The Glass Between Us

The hot, hurtful words spew from her mouth
She does so many wonderful things with that instrument
But she unleashes her fury on me daily

If she heard anyone abusing her friends this way
She would defend them fiercely
And maybe that's the problem:
We aren't friends

I see her lift them up
I hear the words of love and wisdom
She gives these gifts to everyone but me

To her, everything I do is wrong
Every word I speak is foolish
Her hatred is visible
In her scorning sneer

I try to please her
I beg for her patience
We could work so well together

Tears stream down my face
As she launches into another attack
Of insults and sarcasm, courtesy of
That girl on the other side of the mirror

Thoughts on Autumn from my Epistle

Autumn is a teasing vixen, toying with me just as she jangles her clanking bracelets. Like a vision conjured from my deepest longings, she appeared Thursday night. She was brisk, cold even, but that only enhanced her charm in a sea of stale warmth. She enchanted me, bewitched me into dreaming of a shared future. But Monday brought only oppressive heat. My lovely weekend visitor has flown, leaving me sweaty, worn, and broken-hearted. And yet, I am not without hope. Rumor of her return is whispered among the trees. Besides, the beautiful Autumn is a creature of drama. Once she makes a sufficiently suspenseful entrance, she will wring every last moment from her act. She will bow for countless encores before relinquishing the stage to her sister. So, as I wipe the salty beads from my brow, I await her refreshment.

*I wrote that when I was tired and feeling mischievous*

The Forest of Despair

Like a dying person
My sleepy brain looks back
On the hours wasted
And the things left undone

In reality, it all could have been done
By now
In fact, it could still be done
By the deadline

But it is a monster now
A leaden albatross
Swinging about my neck
On an iron chain

I see the shadow
Instead of the cat
I hear the buzzing
Instead of the bug

Fear, release your talons
I do not belong to you
Nor does my soul

I am free
I am free
I know
I am free

The refrain of that truth
Must pound in my ears
And between them
And down to my heart

All things are possible
I have been promised
I cling to His strength
I dare to hope

Worship

Oh, my humble words can not express
The greatness, the glory of my king
My songs of praise are not even a thimble
To the sea of worship He deserves
My most fervent prayers, my deepest devotion
Pale in awe of His infinite nature

And yet…

He knows my name, He counts my hairs
He listens eagerly and intently
He cherishes my voice and cradles my heart
He is sensitive to my every shift of mood
He suffered life, torture and death
To save me, and win me, and keep me

What then can I do, but offer my life
To try anew each week, each day, each moment
To dedicate everything I have to Him
To weep and pray and adore
To sing sweetly, loudly, hoarsely
To humiliate myself in worship

And when I fail to do these things
He loves me still, and just as much
My sin does not surprise him
Therefore, it does not change His love
His arms are open wide to me
His peace ready to fill my heart

Oh praise Him, the Worthy One
Lord of Israel, Creator of the Universe
King of Kings, the Great I Am
Immortal, Invisible, All-Wise God
Savior, Master, Redeemer, Friend
Lover of My Soul, Amen

Where is my muse?

Where is my muse?
What magic incantation
Can I recite to bring her back?

Words and rhyme desert me
Or perhaps it is I
Who have deserted them

The lyric lilting rhythm
That once saturated my speech
Is a mere trickle

Come back, my companions
I’ve seen the error of my ways
Our dance must recommence
Or I will fade away

Why I Will Never Date a Laptop

Some women search for hunky guys who are easy on the eyes. Others prefer a gentleman of accomplishment. Still another subset of the female population seeks a boyfriend that will make their friends jealous or put their parents in a particular frame of mind. Finally, there are the girls who simply don’t wish to be alone. Any boyfriend is better than no boyfriend, in their book.

I could be friends with a sleek Sony Vaio, if he had enough features. I certainly could appreciate the awards and abilities of a fancy gaming computer, but would have little patience if that was all he could talk about. I definitely seek the advice of my friends and family when making investment decisions, but I find it petty to live your life with the goal of making others unhappy or uncomfortable. You have to make your own valuations in life. And for heaven’s sake, don’t buy a Commodore 64 if you need to manipulate high quality graphics! Wait until you can afford a Mac or at least a high-end PC.

Laptops have much to recommend them. They are portable, warm, compact, and often on par with desktops, technology-wise. However, they are very delicate and have a tendency to flake out on me, whether or not I am to blame. Such upsets completely rearrange my life and leave me scrambling literally and figuratively. “Can I borrow your computer to submit my homework?” “What do you MEAN the music library closed two hours ago?”

So my pretty Toshiba, we can be friends and collaborators. But for a deeper, more exclusive relationship, I’m turning to my charcoal grill. He cooks, he’s easy to maintain, and he works with what I give him. He also doesn’t promise to be anything more than he is. He knows his limitations. Plus he makes pretty fire! If I feed him properly and don’t completely neglect him, he will meet my needs. I need honesty and dependability, in addition to being interesting. It’s not like I’m dating the Tupperware or anything...

Introduction

I am setting up this blog as a repository for poems, essays and other writings I develop. I have a LiveJournal for interpersonal and newsy purposes. I make no promises about posting regularly, but I do want to make use of this space. I started writing poetry again this year, so I will put up the poems I completed. I may try to pre-date them to their actual composition dates, but if unsuccessful, c'est pas grave, eh?

