Do you remember 16?
Isn't it interesting that when we do, it is with wavy memories?
At this point in my life, 16 seems rather charmed.
I remember boys and first kisses, first holding hands, first dates.
I remember family holiday gatherings with food and teasing Tyler.
Oh, and pretending they all weren't going to get high when our family left.
I remember dying my hair black for Halloween and then, oops!
It will not wash out. Dang, my hair was REALLY black.
I remember Mrs. Anderson's english class and I remember the quad at lunch.
I remember Janae and Elizabeth, Gretchen and Jamie, Cindy U., Jackie,
Nicole and Amy, Christian and Emily, Danielle and Michelle...and various others.
I remember crushing on the other Vorce brother. I was so NOT into Matt.
It was the other one (Jared).
I remember seminary at the Killian's house and junior prom. Janae and I spent that night at Desiree's. My mom spent way too much money on that dress. I think my wedding dress cost less (maybe that's appropriate...)
I remember Girls Just Wanna Have Fun! Church Dances. Swing Dancing!
I remember my surprise 16th bday party (nope, not at all a surprise).
I remember youth conference and girls camp and I remember when I started dating Kyle.
That was the year we had Trish and Cindy as advisors in church. It was also the year Jennifer and I vacationed to Vegas and Utah.
16 seems so sparkly and charmed. I remember how much I dreamed that year. I remember imagining and creating. I remember the possibilities that the world was holding for me to come and get.
Maybe that's why I don't remember quite as quickly the disappointments and frustrations. I don't remember that Jamie got pregnant that year and didn't have an abortion for that one. I don't remember that my family gatherings were filled with trauma and drama and usually involved me cooking and cleaning for the event. I don't remember that I had to live with Cindy for a month because my family life was so nuts. I don't remember that we really thought we were fat in high school (why do girls do that?) I don't remember how scared I was to have a boyfriend. I don't remember how much Lorna struggled that year (and many subsequent years). I don't remember how I didn't get to do so many things because of the consumption of my home life. I don't remember that I smoked marijuana with Jerry three times (never did anything to me). I don't remember that Jerry got my little brother high (okay, I didn't know that until later...Adam was only 11!!) I don't remember going to Gretchen's house and watching Jamie drink while she was pregnant...as her dad supplied the alcohol. I don't remember the fear when my dad found out I was with Jerry. Or the shame. I don't remember the fatigue from being up late with drama and up early for seminary...oh and going to school, too.
Perhaps it is best that we tend to streamline our memories as we get further away from them. I do not find benefit in being unrealistic or lacking accountability or in denying parts of yourself. However, I am glad that before I remember all the other things, I get to remember my dreams and my imaginings and my creations. That is the part of 16 year old Jenna I want to retain and build on.
About Me
- Jenna
- I am a Lover. I love people. I adore the possibilities that love affords us and the paths it opens to us.
Wednesday, December 31, 2008
Sunday, November 23, 2008
Tragedy
Tragedies come in many forms
Whether bulky or miniature in scale
They come to us through the evening news
Or through a neighbor’s juicy tale
Their shapes and lines are not the same
The edges may be downy or rough
Those involved can be numerous or only one…
a person screaming that this is enough.
There are tragedies that are evident-
If a child is damaged or harmed
By a brutal hand that strips from them
Their knowledge of trust and warmth
Tragedy is obvious when a child is left,
Abandoned by a vile occurrence
By a drunk driver that killed his parents
And all of the resulting circumstances.
When there is hunger in somebody eyes
Not for candy or something sweet
But for actual nourishing food do they search
Because they have only eaten bread for a week
When bellies are swollen in lands that seem far
Or medicine is unavailable to treat them
When people live without the things that we have
We are quick to see misfortune and feel pity for them
We call it a tragedy when scores are affected
By a plane crash, a hurricane, or a devastating fire
Whether resulting from terrorists or from carelessness
The calamity brings people outside to rebuild lives
But, what of the tragedies that occur each day
That people do not often speak of
What of the quiet and subtle things?
Those destroy things that dreams are built of
What of the man who allows his life
To be swallowed in pursuit of some dream
While never realizing that the ingredients for success
Reside within the boundaries of him
What of the woman who sits and thinks
That she is beings supporting and sacrificing
Never seeing that what she is building each day
Is a lesson of inadequacy to a child’s eyes
There is the tragedy of the child under the stairs
Who watches his mommy shudder and cry
As daddy comes home full of infidelity dreams
Mommy dries her tears and plasters on a smile
Perhaps the tragedy could be in a mother
Who never allows her children to learn
Not realizing that each time she fixes what is amiss
That she tears a piece from their sense of self-worth
That same mother may have a husband who patiently waits
For the day she will realize he is there and perceive him
And wretchedly that day never arrives
Until following his funeral she begins to glimpse her sins
What of those who lead unskillful lives
Never trying to cultivate their traditions
Being sublimely unconscious of the wreckage-
Who said that ignorance was bliss?
