Running

Varicose veins of lightening run across the night sky
Behind shadow puppet clouds
That dance across the dark
As a bolt of lightening strikes so close,
It illuminates my car
And I see the light in my rear view mirror,
as I drive through a patch of fog that takes my breath away momentarily
and causes pinpricks of fear to form upon my neck,
goosebumps running from the storm...
Just like I am.

Beautiful Things

There are some really good people in this world. I'm happy to say that Walleyed Press has some of the best. They heard my words and did something about it, unlike so many other people in this dark world of ours:

http://dl.dropbox.com/u/62411779/wp5_freshfish_feb2012_revision3_ed4.pdf

His Love: Slam Poetry

(This is my first shot at slam poetry. Class, I'm not sure what to do with the structure... any ideas?)

It’s an all-consuming fire, flames licking at your heart, as truth comes out and lies try to hide. Three words that can change your whole view on life, “He loves you.” Did you know that? He loves you and He’s holding out His hand, one lifeline in a world of darkness, ever engulfing and reaching out... for you. Take the love of God in your life; let Him pull you out of the mud and trudge of every little thing that beats you down on a daily basis. Let Him love you, I know it’s hard, as you look in the mirror and see yourself as unworthy of the love of the people around you, not to mention the love of the King above all Kings, Alpha and Omega, Creator and Ruler of the world, the Ever Present God, Light of Lights reaching out for you. You; He wants you.  He chose you; He created you in your mother’s womb. You, broken because of a messed up world, but beautiful because of the love of Jesus Christ, your Savior.  This is no unrequited love like that boy on your campus. He loves you more than you could ever know.  He holds you in His hand, every move you make simply a reaction to His Holy Spirit within you, moving the very breath in your lungs and the blood through your veins.  If any love is unrequited it is His love for you, overwhelming and true, even as you disobey and push Him away, hoping He won’t see your heart as it truly is. But He does see, he sees it all, and He loves you anyway, regardless of the dirt on your heart and the smudges on your soul. He loves you, ever part of you, which He molded as your creator.  Think about that, He made you; exactly as you are, every quirk and trait that you possess is of God. You are a child of God, created out of love and loved by Him. So welcome that love, the love of your Father; let it change your life, by opening your eyes to the truth and taking the pain of a broken and messed up world away.

iced tea

 (This is a piece I wrote about a year ago.)

iced tea

iced tea

copper like your eyes,

reminding me of summertime

...in march

condensation on a glass,

water sliding on my hand;

concrete cool beneath my feet

...nice in summer’s heat

cubes of ice clinking,

sends a shiver down my spine

reminding me, right now, today

...there’s always time

a possibility sitting there,

a sly grin, a silent stare.

i’ll tell you a secret,

did you know?

...iced tea

copper like your eyes,

reminds me of summertime.

Crescent

A translucent cloud veil 

hung over a bright crescent 

moon that barely dotted the 

sky and a planet shone bright,

diagonally,

a pinprick of light

leading the way.

Winter's Last Goodbye

I am finding beauty in the sunshine,
happiness in the small things.
A smile has found residence on my face,
and doesn't appear to feel like moving out anytime soon.

A butterfly flapping wings on a chilly morning,
the contrast of orange wings and blue sky
causes my heart to fill with joy.

And leaves start to sprout
from winter's barren trees,
warming my mind to
the idea of spring
as wind blows in my window
and through my hair,
winter's last kiss across my neck.

Summer Sky

The clouds roll in thick,

dark blemishes on a perfect day.

They cover the sky like 

Grandma's old quilt,

heavy and comfortable.

"We need the rain," they say.

Do we?

The dark sky hugs the grass

like an old friend;

flags waving their welcome 

on a summer afternoon.

Stream of Concious Thought

Rearview mirror strikes a memory,
your eyes looking at me from the blue
of a sun setting in the west. And the
music playing from the stereo

strikes my heart with words that
have fallen from your lips.
A pang of regret from another
failed night where words that

should be so easy to say were
once again held back. But my
heart is smiling even though I
feel like crying because frustration

comes so easily these days,
just like the words that I say
to you, the ones that mean
nothing. But I wish they were

words of truth. Sly glances and
sarcastic comments can only go
so far in this life. Someday I'll
say what I have always meant
to say. But for now I digress.

Rest

Shaking hands
on shaking knees

and I cry out to my Lord,
"Oh God, please."

I know that He hears me
He holds me,
cradles me.

But I am an angry,
restless child,
lashing out for answers
in a broken world.

He comforts me
like the Father He is,
and I try to be calm

and fail so often.

My mind wanders and
He leads me back,
walking together on a
straighter path.

And the tears still flow,
but the crying has stopped.

Darting Eyes

Quick glances

from across the room

eyes darting as I notice you,

but my mind has 

so often 

played tricks on me.

How can I be sure of what 

I truly see?

And you smile so slyly,

as a laugh escapes your lips;

I calm my heart,

take a breath and

step back.

I can't let my mind run wild

...not again.

What if 

your motives

and

my thoughts

don't quite match up?

I can't calm down, 

yet I long to...

As I notice

quick glances

from across the room.

