overcast

overcast isn’t over anything.

it’s perfect.

a shade of dark that accentuates the green under my boots.

constant conversation in the air entreats my silence.

but there is music and narration in my mind,

atop my footsteps,

in my place,

because i am invisible here...

looking at things, more things, and pictures of things

has closed my eyes to looking into

for a time,

but the thought, that acknowledgement, has been the transition

back to awareness

of myself, of what is beautiful, of what is valuable,

of what is desirable.

and my memory sings and sings…

“oh be careful little eyes what you see.

be careful little eyes what you see…”

…be careful little heart what you want,

for your desire is your worth,

and your Father has paid so much for you,

so much,

because he loves you.

the lines on his hands must be the most beautiful—

the hands that formed the dry clay;

that hold the weary when they walk, for we must walk;

that wrote upon our hearts his presence and his will.

those lines…

what beauty, what mercy, what love.

at these thoughts, the significance of my physical eyes subsides

and that of my soul’s sight rises to the welcome task of recognizing

the Savior’s face, the Father’s hands, the Spirit’s voice,

and then I see

what I must see.

oh be careful…

oh be full of care…

First Fall

It has been a long while since I've posted... too long. July completely escaped me, and August is about to do the same. I confess I have not kept up on my poetry (on or off this blog) as I would have liked... I give you these words to usher in the Fall and the many changes that come with it...

First Fall

The tree outside my window has begun to change,

its red face turned to the new sun,

the rest looking west

remembering summer.

I knew him when he was small,

and he knew me,

the little one trudging the yard

    in search of Easter eggs or a favorite kitten.

And then I grew up on the other side of the house.

This is our first Fall together,

and I will have to leave him for other trees,

trees that say little to me but "We are here."

I'll return when his branches are bare

    and the shadow he casts has atrophied to a whisper.

He will wake me,

and we will remember.

free

(the portions in quotation marks are taken from a poem by my best friend.)

“barefoot and crazy

but mostly free,”

i discuss with myself

the me that i wish i still knew.

she was contemplative, focused—

i am scatterbrained and distracted.

she was innocent, graceful—

i am worn and bear witness,

self-conscious and uneasy.

a battleground between confidence and self-doubt,

between soaking it all in and articulating the beauty before me,

between knowing what i have learned to know, and learning what i’m told i should.

my mind wanders with my feet to the field,

to distant memories brought close by the familiar sounds

and sights of home.

the sun keeps his promise

to rise and set as he did when we were children,

but now the grass grows shorter

and in different places,

my secret places gone or changed.

i try to fit regardless, and i find only mild satisfaction.

what is this desire?

i scold myself for hiding here,

for waiting as the days pass, as the light drifts

and looks in on me in my quietude.

have i abandoned freedom for fear?

(this question has changed me…)

for fear that i must keep my freedom?

that it is somehow i who must portion off some days to be free

and others to be full, filled by obligations and “the rest”?

we cannot live as we once did,

and yet we must.

we cannot forget the feeling of dirt and sand and grass and stone beneath our feet.

“we are free, to the same extent we are fearless.”

they are bound up in each other,

the freedom to fly and the fear of the fall.

they direct our steps,

sometimes careful, sometimes reckless.

both can result in injury,

one results in joy despite pain.

in my hands, in my feet

i remember beauty the way it should be.

“barefoot, be free.”

Imagine

I believe that a person must always hold on to her imagination. No matter where she goes or when she gets there, she must always see beauty in the things around her and be reminded that her world is, at least in part, what she would make of it. I think one is blessed with a better imagination if she believes that the Creator is the source of all of these beautiful things. And with faith in Him, she may also see and acknowledge that this beauty has been tainted. Imagination encompasses more than beauty. Indeed the fear and pain and sorry of the world contriute to its greatness as well as does the majesty of life. May we ever lok with both eyes open.

be still, my soul

i thought about it as we sang those words...
the thought that it is actually my soul that keeps me still
under the cross of grief or pain,
rather than encouragement from me
that keeps her sane.
and these words came...