One might see tragedy in the life of almost
In the one who never gets off their seat
Someone who lets their body break down
Until it harbors disorder and disease
Or one could see the tragedy in a life
That never learned to slow down and be tranquil
Never finding the glory and splendor that is present
Presented only when the audience hushes and is still
What of the musician, writer, technician or athlete
Who has a passion and a gift for the craft
Yet never finds the ambition to look around and create
Or to use fervor to forge their own passage
The tragedies in other countries and on nightly news blurbs
Are worthy of attention and discussions on change
But how can people expect to influence peripheral things
While disregarding the tragedies going on in their veins
Whether bulky or miniature in scale
They come to us through the evening news
Or through a neighbor’s juicy tale
Their shapes and lines are not the same
The edges may be downy or rough
Those involved can be numerous or only one…
a person screaming that this is enough.
There are tragedies that are evident-
If a child is damaged or harmed
By a brutal hand that strips from them
Their knowledge of trust and warmth
Tragedy is obvious when a child is left,
Abandoned by a vile occurrence
By a drunk driver that killed his parents
And all of the resulting circumstances.
When there is hunger in somebody eyes
Not for candy or something sweet
But for actual nourishing food do they search
Because they have only eaten bread for a week
When bellies are swollen in lands that seem far
Or medicine is unavailable to treat them
When people live without the things that we have
We are quick to see misfortune and feel pity for them
We call it a tragedy when scores are affected
By a plane crash, a hurricane, or a devastating fire
Whether resulting from terrorists or from carelessness
The calamity brings people outside to rebuild lives
But, what of the tragedies that occur each day
That people do not often speak of
What of the quiet and subtle things?
Those destroy things that dreams are built of
What of the man who allows his life
To be swallowed in pursuit of some dream
While never realizing that the ingredients for success
Reside within the boundaries of him
What of the woman who sits and thinks
That she is beings supporting and sacrificing
Never seeing that what she is building each day
Is a lesson of inadequacy to a child’s eyes
There is the tragedy of the child under the stairs
Who watches his mommy shudder and cry
As daddy comes home full of infidelity dreams
Mommy dries her tears and plasters on a smile
Perhaps the tragedy could be in a mother
Who never allows her children to learn
Not realizing that each time she fixes what is amiss
That she tears a piece from their sense of self-worth
That same mother may have a husband who patiently waits
For the day she will realize he is there and perceive him
And wretchedly that day never arrives
Until following his funeral she begins to glimpse her sins
What of those who lead unskillful lives
Never trying to cultivate their traditions
Being sublimely unconscious of the wreckage-
Who said that ignorance was bliss?
One might see tragedy in the life of almost
In the one who never gets off their seat
Someone who lets their body break down
Until it harbors disorder and disease
Or one could see the tragedy in a life
That never learned to slow down and be tranquil
Never finding the glory and splendor that is present
Presented only when the audience hushes and is still
What of the musician, writer, technician or athlete
Who has a passion and a gift for the craft
Yet never finds the ambition to look around and create
Or to use fervor to forge their own passage
The tragedies in other countries and on nightly news blurbs
Are worthy of attention and discussions on change
But how can people expect to influence peripheral things
While disregarding the tragedies going on in their veins
Friday, November 07, 2008
Prisoners
Are we not all in prison?
Confined by bars of various sizes and shapes
Are we not all in cages?
With claustrophobic locks of our own make-
Our bars could be flesh that traps us with disease
Or flesh that we have allowed to get insipid and weak
Our bars could be the cruel and judgmental ways
That another is viewing the things we create
Or the cultural bonds of what is right and correct
Or the insatiable worry of what will come next
Our bars could be literal and made of steel lines
That lock up a person for being of a criminal mind
The bars that encompass could be on the corner of the street
The kind that we use to drown our regrets and misdeeds
Or the bars of addictions over which we've lost control
That have crashed and destroyed ambitions and goals
Our bars could be fear that cripples and binds
Fear of humans, of creatures, of intellectual minds
Of the neighbor next door, or perhaps its his pets
Perhaps it is fear of his beliefs or fear he'll want to have sex
The bars that seem to be the most common and insidious kind
Are the ones that restrict the connection to one's inner divine
Confined by bars of various sizes and shapes
Are we not all in cages?
