National Poetry Month: poem #6

This is one of my all time favorites. It comes to mind often. I guess I have struggles in keeping perspective... ;) 

Walking Backwards 

by Kristen 

retracing every step
slowly, slowly
I know I left it here
somewhere
where did I have it
last?
going back in time
remembering
trying to remember
just where it is
I left it.
Stumbling slowly
slowly
walking backwards
searching in every place, every corner
trying to find, discover
where it is that
I lost
perspective.

National Poetry Month: Poem #5 Easter

On Easter Sunday, I thought I'd share this poem with you. It's inspired by the bible story of The Prodigal Son, which is a story of returning Home, turning away from sin and being welcomed again with open arms. And that, to me, is the story of Easter. That because of Jesus Christ and what He did for us, we can return home again. We can be forgiven for any wrong we have done. We can be healed. We are always loved and always welcomed to our Father's arms. This is what I believe. Happy Easter. 

prodigal
by Kristen 

when you come, I will
put on the bandages
and I will bring you soup
in bed and I won't ask
you where you've been and
how you've become so
worn and wounded
Just come home and I will
help you heal
Come to me and I will love
you

National Poetry Month: Poems #2, #3, #4

How about some more poems for National Poetry Month? I think I'm going to shoot for 30 poems this month - we'll see! 

 I've been miserable with a combination of a possible cold and allergies this past week so these 3 seem apropos. I guess my allergies were a recurring theme in my poetry.;) 

(Also I can't decide if I want to divulge when I wrote stuff. I don't know if I want people to speculate too much about what I was writing about, so I'm thinking maybe I'll just keep the dates to myself. Leave you guessing. Maybe it will be obvious which ones are more recent, as I hope maybe I've matured a little bit since middle school. But maybe not. Hahaha). 

Hope you enjoy these! 

Self-Esteem During Allergy Season 

By Kristen 

it's more than make-up
and hairstyle and shoes
it's more than confidence
and clothes
It's hard to feel good
about what I possess
inside
when it's all dripping
out of my nose.

DRIP (Lamentation of a Sneezer)

By Kristen 

Don't you sometimes
want to let your
nose just drip
and drip
without even trying to sniffle it
or catch it
with a well-worn, well-used
tissue,
crumpled, torn and disgusting
Don't you sometimes
want to let it
drip
when no one else it around
(after all,
who's to know?)
when your nose is red
and raw
and sore
and it feels like it's going to
explode
at any minute
oh, how much better it would
be to let it drip
than to go through the
agony
of wiping it.

sneezy

by Kristen 

Just call me sneezy
and I’ll share my life with you
I sneeze and wheeze and sniffle and cough
the whole entire day through
Just give me a bunch of tissues
and I’ll give you a thought to think
I promise you I’ll use them up
before you have time to wink
“Bless you!” “Bless you!” “Gesundheit!”
good grief
all the blessings in the world
won’t bring me my relief
So I sneeze and wheeze and sniffle and cough
the entire day through
while you bless me to your hearts content
and feel glad this isn’t you
So give me boxes of tissues for Christmas
I’ll be very happy
watch my nostrils quiver and queasy
have a nice day
just call me sneezy.

Poetry Month

So I became aware that April is National Poetry Month! Whee what fun. And I've just sort of decided that I would post some of my poetry for you all in celebration. Yay for you! I don't claim to be a wonderful poet but, I guess you couild say I was known in the High School Literary Magazine as a prolific poet. In other words, whatever I may lack in quality, I make up for in quantity. At least I used to. Now I write less frequently. But anyway. To start off, here is one of my more recent ones. I have been struggling a lot lately, feeling stuck in a rather dark spot. I don't really feel like expounding much more than that.
But here it is (kind comments very much appreciated!! please let me know someone is reading this):

Waiting through the dark
by Kristen

I guess I cannot be rushed
I can't be forced
I cannot.
Although all I see is darkness
all I feel is pressure
all I am is small
and closed
and cold.
When the time is right
I will feel it
I will begin to push my
way upward
through dark, still, damp
soil
I will feel myself begin to reach
towards warmth
and light
and freedom,
where I will be bright
and lovely
and good.
I will be.
I feel it.
But I cannot be rushed.
I cannot be forced.
In my time . . .
I trust it,
I will be more than I am right now.
More than just a seed
here in the darkness,
waiting.
I will grow.
I will become.
I will wait here in darkness,
For spring.

