Shapes Like Stars

Across the universe...

...in this galaxy...

...these little pieces burn

shooting light
that blinds the road

and takes away our view

...if we could only see

this thing we are

and chart this course
above

we'd plot our path...

...to guide us home...

...avoiding edges

cutting paths

in sharply twisted turns

Downpour

The drops shatter silence,
     and maybe even glass,
     pounding against the pane.
As she walks,
     unhurried as it falls,
     in puddle-soaked glistening soles.
Rivulets shiver
     and trickle away
     from the patterns relieved by her heels.
And somewhere amidst
     the myriad drops,
     one solitary tear gains weight.

Fourteen Ten Ten

deathly acts result in life
   unbidden
      uncontrolled
blossoming in uncertain promises
      delicate
   delayed

to touch the sheers
   to fraying threads
      comes dread
indecision
      resolution
   hesitation

of what brings forgetting
      of all you are
  and hatred fills the heart

resignation pales the flow
   as darkness drips like tears
      to drown in kindness
 merciful silence
    a new beginning's end

but again it begins
  this cycle we know
      where life results in death

Smile After Play

Apparently, my love of words is contagious and I tend to call out the inner poets in others. As a passionate writer, poet, and editor (and former writing teacher), my friends occasionally find themselves caught up in the poetic frenzy in which I live and feel the need to try it out for themselves. When this happens, and the words spill onto the page (or computer screen), I encourage and share as I'm given freedom to do so. Please make comments and share the love for our fellow guest poets!

Today's guest poet is Sara Eiser. I met Sara through Twitter, and we have become good friends. She considers herself to be a non-fiction writer, but has recently been flirting with fiction and playing with poetry. Her passion for writing normally lies in the areas of social justice and equality. Her blog, The Covered Wagon, talks about her experiences being Jewish in a largely Christian area and her journey into becoming a doula, midwife, and "lactivist" out of her passion for women's health and her own pregnancy/birth experiences.

(Untitled 1)

they smile after playing

take what they need

want less

have coffee

and grow from the past

is it not why we love?

(Untitled 2)

I am not surrendering to my brain

I have nothing to give

when I can only see blackness

my head full of horrible focus

today let me fail you

let my fire get cold as death

inhale the ocean

suffocate on the future

and vanish

~~~~~~~

I'm more than happy to share beauty and passion with the world. If you are interested in sharing poetry or short fiction here, please comment below. (All comments are monitored before posting, so your request will be privately emailed to me.)

Stranger

She knew their secrets
could name each one
as they laughed
and made their "jokes"
not once realizing
that truth would astound
and the things they held close
and hid under the skin
weren't fiction
or so far away

The Ghosts of Christmas Past

I go to, what I would refer to as, a very non-traditional church. We don't have a lot of standing traditions, but one of my favorites is our end-of-the year prayer cards. We fill out 3x5 cards (usually on the last Sunday of the year) with our prayers and hopes for the coming year. They are collected, stored away, and then sent back to us in December of that coming year for reflection.

The last couple years ... I've been broken and empty. A lot of things had stolen away my hope and I had nothing left. So, these cards became more and more difficult to fill out. When I got my card back this December, it said, "Read, 'A Note to my Future Self" from December 2009." And I remembered the journal entry I'd typed late one night last December. It took me two days to locate it as I didn't remember where I stored it, but I finally found it.

I want to share it here (at least in part), because I've reclaimed love and hope this year, and I'm ready to let that grow. Thanks to all of those who've started or shared in the healing process. I love you far more than you will ever know.

December 2009

Dear "Future" Self~

I'm doing something a little different this year.  I'm not making a list of things I want or hope to see happen in the 2010. 

For my card in 2009, I made a list of relationships that I wanted to see restored. I know what I was thinking last year at this time: That I'd strained so many relationships in 2008 and I was looking for 2009 to be a year of reconciliation and healing of those relationships.

Funny thing, 2009 was more a year of Reconstruction, but not Reconciliation.  And before the reconstruction, apparently, I needed to tear apart all that I knew before to make way for the new. I've been through a year of hell as far as relationships go, and I'm still dealing with the fall~out from that. I read the card for 2009 with a heart that's broken and bleeding.  Of those listed relationships, all but one or two (as well as many others) have been strained ~ some to the point of breaking ~ possibly beyond repair. This card is nothing more than a mere reminder of all I've lost over the past year.

I won't do it for 2010.  Not like that at least. I won't ask for anything specific, except to have some healing of my heart this year and to know love more deeply and more fully.  Even that feels a bit like tempting fate, though, and I had to hesitate to write it. I'm beaten by 2009. I'm bruised. I'm lonely. I'm tired. I'm confused. I'm hurt. I'm frustrated. I'm angry. But in all of it, I am loved.  I know this because, with all the pain this year, came love.  Lest I forget it, THAT is the reminder I want to have this time next year.

So to myself at the close of 2010: know you are loved, even by people who can't say it because of time, space, or just an inability to speak the things they feel.  You are loved. You are beautiful. You are better now than you were then, even if you don't feel it.

Always in Love,

~Nean

After the Hour

in the longest night
fear finally breaks

opens cautiously to light

shedding the earth
and the shadow that falls
from past indiscretions
that lie

in stillness it wakes
brightened slowly in grace

swallowing darkness

it waits

as the world's interference
slips softly away
and the focus of hope

is revealed

