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Thursday, December 23, 2021
Bespoken
Underneath: a rambling
Solstice still brings me your name,
A subjective conjunction
A phrase replayed
With routine sophistication and lapsed subtleties.
Undone by a fragile sun
Summed up by the endsum
Dawn drawing harder than dogfight, faster than a pull-down.
No lack in this uncased rack
it’s full price; what a prize
favored by your laugh and sighs,
shrugging off the lavish craving
cold lips speaking لو سمحت
Only to be rescued by the welcome abyss.
Underneath the absence
The cradled knowing
Synchronous with undoing.
Friday, December 17, 2021
Seasons End
The seasons that drag on,
And then suddenly end.
Later, carrying small regrets like seashells from the beach tucked in my pocket
But in hope, my way set
If I had stayed,
I would have needed a remake on my days,
The former ways
couldn't be sustained
The fit was
off
The mirror no longer reflecting what I want
What I think I need
Leaving security, trusting
Risking rejection, hoping
Disappointments in the wake, accepting
Taking on monotony, learning
On a new path, no time for carrying burdens or even getting cash. The missing weighs heavy.
In this season of waiting
I long for another awakening.
Thursday, October 14, 2021
Love Songs
Girl, I'm gonna write you a love song
Spurred on; poetry brimming after months of sinning
And girl, you can live and breathe
and it's okay.
Heart, you are beautiful
and worthy
and true
And I'm glad I'm with you.
In fact, the truth is,
there's no place I'd rather be.
Only you can be you,
and that irrevocable delight
that is rejoiced over, sung over, danced over,
and saved.
Yella! That's the truth.
Wednesday, October 13, 2021
Four and Awakening
Freeze tag
No replays
Keeping truth at bay.
This is a love song, I guess, yes,
Though at first fawn I thought "love bears all things" meant something
Different.
That hook that sends me on flight as a savior into situations
Where I am again a victim
I need to validate this pain and name the stain;
Release the pattern, the familiar [familial] role play
The fatigue of doning combat fatigues
Of denying my body's dossier.
Owning a trauma response, a conditioning
Noticing and becoming present;
Awakening.
Saturday, August 07, 2021
Burnout: but don’t forget the stars
When I start to
Fall apart:
Disintegration
The loss of integrity
Windstrewn
The gradients in and out
of tune
Fearfully, fitfully
It’s not elegant like the movies
Yes it’s more a like
A swollen red eyed heap of sobs
Every choice a wake
A break a
Stake
A chagrin inside my chest
A shudder
Stunted despair
Will it grow or blow out the flame?
When I feel
the burnout on the inside
a fractured, unintelligible
Cataract of ashes and
Dust
But don’t forget the stars
That flame with a calling and a name
Called out
Reframed
Those threads that were unraveling
Slowly stop
The shaking subsides
and I drop
Lower, deeper in my chest, decompress
and find myself again
More, together
More like a light
And less like a shadow
More like breath
And less like the wind
Thursday, July 22, 2021
Only love
When I fail myself,
I forgive myself
No need to beat her up;
Harass, punish, condemn
Lashing out.
Only love can retrieve
What is lost, unspoken
What has been so utterly broken
Only love can redeem.
Wednesday, July 21, 2021
Acting out
That fleck in the sky is a crane, or heron chasing the river’s course perhaps it’s northward here, along this curve, this bend not far from Franklin. To the south is the uncaptured rising moon. Also uncaptured is the stranger who held me in samba on the white sand, acting out my secret fantasy. Manifested into a self abandonment reality, complete with whiskey drunken from a stainless steel shot glass via a plastic flask. Again uncaptured is the burning red sunset that watched us like some benevolent fairy godfather.
Well goodbye to the goodwill,
good water
drain me away
preoccupied
places
progress
messes
making
Oh free me
believe me
this is a risk worth taking.
Tuesday, July 06, 2021
No erosion in heaven
Someday,
There will be sod laid over the mud.
Beauty, order, covering
Over the barren ground.
Prairies in heaven, savannas of lush and flourishing land, no more exposed soil, no more windswept earth, all the life lost, blown away.
No more deserts of parched ground where nothing is fruitful, only thorns and thistles.
Someday,
redemption.
(Circa 2014).
Thursday, June 24, 2021
The Weight of Water
Three cranes glide over the river
the line of flags hang limp in the rain.
The weight of sodden
pageantry; was it calculated in the casting?
Can it be borne?
Does anyone imagine the
weight of their life
when it is soaked?
How heavy it is.
Every motion is laden with grief
accumulated weights.
The density of water is 0.99802 g/ml.
What a pull when it saturates;filling every space.