May I live this day

This is another post that I have meant to write for a couple years. With this week being Thanksgiving, I thought it would be an appropriate time to actually share it. This poem is printed at the end of a book I love called "You Don't Look Sick: Living well with Invisible Chronic Illness" by Joy Selak and Steven Overman. I'd recommend it to anyone living with any kind of chronic illness or pain (and I have a copy if anyone would like to borrow it). I copied this poem into my journal (before I bought my own copy of the book) because it really struck me. I am not one to recite memorized prayers, as the title suggests that this is, but I think it would do me well to reread this every morning. It reminds me that I am blessed. Even to wake up every morning and look out at the sunrise. Sometimes just looking out the window has to be enough.
I am blessed.
And I am thankful.
Happy Thanksgiving to all my friends near and far. Thanks for reading...

Matins

by John 0'Donohue

I.

Somewhere, out at the edges, the night

Is turning and the waves of darkness

Begin to brighten the shore of dawn.

The heavy dark falls back to earth

And the free air goes wild with light,

The heart fills with fresh, bright breath

And thoughts stir to give birth to colour.

II.

I arise today.

In the name of Silence

Womb of the World

In the name of Stillness

Home of Belonging,

In the name of the Solitude

Of the Soul and the Earth

I arise today.

Blessed by all things,

Wings of breath,

Delight of eyes,

Wonder of whisper,

Intimacy of touch,

Eternity of soul,

Urgency of thought,

Miracle of health,

Embrace of God.

May I live this day

Compassionate of heart,

Gentle in word,

Gracious in awareness,

Courageous in thought,

Generous in love.

keep me here

(I was writing on facebook that I was struggling but that I have a wonderful husband and kids and that sometimes they are all that keep me here and I was reminded of this poem I wrote in 2010, before any of this other pain stuff started. It was just when I was struggling with depression, as I have for many years.  And anyway, I just thought I'd share it. I don't often share my poetry but now is as good of time as any I suppose. I don't feel a lot of hope right now.  But time passes anyway. It just keeps going. Here's the poem.)


(Nov 13 2010)

keep me here

I am tethered
to the earth
by these strands tied to me
gratefully knotted
around my wrists
and knees
keeping me
from disappearing.

I am bound
to this life
by seeing your face
and knowing the pain
I could cause
if I were to go
and leave you

But I can feel the tug
and pull
and strain
as something else fights to
drag me away
I can feel the
strands digging into my
flesh
and wonder
how long they will hold

and sometimes I
wish
I were not bound
and did not feel
the love
which holds me
So that I could go
and drift away
because sometimes,

you are all
that keeps me.

at the edges where things fall apart

when life starts to feel like there is nothing beautiful to see
I step closer
I look down
I find myself kneeling on my cold sidewalk in 16 degrees taking pictures without gloves on
and feel like, yes,
ok
I can find beauty
here
in the edges
where the snow and ice begins
to rot
leaving spaces and openings
where it used to feel solid,
where it is fragile and uncertain,
where whatever there was unresolved underneath peeks through again
and begs to be looked at.
I will sit and look.
It can be beautiful here.
It's beautiful when I look
close enough
even though it's all falling apart.

The Embryo

- by Carol Lynn Pearson

Love is no eagle
Strong amid
The heights.
It is an egg -
A fertile,
Fragile
Possibility.
Hold it warm
Within your wing,
Beneath your breast.

Perhaps in heaven
Love can live
Self-nourished,
Free.
But in this world,
Where mountains fall
and east winds blow,
Oh, careful -
Love is embryo.
---------------------------------------------------------
(going into this new year, I am pondering the embryos I am nurturing in my life, where more care should be taken, what needs more nourishment, etc. I guess whenever I think of relationships and how much we need to care for and work for them, this poem comes to mind, so I thought I'd share. {I had to dig through some old High School papers to find my old copy of this - haha. It was just stuck in my head and I needed to look for it.}) Also, this quote I ran across the other day:

"Human beings are born into this little span of life of which the best thing is its friendship and intimacies, and soon their places will know them no more, and yet they leave their friendships and intimacies with no cultivation, to grow as they will by the roadside, expecting them to "keep" by force of inertia." - William James

What's on your mind this New Year's?

daffodils in the morning

Along the river, over the hills,

in the ground, in the sky,

spring work is going on with

joyful enthusiasm, new life,

new beauty, unfolding, unrolling

in glorious exuberant extravagance -

new birds in their nests, new

winged creatures in the air, and new

leaves, new flowers, spreading,

shining, rejoicing everywhere.

- John Muir

(we do live in a beautiful world, don't we)

a little lost

Rainstorm
(by me - 1992)

I've been losing things lately.
Picked up this piece of
paper intending to write
poetry
it storms through my mind
in torrents of rain
thunderclouds obscure
the sunlight
and in my mind
darkness prevails.
I sit down
and minutes later it is gone
No thoughts to speak of
Even the word
Poetry
is beautiful
yet beauty is lost
when lightning strikes.
I feel nothing.
I've been losing things lately.
I've been losing my thoughts lately.
I've been losing my mind.
--------------------------------------------------------------------

I've lost my watch. Again. I only take off my watch in 2 places, really. So it frustrates me to no end when I cannot find it in either of those 2 places, which happens far too frequently.