With claustrophobic locks of our own make-
Our bars could be flesh that traps us with disease
Or flesh that we have allowed to get insipid and weak
Our bars could be the cruel and judgmental ways
That another is viewing the things we create
Or the cultural bonds of what is right and correct
Or the insatiable worry of what will come next
Our bars could be literal and made of steel lines
That lock up a person for being of a criminal mind
The bars that encompass could be on the corner of the street
The kind that we use to drown our regrets and misdeeds
Or the bars of addictions over which we've lost control
That have crashed and destroyed ambitions and goals
Our bars could be fear that cripples and binds
Fear of humans, of creatures, of intellectual minds
Of the neighbor next door, or perhaps its his pets
Perhaps it is fear of his beliefs or fear he'll want to have sex
The bars that seem to be the most common and insidious kind
Are the ones that restrict the connection to one's inner divine
Thursday, November 06, 2008
translucent lenses
a reflection in anothers eyes
can either show truth or compromise
regarding the image that originates
and if it is even slightly accurate
oh the value of a translucent friend
someone possessing innocent transparence
whose own shades of color and light
will not alter reflections of you in their eyes
For how better to find a snapshot of you
Then from someone who enjoys the view
Not out of naivete or simplistic denial
Or stemming from some disregard for your wiles
But out of a purity that is not often found
And is often annihalated by our cultural surrounds
What a refreshing breath of spring air
To look in their eyes and see the reflection there
can either show truth or compromise
regarding the image that originates
and if it is even slightly accurate
oh the value of a translucent friend
someone possessing innocent transparence
whose own shades of color and light
will not alter reflections of you in their eyes
For how better to find a snapshot of you
Then from someone who enjoys the view
Not out of naivete or simplistic denial
Or stemming from some disregard for your wiles
But out of a purity that is not often found
And is often annihalated by our cultural surrounds
What a refreshing breath of spring air
To look in their eyes and see the reflection there
Friday, October 17, 2008
uncertainty
Would I ever want to be sure
or can uncertainty be the more accurate guide
Can the knowing of one's not knowing
Provide the most precise of insights
Do we sometimes have to stand at the cliff
Or walk directly into the tide
Do we have to realize the wisdom in night
To identify which mountain to climb
As fear and darkness engulf us
distracting from our journey within
Can we look at doubts without prejudice
To get to the messages they carry with them
So really it may not be about being sure
About knowing without a doubt or a fear
But learning to look at the things they expose
And quieting down so their songs we can hear
or can uncertainty be the more accurate guide
Can the knowing of one's not knowing
Provide the most precise of insights
Do we sometimes have to stand at the cliff
Or walk directly into the tide
Do we have to realize the wisdom in night
To identify which mountain to climb
As fear and darkness engulf us
distracting from our journey within
Can we look at doubts without prejudice
To get to the messages they carry with them
So really it may not be about being sure
About knowing without a doubt or a fear
But learning to look at the things they expose
And quieting down so their songs we can hear
Tuesday, October 14, 2008
My left or your left?
Is it even possible that there can be
A clarity tinged version of reality
That is not altered by perceptions or fear
by worry of what you think others will hear
or by worry of what you think others will say
or think as they look at you and then walk away
Can any set of eyes look at their surrounds
and not be deafened by their internal sounds
Seeing the world through experience shaped lenses
With all the information confused by five senses
Brains try to process and sort this all through
Emotions get stirred and logic tries to show its view
Where is this sixth sense, this compass of man
To cut through the thicket with clear, focused lashes
Creating a clearing to get a more precise vision
Of the road ahead with its twists and bends
Yet how does one expect to access this guide
Through distractions, detractions, and roaring of tides
This world does not offer many moments of silence
Moments to release our personal inner quiet
As life pulls us on roads that the noises have made
That fear of our own potential have helped to create
Is it not time to get our true self unlocked
To decide from that point which paths you should walk
A clarity tinged version of reality
That is not altered by perceptions or fear
by worry of what you think others will hear
or by worry of what you think others will say
or think as they look at you and then walk away
Can any set of eyes look at their surrounds
and not be deafened by their internal sounds
Seeing the world through experience shaped lenses
With all the information confused by five senses
Brains try to process and sort this all through
Emotions get stirred and logic tries to show its view
Where is this sixth sense, this compass of man
To cut through the thicket with clear, focused lashes
Creating a clearing to get a more precise vision
Of the road ahead with its twists and bends
Yet how does one expect to access this guide
Through distractions, detractions, and roaring of tides
This world does not offer many moments of silence
Moments to release our personal inner quiet
As life pulls us on roads that the noises have made
That fear of our own potential have helped to create
Is it not time to get our true self unlocked
To decide from that point which paths you should walk
Monday, October 13, 2008
Saturday, October 04, 2008
the ramblings of the lost and confused
How can I get through this...they say that people do.
