some days a meme asks a harmless question

what did your parents make you eat 

that you still don't eat now? 

soap, my friend said

and I wondered what 

had issued forth

from his mouth 

to cause that lesson

Then I thought

my dad's penis

and it got dead silent inside

as i recalled the taste of urine

put it back in your mouth, he said

i don't want to, i protested

embarrassed, ashamed 

then don't ask your sister to do it

his daughter, he didn't say

but that's when i should've known i'm not his son

i hadn't known what blow me meant

and then i still didn't

some days crashing come the memories 

smashing me to pieces

trashing my happy facade

way worse was yet to come

after he ate the bullet

and the next one took me under his wing

some days I think it'd've been better

if my single mom 

hadn't been pro-life

Short poem in the dark

Huddled in the sleepless darkest before the dawn
Isolated in my grave bed and my still, always brokenness
Not daring to hope in resurrection or life
Desperately grasping at  straws: might the light of the world show up?

An older poem

This poem is at least six years old, perhaps more (though this particular edit is mostly from summer of '09, with a couple fresh tweaks). I'd lost it until now because it was in an encrypted WordPerfect file that I had no way of opening until recently.  The darkest parts of it aren't usually applicable anymore, thanks to God and those who love me.


Confession
concluding with An unworthy sinner's prayer 

Across the continent and half an ocean
we met briefly, heart to heart, pain to pain.
Mistook, did I, compassion for emotion,
and clung to that which wasn't mine to gain.
You, recognizing that I'd lost my compass,
broke off the bond I'd wildly misconstrued.
Your comprehension of my life encompassed
the one who'd matter when I came unglued.

In old days they'd declare a nervous breakdown
when people hurt the ones who matter most,
but I lack such an alibi to put down
this railing against decency long lost.
Instead, I stand convicted of abusing
the trust of all who viewed me with respect.
At least I'm past unconsciously accusing,
unrecognized, deeply crushing regret.

I wish that you knew how I scarred my loved ones
with actions I can't utter in the light.
I doubt you'd benefit from such a summons;
be glad that you have put me far from sight.
I never will again look to your friendship
to take the place of her I finally love.
I've come to find within her treasured kinship
the partner of my life sent from above.

The time and tide have turned in ways I never
could have guessed would ever come to pass,
for some "for worses" stigmatize forever,
so I've stopped hoping your regard might last.
If you anticipated my great falling,
or sought to rectify my mental state,
please know that you had no hope of forestalling,
no way you could have ever changed my fate.

I grapple to believe an Advent's coming
that brings redemption e'en to such as me.
Self judgment is the beat my heart keeps drumming;
with millstone I've been cast into the sea.
No matter how well I know that forgiving
is why Christ came to earth, our souls to save,
I struggle to accept such cause for living.
Oh, how I long to occupy my grave.

I'll ne'er be able to unlade this disgrace,
though some might offer respite from the load.
'Tis mine to carry forward in the face of
whatever trials await along my road.
Imagining that your heart would fain reach out -
your faculty for love, exceptional -
instead my tortured soul just whispers out from
within this thinly veiled confessional.

Most likely, you'd advise me to seek refuge
from sources well equipped to salve my shame.
Indeed, two stints of such aid proved to be huge
in bringing self esteem back to my name.
Two decades worth of others' condemnation
of heinous crimes as I did perpetrate,
have reinforced my self-excoriation
for acts which good folk all abominate.

But worry not, for yet I find the Way to
take shelter from this storm of self hatred:
you helped restore me to the one who breaks through,
whose love anoints my undeserving head.
Now her acceptance and care keep me going
when I would rather give in to my curse
and drink my father's draught; I refuse, knowing
that yielding to despair would hurt them worse.

And so I sing this ballad never ending
in longing for an answer to my sin
that proves, in practice, capable of mending
a heart so utterly rent from within.
I give love, and as much as I am able,
I welcome merciful acceptance shared,
whilst knowing there will never be another
to whom my inner being I have bared.

