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

tomorrow morning

One of the things I love about reflection is that time becomes more and more of a construct. The actual sequence of events is less important than how or why they are connected. The story that is important today can have happened yesterday or 5 years ago; what matters is that now it is important. This, though, is actually about tomorrow morning.

tomorrow morning

on tomorrow morning
two years ago
I barely had to wake up
the excitement
had kept me from sleep
it was still dark and quiet
as I gathered my things
and left for work
the outfit was new
and I had to learn
how to move in it
the work was new
and strange with
odd things I handled clumsily
on tomorrow morning, two years ago

tomorrow morning
I will rise early once more
the outfit is not new
and I find it comfortable now
a second skin, another identity
the work is familiar
the things common
the patterns beloved
and it will still be dark and quiet
tomorrow morning

and the morning after that,
it will be someone else's turn
for new clothes
and new patterns
and odd things
on the morning after tomorrow
someone else will rise early
while it is still dark and quiet
just as it should be

written 1/30/08

Waiting and Watching, responding to invitation

Christine over at Abbey of the Arts (a new and delightful discovery) offers a biweekly Invitation to Poetry. She posts a prompt and then adds any poems people respond with. I love the fact that there are in this world people with different gifts than I have. Check out her site, read what other people wrote. It's pretty impressive.
So here's my response to her ideas. It was challenging, fun, and advent-ish. Oh, and a great way to help put off writing those final papers.

we wait,
peering out from
behind hats and scarves
amid the multitude
hidden among
plain and poor
adorned and rich
eyes that speak of royalty
their greatest majesty that
which they watch
patiently waiting for fulfillment
teasing us with past deeds
waiting in response
waiting for response to
their challenge to do better still

Written 12/11/07

Changes

The coincidence here is kind of fun. Changes all over the place.
First, the housekeeping (blog-keeping?) announcement: I've shifted this blog over into a new email. It's still my writing, at the same url, just a new email address. Not that I've ever been deluged by email, but for the interested parties, you can email me through the profile link, or the next time you use the 'old' email, I'll reply through the new address. Much like the change in the template, I just wanted something a little more 'me' and something that could make more sense if I decided to become a bigger presence in the blogosphere.
Onto the poem. Which is also about change, though more types of change....
Which is appropriate on so many levels.

Resurrection

phoenix flies
into a bush the
flames then consume
until
ashes coat the
ground and the embers
cool, then, then
does phoenix arise
whole, fresh, alive
past to repeat
rebirth

not resurrection

Resurrection is
blood on wooden cross
final shaky words spoken
with final breath
the dark empty night followed
by darkened day
and emptier tomb

Resurrection is
startled gasp that
first Easter morn
half fear and half
hope
body remade
life made wholly different
future newly promised

Written 11/4/07

Turning

There is no way for my to describe (here) why this was written. However, I do not think that you need me to. Either you understand (in which case I will say a prayer for you this week) or you do not (in which case I will also pray for you). Prayer is good, after all.

Round and round, turn after turn,
Up is up then up is down,
I laugh then weep then am silent.
I try to find sense and meaning
Then I try to survive.
I sing your praise,
Then angrily demand explanation.
Nothing makes sense.
And then I realize,
Meaning is always lost
In the next rotation,
Because the only fixture
Is your love—
Your love for me.

I stand in silence,
Stare into the distance,
And ponder
if that is enough.
As again my world turns—
Everything moves.
And my faith shakes.
My heart and mind demand
Meaning and justice
In crescendoing pleas.
And my soul quakes in your love,
Your love for me.

I want to scream and rage,
To have a face
At which to aim
But I cannot.
There is no anger, no despair—
Just the desperate hope:
Hope for tomorrow,
Hope for today,
Hope for me.
Because I remember your love,
Your love for me.

The turning hasn’t stopped
Maybe it never will
But you and I—
We’re here
And I keep finding that
I love you
In a pale imitation
of your love for me.

Written 5/21/06

Never Forget

So, this is may seem a little dark for the fourth of July, but it sort of fits with my mood. If you will forgive the editorial....We are so quick to praise our country and ourselves for the wisdom to be born within these borders that we often do forget the imperfections of this world and of humanity.

Future that isn't
it is the cry of parentless children,
childless parents.
nationless people
the cry of the grieving,
the troubled,
the oppressed
a cry torn from tear drenched throats,
whispered from parched tongues,
a plea between heartbeats
and etched into my soul:
Never Forget
the pain; the tears; the darkness; the loss
the pit; the grief; the aloneness; the ache
Never Forget
remember what was
remember what ought to be
remember the moment, the year of change
Never forget the future that isn’t
Written June 5, 2007