me to grasp,
just so i could hold it behind my back,
with a grip uncurling into nothing
burn me up, from the inside out,
to make a clean place for you
the wretched self must surrender in death
to the fire that will bring me to life with the Truth
you're beautiful, dangerous, terrible, lovely
i long for when i'll no longer need
a prick, a push, to send me skidding home
brick walls check my errant steps, and from flat on my back,
my body fears your flames that i see
but my soul craves them just the same
burn me up, from the inside out,
to make a clean place for you
the wretched self must surrender in death
to the fire that will bring me to life with the Truth
burn me up, leaving behind
a vacuum so desperate
there's a rush of the Spirit, consuming.
Spirit, spill out of these broken fingers
Helper, teach an unhelpful tongue
You discipline the one you love
burn me up, from the inside out,
to make a clean place for you
brand me with your lovely name
bid me break from myself for you
for the wretched self must surrender in death
to the fire that will bring me to live in the Truth
i bit your hand
but you still held it for me to grasp,
just so i could hold it behind my back,
with a grip uncurling into nothing
burn me up, from the inside out,
to make a clean place for you
the wretched self must surrender in death
to the fire that will bring me to life with the Truth
you're beautiful, dangerous, terrible, lovely
i long for when i'll no longer need
a prick, a push, to send me skidding home
brick walls check my errant steps, and from flat on my back,
my body fears your flames that i see
but my soul craves them just the same
burn me up, from the inside out,
to make a clean place for you
the wretched self must surrender in death
to the fire that will bring me to life with the Truth
burn me up, leaving behind
a vacuum so desperate
there's a rush of the Spirit, consuming.
Spirit, spill out of these broken fingers
Helper, teach an unhelpful tongue
You discipline the one you love
burn me up, from the inside out,
to make a clean place for you
brand me with your lovely name
bid me break from myself for you
for the wretched self must surrender in death
to the fire that will bring me to live in the Truth
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