One, I take it off when I am on the computer, which means that it should be either on the couch where I use the computer, in between the cushions on the couch, on the floor next to the couch, under the couch, or on the desk next to the couch. It's not.

And two, I take it off when I go to bed or take a nap. Which means it should be on the bed, on the floor next to the bed, under the bed, or on my dresser next to the bed. It's not.

And not having my watch leaves me feeling unsettled, out of sorts, like I'm missing things, forgetting things, not really where I should be or doing what I should be doing. Funny how a simple watch can ground me to reality.

Maybe a day of forgetting and losing things isn't all bad sometimes, though. If only I could free myself from needing it so badly . . .

But it's just how I seem to be lately (with or without my watch). Not really here nor there. Not really in the groove. My brain is out floating around . . . someplace else (I wonder where?!?).

School started. I have about 3, 4, maybe 5 backlogged blog posts crammed in my brain, waiting impatiently to be released. It's soccer season for 2 or 3 of the kids. One child was signed up and now refuses to participate (guess who??). I am also feeling very lost with Samuel's new school. I missed the back to school night, and I think I missed a lot. I had to call the office and request a student handbook, but I am still unsure of how school lunch accounts, homework, etc etc are handled there. And having the school 20 min away makes it difficult to just drop over and make sure of things. Like I didn't want to spend 40 min of travel time just to go over and find his lost lunch box last week, and it took a week for someone to help him find it. Gross.

Last week I forgot about a piano lesson (thank you to the teacher who called me 5 min after it started to get him there). This week I have forgotten about a ballet lesson, a soccer game, and a church meeting. In 2 days' time. Yikes. What else am I forgetting?? I do not know.

So anyway. If you see me, just gently tug a little on my brain strings and pull me back to earth, if you could please. I'd appreciate it.

And if you happen to find my watch lying around somewhere, just get it back to me as quick as you can. Thanks. :)

I've been reminded of this poem lately . . . 4 days until my trip (!!)

Home

(written by me, Sept 8, 2000)

Longing to go back and
pick up the pieces of me
I left behind
every childhood memory, every teenage heartbreak
every step, every tear, every laugh
echoing off of blank walls
dark hallways, empty rooms

Wanting to go back and breathe life
once more
into what my mind now only knows
longing to make it real again
to make sure the memory is not lost
as if I could touch it, smell it
breathe it -
the life that I lived there -
and rest, knowing it still lives

But, knowing I cannot live life again
cannot go back, just to see,
I wander
homeless, homesick
unsure where to end my wandering
My home
no longer mine
growing in my heart
bursting, swelling
longing to be planted
somewhere, someday

Flashback Friday: Journals #38-40

So, after dating that entire school year, Zac then left to serve a mission for The Church Of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints for 2 years. As is the case with missionaries, we knew that our only contact for those 2 yrs would be weekly letters and sometimes tape recordings mailed to each other. That's it. I spent that summer working long days as a packer for a moving company, which was miserable, and then I returned to college 3 months after Zac had left. And I found myself wandering sad and lonely around the campus where I had previously spent almost every waking hour with him. It was a really hard time for me. I was still an English Major at the time, and in one of my literature anthologies, I ran across this poem, which is quoted in my journal, August 29, 1994:

Separation

by W.S. Merwin

Your absence has gone through me

like thread through a needle

everything I do is stitched with its color

This poem impacted me so deeply, I decided I was in love with W.S. Merwin (or something like that). And I decided to do my 10-pg research paper for one of my English classes on his writings. And I posted his picture on my wall and looked at his face everyday for 3 months (or whatever it was) to keep me thinking about doing my research. It was somewhat motivating.

I felt attached to him. I spent a lot of time thinking about him (and reading his poetry). And I spent even more time contemplating how precisely this poem described how I was feeling at the time. I never did discover who it was exactly that he had been separated from, or under what circumstances. But it was clear to me that he knew this feeling well.

Anyway, in trying to find a picture of him online, I also discovered that he is the US Poet Laureate for 2010-2011 (he is now 82 yrs old)! Timely, I suppose, that I am re-reading the journal time period when I was obsessed with this poem of his.

ohh, precisely

Love After Love

The time will come
when, with elation
you will greet yourself arriving
at your own door, in your own mirror
and each will smile at the other's welcome,

and say, sit here. Eat.
You will love again the stranger who was your self.
Give wine. Give bread. Give back your heart
to itself, to the stranger who has loved you

all your life, whom you ignored
for another, who knows you by heart.
Take down the love letters from the bookshelf,

the photographs, the desperate notes,
peel your own image from the mirror.
Sit. Feast on your life.