The next day the flags flutter northward,
the cranes roosting.
Sunday, June 20, 2021
Empty hands of faith
“Prayer is an activity that must be central to our lives... in prayer we are holding our empty hands of faith to the God who is there and you can do far more abundantly than all we ask or imagine. -Francis Scaeffer
Solaced before
I know this river, we've spoken before
Solaced by it's banks
Between highways and heartbreaks
Above a culvert, beside it's ever-changing shape
Years, months and days
Always the same and always new
Greeted by a different hue;
June's deep blue
August's green algae bloom,
October's grays and January's white renewed
In the spring air, the Red Winged Blackbirds, Robins, and Jays sing
The crickets jump, the sun dapples the trees, glowing reeds
This embankment, shoreline curve, rip-rap and parallel eroding banks
The planes taking off,
life moving on
All the transition
the learning, the letting go
We're told and sold beauty and money will bring happiness
(that ever elusive, fading moment)
A river quieting my soul,
that is my choice
Saturday, June 19, 2021
Holding space: the art
Can I hold space for the prayers unanswered,
the not-yet, the pain, and the grief
Can my words solidify
the rock I sit on-
Made of atoms, moving undaunted leagues apart
as solid as it seems, what a feat of mind-blowing reality
Can I hold space for myself, to simply be?
With me, beside me, attuning, witnessing, accepting
What a posture; moving at love's pace
I am the place I've been waiting for, a space of stillness and grace.
Friday, June 18, 2021
How to move forward?
I have a ready pen, a brush, a word,
But to sit still, oh, that's a hard task,
That's a big ask.
When I have 1,000 birds to paint,
A world to write,
So much to do, to feel, to think.
Pausing is discouraged when you're on a moving on the walkway
Maybe I have to get off.
Maybe it will take time.
Maybe it will be worth it.
Maybe stopping is the way forward.
Thursday, June 17, 2021
God, I surrender
God, I surrender my black and white thinking,
Good guys and bad guys gaming,
Us and them theology blaming,
Believers and unbelievers shaming.
You are the judge
and get to say what's good
Your voice is love
You are all that is good.
My seat of judgement,
I surrender it to you,
Judge and King, merciful and true.
And tomorrow, I'll do it again, too.
Wednesday, June 16, 2021
The way of self-love is a foreign language
When I judge, I go up and high above.
I look down on my selfish, frustrated self, jealous and keeled over in pain, so messy and honest and wrong. Discouraged, mosquito-bitten and panting in the heat.
Instead of compassion, I feel disgust. "She's BAD." What a pitiful creature! So pathetic. Ha, I gorwl with contempt.
It's easy, I learned it early. And it even feels so righteous and justified to criticize, it feels right, even while in that pattern I die again and again.
I gain power, I get to be the first one to criticize... then no one else's words and rejection can be as powerful.
I lose so much; this self-rejection that decays my soul, the deep shame that leads only to more pain, a purgatory of torment with little escape.
What a road system, leading to a tunnel with no light. Will I chose to keep entering, beating up myself? Or will I turn around and take flight?
Learn a new language, sounds that will be foreign on my tongue, unpronounceable (at first) until those sounds assemble and create new meaning, new pathways, new patterns of feeling, new ways of dealing?
Will I learn this way of self-love?
Monday, June 14, 2021
Debriefing Relationships
D e b r i e f i n g - being invited to process, understand, sort, and discover meaning.
Taking time to feel and think through these questions is work. It takes energy to process. Yet the clarity and vulnerability you enter into will be worth it. Holding space for yourself and your thoughts and emotions is worth it. The story you tell yourself about this relationship matters, and it is crucial to weave together truth and compassion. May these questions bring new insight and clarity in your journey.
G u i d a n c e
-Don't rush. You can do this in bit size chunks.
-Do this in a safe space so you can freely express yourself through screams, sobs, and silence.
-Give permission. Speak out loud to your body: "body, I give you permission to release the emotions you've stored inside" This can help release the stored stress and tension in your muscles
-Feel your emotions in your body. Be aware.
-Respond with compassion. (Validate, acknowledge... "it makes so much sense I feel...")
-Speak the truth ("the truth is....I tried my best...I am worthy....I am loved...")
-Rest. (Seriously, try and give yourself permission to nap, go to bed early, and give yourself time).
-Repeat.
-This is not a one-size fits all instruction, it is a starting point for processing. Take it where you need to go.
-This is not a one-time exercise (check that box and I'm done, woo! I wish), and you don't have to put a timeline on when you're "over it." There are no right timelines. It will take the time it takes. (Yes, that can suck).
