the dam breaks…
the water flows…
the life and pain mingle,
one flavor of salty tears…
the answer comes: moaning midnight stranger
banished to darkness by tragedy,
feared, unknown, unheard,
but by wandering passer-bys.
“To the dawn! to the dawn! “
one wanderer cries.
a face demeaned, shamed,
pale from too much neglect,
nearly transparent, yet dark
at once appears.
Little girl, so sad and lost in some dark cave, come out and play.
Loves lost on you in that dark place, just echoes off the stone walls you have taken as your own flesh, and joy eludes you in this cavern of hate.
So many years locked up, hidden away you’ve become convinced that no one thinks you worth pursuing. And I’m sorry, I’m sorry for keeping you there for so long, for not knowing how to let you go, let you free.
But today is different, today you have a voice, today I give you to your Father, today I give you a name, an existence, even though I don’t know hardly anything about you.
Friday, November 04, 2005
Monday, August 01, 2005
Unfinished stream...prose...don't know what it is yet
It's hard to be raised by trees. Because time beginsto swallow you up and there is no more left of the knowing you had when you were once all caught up in bark and leaves, roots and needles, dark and light playing some twist of a game on your head, and then expectation arises in your later years for you to turn out just like them. Noble, strong, knowing exactly what to do. Roots grow deeper, trunk wider, branches farther, leaves greener year after year.
But the problem remains that though my relations seemed to mostly be with trees, as a young sapling my feet were never able to ground themselves long enough to take root.
And here I am like a wood-nymph without dirt and wood to return to, wandering about wondering what to do with the ageless deep understanding once I had when I drempt I was a tree, gasping for the sap that dripped through my veins, hoping that not all is lost because I woke up to find that my reality was actually bone- and- flesh.
Making sense of how to live as human, as woman in a world wrought with confusion about both. And still I find my mind wandering back to the green of my trees and finding solice there again, after all these years.
But the problem remains that though my relations seemed to mostly be with trees, as a young sapling my feet were never able to ground themselves long enough to take root.
And here I am like a wood-nymph without dirt and wood to return to, wandering about wondering what to do with the ageless deep understanding once I had when I drempt I was a tree, gasping for the sap that dripped through my veins, hoping that not all is lost because I woke up to find that my reality was actually bone- and- flesh.
Making sense of how to live as human, as woman in a world wrought with confusion about both. And still I find my mind wandering back to the green of my trees and finding solice there again, after all these years.
red book
beautiful day bleaches away the stain on my shirt, right about where my heart was pierced
and the noon day sun winks at meto keep up my chin; to bold facedly cry unsought tears, greif for love unmet after all these years, and i'm spent.
I'm done. I don't understand why it, my hearts' life and death, has happened the way it has.
old me says, "SEE! that is why you give up trying, you give up risking and hide it all away"
DEATH TO THE IMPOSTER!
Let love live. Risk it all again, I will not die from these wounds, I will not perish because of a broken heart.
and the noon day sun winks at meto keep up my chin; to bold facedly cry unsought tears, greif for love unmet after all these years, and i'm spent.
I'm done. I don't understand why it, my hearts' life and death, has happened the way it has.
old me says, "SEE! that is why you give up trying, you give up risking and hide it all away"
DEATH TO THE IMPOSTER!
Let love live. Risk it all again, I will not die from these wounds, I will not perish because of a broken heart.
Sunday, July 31, 2005
Stream
Cookie, yum.
Can't wait till I become wrapt wholly in light and my skin is transparent like rain or young leaves on Aspen trees high in the Rocky Mountains.
So sad life takes certain turns, but must come to terms with the way things must be for future, for me. Can't wait to be inundated with waves of love so strong that pain begins to make sense, finally.
Purple robe, sceptor, crown want to fill them all out, to walk worthy of my name, fully pleasing my father, I am his daughter, he likes me a lot.
Glass-beads, sand that used to be rock, shell, stone, glass. sand gets in my pants when I sit down and try to think while I am on the beach.