I pray upon your fam'ly ev'ry blessing;
that perfect Providence and Grace abound -
I'm sure that God is to your home addressing
those priceless gifts of love that will astound -
and, just perhaps, if it can be, all learn from
the lessons other people's wounds impart;
may you, and those you love, not doubt nor turn from
the One who knows how best to tend each heart.

Family bookends

This morning, as I shared the two of these with a friend who is struggling, is the first time I have ever noticed how similar in meter this poem is to this song written over a decade before.  It's almost as if what I wrote as part of my mom's eulogy is a continuation of the song I wrote following my sister's death.  Thematically they are, of course, very different, and I've never even considered setting the more recent of the two to music.

Maybe I could write an ode to my adoptive father, as well, and make it a complete set (er, suite)?  I suppose that, if God gives me one in my sleep, I will probably get up and write it down here, at least.

In progress

I'll be developing this potential lyric as thoughts come to me . . . 

I don't want to spend my life
watching actors playing roles
competition for the goal
of capturing attention

I'm not going to get excited
when the plots do twist and turn
as the characters all learn
lessons sometimes dubious

I don't want to sit beside you
while the screen just flickers on
waiting for the light to dawn
that our time is worth much more

I don't want to idly watch
inertia claim another toll
it sucks the life out of my soul
the things we're settling for

Refrain? Bridge? 1?
There's unspeakably more to life
I need there to be more to me
than hours wasted day by day
grey nights sucked dry of all glee

Refrain? Bridge? 2?
We have only finite moments
And once they've finally all retired
I don't want my heart to cry out
For opportunities expired

An older song

So yesterday I was singing this and not liking the range for my voice. I grabbed the capo and transposed it down a step, and the combination has me doing some different guitar work on it and not singing so much in my head voice. But it occurs to me that I haven't shared this nearly as widely as I want to:

For Karen

A hedonistic worshiper at Mary Jane's thatched throne
daily living for the hour when I could next get stoned.
How many times did she see me with that redness in my eyes,
my baby sister influenced by what I now despise?

The Father's hand delivered me from what that path held in store,
and He's placed a joy within my heart that ever shall endure.
But I was now so far away, and though we were still in touch
I never spoke the words to her that could have meant so much.

So now I hear her calling from somewhere beyond her grave,
saying, "Don't let it be for nothing; there are others to be saved."

We all have our little fears as we're growing in our ways.
She always feared a needle, from her childhood's youngest days.
Could it have been that, somehow, the recesses of her heart
knew that that would be the instrument that would tear it apart?

And now I hear her calling from somewhere beyond her grave,
she says, "Don't let it be for nothing; there are others to be saved."

I don't know if He would have healed her, had I taken time to share.
I don't know if He'd have touched her heart, the way He pulled me back from there.
And I'll never know if He might have worked through me to make her whole.
I only know I miss her to the depths of my soul.

So now I hear her calling from somewhere beyond her grave,
she says, "Don't let it be for nothing; there are others to be saved."
Oh, can't you hear her calling from somewhere far beyond her grave,
saying, "Don't let it be for nothing; there are others to be saved"?

© 1990, LifeKnell Music Ministry. All rights reserved.

I wonder if God feels this way sometimes

I feel frustrated when I have new music and new lyrics that clearly have nothing to do with each other. I just know each will be really nice when it's complete!

together. apart.

i knew you couldn't see my tears in the darkness
as we shared in expressing our committed love
and when you playfully asked of me how i was
too lonely, too distant to share my truth with you
i hid myself from you again as i shouldn't
surreptitiously wiped the moisture from my eyes
steadfastly set my effort on satisfying
the hunger you'd made so clear that you were feeling
i think that you desired mainly your own pleasure
not me. i'm certain you don't really quite want me
in my messy, emotional isolation
i'm too much work for you. i'm way too difficult
laden with layer upon layer of baggage
you love being with me except for all of that
and you have told me as much, using other words
i was determined that you get what you needed
regrouped when you let me know it wasn't working
was surprised that you could actually get there
satisfying you, making sure you had no cause
to speculate what on earth could be wrong with me
i gave myself to you as you wanted me to
not as i want to share my inner self with you
which i shared instead with the cold dark of the night