Do they really, though? That would make me wonder
Did those that get through ever feel this much?
Did they know what it was like
To have time suspended
while in their lover's arms?
Did they know what it was like
To have their body respond
To a look from across the room?
Did they know what it was like
To feel anothers thoughts
To see the pain so deep in them
That you can feel the cuts?
Did they know what it was like
To dream of far off places
And then open your eyes and see them
Etched in your lover's face?
Could anyone possibly know
of slow and sweet and explosive passion
Of hands and mouths that know the other so well
That there are no words to capture the connection
Could anyone else really know what it is
to walk in silence and comfortable cadence
And know that the other's thoughts
While not exactly the same as your own
You know they dance in flawless rhythm.
Are there another two who have felt this?
This electricity charged pulsing of souls
This always wanting to be better for you and for them
And in their smile, you know that they know
Do any other two know
of safety and passion, of lusting and words
Sharing, exploring and seeing glorious new worlds.
Does anyone else know what its like
to fit with someone in all the right places
Then to have to cut these two apart
Because of surrounding faces.
Could anyone else possibly know
The depths of sorrow and fear and pain
To have to wake up and look into the eyes
Of an empty, bland world again
Great writers have said that its better
To have loved and lost than not to have loved
I cannot believe they felt the same as me
Or they wouldn't toss out fortune cookie words
For those who have got through this
I guess something worked for them
But I cannot see another side
To this dreary tunnel I am in
I might learn to disguise my pain
Wearing makeup to hide my scars
I will smile and laugh and it won't reach my eyes
I might even dress for this part.
For that is all it will be
A role I am playing
A mask I will keep in place
Why tear it off and expose what I've lost
To those who took it away
I'll be damned if I show someone else
The suffering that is cutting me
I'll be damned if I listen to false words and looks
Telling me this is not about me.
So precious were those powerful moments
That even in their death they'll be mine
Not ruined or cheapened by the empty faces
Who tell comforting lies.
Do they really, though? That would make me wonder
Did those that get through ever feel this much?
Did they know what it was like
To have time suspended
while in their lover's arms?
Did they know what it was like
To have their body respond
To a look from across the room?
Did they know what it was like
To feel anothers thoughts
To see the pain so deep in them
That you can feel the cuts?
Did they know what it was like
To dream of far off places
And then open your eyes and see them
Etched in your lover's face?
Could anyone possibly know
of slow and sweet and explosive passion
Of hands and mouths that know the other so well
That there are no words to capture the connection
Could anyone else really know what it is
to walk in silence and comfortable cadence
And know that the other's thoughts
While not exactly the same as your own
You know they dance in flawless rhythm.
Are there another two who have felt this?
This electricity charged pulsing of souls
This always wanting to be better for you and for them
And in their smile, you know that they know
Do any other two know
of safety and passion, of lusting and words
Sharing, exploring and seeing glorious new worlds.
Does anyone else know what its like
to fit with someone in all the right places
Then to have to cut these two apart
Because of surrounding faces.
Could anyone else possibly know
The depths of sorrow and fear and pain
To have to wake up and look into the eyes
Of an empty, bland world again
Great writers have said that its better
To have loved and lost than not to have loved
I cannot believe they felt the same as me
Or they wouldn't toss out fortune cookie words
For those who have got through this
I guess something worked for them
But I cannot see another side
To this dreary tunnel I am in
I might learn to disguise my pain
Wearing makeup to hide my scars
I will smile and laugh and it won't reach my eyes
I might even dress for this part.
For that is all it will be
A role I am playing
A mask I will keep in place
Why tear it off and expose what I've lost
To those who took it away
I'll be damned if I show someone else
The suffering that is cutting me
I'll be damned if I listen to false words and looks
Telling me this is not about me.
So precious were those powerful moments
That even in their death they'll be mine
Not ruined or cheapened by the empty faces
Who tell comforting lies.
She
Her smile is quick and brilliant
Her eyes have a seductive stare
Her hands can caress a body
In ways that create magic and dreams
But when your eyes open she might not be there.