a conversation with my soul

she sings out in hymns of praise
and it is the glow of the glory of God
that she brings to my face.
she is mine,
and my salvation is found in the fact that we hold fast
to the love of Christ.
oh faith!
oh soul!
the echoes of the waves upon the walls--
notes struck,
notes bowed,
heads bowed and voices lifted to our God...

internal shouts burst forth,
she cannot be contained;
for love she knows,
by love she's owned,
and here that love is named:

ah dearest Jesus.
Lord, abide with us.
your hands have bled,
your words have fed
our hearts and heav'nly hopes.


she is passionate
and she cries when she sees the Lord behind closed eyes,
imagines his feet coming towards her,
she looks down,
she lies down,
but here she's lifted up.
everything that is gentle and good in the world
is here.

"I am the good shepherd.
the good shepherd lays down his life for the sheep."

though in the dark,
she can't make out his face,
she thinks of white,
of warmth,
of song and light and grace.
and she cries when she sees the Lord behind closed eyes...


open them.
she tells me like it's easy.
open them
and see before you

"... the Sun of life divine
through passing clouds shall but more brightly shine."

"you are too beautiful to be broken," she said to me.

"i break every day...

i am beautiful because 

someone keeps putting me back together."

Job 5:18

picture by lauraisakitten

rain, rain don't go away

i am all kinds of aimless fury inside.

where can it go?

where can i go?

summer

my mother used to put dried flowers in my hair
just like these…

that is summer in my mind sometimes.

photo by Amy Longberry

sometimes

sometimes i forget that you haven’t known me all my life,

that you never knew the little girl

that became a not-so-little girl

that became this young woman you call friend.

sometimes i remember what never was

because today is something that i never imagined.

sometimes i forget that i have to tell you about myself for you to find out

what’s in there.

sometimes my past catches up and my present wants to step aside.

sometimes my present catches up and i just want to go back.

it is strange for me to think that you have made assumptions

about me,

but i suppose we all have our suppositions.

i feel i know you where the rain meets the leaves,

whatever that means,

and though i am so familiar,

you don’t know what to think

sometimes.

in with the arms...

by loney dear

in with the dark nights,

in with the weighed down clouds

suburbs and stations,

long range trains coming in

how can you manage?

how can you bear me now?

coming in fast, bringing the lights

keeping me calm, keeping me calm like you do

i’m tearing us down,

how can you do?

keeping me down…

in with the trains rushing through the lands

in with the aeroplanes,

breaking through heavy nights

where does it go?

when does it sleep again?

off with the devils,

off with the devils…

keeping me calm, keeping me calm like you do

i love you. i love you

keeping me calm…

in with the trains, rushing like blood to my limbs

come over dance with me,

come on over dance with me

in with the warmth, in with the comfort to me,

citadel band play for me, citadel band play for me

keeping me calm, keeping me calm like you do

i love you. i love you.

off with the boards,

off with what’s keeping me down,

in with the arms,

in with what’s keeping me calm,

i cannot go, i cannot do

in with the arms

in with what’s keeping me calm

i cannot go, i cannot do

i love you. i love you.

in with the arms,

in with whats keeping me calm…

down

a morning of masks and disguises—
each sound that comes from my mouth to them
at odds with a shapeless weight my shoulders bear.
what is it?
a glance, a despairing feeling, and we look down at our feet.
still down, my eyes go to the sky, to the sun.
it was golden when i awoke
and now warm, melting winter bit by bit,
but still i stand before a shadow,
always between the sun and my shadow…
they see me as usual,
but i am the shadow today.

silent night

she has been thinking many things,

many kinds of thoughts,

like the face of the moon--

some illuminated, some forever in darkness

or like snow falling--

in seemingly slow motion,

gentle, careful...