-If you find yourself "shoulding"- judging, condemning, ridiculing, or criticizng, just pause. There is likely some shameful lie that is taking over. Return to breathing and seek out the truth- "what does unconditional love say to this?"
Q u e s t i o n s
What are 1-2 things I learned about myself through this relationship?
How was I invited to grow and change in this relationship?
What did I gain in this relationship? (i.e. new perspectives, appreciation, companionship.)
What did I give up in this relationship? (i.e. sacrifices, things minimized)
What does the future look like- and what might God be saying about it?
Sunday, June 06, 2021
Art Psalms
Bisa Butler inspired
The Empty Cage
The future, will it be okay?
The bird
Will it escape to sing outside?
The bars and the tears
The lament and the fears
I do believe
She will break out
Her song will rise
The Princess
She has a pillar inside her
A strength to hold her a loft
Across oceans, languages, cultures,
A rhythm that will sustain her
Defiant and brave
The princess
Does not fear
the future, she rises
She will make her own way.
Your body
This is us
your covering
We surround you
This ordeal, rite of passage
This blood, like your mother
Like all women whose bodies are torn
Tears ripped away
Tearing away, the unclean
Scarring away, the unseen
Glory
The dignity
The glory of blackness encompassing
No white gaze interpreting,
Interrupting
Telling the story that needs to be told
The beauty, the boldness, the brilliance
Sewn into fabrics, patterns of distinction.
Tell this, tell this story
Tell of the rising
And One more
Monet
300 water lilies
100 Londonscapes
20 Haystacks
And thousands of palettes
A carefully controlled image;
Marketing-impressionistic-white-male-privilege
Exchanging Interchangeable women
For an esteemed reputation; erudite, master
Beauty undermined by a heart so callous
Wednesday, May 12, 2021
Lavender; roundabout grief
The Lavender buzzes and breathes its scent to the trees and passersby catch the breeze, sunrise glows worries flee
For this moment 'I can breathe', beauty frees
To pause, reflect, enjoy, and deflect the heavy stench of death
In my city, blood crying out from the ground louder than any sound
He was denied his breath and it feels ludicrous I can freely take in this scene
It's a roundabout grief, it catches up with you standing in a roundabout and choosing to remain affectable
To suffering; to sunlight and the beauty and life, entering the dance of lavender and bees pollinating
Entertaining the tension of pain and hope,
Mercy and justice,
Rest and action.
Lavender waits all winter, it's roots dormant, until the ground thaws and warmth renews and the purple florets burst forth, extending stalks and petals, alive and reaching.
Growth slow at first.
Saturday, May 08, 2021
Squares of Compassion
A quilt made of days
With stitches of pain
Acknowledging the ways we've hid underneath,
Waiting, assuming, observing, and concluding
You just wanted love, I just wanted to please
And that's only different by a number of degrees
We picked out the fabrics, the perfect color scheme
Now let me ask you a question, or maybe two or three
Being curious without judging, affirming without coddling
Aware of my own triggers and need
This is the healing, it's mending the torn places
It's enfolding love, a quilt of comfort worth the wait
Friday, May 07, 2021
Another Friday
I wake;
I sleep.
I lament and rejoice.
I don't arrive.
What should I do?
What am I called to?
I write,
I pray.
I can show you the Scriptures
(In it my very life).
What can I do?
What am I called to do?
Sharing a cup with the thirsty.
This is a simple life;
To be loved.
What more can I do?
What more am I called to do?
To see
And to seek beauty;
The end of all things is at hand
Be sober and watch unto prayer.
What do we do?
What are we called to do?
We plan,
We login.
We lift our hands and our efforts end;
Baruch HaShem .ברוך השם
Tuesday, April 27, 2021
When I was praying
I had a vision of a young boy running, age 4 or 5, he was swinging his arms around, white skinned arms pumping, and he was smiling, dashing around that yard, chasing and playing
then I saw another boy, similarly running, similar age but with brown skinned arms, jetting off here and there, parents calling in the background, siblings flying all around, and all the jumbled mess that makes a family.
And I thought
this vision could be the child who will become Derek Chauvin, that shining son, that running one, before every lie implanted, every falsehood redacted another’s humanity.
Here’s the boy who would become George Floyd, before every care he carried was laid on his shoulders, the yokes he bore: addiction, racism, trauma, rejection and on and on, here’s the laughing child of Texas soil playing in the sun.
Here he is before, the hardening.
Here he is before, the breath-taking.
Here they are before they met and fate intertwined their lives with regret, bills and badges and boots on necks.
And I thought of two brothers, I don’t know their skin color but I’ve heard it’s olive brown, who were working outside a garden, one with sheep one with the ground. Until one in fury struck the other one down, mastered by hate and jealous rage until his brother’s blood cried out from the ground.