Her body moves quickly and lithely
With a grace that cuts through the air
Her head tilts a bit when she listens
Her eyes flash when she's in the right mood
But when your eyes open she might not be there.
Decisive and sure are her footsteps
Of the community she wants to take care
Never forgetting herself in all this
She protects fiercely moments and connections
But when you open your eyes she might not be there.
What a glorious life might be led
With imagination and beauty as traditional fare
How can I capture the essence and keep it with me
So that when I look in the mirror
I could open my eyes and still see her there?
Her eyes have a seductive stare
Her hands can caress a body
In ways that create magic and dreams
But when your eyes open she might not be there.
Her body moves quickly and lithely
With a grace that cuts through the air
Her head tilts a bit when she listens
Her eyes flash when she's in the right mood
But when your eyes open she might not be there.
Decisive and sure are her footsteps
Of the community she wants to take care
Never forgetting herself in all this
She protects fiercely moments and connections
But when you open your eyes she might not be there.
What a glorious life might be led
With imagination and beauty as traditional fare
How can I capture the essence and keep it with me
So that when I look in the mirror
I could open my eyes and still see her there?
Death
Oh god I killed him
his eyes are empty and cold
his body is lifeless before me
the sun no longer turns his skin to gold
how could I have done this
torn him from my grasp
turned my back and faced the night
mumbling that this could not last
oh the wretched being I am
that nightmares are constructed of
horror tears through my veins
as i see the body draining of its lifeblood
tears threaten to drown my soul
my body sobs and quakes
i scream I did not mean it!
i know it is too late
realizing the punishment i'll have to face
the scars that are slicing deep
i turn to face my crime
this corpse in eternal sleep
when to my surprise i see him
scarred, but very much alive
confused, i look down and realize
the body on the floor is mine.
his eyes are empty and cold
his body is lifeless before me
the sun no longer turns his skin to gold
how could I have done this
torn him from my grasp
turned my back and faced the night
mumbling that this could not last
oh the wretched being I am
that nightmares are constructed of
horror tears through my veins
as i see the body draining of its lifeblood
tears threaten to drown my soul
my body sobs and quakes
i scream I did not mean it!
i know it is too late
realizing the punishment i'll have to face
the scars that are slicing deep
i turn to face my crime
this corpse in eternal sleep
when to my surprise i see him
scarred, but very much alive
confused, i look down and realize
the body on the floor is mine.
Monday, September 29, 2008
the puppy and the girl
Once there was a little girl
She went through the land and all through the world
She marched to a drummer
That played in the head of just this little girl
People liked to see her as she went
To and fro, across and through, and around the bends.
This little girl had magic healing powers
Though of them she was remarkably unaware
But, others, they could sense this
And soon word spread across the land
That this girls magic was in her little hands
What happened next was almost sad
But the little girl would not have said so
For everyone had need of her
And, no one would free her and let her go.
Soon she spent all of her time
Healing those who wanted all of her for themselves.
So the little girl was still to and fro,
But not with pleasing, frolicking skips.
For soon she found that those who only took
Were draining her sip by sip by sip by sip.
Til one day she came upon a puppy
Who was fierce and full of pain
She tried to reach out to help him
And he yelped and withrew from her hands.
This puppy had once loved somebody
He had wanted to be loyal and true
His nature said this is how he should be
But, he was hurt when he let his nature come through.
The little girl, mystified and intrigued
Reached her hands from a different way
Though the puppy could feel the glitter of magic
He nipped her and turned his face away.
You see, he had believed in that magic
He had tried to create it before
But the other boys and girls had only mocked him
They had kicked him, cut him, and then beat him some more.
This little girl decided to try a new way
For her heart felt a connection to this wounded animal
She began to frolic around the young pup
She wanted him to believe
That she would not hurt or abuse him
She needed to resuscitate his capacity for trust.
Over days and weeks the young pup
Began to enjoy this girls visits
And the little girl found
when she used her magic as she chose
That she was not tired or weary any more.
She began to realize that she needed this pup
At least as much as he needed her
And that together they could heal their wounds
And then spread the magic throughout the land.
The weeks turned into months
Their time went swifly by
But, still the puppy was having a terrible time
Believing the girl
He wanted to believe that they were not lies
That she would be loyal and true
He felt the magic as it whirled around her
He wanted her to feel his too.
The little girl was puzzled.
She knew that she loved this young pup.
Yet she felt that his barriers were keeping them
From using their magic the way they should.
As the months passed
She was still nursing wounds on her hands
From times when he had nipped and bit
In the fear and disbelief that raged within
She tried to understand
The depths to which this young pup had been maimed
She wore no bandages on her wounds
But, learned how to control the pain.
