(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!
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