Visiting Middle Earth

I haven't read The Lord of the Rings in entirely too long.  This time, I'm trying to make myself slow down on the descriptive and poetic parts that I think I've probably skimmed over too much to fully appreciate in the past, eager to move on to what happens next.

I still have a hard time slowing down for all of the Tom Bombadil section, though!

An occasional moment

hopelessly she breathes my name

sometimes i like to entertain her for a moment
her seductive touch refined and cool
urgently whispering her bankrupt promises
of desperate escape to a fuller reality
i know everything that she says is a lie
yet on occasion indulge her as she smoothly
peddles the only elixir she has to offer
pretending she's not merely a charlatan
lacking enough substance to obscure her falsity
her thumb cheating the rational balance
as she insistently presses her point
i never forget that she is incapable of seeing truly
and soon grow weary of her myopia
tenderly and resolutely i decide
and once again turn from her anguished pleading

she will eventually have me despite my good sense
but never with my willing cooperation

missing pieces of my heart

six and a half hours.  *sigh*   but that's pointless, and perhaps would be mildly toxic.

tomorrow, the crew flies "across the continent and half an ocean," to borrow the beginning of one of my own poems.  (i think that was a pretty nice piece of work, actually, appreciating it even though my feelings and perspective are healthier now.  maybe i'll dig it up and publish it here sometime.)

fragment

Uplifted by our songs of praise
By words prophetic and profound
I, cautious, wend my way back home

And yet, despite these joyful hours
The icy blackness beckons me
I longingly dismiss its call

An old poem

Eulogy

I sat beside the fragile frame that bore me into life
and asked the One who formed us both, who'd made her Mom, and wife,
And sister, aunt, and cousin, and to many, faithful friend,
to somehow grant her healing, and not let her life end.

My hurting heart He comforted with thoughts that I've long known:
the body's but a sacred shack for those He's made his own,
that He loves her far more than I and, though her work is done,
that He will never separate those souls who trust His Son.

I asked the Lord that He would please not leave me here without
this one who, from the outset, helped me through my times of doubt.
And He reminded me of you He's blessed me with today.
He said, "Your life is filled with love I'll always send your way."

I sat beside this empty shell, the pain gone from her face.
At last her features were restored with peaceful, loving grace.
Her life had been a gift to me, now death a blessing, too.
And in that silent, peace-filled room remained one thing to do.

I whispered, "Mom . . . I love you."

And heard back, "I love you, too."

The Scoundrel and the Saint

An athlete seeking glory for his name
A criminal condemned to die in shame
That teen shoplifting from the local mall
The scoundrel and the saint will clash in all

A mason painstakingly laying bricks
An addict stealing money for a fix
A businessman pursuing corporate fame
The scoundrel and the saint in all the same

A husband washing dishes for his bride
Clandestine lovers clinging to their pride
Magicians captivating with their tricks
The scoundrel and the saint both in the mix

A coach abusing one who cannot run
A banker striving for a big return
A loving father frolics on the floor
The scoundrel and the saint ever at war