The villagers do not know
The end of this little girl's tale
But, they have realized
That her loyalty will not fail
Perhaps that is part of her magic
The undefinable things that she sees
The trick is that if she sees them
She will not let go of what she believes
So, still the girl and the puppy play
And still she hopes he will heal
For she knows the power within them both
Is greater if combined and allowed to release.
For the puppy the conflict rages on
And he sorrows for how he has hurt the girl
Yet he does not know yet how to stop
And let her all the way into his animal world
He glimpses the magic they could create
And can almost taste it on his tongue
This makes the conflict all the more fierce
So it rages on and on and on and on...
She went through the land and all through the world
She marched to a drummer
That played in the head of just this little girl
People liked to see her as she went
To and fro, across and through, and around the bends.
This little girl had magic healing powers
Though of them she was remarkably unaware
But, others, they could sense this
And soon word spread across the land
That this girls magic was in her little hands
What happened next was almost sad
But the little girl would not have said so
For everyone had need of her
And, no one would free her and let her go.
Soon she spent all of her time
Healing those who wanted all of her for themselves.
So the little girl was still to and fro,
But not with pleasing, frolicking skips.
For soon she found that those who only took
Were draining her sip by sip by sip by sip.
Til one day she came upon a puppy
Who was fierce and full of pain
She tried to reach out to help him
And he yelped and withrew from her hands.
This puppy had once loved somebody
He had wanted to be loyal and true
His nature said this is how he should be
But, he was hurt when he let his nature come through.
The little girl, mystified and intrigued
Reached her hands from a different way
Though the puppy could feel the glitter of magic
He nipped her and turned his face away.
You see, he had believed in that magic
He had tried to create it before
But the other boys and girls had only mocked him
They had kicked him, cut him, and then beat him some more.
This little girl decided to try a new way
For her heart felt a connection to this wounded animal
She began to frolic around the young pup
She wanted him to believe
That she would not hurt or abuse him
She needed to resuscitate his capacity for trust.
Over days and weeks the young pup
Began to enjoy this girls visits
And the little girl found
when she used her magic as she chose
That she was not tired or weary any more.
She began to realize that she needed this pup
At least as much as he needed her
And that together they could heal their wounds
And then spread the magic throughout the land.
The weeks turned into months
Their time went swifly by
But, still the puppy was having a terrible time
Believing the girl
He wanted to believe that they were not lies
That she would be loyal and true
He felt the magic as it whirled around her
He wanted her to feel his too.
The little girl was puzzled.
She knew that she loved this young pup.
Yet she felt that his barriers were keeping them
From using their magic the way they should.
As the months passed
She was still nursing wounds on her hands
From times when he had nipped and bit
In the fear and disbelief that raged within
She tried to understand
The depths to which this young pup had been maimed
She wore no bandages on her wounds
But, learned how to control the pain.
The villagers do not know
The end of this little girl's tale
But, they have realized
That her loyalty will not fail
Perhaps that is part of her magic
The undefinable things that she sees
The trick is that if she sees them
She will not let go of what she believes
So, still the girl and the puppy play
And still she hopes he will heal
For she knows the power within them both
Is greater if combined and allowed to release.
For the puppy the conflict rages on
And he sorrows for how he has hurt the girl
Yet he does not know yet how to stop
And let her all the way into his animal world
He glimpses the magic they could create
And can almost taste it on his tongue
This makes the conflict all the more fierce
So it rages on and on and on and on...
Tuesday, September 16, 2008
Letting Elves in the World Again
The emerald grass crunched beneath her feet
As she tiptoed through the forest
Her ears were perked and listening
For clues to an enemy’s presence
Through black and misty trees
Another lass emerged
She, too, was trying to not be seen
Her muffled footsteps were not heard.
