Word of the Day

CLEMENCY

first thought: oranges

oranges... why oranges? because of those clementine mini-oranges of course.

Second thought: my cousin in-law named Cameron Lemons.. Clemons.

third thought: cleaning supplies... I'm not sure why, maybe cleaning and lemon combined?

fourth thought: (don't have a fourth thought)

Fifth thought: OH! Clemency...

-compassion-

-grace-

-a soft heart-

Clemency...

When you break down and cry about not having time to write... and then you sit down and write about that.

The remarkable outcome of suppression is freedom.


It is a difficult task to write like a tortured soul as I am sitting on a sofa cozily typing, while my fiancé brings me tea…not to mention choral music wafting in from our bedroom stereo. It is even more difficult to articulate this mysterious inner-longing to be an indescribable human being. Sometimes I want to say profanities just for the hell of it. But I am not an unhappy person. Truly I am happier than I’ve ever been-enjoying the beauty of the earth and its heavenly pleasures—provided by an extravagant lover who is God. Do the feelings of insecurity go away? I have asked for them to go before, but they only seem to become more manageable and less prominent as I produce art and lovely sounds from instruments. By “manageable,” I suppose I mean surrendered to the Father (that’s God).

I would be a better writer if I didn’t live for the things I write for, or, perhaps if I didn’t have the things I’ve always desired. I have a lover now. Desiring romance is, outstandingly, the most frequented topic by artists—whether deliberately stated, or found subtle in the under-tones of music and poetry or paintings. The pursuit of something not yet grasped is what excites the reader or audience or spectator.

Is this why artists get divorced? Is this why the romance of the most romantic Romantics crumbles or darkens or separates the love from the lover?

Is the importance of having words to express more important than having someone to whom those words are shared?

It seems a vicious cycle. The greener grass cycle.

I have an uncanny relation with the most angst-ridden and distressed art-makers with dark spots in their souls, and waves of emotions on any given whim—while simultaneously enjoying the freedom, happiness and profound joy of child-like simplicity and faith in a gracious, good God.

I am blessed to have found someone to spill myself to daily. In five days I marry him.

Thank you Jesus Christ…

For Kayla

Do you recall the feeling of feeling small?
When even the hands of time were smaller than mine?
When the thistles scraped our ankles
...As we ran through the fields behind Panacake's Barn
Do you look back on?

Do you recall the horses, the spotted white one
Was your favorite--and I thought it was a stallion
Can you recall the untamed woods behind our yard
And charting our trails as Lewis and Clark?

I can

"...I'll dream contentedly as you tend to me..."

 

The man I love.

Friend

When you craned your neck to look for God, you invited me
I always came
When you dove in the depths of unknowns and water-filled craters that looked black and scary, you invited me
I always came

You kept me in the water, I kept you afloat
Our feet were always wet, our hands always dirty
Our hearts clean with the purified air of God's breath

Winter

Winter,
Your company is limited to the rusted, dangling, empty tire-swings and the barren branches that hold them.
I'm sorry.

When You Happen to Me

Nathan Pickles
I Find You

I've heard it's impossible to catch
The in-betweens of a season's lapse
The moment before dawn breaks the sky
The moment before the flowers die
I find you
So easily
I happen upon you and you happen to me

The wind changes and blows unkind
But I'm not quite scared this time
The autumn chill it nips my bones
But I'm unafraid of being alone
'Cause I find you
So easily
I happen upon you when you happen to me

OooO something in your name
And I run to you as quickly as I can
OooO you're my refrain
You're the song I sing, the only muse I have
The only muse I have

People come and friends they go
They leave their baggage on my road
I get tripped up 'cause I miss 'em so
But people come and friends they go
Then I find you
So easily
I happen upon you as you happen to me

My soul is piqued with highs then lows
The ebb, it ebbs, and the flow follows
The wind switches up the way it blows
And I'm stuck in a state of who even knows
I find you
So easily
I happen upon you, and you happen to me

what didn't make the cut for Proverbs...

“I cannot serve both God and wealth”

“The mind ain't faithful and the heart's just fickle. I gave 'em a gamble with a dime and a nickle”

“I just want my musical career to sing circles around other people”

“The fear of failing is worse than the failing. The aftermath of emotion is much more manageable than prior to”

“It’s so easy to love when you feel to love, but, it takes quiet strength that can only come from Him to love during times of hurt feelings, jealousy, pride…”

Sister, Your Ears Are Closed

Sister,
I could tell you
Your ears are closed
I could tell you
Your ears are closed

Sister,
I would tell you
Your ears are closed
I would tell you
Your ears are closed

Sister,
This too shall pass
Your ears are closed
This too shall pass
Your ears are closed

Sister,
I know where love is
Your heart is closed
I know where love is
Your heart is closed

Sister,
I know where life is
I know where life is
Sister, I know where life is

I would tell you, Sister
But your ears are closed
I would love you, Sister
Your heart is closed

I would share life with you, Sister.

"what did I tell you about 'what ifs?'"

If I ever left you...
I'd be, undoubtedly, the biggest fool to exist

If I ever left you...
I'd be a clinically diagnosed masochist

If I ever left you...
I'd be accused of insanity, neurosis

If I ever left you...
It'd be induced by psychosis

If I ever left you...
I would cry lonely as a solitaire

If I ever left you...
It would be-

"Oh, just a nightmare..."

