It's Christmas

The tree stripped
To brown bark bone
Pricks the sky
Urges it to come alive
Sun, come out from
Hiding in your
Blanket gray
Son, insist on shining though
The darkness moves
To stifle day
It's Christmas and
Your imagery consists
Of spackled, shadowed
Brush.
It's Christmas and
Your symphony persists
In yellowed, hazy
Hush.

A Symphony of Stagnation

Even the wild, sunny
Backyard is imprisoned
In chainlink.
The hum of Christmas
Specials, new cds, ticking
Clocks, quiet conversations
Insists in its sameness,
Melodrama, monotony
And peace is pleasant
When its inner quiet
But when the world
Settles, striving
For nothing but
Sleep and rest
She cannot help but strain
To break away.

Christmas 2008

The grass today is
Crisp with frost,
Invisible but for
The sound when
Feet itching for activity
Jump upon the ground
The sun is out and
That makes my hopes
Rise even though
I didn’t know
That hopelessness had
Become the norm
Here in the farmlands
Of central Indiana
On a Christmas
Afternoon.

Sour Patch Kids

We like the red
And yellow.
So I eat double
My share of red
And yellow just
To fool myself
That you’re
With me here.

Cold Feet

She’s not alone
Sufferer of
Swollen, iced-over
Feet, the
Only detriment to
Running outside,
Crunching black converse
On the snow-scattered
Grassy yard. She and
Her sister are allowed
To be children here,
Wondering at an Indiana
Winter’s golden hour
And breathing heavy
Just to see our
Breath.

Walls

I sit in a wood-planked room
With my own poetry
On the wall.
But five years is a long
Time ago. And rhymes lend
Their rhythm and
Also stagnate - distance -
Emotion.
I sit under the dark
Cover of night,
Shielded from the
-17 wind chill by
Walls that have embraced
Me as long as I can
Remember.
I sit in what was my
Grandparent’s house,
What now belongs
Only to my
Grandma, but his
Memories are
Whispered in the wood
Plank creaks, exposed in the
Cork board wall that
No longer stands, but
Still seems to cringe
in its own out-dated shame.

Poetrizin' in Georgia

Rest Area No. 34

Gray fog slumbers,

the folds of her sagging

skin heavy with

sweat settling
over Rest Area No. 34,

etched into Georgia's

lanky frame.

Puddles reflect cool stone

although this winter gloom

of day is warm

and my heart holds

its breath still as

the fog, will

let out a sigh when its

done missing you.

Sifting the Air

Highways and

afternoons that

leave you

sifting the air for

even one streak of sunlight

but the green-gray of forests

and the clear gray of scattered

rain reflect only fog and clouds

and you struggle to

ignore numbed body

parts, the ache of

your hunched-over back,

sore from snaking

northward, bound for

the rural midwest.

Spontaneous Poetry (among other things)

The past few months
have carried with
them burdens,
those regrets and weaknesses and
mistakes and
character flaws,
ignored for so long
beneath a facade of progress.

The past few months
she trained her hardest
lifting weights
exercising limp muscle tissue because
she knew it was time,
time to struggle
in order to
toss broken and mildewed,
torn and stained,
burdens aside.

The past few months
were the truest progress
because that sharp knife of
vulnerability exposes the heart of one
more than meditation,
more than confession,
more than psychosis,
although these methods, in their own way,
were not a far stretch from
her emotional soul.

The past few months
brought poetry and music and love
and living
into a life stagnated by
oppression, depression,
obsession for things that
stifled her from living most freely,
most in the center of her desires,
most centered in God,
in his love and relationship
and stability.


The past few months
were meaningful, glorious, wrenching, torturous
the clearest instance
of fractured radiiance,
the beauty in the broken,
the necessity of feeling to really
live, to really grow.
And she will treasure those moments of
peace, kiss with joy those moments
that taught her.

The past few months,
like a blow to the lungs,
left her breathless, knocked her down
But the very life of God, of restoration,
replaced the stale
air of her regrets.
And she cannot wait to cherish
these next few months...

I'm actually way excited I just wrote that spontaneously.

I'm not sure what happened to hinder my timely update of this blog. Poetic technique exercises came to a near halt and my other classes demanded papers and homework and time-consuming study. But I'm still glad I have this thing. And I have really rather enjoyed this semester. My life has changed so unexpectedly. But I guess that's the joy of living, of letting God urge me where he wishes. I am so thankful for every experience and every struggle. It's been one of the most emotionally draining times in my life. But I like feeling; I like that the ice has melted and that my heart is no longer confined by apathy or bitterness. There are things I could have done better, people I could have loved better. But God is awesome. And my teachers have been awesome. And my classes and friends and boyfriend and family have been intriguing and helpful and loving. And I can't wait to wake up tomorrow because I know it holds promise and hope and a chance for more joy.