Sweet smell of salt in my nose, sweet sound of waves tickling my toes. Love the way it makes me feel so small in the whole scheme of things. The whole scheme of things. Dwarfed at times by my mind-bending tricks that makes me and all of my mole-hill problems into the rocky mountains and then some wave comes to knock me down again, and its the wind, a light breeze that rustles the transparent leaves I wish I was, attached to a branch, attached to a trunk, attached to roots, go deep, grow strong, me small you big.
Scheme of things. Wild things are here and I am small, and yet my heart feels how much space it fills all around me and again wish I could fill the crown on my head, sceptor in my hand, robe on my back. He is calling me to be free with his name. The name he named me with, Princess, noble and strong, love that name, love that you call me that even when I'm not...yet, but am.
Can't wait till I become wrapt wholly in light and my skin is transparent like rain or young leaves on Aspen trees high in the Rocky Mountains.
So sad life takes certain turns, but must come to terms with the way things must be for future, for me. Can't wait to be inundated with waves of love so strong that pain begins to make sense, finally.
Purple robe, sceptor, crown want to fill them all out, to walk worthy of my name, fully pleasing my father, I am his daughter, he likes me a lot.
Glass-beads, sand that used to be rock, shell, stone, glass. sand gets in my pants when I sit down and try to think while I am on the beach.
Sweet smell of salt in my nose, sweet sound of waves tickling my toes. Love the way it makes me feel so small in the whole scheme of things. The whole scheme of things. Dwarfed at times by my mind-bending tricks that makes me and all of my mole-hill problems into the rocky mountains and then some wave comes to knock me down again, and its the wind, a light breeze that rustles the transparent leaves I wish I was, attached to a branch, attached to a trunk, attached to roots, go deep, grow strong, me small you big.
Scheme of things. Wild things are here and I am small, and yet my heart feels how much space it fills all around me and again wish I could fill the crown on my head, sceptor in my hand, robe on my back. He is calling me to be free with his name. The name he named me with, Princess, noble and strong, love that name, love that you call me that even when I'm not...yet, but am.
Monday, July 04, 2005
I lost it
I lost my little black book of poetry somewhere in New York.
tragidy because I never transfered what was in there to anywhere else.
tragidy because I never transfered what was in there to anywhere else.
Tuesday, June 14, 2005
skin rashes and the human condition
Today I am spacey. I dropped my keys twice, forgot how to reverse my car, walked into a wall, bumped into a lady, tried to wear red, but black and pink overruled. Spaciness is not something that I am a normal victim of, so after the lunch hour incidents I realized something that I am not really willing to admit. I am grieving. I am in denial. I am not allowing myself to feel the impact of deep-seated emotions that have too much weight and volume and mass for me to even begin dealing with. Why you might ask? Well, because denial of reality is so much easier than the pain of admission. That’s pretty vague, I know. But one must not risk poignancy at the risk of being found out…not that it’s a big secret or anything, again, avoiding reality just seems easier.
So the weight of grieving is known in my heart, but my head is not allowing it to happen. There are just some points in life where they (the heart and the head) have NO CLUE as to what common ground to meet on. I can’t sing about it. I don’t allow myself to think about it, but then I make stories up in my head and twaddle my hours away caught up in some unfounded unrealistic dreaming of words that will never be said, events that will never take place, looks that will never be exchanged. I could be a novelist if I allowed that stuff to come out, but I don’t want to be known for my bad romance stories…
So I guess I wasn’t expecting this reaction from my heart after such a long time. I’m sorry to say that my heart doesn’t let go easily. Especially not of this one. This one got under my skin and I developed this nasty rash and I called it love, and I couldn’t cure myself of it. It just stayed and grew and overtook all of me. I thought I was completely immune, impenetrable to this type of disease (as I used to call it), but alas no more, my white blood cell count must have been quite down for the last 2 years. At times they would gear up to fight it off (the rash I mean) and it would subside for a while, but then out of the blue I would walk in the vicinity of the offending party and breakout all over again. Most times your body develops a strength against a particular strain of sickness after it has overcome it…but maybe it did the opposite with me. It made me weaker and more susceptible to it. But than again, I was at the same time immune to it. But maybe it’s like this. If you break a bone, and it heals, yes it is stronger and you will probably never break that part of your bone ever again, but when the barometer drops that place aches to remind you of how foolish you were. I don’t suffer from the rash anymore, but I am aware that it changed my features, and the “scars”, if you will, will forever be with me, though they made me more beautiful by their torture.