I thought of a God who sees the laughing boys in childhood, knows the sensation of their fingers chasing the breeze, knows their fears, their fragility, who sees the brothers before sin came and crouched at the door,
Who sees with justice and mercy all the circumstances, the circuitous choices that avalanche into lives on trial, to tombstones marking their fallen bodies, to tears and blood and laughter barely echoing in a far off memory of running, feet pounding, joy surrounding their cries from running in the yard.....
I take comfort in the Eternal Presence, The God who sees it all and knows it all and loves, oh how He loves.
Saturday, April 03, 2021
Rhyme for a Friday
Hey Death where you been?
Whatchu been up to?
You’re home late and I’m salty
Oh you were busy, were you?
Taking Pa with his pants down
You left him pinned between the toilet and the ground
And all his fam around
But he didn’t make a sound
Am I trippin? You just snuck in
This is a bad play
A lame day
Reverse course,
Rewind to a new game with a different referee
Whose gonna actually call it fairly
I want to erase the sounds of Ma crying out as the chasm opened all around her
As the first born son swore and bit the cuticles of his ring finger
Death you laid down your cards
It made a helluva hand, the cackling laughter resounds as you smile boasting in your win
Yeah that’s happened before on a Friday when the sky went dark and that curtain tore in two and He was heard to remark “it is finished”
So this story?
Is not over
There’s gonna be redemption
Cause your a servant not The Master
Fuck You, Death
And all your compatriots
I hate you and your lot
You know in the final reckoning you’re gonna loose your spot
No more wins, no more plays
You’ll be mocked forever when the judge comes to stay
And He will, cause that stones been rolled away, and it’s written, He’s soon on His way
Wednesday, March 31, 2021
Holy Week Cries
Entering Holy Week and opening proceedings the day after we raised the palms and sang 'Hosanna'- Savior.
We see crocuses and tulip leafs, piles of wind blown leaves and sand. We meditate on the incomprehensible, God in flesh, dying.
We remember the knee on his neck, him crying 'mama' and 'I can't breathe'.
We remember the nails driven through his flesh, him caring for his mother, him crying 'have you forsaken me' and 'forgive them, they know not what they do.'
Cries heard around the world, the man on the ground of 38th and Chicago, the man on the tree.
Cries echoing now, for justice.
Tuesday, March 30, 2021
Lines
Cross-hatched lines
intersecting
slanting lines
collapsing
diagonal lines
reaching rivulets
anchored silhouettes
these shadow lines of birch and balsam echo and undulate
like the wind
like the waves on the lake,
these lines
Monday, March 29, 2021
Opening proceedings
Skin as dark as coal
As black as ash
Extinguished from burning
Skin as light as bone
As white as stone
A heart unfleshed, entombed
This constricting whiteness, the word we give that heavy power, laden with guilt and silence
Such a subjective, particular species of evil
White skin on trial; opening proceedings and throats constrict,
“I can’t breathe”
Can you?
At this rendering of justice
Saturday, March 27, 2021
Chosing out
Cradled in a nest, a force hiding beneath blankets
and guilt.
Fragile, failing wing,
punishing myself with shame.
I was
echoing memories of
waterlilies
with need
but gradually came to own
my pain
shedding the blame
and offering you
your best,
to let you go.
Thursday, March 11, 2021
Two wells
Still,
I catch myself
Huddled over next to the stones, knees sore from long bending
Hands scuffed from reaching,
Reaching for the puddle at the bottom of the well.
It has always been empty;
And I have always been wanting.
From the salt-tinged memories of "sloppies" on his bald head
To the self-initiated Institute excursions, the breakfasts, trips and milestones
I have dug, picking up the phone and dialing,
desperately.
Still,
I hold myself
Grieving the empty yet comforted; there is a better well
There is refreshment, restoration, and replenishment
Instead of seeking I am sought out
And the draught satisfies.
It was created for me to drink from
A well of Living Water, never diminished
I was made to drink and now I do
Even when I forget the invitation ensues
Releasing the pain, receiving the peace,
Daughter, I am here for you.
Wednesday, March 10, 2021
In certain ways writing is a form of prayer
“In certain ways writing is a form of prayer.”
—Denise Levertov
Monday, March 01, 2021
Write a caption...
To summarize lifting heaven
Summoning all the dustmites, tobacco stains, and clods of blood
Things unmoved for two decades,
Mind unrenewed and bereft of hope.
In advance, before you ever cursed
I freely gave a blessing.
Would you prefer
An equation of logic?
No: to the tangled web of memory, emotion, pain
and love
Holding everything together