--Derek Walcott

Another perfect explanation for what I am gleaning from my journal rereading project. Love it. (Found at The Chocolate Chip Waffle)

this is why

I have been rather caught up in my project of rereading all my journals lately. It has even taken the place of much of my normal book-reading, which is sort of surprising. Some of it is like watching a train wreck - I know just what is about to happen, but I can't look away. But I thought I would share this whatever-it-is that explains somewhat why I am somehow compulsed to complete this neurotic project of mine. I wrote this back in April before I started all this rereading. But it is something that has been on my mind for much of this year, for some reason. Anyway, I just felt like sharing. It may not make a lot of sense and I know I'm a little nuts. But hey, we all knew that already, right? No surprises here. :)
(And PS - is anybody but me really interested in the journal excerpts I've been posting here? Just curious.)

ok here is this:


we hold our memories
carefully
at a distance
afraid to bring them
too close
like fragile glass
we are afraid
to embrace them
too closely
for they will shatter,
we are afraid
of getting cut
on their shards
the edges
too raw
too sharp
too dangerous
sometimes we think it best
to leave the past in the past
and keep these memories
hovering
out on our borders
somewhere
just out of reach.

But I've found that if
I can bring them
closer,
and look at them
for what they are now
I can make them
real to me,
substantial
and close,
and they are not
so fragile
anymore
They will not break
and shatter
and fall
because they are no longer
made of the glass
I had used to
enclose them
If I take the past
and look at it now
see it for what it is
and not for what I remember
then my heart
can embrace it
once again
and I can put it away -
because I know
it can't
hurt me
anymore.

paranoid much?

We who are

your closest friends

feel the time

has come to tell you

that every Thursday

we have been meeting,

as a group,

to devise ways

to keep you

in perpetual uncertainty

frustration

discontent and

torture

by neither loving you

as much as you want

nor cutting you adrift.



Your analyst is

in on it,

plus your boyfriend

and your ex-husband;

and we have pledged

to disappoint you

as long as you need us.

In announcing our

association

we realize we have

placed in your hands

a possible antidote

against uncertainty

indeed against ourselves.

But since our Thursday nights

have brought us

to a community

of purpose

rare in itself

with you as

the natural center,

we feel hopeful you

will continue to make unreasonable

demands for affection

if not as a consequence

of your disastrous personality

then for the good of the collective.



- Phillip Lopate,

quoted by Anne Lamott in Bird By Bird



ok, don't ask me why, but I thought this was hilarious.

Maybe you did, too . . . ?



And PS - please just go ahead and disband the Thursday meetings - 'kthanksalot. :)

because it feels safer to quote someone else's thoughts than to try to tell you my own

Whirlwind

by Natalie Neiman

Slowly, it catches you off guard and knocks you

off your feet and you

are sucked up by a huge funnel and security

and safety are

whipped out from under you and the

wind beats

against your weary body and you want sure

footing but instead you spin through

the air with your arms and legs flailing

about wildly and fear has eaten a hole

through your heart and it is ripped and

trickling and you want to scream but

the sound is crammed in your

stomach and you can't figure out why

or how this is happening all you know is

that you want to go home and crawl

into bed and never get out

and the world is spinning

and everything you touch

melts away and everything

is moving so fast and

your brain can't keep

up and you spin

and spin until you

end up at the

bottom.

And you wish you could live again.

this is what I want

I want to write something so simply

by Mary Oliver

I want to write something

so simply

about love

or about pain

that even

as you are reading

you feel it

and as you read

you keep feeling it

and though it be my story

it will be common,

though it be singular

it will be known to you

so that by the end

you will think -

no, you will realize -

that it was all the while

yourself arranging the words,

that it was all the time

words that you yourself,

out of your own heart,

had been saying.

because I feel like sharing

It seems there has been a little bit of scandal and gossip circulating around my neighborhood lately, unfortunately, and I was reminded of a poem I wrote in high school. So, in the spirit of maybe someday becoming bold enough to share more of my poetry, I am going to post this. Really, all that I mean in it is that once a scandal passes, all that is really left is the truth, which in most cases really wasn't as scandalous as people wanted to think. But no one is very excited to sit down and eat the cold leftovers. When it's over, no one really cares but the ones who were hurt by it.


Juicy Scandal (March 3 1993)

Throw it on the grill
and instantly it
sizzles
every juice consumed
every word absorbed
watch it cook and brown,
changing rapidly in the heat
of the moment,
everyone wants some
everyone is hungry to take
a bite
out of the "big news"

but leave it awhile longer
let the flames die down
and grow cold
and all that is left
is the tough meat
of the matter,
the cold leftovers
that sit in truth
and humiliation,
but not good enough
to eat.