I guess it is terrible to akin a relationship you had with a person to a devastating skin rash… but sometimes in weakness that is all one can come up with to describe how one is feeling at the moment…? I don’t know. It’s the whole, “you got under my skin” bit that made the rash part come out. I don’t know how he got there, I really don’t. But now that he is absent in body all the present places inside of me are wondering what the hell is going on. And maybe it’s like this really bad analogy…you cut down a tree, but there is still a stump, until you wrap a chain around the base of it, and get a really really big truck an hoist all of it roots out of the soil. I am sure the roots that have been there in the dirt for a really long time are like, “what is going on?? What are you doing to us? We didn’t do nothing…where is the rest of our tree?? WAAAA…” weak words for strong emotions…sorry for the jumble. This is quite a telling write…but what the hell. I might as well get it out while it’s there to get out, because Lord knows, if I don’t in the moment, it will most likely never come back to get out.
(when you read this…you are not really a rash, sometimes you are rash but I’m not allergic to that…I am not really allergic anymore, just processing)
So the weight of grieving is known in my heart, but my head is not allowing it to happen. There are just some points in life where they (the heart and the head) have NO CLUE as to what common ground to meet on. I can’t sing about it. I don’t allow myself to think about it, but then I make stories up in my head and twaddle my hours away caught up in some unfounded unrealistic dreaming of words that will never be said, events that will never take place, looks that will never be exchanged. I could be a novelist if I allowed that stuff to come out, but I don’t want to be known for my bad romance stories…
So I guess I wasn’t expecting this reaction from my heart after such a long time. I’m sorry to say that my heart doesn’t let go easily. Especially not of this one. This one got under my skin and I developed this nasty rash and I called it love, and I couldn’t cure myself of it. It just stayed and grew and overtook all of me. I thought I was completely immune, impenetrable to this type of disease (as I used to call it), but alas no more, my white blood cell count must have been quite down for the last 2 years. At times they would gear up to fight it off (the rash I mean) and it would subside for a while, but then out of the blue I would walk in the vicinity of the offending party and breakout all over again. Most times your body develops a strength against a particular strain of sickness after it has overcome it…but maybe it did the opposite with me. It made me weaker and more susceptible to it. But than again, I was at the same time immune to it. But maybe it’s like this. If you break a bone, and it heals, yes it is stronger and you will probably never break that part of your bone ever again, but when the barometer drops that place aches to remind you of how foolish you were. I don’t suffer from the rash anymore, but I am aware that it changed my features, and the “scars”, if you will, will forever be with me, though they made me more beautiful by their torture.
I guess it is terrible to akin a relationship you had with a person to a devastating skin rash… but sometimes in weakness that is all one can come up with to describe how one is feeling at the moment…? I don’t know. It’s the whole, “you got under my skin” bit that made the rash part come out. I don’t know how he got there, I really don’t. But now that he is absent in body all the present places inside of me are wondering what the hell is going on. And maybe it’s like this really bad analogy…you cut down a tree, but there is still a stump, until you wrap a chain around the base of it, and get a really really big truck an hoist all of it roots out of the soil. I am sure the roots that have been there in the dirt for a really long time are like, “what is going on?? What are you doing to us? We didn’t do nothing…where is the rest of our tree?? WAAAA…” weak words for strong emotions…sorry for the jumble. This is quite a telling write…but what the hell. I might as well get it out while it’s there to get out, because Lord knows, if I don’t in the moment, it will most likely never come back to get out.
