Two Year Old

A giggling girl runs with a smile
across a room littered with toys.

Through a group of happy two's,
she fights her way to the door,
with arms raised in my direction.

And I scoop her up,
as if time hasn't been passing,
and hold her tight as I can.

But time passes too quickly,
and once again I'm gone,
tears streaming down my face
as they cascade down hers.

Details

I never understood
how writing can be draining

until I truly opened up on the page.

My notebooks,
even this computer screen,
have seen more raw emotion
than even my best friend...

and she's seen a lot.

Writing is a relationship,
it is my heart on the page,
and often times,
no one gets to see that page
but me.

Maybe that seems strange:
it's my heart.
Shouldn't I already know
it's deepest secrets
and greatest fears?

Shouldn't I be aware of
where my heart lies?

Sometimes, I don't even know
until a picture surfaces in my writing...
as if my heart is letting me in
on my own life,
by showing up in a character
or a poem.

It's difficult,
but I wouldn't know
who I am
without writing.

Give Me Strength

Tear roll down my cheek,
lay yourself to rest.
Close your eyes,
wait for sleep;
leave out all the rest.

Lips curl up to form a smile,
words I could never say.
Paint it on,
laugh awhile;
emotions run astray.

Help me Lord, that's all I ask;
the only One I seek.
Heal my heart,
crush defeat;
make this sinner clean.

Momentum

Momentum

We move on, we keep going;

we have to.

It’s about survival,

sanity;

being strong in the face of insecurity and fear.

So we pick ourselves up,

dust ourselves off

and march forward with aplomb.

The Ultimate

The Ultimate

Turn to His word,

always to Him.

It comes back to

The Ultimate;

He was laying tracks

before all of us,

through His men,

David and Paul,

rhyming

and hitting it hard,

before we were even

a speck on the map.

The Ultimate,

that’s what He is.

Throwing His words at us

for centuries.

And we think we’re the artists?

Les Mis

(Written after seeing Les Miserables in London at The Queen's Theatre. I can't wait for the movie to come out this winter!)

“Do you hear the people sing?”
From the corners of the stage,
actors honing their craft in the
historic Queen’s Theatre.

Plush seats in a rounded ‘U’
one balcony above the action.
I take it in from my seat,
alone two rows up
in a crowd of people with
accents that role from their lips
as intermission ends...
and a hush falls over the crowd.

The set, the lights,
the costumes;
everything done so perfectly,
voices ringing out beautifully.
I hold my breathe as Eponine
reaches notes high above the treble clef.

The magic of the theatre covers my skin
with goosebumps,
and fills my soul with hope.

Jack Jack: Character Sketch

(Another character sketch from study tour: this time set in London.)

He holds his father’s hand and jumps across the gap, with the grace and excitement only a child could possess. Hurrying to an empty bench seat, he plops down on the blue and green upholstery.

“It’s five more stops, Jack,” his father says as he sits down next to him. He places the cloth shopping bags he’d been carrying between his feet on the floor as the train takes off.

“I can count that!” Jack says with gusto, a smile on his face.

“Right, you can son. Let me help you with your hood,” Jack’s father says, helping him pull the knitted hood away from his curly blond hair. He then pulls his own knitted hood, both handmade by his wife, away from his own pale, white face. Thomas puts his arm around his son, watching him as he looks about the train car with glee. He recognizes his wife’s eyes staring back up at him as the car pulls to it’s first stop.

“That’s one,” Jack relays to his father as the automated voice tells him they’ve reached Tottenham Court Road.

“Four more to go,” Thomas responds. The doors close and the tube continues on its way, Jack relaying each stop as they pass Holborn, Chaucery Lane and St. Paul’s. He pulls his hood back on and helps Jack with his as the train pulls out of St. Paul’s toward their stop, Bank, where they’ll transfer to the Northern line and ride a few more stops before reaching their final stop, Borough. Thomas and Jack had spent the day searching through Waterstone’s, looking for Jack’s sixth Birthday present. From there they went to Hummingbird’s Bakery on Wardour Street to pick up a batch of Jack’s favorite black bottom cupcakes.

Anna, Thomas’s wife, had spent the whole day cleaning the house and preparing Jack’s favorite dinner. She couldn’t believe her little boy was already six. Thomas and Jack would be home any minute, and guests would arrive soon after they arrived. Anna loved celebrations, any kind; she had decorated the house with balloons and streamers in Jack’s favorite colors, lime green and orange. The rain had cleared up, and she was excited to see her friends and their children, who were coming over for the party.

As she waited for her boys to return, Anna poured herself a glass of red wine and sat down on the couch, mentally preparing herself for the events of the evening.  She swirled her glass around and looked around the living room of her row house.  She finished off the glass just as the doorbell rang, once, twice, three times in a row.  Less than twenty seconds later, Jack was in her arms, his little knitted hood hanging around his neck.  His mouth moved twenty words a second as he spilled out the stories of the day.  Thomas stood leaning against the wall in the cut out between the living room and the kitchen, smiling at his son and wife.  It was the happiest Anna had felt in days.