~~~~~~~

Solstice Blessings on this darkest of nights. 

May nothing overshadow your love or your laughter! 

~~~~~~~

Neverending Nonchalance

see eternity entranced

by a million mumbled moments

stolen under sordid sweet

where the wraith of weakened winter

wakes the weary water

lying love in languid loss

as moonlit music moans

and recall robs the reverie

of the spring in summer stilled

reflecting ruined reflex
and pondering poetic pools

of a thousand essential whys

Unassuming

glass fragility

sun-weakened under shadows

cracking unnoticed

fused together here

in darkness bathed in moonlight

slowly eroding

always protected

stored safely here forgotten

fading nonetheless

Flash Fiction Friday: "Who's There?"

"Knock, knock."

"Who's there?"

"Interrupting cow."

"Interrupting --"

"MOOOO!!!"

The triumphant crow of my two-year-old in the back seat of the van would be adorable if I hadn't heard this joke a thousand times. ~ in the past hour alone.

"Knock, knock." She starts again. I sigh and glance at the dashboard clock. Just ten more minutes and we'll be home.

"Who's there?" Her brother, nowhere near as bored with this joke or his sister, answers with a grin.

"Interrupting --"

"MOOOO!!! Gotcha!" He beats her to the punch and they both giggle raucously. My head is pounding. Again.

"Knock, knock." I should really just be happy they're not picking on each other.

"Who's there?"

"Interrupting MOM!" I shout in annoyance and growl, "Knock it off. Both of you! No more knock, knock jokes!"

As I glance in the rearview mirror at them to see if they plan to obey me, I experience a twinge of guilt at the shock and hurt I see on their faces.

"I'm sorry," I backpedal. "Mommy has a headache. Can you please try to be quiet for the rest of the trip home?"

The excuse is worn out to them. Mommy always has a headache. It's a permanent part of my personality, just like the angry outbursts. Still, they try to comply.

I want so badly to tell them I'm wrong ~ and I do ~ often. But it changes nothing. Tomorrow will be the same. More pounding head and noisy children being yelled at.

I don't mean to. It comes out before I know what I'm saying, and I'm helpless to stop it. People think I'm awful.

I think I'm awful.

I pull into the driveway and unload my children. It's time for naps.

Finally, after minutes which seem like hours of screaming and crying ~ both them and me, we're snuggled in bed. Together. Because that's what we need.

And just as I'm drifting off to sleep, feeling like maybe the nap might stop the knocking in my skull for just a little, I hear it downstairs.

Knock, knock.

"Interrupting cow!" I mutter as I extricate myself from between my two snoring children.

And, just to taunt me, it's as repetitive as the banter in the car.

Knock, knock.

Morality Play

Don't judge me because I finally understand all
the things I swore were wrong, all
the awful things that make you cringe
and wonder
why and how

Don't judge me like
I judged you

Forgive me because I don't
know what I’m
doing

This time I get it and I know what
will make a person
crack
or snap
or fall

I swore I'd never do that
never say those things to you
but I have
and now I know

what it feels like to become
the very thing you hate

Night Echoes

The night
Won't save
You

Or anyone really
But especially not you

It is
The moment
Of death
Of the echo

There's no salvation
Not in death
Not in the night

Only an echo
Only a repetition
Something played
Over
And over
Something
That won't
Let you sleep

Until death
Until life
Is gone
From the endless
Repetition
The echo
Of salvation

But the night
It certainly won't
Save
Anyone.

Through The Shadow

stop

please
just stop talking

it's lurking

here

under the oreos
behind the vase of daisies
clouded by this happiness
and childish conversation
joking with new friends

breathe
slowly in, slowly out
'til it feels like tomorrow
or three days past last week

what day is it today?

leave
the wilted flower petals
and cookie crumb pieces
on the tidy kitchen counter
reminders of today

and know
that this day is so much more

than what we see in just this shadow

This is not goodbye...

"it makes a difference
that i’m feeling this way
with plenty to think about
and so little to say"

This morning I sat with Gramma. That's about all it was ~ just sitting. We talked a little, but she was tired and lost her train of thought often.

Her health is deteriorating rapidly. It could be days, weeks, or maybe months (but "months" is far more fantasy than reality, I think).

She's a fighter. I've written about her before, and we've been blessed to have far more time with her than I thought we would at the time of that blog. So maybe there's more time now than I think. But I kinda doubt it.

She can't be alone anymore. Her legs are giving out. Her lungs are giving out. And several other organs have already gotten to the point of "critical."

In explaining the situation to my 6yo, I used the typical, cliched and, frankly, hollow lines:

"She's going to stay with Jesus."

"You can still talk to her whenever you want to; she'll hear you."

"We'll see her again someday in heaven."

And his response was, "But I'll miss her; we should have gone to see her more." And this is what everyone regrets when a loved one passes on.

I don't do good-byes. I don't even say it. I yell at people for saying it to me. It's just "Later," or "See ya," or just hugs & kisses ~ something that says, "This is not good-bye; it's just a chance for us to miss one another until we see each other again."

But I'm tired of saying good-bye to Gramma. I'm tired of seeing her in pain. I'm tired of knowing how defeated she feels. I want to let her go. I want to see her as I saw her when she drifted to sleep today: in peace and rest.

And I truly believe what I told my son. We have our memories, and we'll have the things she made with love for us. It's not good-bye; it's just a much longer parting than I like. And it means I'll miss her. A lot. I should have visited her more.

