there's wind in this soul
and it's catching up.
told i'm built to run
with the best of them.
a times a 'comin'
with bright lightning speed.
i'm born for greatness
from even the seed.
catch fire o my soul
fan the wind for flame
comfort all this change
make me feel again
running o running
o i'm taking off
quickness picking up
got nothing on me
nothing can stop me
ah ah i'm so dust
this is comin' quick
bring on this battle
Monday, March 24, 2014
Thursday, March 20, 2014
looking at the pain five years later
okay, so i'm cheating. i'm lifting from my writing from five years ago, when i was in so much pain and i felt hopeless and small. being in pain affects us all, being trapped is an undeniable hell. this is my second (millionth) chance in life.
i'd love to hear your thoughts.
these days of being trapped, inside my trap
i see the crisp blue sky and i feel the warmth
swirled on the tails of the cool autumnal breeze
when i open and shut the windows.
the dog's bark carries on longer than the summer's song.
i want to be out and busy.
i want to be not in here, debating my pain scale.
and the torment of sitting still, brings no pain at all.
and the surges of energy brings discomfort in my own skin.
i feel the faker because doing nothing at all, and i'm fine,
do anything, and i'm fighting the burn radiating from within
my own blanking spine. it betrays me. and i hate it.
and i cringe to see my writing about it.
i'm sick of thinking about it, feeling it, hearing about it.
sick of people asking about it, sick of treating it.
sick of it all. so i try to ignore it and do absolutely nothing.
nothing at all.
i see the crisp blue sky and i feel the warmth
swirled on the tails of the cool autumnal breeze
when i open and shut the windows.
the dog's bark carries on longer than the summer's song.
i want to be out and busy.
i want to be not in here, debating my pain scale.
and the torment of sitting still, brings no pain at all.
and the surges of energy brings discomfort in my own skin.
i feel the faker because doing nothing at all, and i'm fine,
do anything, and i'm fighting the burn radiating from within
my own blanking spine. it betrays me. and i hate it.
and i cringe to see my writing about it.
i'm sick of thinking about it, feeling it, hearing about it.
sick of people asking about it, sick of treating it.
sick of it all. so i try to ignore it and do absolutely nothing.
nothing at all.
Thursday, September 5, 2013
may the wind take your troubles away
As I sit in the full morning sun, I look at the woodpile with questions fit for a lifetime. I wonder why my soul wants to wander. A butterfly brushes past me and I know life is wonderful.
Birds squawk all around me and the cicadas sing of the dew drying. My dog sniffs what has happened in the night. I am torn and worn, tired of this dance. I am saddened that my contentment is fleeing when I am obliged to pick up my day.
Let my heavy heart of things I've not done be like wind, rising to You. I am grateful, remind me of this. I am all of this nature, remind of this. I am where I need to be, forever finding You when I least expect it. Burn these burdens like this woodpile.
Thursday, July 19, 2012
the bamboo races the honeysuckle to take over the farm
the bamboo races the honeysuckle to take over the farm.
and there is evidence
of the hog barn which i am sure gave such a stench, i am grateful it was before our time.
of the horse barn, for horses borrowing this land, i dream of having hooves here someday.
there are silo pads that i imagine give way to some underworld tunnels that i will have to discover anytime now.
and of the chickens.
the poor little sweet chickens that have been plucked from this earth, one by one. i loved you all. well...mostly...there were a few in the beginning that kinda made me wonder if i was brave enough to take on the animal kingdom.
but for now, it rains and i am content.
the trees grow high, the grass is plentiful, and the mind can run aimlessly through the overgrown meadow, the bamboo forest with lovely warrens of forts, the pine tree forest where everyone has learnt their tree climbing skills, the barnyard complete with bonfire pit, the empty chicken coop, the backyard in which nobody plays, the side yard where all the evil snakies live, the landscaped-ish front yard, the secret dog run, the evolving confidential clubhouses of honeysuckle, the hidden highway overlook, and the deteriorating spring house.
never, and i mean never,
are you to venture down to the highway.
and i mean it.
which reminds me, i'll reign my brain in for a minute and check on the boiling water, the chatter of kids and friends playing happily in their rooms, and an interior landscape i have yet to conquer.
yes, i am content.
and there is evidence
of the hog barn which i am sure gave such a stench, i am grateful it was before our time.
of the horse barn, for horses borrowing this land, i dream of having hooves here someday.
there are silo pads that i imagine give way to some underworld tunnels that i will have to discover anytime now.
and of the chickens.
the poor little sweet chickens that have been plucked from this earth, one by one. i loved you all. well...mostly...there were a few in the beginning that kinda made me wonder if i was brave enough to take on the animal kingdom.
but for now, it rains and i am content.
the trees grow high, the grass is plentiful, and the mind can run aimlessly through the overgrown meadow, the bamboo forest with lovely warrens of forts, the pine tree forest where everyone has learnt their tree climbing skills, the barnyard complete with bonfire pit, the empty chicken coop, the backyard in which nobody plays, the side yard where all the evil snakies live, the landscaped-ish front yard, the secret dog run, the evolving confidential clubhouses of honeysuckle, the hidden highway overlook, and the deteriorating spring house.
never, and i mean never,
are you to venture down to the highway.
and i mean it.
which reminds me, i'll reign my brain in for a minute and check on the boiling water, the chatter of kids and friends playing happily in their rooms, and an interior landscape i have yet to conquer.
yes, i am content.
Monday, July 9, 2012
july millionth
we decided it a million times
we'll sell all that we own and move
we'll live like travelers and focus on what matters
and we both really mean it
i want to think this time it'll stick
we'll set goals and burn the trail behind us
we'll live like we're ablaze with an urgent mission
and we both really mean it
we decided it a million times
we'll start right now or maybe tomorrow
we'll make some progress sooner or later with all our might
and we both really mean it
Sunday, July 8, 2012
pondering at the seems
as i crossed the old bedroom, i remembered how not long ago, my son would open the screen and pick a rose of sharon bloom for me and present it as a gift. i felt saddened that i had not spent more time remembering the best about him lately. there never seems to be enough time.
as i picked up the small framed picture from the floor, i remembered how a lifetime ago, my daughter was a tiny beginning whose every word was an amazing discovery about her. i felt horrible that a time warp occurred whilst i was pining for something different. there never seems to be contentment.
as i sat on the reclaimed wood benches my husband had made, i remembered how i met him all those years ago, a quiet gentleman who had such fury in his heart. i felt clouded by our fog of bills and obligations and lists and failures and tarnish. there never seems to be enough forgiveness.
as i sit on the chair in the corner of our bedroom, i pray for peace, for memories, for time, for contentment, and for forgiveness. i find the last line is forever the hardest to write.
as i picked up the small framed picture from the floor, i remembered how a lifetime ago, my daughter was a tiny beginning whose every word was an amazing discovery about her. i felt horrible that a time warp occurred whilst i was pining for something different. there never seems to be contentment.
as i sat on the reclaimed wood benches my husband had made, i remembered how i met him all those years ago, a quiet gentleman who had such fury in his heart. i felt clouded by our fog of bills and obligations and lists and failures and tarnish. there never seems to be enough forgiveness.
as i sit on the chair in the corner of our bedroom, i pray for peace, for memories, for time, for contentment, and for forgiveness. i find the last line is forever the hardest to write.
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