Pop

My fresh wet blood is beautiful
Vibrant red against the paleness of my pink skin
I usually only see it dry
With a yellow tint when spread thin
Nearly black when hardened into a scab

And yet, tonight it contains no other colors
I’ve never seen a purer red
I would buy lipstick this color
The qualities of this fluid fascinate me
How it dries, spreads, dots, congeals, and sticks

What fluid is like blood?
Its chemical and physical properties
Are new to me tonight
Can I bring myself to wash it off?
This liquid of life from within

Another miracle: my skin
Healing so quickly after a rupture
Does the blood or the skin get the credit?
For sealing this wound so smoothly
And keeping the trains on schedule

The paradox of that spot
Firm, rounded and smooth
Surrounded by soft, peeling flesh
Hidden in a crevice
And demanding recognition

I have purged you of your venom
Hoping I exorcised the last vestige
And I wish you God’s own speed
In recovering from that painful release
And finding peaceful freedom

The Pants

Their predecessors had been devoured
By a jealous world
A swirling, glorious black confection
That fluttered around my legs
They sat alongside the tuxedos
Of the Indianapolis Symphony
And they crossed the boards with pride
As Cady Stanton’s latter-day bloomers

I quested for years to find
The perfect replacements
Stores, catalogues, websites
I left empty-handed
Classy, fun
In classic black
My personal spin
On the little dress

One day they called to me
From the holiday sale rack
Draping with the perfect weight
And some tasteful beading
Once again my legs could sway
Within their breezy cocoon
And swish o’er the tops
Of my cutest shoes

Sincerity

Worse than meaningless,
It is an insult to my God
To be less than sincere
In my prayers
In my praise
In my life

No true good is accomplished
By being dishonest
Be it flattery
An unthinking response
An expected platitude
Or advice

When I repent
It must be real
When I say I love
I must show it
When I pray
I must trust

My Offering

As a child
I bought gifts for my parents
With money that they had given me

My tithe
Is a fraction
Of the money God gives me

My songs
Bless Him, and yet
My voice was another gift from Him

My schoolwork
Might be dedicated to Him
But the intellect and the opportunity are His

I can use His gifts
That’s why He gave them to me
But my Father deserves much more

My praise
Is the gift that
Truly comes from me

He makes my heart beat
He fills my lung with breath
But He gave me a will to turn over to Him

Giggle

My hands clamp over my widening mouth
And I draw a slow, deep breath through my nostrils
A few of the neighboring heads turn toward me
With questioning eyes
“What happened?”
“What’s so funny?”

Fortunately the professor missed my giggle
I would be hard-pressed to explain
What he said wasn’t exactly funny
But it tickled my brain

My mind, like my neck
Is very sensitive

Different pressures and textures
Elicit goose bumps or squirming
The caress or scratch
Unknowingly bestowed

Fear not, first row residents
You did not miss a professorial joke
Or droll, dry observation
Your inner imp is having a picnic
With mine, in the left hemisphere
And their espresso just kicked in

Way To Go

My sarcastic morning greeting
When I awaken at 1
And my first class started at 10
Was is worth it?
Absolutely not!
I didn’t really need to know
How two clichéd characters
Beat all obstacles in the name of love
I returned, for the moment
To that cycle of old
Where the escape from my failure
Prevents later success
Romeo and Juliet
Are easier than the OSI Model
For a time, my greatest ambition
Is to vicariously be loved for all that I am
But creeping daylight pulls me
From my fantasy
While anxiety and fatigue duke it out
For the grand prize that is my day
The belt fits fatigue nicely

Sentient Beings

The obnoxious runt knew it
Never tell me
That animals don’t understand us

He knew when I was deciding his fate
And his bulging eyes begged me
To spare his life

He knew when the decision was made
And he avoided me
Like the Grim Reaper himself

He knew where we were going
When I took him to the vet
And he turned his head away

He knew what the vet was going to do
And he tried to stay in his cage
Until we drug him out

As his shivering body stilled and grew cold
The monster’s heart broke
The ogre cried

As I sobbed
And stroked his lifeless body
I knew the chill of my own evilness

A Midnight Dialogue

“Who left all of these dishes in the sing?”

Oh, I guess the ball game let out early

“What?”

Wait, I’m confused now! I thought she lived next door

“I think our kitchen is haunted by the dish ghost”

Maybe he turns the lost socks into moldy bowls

“We need a new cleaning schedule”

How many days can the average human live without on?

“These leftovers are sick!”

Let me know if they need a ride to the Health Center

“I’m too tired for this. I’m going to bed”

Your mom goes to bed! Wait… never mind. Sleep well

And

With one syllable,
I can link two thoughts,
or actions,
or descriptions.

I can prolong my tale
or start a new one.

Conjugations are intended
to connect related objects,
but sometimes I
am the only one
who understands
what that segue is.

How was a rail car
joined to a tram
at this Conjunction Junction?

Perhaps you missed
the boarding call
for my mental TGV.

Or maybe,
just maybe,
I was enjoying my own alto prattle.