~~~~~~~

Soundtrack for this post: "Films for Radio"

Rice & Beans

I'm horrible at self-discipline. Sacrifice is particularly rough for me and developing new patterns for myself practically kills me, to be honest. It's part of the human condition. We're made to be selfish and to guard our rights and possessions. And we think we deserve it all, like we've somehow earned what we have and it's ours.

I took a challenge this week. I spent three days eating only rice and beans. It was supposed to be five, according to the challenge. I only made it through three, and here's what I've learned (or at least remembered):

1. I'm weak and I need the support of my family and community. I was encouraged not to give up by my husband and several members of my community who also participated in this challenge, who acted as support, accountability and others who could identify with what I felt. I don't even attend the church which sponsored this challenge, but I learned about it through a friend, and it was something that I felt would be a good exercise for me in compassion, understanding, and even in spiritual discipline. This is the longest "fast" of any kind that I've ever done, and frankly, I'm actually proud I lasted as long as I did.
2. I live in an environment full of temptation. I'm not really sure which is worse, having no choice but to go to bed hungry, like the people with whom I set out to identify, or going to bed hungry because I CHOSE to participate in this, knowing that there were all sorts of other options in my house and watching my children eat whatever they wanted. There was ice cream in my freezer, bagels in my refrigerator, Oreos on my counter, all kinds of processed "convenience" foods in my pantry. There is also a slew of menus from various restaurants in the area to call for carry-out or delivery, and money in our checking account to be able to do so when "necessary."

A friend told me that this sort of exercise did nothing for her, that she's identified with "third world" countries by being there and walking the streets. For her, that's enough "awareness." For me, even after having walked through the villages of Grenada -- seeing the dirty huts they call homes, watching them climb trees to find bananas and mangoes just so they can have lunch, and eagerly awaiting the one delivery of water a day to their village just to have a drink (I'm not sure when - if ever - they had baths or showers and I don't know where they went to the bathroom) -- even after seeing all that and feeling my heart break, you know what I did? I returned back to the "base" where we stayed and had a warm shower, changed into clean clothes, and drank a tall glass of water. I grabbed a fresh banana from the stash in the cellar, and waited to be called to a huge dinner in the "mansion" house. My biggest concern was whether I had enough sunscreen for the trip to the beach the next day and I knew that I had a soft bed to look forward to, but still complained about sharing the room with the other girls because they were "noisy."