Exhale

Hold my cheek up to the light,

to feel the warmth that sets me free...

from spells of cold and 

frozen lies, to life and light

and breath.

I breathe at last,

a sigh of relief;

let go of the burden that found

home in my chest.

Light as air,

like a soft summer rain,

pouring over my soul,

drowning my sorrow.

Flutter

(This is another piece from my chapbook, "Exposed". )

Flutter
A white butterfly in a dark hallway fluttering

as if floating like a snowflake on the wind.

I am floating too,

walking behind it as if on a cloud.

I don’t see my feet moving.

Who’s to say they still exist?

We engage in a dance,

moving down the hallway one after the other,

like school kids playing a schoolyard game.

Round in circles slowly,

arms extended side to side,

and I pause.

*

**

***

****

The butterfly perches on my shoulder,

barely a tickle on my skin.

A light at the tunnels end surprises me,

and just as I flinch the butterfly moves on,

colliding with open air in slow motion as a door opens,

and it is joined by a numberless rabble.

Multitudes of color overtake the space,

and I am forced to ponder,

“Is it true... what they say:

that if a bunch of butterflies take off from Thailand,

it can cause a rainstorm in New York?”

Sunshine

The sun is shining

The world is changing and I

am ready for it

Vulnerable

I refuse to be
s  h  a  t  t  e  r  e  d.

My pieces want to stay where they are.

Placed perfectly and precisely

into a picture of

Me. 

Me, who I've never known,

who I've constantly searched for
in all the wrong places,

who I finally found;

who I am clinging to fiercely.

And as a wise friend,

mentor,

teacher

once said,

"The word 'lonely' runs like a thief 

who can never steal this heart 

because it weighs too much."

Words that constantly

run through my veins

reminding me that it's okay to be:

broken

healed

courageous

open-minded

open-hearted

and fragile

in all the right ways.

The Chase

(A belated Happy Valentine's to all! In honor of the lovey-dovey day, here's a short story I wrote for my fiction writing class last semester. I've been giving you a lot of poetry lately, so I thought I'd change it up. I'll admit it, it's a tad bit mushy-gushy. Enjoy!)

 

 The Chase

Clara set the now-empty bottle of golden white wine on her coffee table, taking a swig from the full glass in her other hand. She missed the table by mere centimeters, and the bottle crashed to the floor. It had been hours since Clara had met Oliver at the café, and she’d been sitting on the couch watching sappy masterpiece movies on the telly ever since.  She had finished off the wine without even realizing it, but as it were, being British, post-university, her judgment was only slightly impaired. Oliver had been so strange at the café that morning, all fidgety and flustered.

****

“Clara, I can’t take it anymore, try to understand. I just, I can’t keep waiting for you,” he’d said, babbling over his cappuccino.

“I understand, Olley. But I’m going to need some time to think, alright?” she’d responded, taken aback.

“Yes, of course; of course. I get that. Well then, how about we, uh, well...,” Oliver shifted on his feet as he thought about what to say next, “I’ve just talked to a few buddies about ringing in the New Year at a pub on the Nyhave. I was going to invite you, but... yeah, maybe you can think about it today and meet me there if you, uh, if you-”

“If I need someone to snog at midnight?” Clara had jumped in, sensing his unease.

“Yeah, yeah... right then,” he said, tugging at his sweater, pushing his hands into his pockets. “I guess I’ll see you tonight; or I won’t... If you’re not there at midnight I’ll take it as your sign to me, and uh, then I’ll probably need some time, apart.”

“Alright then, that settles it. And Oliver,” Clara said, as he started to walk away, “if I don’t see you, Happy New Year.”

“Same to you, Kid,” Oliver said, flashing a side smile as he walked out of the cafe.

****

Clara worried about it all day.  She thought about Oliver, and all the time she had spent with him; would she be able to live her life without him? All of the women in the movies she had been blubbering over were so sure of what they wanted. Perhaps it was because they were formulaic masterpiece movies, girl meets boy, the pair fall in love, boy does something stupid, subsequently becoming giant arse, girl cries, boy apologizes, girl realizes she can’t live without boy, kiss; roll credits.

And with that, it hit her.  Maybe the movies were having an effect on her heart; maybe it was the chardonnay pulsing through her veins.  Whatever the cause of her sudden revelation, she finally knew what had to be done. She had to be at that pub at midnight, or Oliver would be gone forever. Clara, it’s now or never. If you aren’t at the pub at midnight, I’m not going to wait around for you. Oliver’s words replayed in Clara’s head, taking on a fiercer quality as each minute passed. Oliver had given no ultimatum, but Clara suddenly felt as if he had.  

They were meant to be, made for each other.  She was his, and he was hers; it had always been that way, but she had overlooked it for years.  They had been friends since secondary school.  Clara remembered back to how it had been when they lived in London, countless hours spent together.

****

“The name’s Oliver,” he’d said, the first day they met. They had been on the tube, both in proper uniform.

“Clara,” she’d said, finding unease in talking to a complete stranger on public transportation. Didn’t he know the token rules of the tube: don’t look anyone in the eye, and don’t talk to strangers?