(when you read this…you are not really a rash, sometimes you are rash but I’m not allergic to that…I am not really allergic anymore, just processing)
Sunday, April 24, 2005
stream
Twenty-four April, 2005
Stream
Lies. Lies. They’re all lies that are the bricks the stones that make the tower of my captivity, and here I am at the top trying to destroy them while I am still in it.
Horrible dragon flying around me breathing fire coughing smoke, parental ties all around me won’t let me go, want to be free, want to be red, the color of beauty and than fall haplessly with hope into the open sky trust give me wings to fly or drop like a stone like when I’m alone, no one but clouds of white to catch me, and I’m caught up in blue, in eyes, in truth that hurt all the lies that pierce me.
Today green grass, mother, father, sister, brother, empty glass of hope and healing cause I’ve drunk it all in and I’m beginning to swim around and around. Freedom comes in the strangest colors, sounds, hands that break, hands that heal, hearts that take and hearts that give, one in the same, rescue me again.
Hope, for some reason I’m like this season of spring, flowers of the field, Solomon’s dream of beauty vainly resting on youths hunches, hope I’m not all lost to the clutches of the wind and fire that has devoured me from the beginning.
Hope prevails, winds gale, life unexpected, love resurrected in me, I’m a tree God’s planting from before time, God’s hope in my life.
I love hope, I am hope. I am a song that he sings, I am life that he brings I am healing, I am wounding, I am loved, I am adored. A king who loves, a king who desires, a king who’s on fire, loves a queen like me. Nobility press me on every side, coming alive. Again spring is green, mercy, new, hope has life in it.
I am healed, healing, everything forgiven.
Am I true to my words, am I making this up? Or is this really inside of me? Are you setting me free?
Hope springs eternal…
I am a tree, I am walking through a door patience, faith, hope, waiting, that’s what I’m here for. Love me strong, love me tender, love me long through this night, through the spinning of my soul, I’m letting go, false expectations, soul realizations, disappointments in human relations, letting go of my past, letting go of my dad, my mom, my self-aggrandizing nature, of my false humility, I am a tree.
Stream
Lies. Lies. They’re all lies that are the bricks the stones that make the tower of my captivity, and here I am at the top trying to destroy them while I am still in it.
Horrible dragon flying around me breathing fire coughing smoke, parental ties all around me won’t let me go, want to be free, want to be red, the color of beauty and than fall haplessly with hope into the open sky trust give me wings to fly or drop like a stone like when I’m alone, no one but clouds of white to catch me, and I’m caught up in blue, in eyes, in truth that hurt all the lies that pierce me.
Today green grass, mother, father, sister, brother, empty glass of hope and healing cause I’ve drunk it all in and I’m beginning to swim around and around. Freedom comes in the strangest colors, sounds, hands that break, hands that heal, hearts that take and hearts that give, one in the same, rescue me again.
Hope, for some reason I’m like this season of spring, flowers of the field, Solomon’s dream of beauty vainly resting on youths hunches, hope I’m not all lost to the clutches of the wind and fire that has devoured me from the beginning.
Hope prevails, winds gale, life unexpected, love resurrected in me, I’m a tree God’s planting from before time, God’s hope in my life.
I love hope, I am hope. I am a song that he sings, I am life that he brings I am healing, I am wounding, I am loved, I am adored. A king who loves, a king who desires, a king who’s on fire, loves a queen like me. Nobility press me on every side, coming alive. Again spring is green, mercy, new, hope has life in it.
I am healed, healing, everything forgiven.
Am I true to my words, am I making this up? Or is this really inside of me? Are you setting me free?
Hope springs eternal…
I am a tree, I am walking through a door patience, faith, hope, waiting, that’s what I’m here for. Love me strong, love me tender, love me long through this night, through the spinning of my soul, I’m letting go, false expectations, soul realizations, disappointments in human relations, letting go of my past, letting go of my dad, my mom, my self-aggrandizing nature, of my false humility, I am a tree.
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