Posts Categorized: poetry

Depression, Calloused Hand that Smothers Me

Snuffed out breath

Awakened in night’s soul

pressed into the cradle of  my husband,

Pierced in the heart of rest

that never comes

Peace that never wakes

that smells of death

even as I scream for

life.

Hearing my own sweat

my own terror dripping

like tears from my cheek

longing for the nightmare

of sorrow to end and for the calloused hand

to release my throat to sing.

45 MINUTES OF MISSING YOU

Blue Men and Women

conducted a BOLD LETTER search

for the little sheep hiding amid the pride of lions

while the mother feared she had been devoured

Layers of loss struggled to hope

Squawks of Marco

Polo volleyed

Until the hunters exhausted of the game

Silence

ticked by until the question must be asked

Is it time?

Almost, the faint reply

The vibration of a kindred searcher woke

the mother from her fears

“I have her”

relief rushed to restore order

She was laughing amongst lions

Oblivious of danger

Nor fragile with fear

Tempo is discipline!: Finding our God given beat

Matthew 11:16 “But to what shall I compare this generation? It is like children sitting in the marketplaces and calling to their playmates,

17“‘We played the flute for you, and you did not dance;

we sang a dirge, and you did not mourn.’

18For John came neither eating nor drinking, and they say, ‘He has a demon.’ 19The Son of Man came eating and drinking, and they say, ‘Look at him! A glutton and a drunkard, a friend of tax collectors and sinners!’ Yet wisdom is justified by her deeds.”

Today I got a lesson on rhythm. I used a metronome to help my son find the beat for his violin lessons. He is learning eighth notes; having to stay in tempo has had him tangled up and frustrated. In an instant he went from haphazard, it sorta sounds like “Can-Can” to it really sounds like “Can-Can”.

Now just to be clear, I love beat when others are creating it, and actually gravitate towards rap music, which emphasizes beat. If you see my minivan windows vibrating, now you know why. You will often see a rapper moving his or her hands in a back and forth motion that are short and long. They are staying within a structured meter.

I struggle with keeping tempo in my writing even though I studied the meter greats for my writing degree. I found trying to squish words into a rhythm annoying! Just let the words have their say was my belief. Unfortunately it wasn’t my teachers belief and this course was my lowest score in English. Beats, whether in writing or music, are discipline and they matter! And I STRUGGLE with disciple! I feel that what I’m trying to say gets lost in the beats, or the beat gets lost in what I’m trying to say.

Obviously it not an impossible task because many talented writers and musicians find the beat. The rapper and beat become partners, singing to and around each other; plotting out poetry that is flexible, alive and active. But can I create a beat myself? Can my writing set a tone in your lives? Absolutely! Jesus’ ministry was Allegro (fast and upbeat), whereas John the Baptist’s preparation was Grave. Why were two God commissioned men preaching so differently? John was the transition from the law of sin (death), to abundant life in Jesus Christ! They both set different tones with the music they played, but both brought repentance, redemption, and restoration to those chosen and willing to follow. It says that there is an order and purpose in each note that we play. It also says to me that each of us will play our own God given tempo. The things that don’t change are Christ provider of our beat, prayer, scripture, fellowship, and witnessing. Every single powerhouse in scripture had these five disciplines as part of their music. Some of us may be playing Ode to Joy and others Visee-Allemande Grave, but both take discipline . . . who knows, with God’s help I may try my hand once more at that iambic pentameter.

I Have Hope

Inspecting the pain blossoming in my soul,  I

Have tenacity that is nonsense in society’s chatter.

After all that I have experienced in my

Very short life, I have developed an

Eternal perspective that refuses to be held down! Jesus,

He was not a victim of sin, so I am not a victim of infliction! Helping others–my balm.

Opening my heart to infinite possibilities keeps me

Pressing through–pain is but a speck on my timeline and I

Expect good things from a God who hears.

Dusty Realities

Dreams–dusty realities

removing time and distance

Like a movement of dissidence, tucked into a symphony of

reason. You are a memory that makes no sense, resurrected by heartache,

sewn together by longing, until the persistent alarm shatters my dreams

to a heavy concrete world without you.

Hope Planted in the Soil of Grief

Children’s laughter

echoes Spring into

the window of my wintered heart.

Never quite thawed, never

shaking myself of the death that keeps my hands

cold.

I cannot bring to life that which I long for

I resurrect dreams until they are nightmares

and hold tight, until Edgar Allen Poe is not quite

so frightening.

Yet, I cannot spring to life that which I long for

Not quite a year since you were planted in

soil that would bear no fruit.

Yet I refuse a baron field

Death is filled with stubborn seeds of potential

I tend the garden of my grief

until Winter loosens its grip and I reap a good harvest of hope

that will warm my soul.

A Waltz I did Not Choose

Grief, a dance partner I did not

choose, puts me on display

for a waltz I have not learned.

He does not care that my ankles

are unlocked or that I am an unwilling

to follow his lead.

His grip is tight on my hand and weighty on my

shoulder.

Demanding elegance he holds his head

with the confidence of centuries of one-two-threes.

I rise when I should fall, and fall when

I should rise.

Slowly, I realize that the waltz will play on

until I follow Grief’s lead. Back right foot,

slide the left . . .

A repeated pattern of elegant sadness,

Until the crowd gasps in awe. I have

found joy in this pattern of sadness.

Jarritos Memories

A bottle of memories

Sparkling with your laughter, sipped

slowly by my broken heart.

Silly sombrero on your head,

Inviting life with your dimpled smile

as cheeks puff to blow out candles.

I walk by the Mexican soda at the grocery store

and you make my sorrow smile.

Turn the Page Ballad

Words spoken . . .you promised never to say

and he’s hurt and turned away.

Broken dreams widen the gap

Between wedding vows and the life you unwrap.

A single word frozen like a knife,

Ready to cut the oneness committed for life.

But, he turns, his hands cup your face

The condemnation you expect—grace.

“Do we stop the story here or turn the page?

Am I still your knight, ready to engage,

Fight whatever battles that come our way,

Bend my knee to lift you up and pray?

Do we allow this struggle to make us stronger.

And hold on for just a bit longer.

Do we turn the page?”

Teenager caught between holding it together and living a lie.

No longer sure whether to live or die.

You’ve been told that anything goes

And your drinking is just being one of the Joes.

You stagger home to your mother’s worried embrace,

No longer able to meet her eye, such a disgrace.

But, she cries out to the one who hears.

Seeking hope through her many tears.

“Do I stop the story here or turn the page?

Do I continue to love him through his rage;

Lay him upon the alter of your care?

Let go and have peace that you are aware.

Do I allow the struggle to make me stronger

And hold out for just a bit longer?

Do I turn the page?”

Your heart cries out to know the truth!

What’s your story, what will your life produce?

The only way to ever know the answer to what happens in the end

Is to turn the page and let a new day begin.

Do you allow life’s struggles to make you stronger

And hold onto the truth just a bit longer?

When faith is fading fast

And you’re sure your role has already been cast

Turn the page your story is not done

God’s the author and he has already won!

He knows our darkest page,

His son turned it and death lost its sting . . .

Do we stop the story here or turn the page?

Hold onto each other in prayer.

Hold onto each other in prayer.

Frankenstein’s Snowman

Our longings are poured out.

Shaped into memories and crafted

moments with you. Built out

of snowflakes, Legos and

tears.  Bringing to life

our smiles.

Suicide & Prevention Hotline

National Suicide Hotline

If you or a loved one are in immediate danger, call the National Suicide Lifeline at 988 or go to the website at https://988lifeline.org/