Stepping out of my comfort zone was essential to my understanding and awareness. It was an exercise in compassion. Even knowing it was temporary, it hurt. And I spent three days hurting deeply for those around the world who don't have a choice about what they eat. I have utmost respect for anyone who doesn't practice spiritual disciplines, and do not in anyway look down on them. We are all where we are, and there's nothing wrong with that.

Another friend mentioned that he was glad that the "golden goat" he worshipped didn't make him do things like that. While I laughed a little at the comment, I was frustrated at the same time. No one made me do this, and no one is a lesser person for NOT doing it. Like all practices, you get what you give, and it was all about the decision to participate and engage myself fully in the exercise. I wanted to learn. I wanted to be changed. And if I'd done it just to "jump on the bandwagon," I don't think it would have done anything for me either.

But I needed to be reminded of how blessed I am. I needed to be reminded that it's not a right to have the luxuries I think I "need." And I needed to be reminded in a very practical way that there are those who aren't so "lucky" and that there has to be more I can do.

And I was never so thankful for the gift of the warm bagel I had for breakfast this morning.

The Ceremony of the Dress

Burning
for Brenda

The strong are the ones
who've learned
to let go
who have walked through
the fire and left
some behind

as the dress slowly melted
to colorful flame
we shared in the awe of how
quickly it went
this one moment of time
this brief whisper
of life
flaring in violence
in a smoking black blaze

Amid tearful relief
this memorial to grief
in unspoken goodbyes held
in this breaking of time
and of moments we share

we hold what we've lost
in these scars in our keeping
and this knowing
we are
and still learning
what matters while watching
life burn

now this sacred rite passes
in the flowing of beer
our spectres released
of the things that once were
wafting on puffs
of stubborn cigars

What happens here, stays here,
but we carry it inside,
knowing we celebrate
with others who've vanished
and lost to the night
renewing hope for the future
gaining strength from this burn.

***apologies for the sound quality on this video. I'm not an editor.

#Twitchicks present: crazywidow, c_visual, jacksvalentine, jamiebentley, jbairy, jessm918, lholubec, mk_girl, mrsbenedict

Psychotropic

So I'm floating away

with nothing to stop me

no net to catch me

and I know that I'll fall

but I'm almost indifferent

lost in nonchalant apathy

like it wouldn't even matter

if no one was there

and the stakes are so high

that I can't even see them

and if I just pretend

they'll cease to exist

I'm not sure which is worse

the heart-rending pain

or this empty existence

where all feeling is numbed

Killing Jesus

Absolution

lonely

held here by no one

only solitary confinement

abandoned by the conflict

when all is stripped

and left naked

hanging here

forsaken?

Negation

forsaken?

hanging here

left naked and

stripped from all

abandoning all conflict

for suicidal confinement

no one here to hold

lonely

Tonight

for those gone before

tonight

one angel drops from flight
this slight
not quite
a thing that's right

as tears shine bright
in our fright
so trite
wanna be alright
left with only this plight
for try as we might
we can't fight

as we hug our loves tight
contrite
we invite
anger to incite
from this failed delight

we're done being polite
this bites
like spite
or a horrible rite
returned to mere blight

still this candle ignites
a white light
in our sight
and these prayers we recite

tonight

Flying Stars

Impatient bare feet tap on splintering steps
awaiting the sinking of day

To chase after these stars
like baby pieces of faerie magicks
and trap them in little jars

Like gathered pieces of our glittering dreams
displaying our hearts beneath glass

Like fractured moonlight
illuminated in breath
blinking here deep in the night


~~~~~~~

"Do these words tell you how deeply I love? Do they tell you what I dreamed of as a little girl; do they tell you what I dream of now? ... Do they tell you that in the summers, I sit out on the back porch and wait for the fireflies to emerge because they remind me of a thousand stars that I can actually reach out and touch?" ~ Susan Pogorzelski