The Stork

One could say there is a stork in our midst.
Blessing those who deserve no such blessings.
Rewarding those who have squandered their time.

The stork swoops down on the front porches
of old men who sit with pipes or cigarettes.
The stork swoops through the overgrown trees
covered in the ivy that slowly chokes their sap and breath.

The stork has come a long way from its home on the coast.

It has come with the baby in its canyon beak.
The new life means nothing to some of us and everything to some of us.
It is the very essence of our new-found meaning.
Without it we would be simply sitting on our porches with pipes or cigarettes.
We still sit on our porches with pipes and cigarettes, but no longer do we feel that life on this porch is life abroad.

A Short Story

The window is cracked a couple inches; just enough to feel an occasional draft. I've never been fond of this beach house until recently, as recent as yesterday actually. I always felt alone. Even with the company of a gardener who invited himself over for coffee. Even when coffee turned into dinner and dinner led to a seemingly intimate conversation, but, felt more like a drawn out questionnaire for me. I like being alone usually. I like the feeling of waking up diagonally in a king-size bed; falling asleep to the sound of a ceiling fan and my own breaths. I like my morning walks on the beach, reminding me of my aloneness. But, the vast seascape sizes me down to a grain of sand-- a grain of sand that someone’s dog probably pissed on. And when I walk back into my house and have coffee for one, I convince myself at how "liberating" it is to live alone.
At the beach house, there's no escape from the whelming thoughts that finally have space in my mind. If I could find comfort in television, I would turn it on. But, it doesn’t distract or move me. I envy the people who come home from stressful work days and zone out for an hour. But I can't "zone out." I have very little coping mechanisms. I practice yoga and palates. I generally feel more attractive and healthy when my inner thighs are toned and I can exhale for two minutes. But, more often than not, I put away my unflattering spandex and remind myself that self-esteem is basically, bull-shit. Some genius propagated it so I could feel okay without other human affirmation or affection. This sums up every beach weekend I've had for the last couple years, until, of course, this one.
Yesterday, the gardener invited himself over to make me dinner. It may be his ignorance, or persistence, or my lack of assertion, that makes him so confident that I enjoy his company, but I really don't. I don't enjoy someone sharing himself with me when he has the smallest idea of who I am. I answered his continuing questions , but from what he knows of me, he should have very little interest. Consequently, I told the gardener with frankness,
"I'm not going to lie to you and say that hearing myself chew dinner is music to my ears, or, watching the moon pull the tide at night with only my cup of wine, keeps me company... Being alone doesn't beat being loved (at this point he's poking at his pile of freshly pulled weeds). But feeling loved is different than being loved... and I don't think I want to feel loved again..."
My words hung there, still attached to my tongue until he replied in a somewhat uncomfortable, "okay." I smiled slightly, then took the little path between the hedges that led to the beach. I love the beach. It humbles me and keeps me honest.

A Primitive, Simple Kind

Mud pies, mud sliding and grass stains
Blueberry picking and Autumn's rain
The smell of wooden barrels and dusty novels
My little world is so cliche

Some of us think too much
And feed the cynical old man inside
I wish I could be everyone to everyone
I find freedom when I'm unable

One could take a crow bar to my mind
And find, a primitive, simple kind
My profound thoughts have been thought before
But possibly never noticed

I know the fear of recognition
I know the empty cup it fills
Oh, I do know empty recognition
I know that emptiness

"But You"

I don't know what wrote my genetic code
But I have a vague impression
That its sense of humor is somewhat cruel
But fair when the court's in session

I need a chance, a moment to break off
From my trains of thought-it can drive a human mad
My insufficiencies spawn my tendencies
To make others feel less than I am

But, please, please, let me be
The gum underneath your shoe

"You"

Turn Into Highways (song lyrics)

Life is young
A tree house for fun
It doesn't matter what may come
'Cause life is young

Two brothers
And a sister
They get older and boy I miss them
But life and I are young

When Mom and Dad are gone
I turn the whole house upside down
It becomes my wilderness
Life is the best

Chorus:

But so it goes
The orchard rows
Turn into highways
The woods I play in
The fields I lay in
Now require pay

The shoes that I wore
Do not fit me any more
But I do not like shoes anyway

Sundays are just another day
I put my sun hats and dresses away
But I know that it will be okay

I catch frogs and polliwogs
I talk with my dog and my pet rocks
And I know that life will work out fine

Chorus:

So it goes the orchard rows
Turn into highways
The woods that i play in
The fields that i lay in
Now require pay

Sooner than I can say it
The grass turns into pavement
But I know that I can drive someday
And find my way

tag:
But who's to say
That those highways
Didn't bring me here?

Summer's Crest

(September 2008)

The crest of the summer

Right now it rains

The sun is a drummer

Autumn a parade



My senses released

To soak what’s left

The birds and the bees

Swift and deft



The roses are bunched

With nets, covered

The geese have a hunch

For southern comfort



I lounge in the grass

I outline the clouds

A giant canvas

Of sky surrounds



Autumn is creeping

Behind the trees

Beaver dams heaping

with sticks and leaves



Aww, the summer’s crest!

The butterflies diverge…

Soon all the rest

Approach Winter's Surge…