Quietly these two fair maids
Approached each other’s paths
When suddenly one yelped loudly in alarm
As they bumped one another’s backs
They fell to the ground-giggling and gleeful
With hearts as free as unfettered birds
These two Elvin friends that were playing pretend
Enjoying the magic that lay in the firs
Their hair curled round their ears
Their eyes were alive with hope
They spoke of their dreams and imagining things
Of nightmares and evil they never spoke
These two darling elves, enjoying their days
Playing in worlds past and future
Creating the wonder that lit up their faces
Not caring for bland and colorless fare
Then one day in their wonderful dreaming spot
An ogre came and destroyed their field of play
She told them that only foolish ones thought
That life could be colored in so many shades
She chastised them for their wandering ways
And warned them never to roam
They must never think that they could escape
And set out on adventures or grow
The ogre destroyed all the joy that she found
And left these tiny elves distraught
She sauntered away, pleased and assured
That this was quite a good lesson she’d taught
For there once was a time, if you go back very far
That this ogre was not always so mean
In fact, at one time, she had hopeful eyes
And (gasp!), she had even had dreams
So, it was her duty, her call, her job
To make sure these impetuous elves
Knew that their dreams and hopes and fun
Were only going to damage themselves
Better to dash any creative thoughts
To clear any springing up of imaginings
Than to have them find out later than this
That elves simply were not allowed to be
These two little elves, with hair round their ears
Lost dreams shining in their eyes
Sat still and dejected, not saying a word
Each feeling the loss of her fire
When out through the firs came a rustling sound
Bursting through them came an Elvin man
An Elvin man? This did not make sense
For elves could not grow into women and men
This Elvin man came over to them
He handed them a soft cloth for their tears
He slowly sat down and began to tell
Of how he had avoided their ogre-ish fears
He told them that he’d been a knight in these woods
He told them that he’d been a pirate at sea
He told them of how he’d saved his true love
From a witch who liked to eat Elvin meat
He quietly smiled as he continued his tales
Their tears farther apart and more few
He told them of when he’d been a fierce shark
And of the time he’d slain a dragon…or two
He began to laugh as he went on to explain
The time that he’d been a court jester
He told them the same jokes he had told to the king
And, noticed their eyes were getting much drier
Soon these young Elvin lasses
Were shaking with laughter again
Their eyes sparkled with his adventures so grand
Their delightful magic was creeping back in
The older elf with his wise, twinkling eyes
Patted them each on the head as he smiled
With love for their souls written on his discerning face
He bade them return to their games and wiles
He reminded them that ogres know some things
But to listen to everything they say would be rash
For nobody should stifle fanciful thoughts
Or the magic would never come back
He also reminded these two petite ones
That ogres were not always so
They had in the past been choice little Elves
Who grew up and had lost their free souls
As the older elf crouched to his knees
He looked them deep in their eyes
He said do not fear and do not be ashamed
Your magic you should never hide
When you hold on to this sparkling place
You’ll teach others to do so too.
And, this is the way we can bring back the Elves
And remind them of what they can do
When the Elven girls turned home for the night
And looked back to bid him goodbye
He had already disappeared into the firs
But, they felt the magic in his flight
Remembering his words these two made a pact
to never the magic ignore
That as they grew older and tempted to change
They would not let themselves become ogres.
With their sincere pact a tide was turned
A wondrous change occurred
Slowly and carefully over the years
Elves began to take back the land.
As she tiptoed through the forest
Her ears were perked and listening
For clues to an enemy’s presence
Through black and misty trees
Another lass emerged
She, too, was trying to not be seen
Her muffled footsteps were not heard.
Quietly these two fair maids
Approached each other’s paths
When suddenly one yelped loudly in alarm
As they bumped one another’s backs
They fell to the ground-giggling and gleeful
With hearts as free as unfettered birds
These two Elvin friends that were playing pretend
Enjoying the magic that lay in the firs
Their hair curled round their ears
Their eyes were alive with hope
They spoke of their dreams and imagining things
Of nightmares and evil they never spoke
These two darling elves, enjoying their days
Playing in worlds past and future
Creating the wonder that lit up their faces
Not caring for bland and colorless fare
Then one day in their wonderful dreaming spot
An ogre came and destroyed their field of play
She told them that only foolish ones thought
That life could be colored in so many shades
She chastised them for their wandering ways
And warned them never to roam
They must never think that they could escape
And set out on adventures or grow
The ogre destroyed all the joy that she found
And left these tiny elves distraught
She sauntered away, pleased and assured
That this was quite a good lesson she’d taught
For there once was a time, if you go back very far
That this ogre was not always so mean
In fact, at one time, she had hopeful eyes
And (gasp!), she had even had dreams
So, it was her duty, her call, her job
To make sure these impetuous elves
Knew that their dreams and hopes and fun
Were only going to damage themselves
Better to dash any creative thoughts
To clear any springing up of imaginings
Than to have them find out later than this
That elves simply were not allowed to be
These two little elves, with hair round their ears
Lost dreams shining in their eyes
Sat still and dejected, not saying a word
Each feeling the loss of her fire
When out through the firs came a rustling sound
Bursting through them came an Elvin man
An Elvin man? This did not make sense
For elves could not grow into women and men
This Elvin man came over to them
He handed them a soft cloth for their tears
He slowly sat down and began to tell
Of how he had avoided their ogre-ish fears
He told them that he’d been a knight in these woods
He told them that he’d been a pirate at sea
He told them of how he’d saved his true love
From a witch who liked to eat Elvin meat
He quietly smiled as he continued his tales
Their tears farther apart and more few
He told them of when he’d been a fierce shark
And of the time he’d slain a dragon…or two
He began to laugh as he went on to explain
The time that he’d been a court jester
He told them the same jokes he had told to the king
And, noticed their eyes were getting much drier
Soon these young Elvin lasses
Were shaking with laughter again
Their eyes sparkled with his adventures so grand
Their delightful magic was creeping back in
The older elf with his wise, twinkling eyes
Patted them each on the head as he smiled
With love for their souls written on his discerning face
He bade them return to their games and wiles
He reminded them that ogres know some things
But to listen to everything they say would be rash
For nobody should stifle fanciful thoughts
Or the magic would never come back
He also reminded these two petite ones
That ogres were not always so
They had in the past been choice little Elves
Who grew up and had lost their free souls
As the older elf crouched to his knees
He looked them deep in their eyes
He said do not fear and do not be ashamed
Your magic you should never hide
When you hold on to this sparkling place
You’ll teach others to do so too.