I have within my heart two polar factions
and each awaits to see my chosen actions
Christ bore the cross to redeem all of me
And dreams that I will choose the life set free

the hope of breathing

i've always been enamored of its symmetry
the structure that imposes needed discipline
and keeps the thoughts from aimlessly meandering
to where the threat of narcissism lies
yet now i find that even structure carries me
to selfishness's ultimate offensiveness
the banishment of every love i've ever known
while every hint of decency just dies

they told me that forgiving him would lead me to
a better place where my own heart could find its peace
that i would learn to live and love and be without
his influence imposing its foul way
yet now although i wish him well, my leprous wounds
arise again to trammel me so i cannot
pass through to love's full freedom where i might escape
my fathers' invocations' endless sway

the ones i love deserve so much more than i seem
to find myself now capable of carrying
their beauty and their innocence is crushing me
as i consider where my road now leads
for though there seems no poetry in thirty four
it seems i lack the energy for battling
against the endless tyranny of brokenness
that finally imposes its dark deeds

one thing that helps relieve the pressure of despair
is to consider where pursuing darkness goes
i know there is no use in getting all wrapped up
it's better to acknowledge truth and cope
if on the twenty-seventh i'm still drawing breath
these verses will have purged my psyche of its load
for i will not share forth these thoughts of dark and dread
until the dawn brings a fresh dose of hope

Love Bade Me Welcome

Love bade me welcome, yet my soul drew back,
Guilty of dust and sin.
But quick-eyed Love, observing me grow slack
From my first entrance in,
Drew near to me, sweetly questioning
If I lacked anything.
'A guest,' I answered, 'worthy to be here.'
Love said, 'You shall be he.'
'I, the unkind, ungrateful? Ah, my dear,
I cannot look on Thee.'
Love took my hand and, smiling, did reply,
'Who made the eyes but I?'
'Truth, Lord, but I have marred them; let my shame
Go where it doth deserve.'
'And know you not,' says Love, 'who bore the blame?'
'My dear, then I will serve.'
'You must sit down,' says Love, 'and taste my meat.'
So I did sit and eat.
 - George Herbert

Storm

The sky grows darker as noon approaches
The wind whips the fallen leaves down the wet street
and forces the rain through the fabric of my jeans.
I refuse to bow to it, to cower in the face of this storm.
It offers me no threat - to comfort, security or survival -
that I will fear.

Robert Frost

Criminal Minds just quoted Robert Frost.  I memorized this poem in grade school:

Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening

Whose woods these are, I think I know.
His house is in the village, though.
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer
to stop without a farmhouse near,
between the woods and frozen lake,
the darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake
to ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
but I have promises to keep
and miles to go before I sleep,
and miles to go before I sleep.

Oops.  I had to correct three words: see was mind, the darkest was this darkest, and easy was gentle.  Not too bad, I guess.  I'm not remembering from that long ago, though: my grandkids had a great picture book of this poem.

I, too, have miles to go before I sleep.  Probably good for me to remember that.

Evening Contrails

The beautiful reds and purples span the horizon,
carry the last trace of the sun's glory, an echo
of a magnificent autumn day now completed.
Wending my way on this evening's errand, I notice
more evidence of air traffic, carrying trav'lers
to their destinations, or perhaps delivering
cargo - gifts and purchases -  to glad recipients.
Again their tails reflect what I can no longer see.
As they evidence that wondrous source of light and warmth,
the vista illustrates how a glorious beauty,
diminishing, reveals another, which it obscured.

Contrails

The car hurtles eastward on a clear, early morning.
On the periphery of my vision, the fields along the highway
have seemed shadowy, ephemeral.
The light beginning to spill over the distant horizon
reveals the nocturnal fog, which obscures

the details of the still blanketed landscape,

its tendrils extending their way overhead.
Bit by gradual bit, the sky grows slightly brighter.
Before long I'll need to protect my vision from the
glare of the morning sun's full glory.
For now, the vapor trails of a half-dozen jetliners
are the brightest spots in my field of view,
reflecting the sun's light from beyond the horizon,
giving testimony to its presence and power
more boldly than any solid object in sight.
These gleaming commas in the sky
encourage me to wait upon the promised day to come.
They overpoweringly pierce through the wisps above me,
like a promise of hope that eludes me,
enshrouded in my fog of doubt and self-judgment.