Rippling Words

I love words. I love playing with them; I love the challenge of finding the right word; I love the power words hold--to shape and define the world.

Rippling Words

sad, hard words that repeat
over and over
filling my mind, my heart
my soul

words whose meaning
I know only through pale
past ripples of the same

words which threaten
all the futures I have dreamed
words, repeating even still
repeating and mutating as I
dream nightmares of the
futures they could mean

words I cannot change
words I could not prevent
words that will define who I am
words repeating, rippling out

words already rippling out
into the future, my future
the sad, hard words

written 1/3/08

Readers,
I have put an announcement here.
Thanks,
ymp

Oh, and I hope you enjoy the new template which shall also be known as 'useful distraction'.

I've walked here before

Sometimes life is just unfair.

I've walked here before
this trip past the edge of the cliff
trusting in skilled bridge to carry me across

I've walked here before
the uncertain approach
the tedium of waiting
waiting for the edge
waiting for the other side

I've walked here before
I've seen these looks,
of fear, bewilderment, and
misunderstanding
misunderstanding placidity for courage
misunderstanding courage for faith
misunderstanding the fatalism
which I cannot stop
but use to inform my response

I've walked here before...

written 2/10/08

a move to a life lived

There was a headline in the New York Times earlier this week, but I didn't see it until today. The article was about people who live with muscular dystrophy and how research has been unable to find a cure so people living with muscular dystrophy were without many treatments. I read this and started thinking about how true this is for so very many health conditions. We don't know so much about our bodies and so we try not to talk about that. We focus instead on those things we do know and are learning. And so many of our lives are caught on the other side of that line, where we don't know. Know how or why something happens; know how to change something; know the other effects of a treatment.
We live here, not knowing. Struggling. Struggling to figure it out. Struggling to make do. Struggling to live a life.

To acknowledge the chronic illness,
to acknowledge those daily choices
____yes, these pills;
____no, not that activity;
____yes, this balance;
is to reveal the creeping bite of mortality.
To embrace things often hidden
it is to cede a victory
and a move to morbid compromise.
To accept the freedom of definition
and avoid the limit of demarcation;
a move to life lived,
a defeat in which we can
then decide
yes, this is me.
Yes, I want....
More

Written 2/20/08

enough

Because we aren't. Enough that is. There is so much to do, so much that is needed, and so much that we could do, and we just don't quite manage. I've talked about this before, but it's something that is never too far from my mind. Because there is so much that I can't do--lack of time, lack of skill, lack of energy; and there are so many problems we talk about. Especially now. Especially when I am trying to figure out what the future should look like. Nationally and personally. There just isn't enough, of me, of time, of space, of options, of something.

enough

It is never enough
These small things we do
Acts of compassion and love
A smile, a gift
A house built, a life bettered
A law changed, a sentence commuted
Help extended, debt forgiven
Actions of love
The world still bleeds, and weeps, and dies
People are still sick, hurt, lonely, and hopeless
It is never enough
To end every pain, each sorrow
There is too much we cannot change
Each action, each bit of love
Changes us
And that is everything

written 9/14/08

I don't care about your politics

I really don't.  I don't care if you're a Republican or a Democrat or a Hilary or a Barack or a McCain or Huckabee fan.  

Regardless of any of that I think you should listen to this:

Better yet, go to www.dipdive.com and read Dip-finition.  This is good writing.  (The song and the Dip-finition.)  This is good preaching.  This is good poetry.

It's about the cadence and the way the layers are woven together.  

And someday I'll find someone who helps me express this better.  

In the meantime, listen.  Think about the quality of the speech and the music.  Listen to the poetry.  

Oh, and vote for someone.

theodicy

Ash Wednesday. The press of gritty ashes on my forehead in the smeared shape of the cross. The words "You are dust and to dust you shall return." I love it. I love the fact that the tradition in which I practice my faith has a day and an entire season for us to consider our mortality, to ponder those things in our lives, our world, and our selves that we ought not be complacent about. Lent, the season which follows Ash Wednesday, is an invitation to wrestle with our faith, to take on the hard struggle of reconciling our world and our God.

the cross was once for all
suffering lifted high
Death's chains broken

this exclamatory mark
held up in and out of history
and still, and still

I see in the eyes of one
laying next to me, suffering,
and mirror back my own

written 12/5/07

we laughed

This poem was easy to write and is nearly impossible to lead into. I think it's because, the poem, the day, none of it was about me. So there is little I can say here. It was beautiful and I am delighted I was there.

We laughed,
in air made, however briefly,
thick and sweet.
Solemn words were spoken;
truth given voice and voices.
My friend with her friends knelt,
change indelible to be solemnized,
and then rose, different
and all the same.
And there,
in celebration of the journey,
in a moment stretched thin,
with the joy of the Spirit,
there we laughed.

written February 2008