And, this is the way we can bring back the Elves
And remind them of what they can do
When the Elven girls turned home for the night
And looked back to bid him goodbye
He had already disappeared into the firs
But, they felt the magic in his flight
Remembering his words these two made a pact
to never the magic ignore
That as they grew older and tempted to change
They would not let themselves become ogres.
With their sincere pact a tide was turned
A wondrous change occurred
Slowly and carefully over the years
Elves began to take back the land.
I might be twirling...
My legs quiver and quake
Almost imperceptibly
My heart flutters and takes
Two beats instead of one
My skin is tingling and full of
needles that painlessly prod
I can hear stars dancing above
As the planets glide round the sun
My toes curl as delight overflows
My skin is flushed in the rhythm
The scent of you caresses my nose
I feel the sparks within the connection
Your breath warm and soft on my skin
Your words filling my soul
Just as I get ready to let you in
I realize that I am alone.
Almost imperceptibly
My heart flutters and takes
Two beats instead of one
My skin is tingling and full of
needles that painlessly prod
I can hear stars dancing above
As the planets glide round the sun
My toes curl as delight overflows
My skin is flushed in the rhythm
The scent of you caresses my nose
I feel the sparks within the connection
Your breath warm and soft on my skin
Your words filling my soul
Just as I get ready to let you in
I realize that I am alone.
Thursday, September 04, 2008
The Almost
the almost
Moving slowly towards it
Apprehension bubbles and sweats out through my pores
Breathing is tricky right now
Breaths come only with concious and careful thought
Mouth is open slightly
Will this make breathing easier and keep me alive?
I swallow, and try to
swallow the tension and fear so that my mouth will be free.
They go into my stomach.
Now my stomach is full and overflowing back up
They threaten to overtake
my mouth again and spill out over my lips and onto it.
Somehow I control them,
And they begin to descend again into the charred tummy
I look at it and wonder
Can I do this task and snatch the reward and beauty from the pain?
Maybe it is too late
Maybe I see some glorious thing that does not truly exist.
I decide to try anyway
I look out over myself and my fear and the blackness behind my eyes
And, as I move in
With baited breath, parted lips and slightly crooked teeth
I fall.
Moving slowly towards it
Apprehension bubbles and sweats out through my pores
Breathing is tricky right now
Breaths come only with concious and careful thought
Mouth is open slightly
Will this make breathing easier and keep me alive?
I swallow, and try to
swallow the tension and fear so that my mouth will be free.
They go into my stomach.
Now my stomach is full and overflowing back up
They threaten to overtake
my mouth again and spill out over my lips and onto it.
Somehow I control them,
And they begin to descend again into the charred tummy
I look at it and wonder
Can I do this task and snatch the reward and beauty from the pain?
Maybe it is too late
Maybe I see some glorious thing that does not truly exist.
I decide to try anyway
I look out over myself and my fear and the blackness behind my eyes
And, as I move in
With baited breath, parted lips and slightly crooked teeth
I fall.
the beginning
so here I am at work creating this blog. I have been planning to go the blog route for some time now and the trick has been finding the time to set it up. I have the traditional myspace and facebook profiles, as well as yahoo groups. I am looking to streamline, though. I want to create a more accurate picture of some parts of me...so, this is just the beginning...
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