I think I’m calling this one drowning.
all the air
but i can’t breathe.
i feel it here.
for far too long
i’ve been living in fear —
things that happen,
things that don’t.
what if payment’s due
like some bad loan?
stop. take a breath.
need to slow it down.
4 count in and 4 count out;
’cause if i can’t control it
i may just drown.
Categories: NaBloPoMo, NaNoPoblano, poetry, Uncategorized, words
Tags: breathing, breeze, calming, feelings, loss, poetry, thoughts, words, worry, writing
So it’s the 3rd of November, which makes it day three (3) of this #NaBloPoMo or #NaNoPoblano thing I’ve signed on for. I’m still here. **YAY!!**
I’ve decided that in addition to committing to posting an entry every day, I am committing to removing one bag or box of stuff out of my house every day this month. I am, sadly, already one day behind on this, but today’s bag was large, had a grocery-bag add-on, and also a separate stack of boys’ jeans to go with it. So, in essence, that was two days’ worth. Truth.
There is a lot of excess stuff in my house. I’m not sure why I hang on to certain things. Some of it I can explain away — my Opa’s pipe, my dad’s jacket from when he was a butler/handyman, many of BlueEyes‘ things — but other things are really not necessary. How many fancy beer glasses can anyone really need? Might it be possible to consolidate all of the scribblings on countless scraps of paper into one notebook? Do we have to keep ALL of BoyGenius’ stuffed toys?
I guess what it all comes down to is remembering that I am a work in progress, I am perfectly imperfect, and my life is ever evolving. Or as a famous fish once said, “Just keep swimming. Just keep swimming.”
Categories: family, loss, memories, NaBloPoMo, NaNoPoblano, parenting, Uncategorized
Tags: family, feelings, love, lyrics, memories, poetry, writing
Although this wasn’t written today it is fairly new; with the cool air and the autumn breeze it seemed an appropriate day to share it.
My God! Do you really not see what I see when I look at you?
The way you sparkle when you laugh, like the diamonds of early dew;
the light that glows from deep in your soul when you’re telling me something new;
the strength that emanates from your hands when you’re working with a tool;
the depth of wisdom behind your eyes that shouts that you’re no fool;
the flow of your hair, the curve of your hip that your beauty do betray;
the love that breathes and beats in your heart — it all makes me want to stay.
I wish that you could see yourself through my eyes now and then;
you wouldn’t doubt your value or your worth ever again.
This poem percolated for a few days, and I lost some of it while wool-gathering. I think it still turned out okay.
The first line of this crept into my head as I was peanut-buttering my toast this morning. No idea why, but I thought I had better sit down and find some paper pretty quickly (kind of like that split second when you know you’re about to throw up), so I did just that. And ended up with this:
I have held the hand of Death
as it invades and seeks to usurp
the breath of Life in a loved one’s body.
While Death is not pretty and Death is not proud,
wanting and waiting to snuff out the Life within,
it does seem to care for the shell and the skin without.
Rarely have I felt a hand so soft or smooth
as one struggling to hold on to another day or two.
Skin stretched taut over cheekbone and brow
may seem a grotesque mask to some,
but if so then surely one made from the finest silk
with nary a furrow or crease.
It is almost as if Death, knowing its own reputation
doth proceed, has searched for some small way
to repay the great sacrifices made,
and understanding that family and friends may be holding fast,
offers the only softness it knows,
one of gentle touch.
As I said, I don’t know where this came from, I only know it had to come out.
Four little haiku written on a sunny day in the middle of April, on a day trip to the hairdresser’s.
you shine so brightly
like a star that is falling
lighting up the sky
springtime and fresh air
like a cleansing breeze you breathe
new life to my soul
the newness of grass
awakened from winter’s sleep
bright and verdant green
hum of the dryer
soft music and phone ringing