(but given wind it is fierce, 
it is powerful)

like holding your breath under water--

survival. and you hear the sounds around you, muffled.

you see the light and shadows.

you are immersed in almostwarmth

and it fills you with solitary pleasure

and panic

all at once.

you want to hold on, to stay under,

just a little longer...

like looking at your hands in the dishwater--

feeling decades older,

feeling like you're looking back at a full and happy life...

i want you to burst through the door right now

and look in my eyes.

i want you to read this in my eyes.

somehow, they are written there,

the years that have not yet been.

every real thing,

every beautiful thing...

this is why she stays in silence for so long--

all this going on...

all this going on...

heard it today...

"you should not be so wanting. 
you are flying in the face of God..."

(photograph by me on the way to England...)

please hold

i see the side of his face best now,

his conversation drawn elsewhere,

and i listen to the low murmur of the crowd,

the mingling of people,

their voices echoing distantly.

i see the smiles,

greeting and bidding farewell--

kind, genuine, and beautiful.

i am at his side, on his arm, in his company

while he exchanges words and laughter with those he knows and loves,

those who are quickly filling my heart as well.

i smile too, glistening like a jewel on his crown...

but he knows i am more,

and he looks at me knowingly.

we are surrounded by lights and sound,

moving in slow motion

past mouths hindered by some invisible force.

a golden thread frames his figure as he stands against the light,

his own mouth moving slowly.

i am the silent audience of this inexplicable and pleasant upheaval of reality...

--in an instant it enveloped me,

and in an instant it was gone.--

i hear the click,

and his voice comes back across the line,

apologizing for the interruption.

i let escape a joyful grin

whose origin he can only nearly guess--

the picture in the silence.

12/15/09

"i need you so much closer..."

image from IS Photography

pages

(the edges of these pages are as ragged as my thoughts, but they are beautiful, they are beautiful too...)

12/12/09

He looked at her with the sorrow of a grown man crying. A mysterious sorrow, one that she couldn't help feeling in her hands, her face, her eyes. Every pain of the world was hers in an instant, her burden.

She wanted to touch. She couldn't touch. She wanted to cry out. She made no sound. She wanted to breath. She had no breath. A new part of him was laid bare before her, an answer to the glimmer in his eyes that she had come to know by making him laugh. She regretted asking the question.

If the silence had lasted any longer it would have killed them both.

"We're right here," he said.

scatterbrained

my fingernails are yellow from peeling clementines.

each time i approach the door of my building,

i notice the head of a red carnation

broken from its body,

neglected,

underfoot.

every time...

i may be acclimating to white noise,

but my mind longs for silence,

silence to fill with its own clamor.

forming letters is therapeutic.

forming words provides relief.

words that become solace for you

are my greatest successes.

Time is threatening me with its motion,

right now.

inescapable,

but not all powerful--thank God!--

it leads and follows,

pushes and drags me,

a leash and a weight at once.

but this gift--for that is what Time is--

this precious gift is a most valuable tool.

without it, i am lost.

without it, you may be too.

without Time, we could not be timeless.

our words would have no walls off which to echo.

like a blanket

weariness wraps me in its arms.

they are uncomfortable

and overbearing.

yet i belong here...

i have not done if i cannot be done.

i have no need for rest if i am never weary.

it provides a hope that constant respite could not bring.

focus--

see the letters are all cloudy.

though deep in thought,

i have naught to show,

not yet.

and even this

will slide beneath the cracks in the floor

and find its way into the shadowy recesses of history

never explored...

but it wants so earnestly to become something,

to develop a face,

and to be recognized by that face.

it can see, with one-sided eyes,

that no one is looking back,

not yet.

not yet, it chides.

my sleeves slide down my forearm

to remind me that they are too short

or my arms are too long.

my sweater's faded pattern takes me to my young self

on the carpet with her dolls...

the smell of the basement,

that lingering scent of books,

of learning...

(and i have separated myself from this moment...)

let me not live in memories, however dim or bright,

but in the light given me by hope,

that hope given me by faith,

that faith given me by love.

what Love!

what Love...

away,

i've come a long, long way...