Wednesday, August 31, 2011

Restoration of Truth

razor edged
raw heart
continually hedged
I’m about to start

open this can of
bleeding prayers
on transparent pages
this religiously-gagged mouth
will speak
words from fingertips dripping ink
keep moving, don’t stop
utter only truth, don’t think

paper cut fingers turning
gold edged truth and the death of lies
through mad pages I keep burning
meditate on that and your spirit flies

I am the resonation of a dream
voice uplifting
all alone and unseen
using my gifting

through the cotton mouthed oppression
of the spiritual rejection
affiliation with the elite
never mind the transgressions in the back seat

oh hell no

I can not, I will not be silent
rise up
generation of the resurrected and awakened
rise up
fulfill your calling, stand and face the giants
rise up
lead not a life of absent worship

tolerate no longer the tolerance of falic fallacies
the death of self and all who grasp
with both hands, this love most powerful
and with it find life beyond the boundaries
you are not, and will never be irrelevant

spread seeds of life
those lips crafted by the holy one
in these moments
words saturate like oceanic immersion

lights dim
darkened by the vanity of absence
we are clean again
well done, my dear ones
every worker earns his wages

be still soul,
weep no longer
quiet spirit,
rouse me not, to ignorance
rest now, world weary flesh
until his razor edged tongue
awakens us to life once more


Poem submitted to dVerse Poet's Pub, if ye be of the poetic persuasion, come and have a pint and share a verse or two with friends

Friday, August 26, 2011

Older Than

Posted for won't you join me? It's a free write for five minutes then link to her page and share. Have fun with it, I know I did!

I am older now. She has undone me, the ravishing redhead with innocent blue eyes, about to don the cap and gown that I never wore.
I’m older now than my mother was when I remember her seeming old to me. The wrinkles show, my hair I keep much shorter now. My eyes are not as wide as they were when I was a girl and my glasses obscure the angles of my face. I am easing into another life, or so it seems, one not riddled with the insecurities every young woman carries, but a woman now with more comfort in her skin. I am enjoying this stage where vacations are possible, choices are easier and I care less about what others think of me and more about the relationships I’m building with my children.
Older they are, older than I want them to be growing faster than I had anticipated and time, passing through open fingers as I grasp it’s liquid form begging to have some of it back.
Older are the stories I tell, the memories I cherish, and the photographs that fill the shelves where once a single scrap book stood, lonely and alone.
Older are the thoughts I have of returning home again to live in the places where my children were given birth to, somewhere between mountains and sky in the Denver of my adolescence. Older are my parents, my grandparents are fewer now, and I carry some with me through the vague remembrance of faces and voices from an ancient past I now tell my children about. How I long for them to know those who came before them and enabled their being through the DNA I carry in my bones.
Older, yet not expired, older but not unable, older and perhaps a little bolder.

Saturday, August 20, 2011

Six Days, Have you Forgotten How to Fly?

My Kiddos at EPCOT 2011

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There are exactly six days until the fullness of this school year marks away the days on my calendar with the inky reminders about games and practices, meetings and projects like Xs, they count them down. Six days and I will be chasing any available white space in order to pencil in quiet family moments. My children are growing up, it’s an undeniable fact.
                We returned from our Walt Disney World vacation nearly a week ago now and we’re still playing catch up. There are meals to plan, papers to sign, lunches to pack, and practices to blacken my coveted white space. I am a child at heart and I can’t help but feel the elevation of childhood memories, the hopes and dreams surfacing in my own heart as I watch my babies grow. I watched as they immersed themselves in the imaginary world create by the magic of Disney. I watched as their eyes light up during the fireworks as they burst over Cinderella’s Castle, or when Mickey Mouse defeated Maleficent in the show, Fantasmic. For those brief moments I pushed away all the details of our daily lives that are now threatening to chip away at the white space.
                For these six days I am choosing to take these moments and with them pause, allowing them to soak into my skin like a wine stain on the living room carpet, and wear them like the invisible kiss hidden in the right hand corner of Wendy’s mother’s mouth, from the Peter Pan story. This year in particular will mark me in a way that the others have not. My eldest daughter begins her senior year with much celebration, and a longing to cling to the last moments of her childhood  before leaping toward adulthood. My sweet middle child is experiencing the changes only a 12 year old girl knows. She’s becoming a woman, but her heart remains childlike, and her eyes filled with wonder. She’s navigating the world of middle school with hesitation and hope. She’s in for an awfully big adventure. My youngest entered his final year of elementary school. It’s the last year of play grounds and a single class room for math and reading, desks instead of lockers and recess every day after lunch. I have to admit, the Kindergarteners are much smaller than mine were, or so it seems.
                As a Mother I couldn’t be more proud of my children, of their successes and the attempts they have made to learn from their failures. I see their efforts to become the people they were created to be by battling who they don’t wish to become through the choices that they make. Each will craft a story I have yet imagined. Though I can’t help having concerns, I am holding tight to the knowledge that there is an author that knows the beginning from the end, whose hand is in the daily workings of their lives, and he will guide them beyond my reach, though my prayers will always go with them tucked inside their pockets like the mama kisses I used to leave on their hands when I would go out. Now they’re the ones going out.
                Six days, and for these six days I will live in the white spaces, the quiet moments before the barrage of practices and games take it from me. I have chosen to be present in these moments, to shut off the blackberry, to keep the laptop closed, the T.V. off and allow the time that I spend with my children etch memories onto my soul, and forever remember that,

All children, except one, grow up.

All Peter Pan References are from J.M. Barrie's book,  Peter Pan