“Off to school, then, yeah?” Oliver continued, making small talk.

“Right, of course,” Clara responded, trying to relay that she wasn’t interested in talking. She looked back down at the novel she was reading, and continued where she had left on when she’d been so rudely interrupted.

It had worked for awhile, until her stop came up and Oliver had exited onto the platform as well.

“Sacred Heart?” he’d asked, pointing in the direction of Clara’s academy.

“Yes, but that doesn’t mean we need to be friends, now does it?” she had replied, annoyed.  But, of course, Oliver didn’t give up, and eventually Clara was happy for that. They had ridden the Northern Line together every day. Oliver continued to make small talk until Clara finally gave in, and the two became close friends.

When the time came, Clara applied to as many universities as she possibly could, and Oliver did the same. They both ended up getting accepted at the University of Copenhagen. Clara made up her mind at the last minute, choosing between Copenhagen and Vienna.  Oliver’s choice was between Copenhagen and London, but as soon as Clara made up her mind, he made up his.

****

Clara drained the last bit of wine in her glass and set it on the coffee table at her feet. Sinking back into the couch, she started to devise a plan. She was certain that she had to meet Oliver now or forever hold her peace.  So, at 11:37PM, she ran out of her house, called for a taxi, and sped to the Nyhave, anxious the whole time.  But when she got close, the taxi stopped; the streets were too crowded.  She pulled out her cell phone and punched in Oliver’s number, but the server was too busy and the call wouldn’t go through.  The clock was closely ticking toward midnight, looming in florescent red on the dash at 11:49PM.  She quickly paid the driver, thanked him for his service and jumped out of the cab, still blocks away from the pub.  

Clara started to run, the clock ticking as each foot thudded against the cobblestone. It had to be below freezing, but between the adrenaline and the alcohol, Clara barely noticed.  She navigated through crowds of people holding bottles of champagne, wearing festive pointy hats. Drunken shouts of ‘Happy New Year’ echoed between friends.  Clara felt as if she were suffocating, pushing her way through hordes of party-goers.  A man tried to stop her, throwing his arm over her shoulder as he sang to her in rum-scented, slurred Danish. She pushed his arm off and wriggled out of the group of people she had been drug into, her heart beating faster than she thought possible.   

 Everyone was excited to ring in the New Year, which would happen in just minutes, but Clara was dreading it.  What if she didn’t make it to the pub? Oliver was going to leave before she could make it there, and he would never know that she felt the same way! She continued to run, and without knowing it, her house key fell out of her pocket, landing with a plink in the snow.  She continued to run, her cheeks flushing from a mixture of exertion and cold air.  

She heard the clock strike twelve and her heart dropped.  That was it, it was over. She stopped, leaned over with her hands on her knees, and started to cry.  After a few moments, she stood up, tears streaming down her face.  She had to at least check. As she walked the last few feet up the street towards the pub, she hoped and prayed that Oliver would still be there.  At last she could see the pub, an arch of golden balloons surrounding the entrance.  The walkway in front of the pub was packed. Clara watched as couple kissed and friends hugged, while loud, sappy music spilled out of the pub.  Then suddenly, she saw him.  Oliver was leaving the pub, walking down the front steps, and as he turned on the street in her direction, he lifted his head and saw her tear-stained face. A smile grew on his face as he erupted in laughter.

“You’re still here!” she exclaimed as they met in the middle, right under a festive balloon arch.

“Well it’s not as if I was going to turn into a pumpkin at midnight, you know,” he said, wiping a tear from her face with his thumb.

“Right, of course not,” Clara responded, lifting her solemn face to reveal a smile. With that Oliver started to laugh again, picking Clara up and to spin her around. And as the first snow of the New Year started to fall, Oliver and Clara started the newest chapter of their lives, sealing the moment with a kiss.

****

Early the next morning, a group of travelers found themselves walking along the Nyhave, broken champagne bottles and streamers littering the snowy path beneath their boot laden feet. 

“Skipperkroen,” one said to the other, trying to pronounce the golden sign across the façade of the Danish bar, where an arch of balloons in coordinating golden hues framed the doorway.

“Must have been quite the party,” her friend responded.

“I’d say so,” she replied, noticing something gleaming in the snow. She bent down and retrieved a red house key, tied with a blue ribbon.  “It’s going to be pretty hard to get home without this,” she said, studying the key before retrieving her travel journal from the bag slung over her shoulder.

“I bet the owner doesn’t even remember where she was last night when she lost it,” her friend laughed.

“Oh, I wouldn’t be too sure…” she responded with a smile, tucking the key away for safe keeping between two blank pages.

No More

I would like to apologize for neglecting to post yesterday. It was one of the busiest days I've had in awhile... not that you need to hear about it. But here's a bonus post for yesterday. Today's is yet to come:

No More

I can’t do this.

This butterflies, shaky knees, crazy love game…
not anymore.

Night and day;

miss you, hate you,
back and forth…

I’m losing my mind.

Can’t sit in this spot, so close…

My mind races with thoughts of you;
my heart jumps with fear…

hands shake as the room closes in on you and me.

The room,
my mind;
one runs into the other.

Tell me, what does the difference matter now?