Left Overs

Enjoy this little snippet - a recent dilemma of mine.

Oh! The remnants of the season - 

Left to linger without reason.

I am not fool enough to extend their reaches

to the sparkling Spring or Summer's bright beaches

But what to do with these glorious canes of red and white

Than to indulge in delicious delight?

So I shove down one by one - 

licking and crunching until I'm done.

I care not for disciplined discretion in this case

Only for the sweetness and the brilliance of gluttonous taste.

And I assume it will be said that I died happy

Because I overdosed on Christmas candy. 

A call

I think that in my spiritual pursuit I have found that my bewilderment toward God has often been my misunderstanding.  Constantly we pursue God.  Constantly we ask that he let us into his person - that he allow us to glimpse his heart.  Yet we miss.  Our quest for understanding is often hindered by, unbelievably, ourselves and not in fact God's refusal to be with us.  

I believe God is inviting us, continually, to dance.

Here is a poem that is actually a song that Rob Levit and I have been working on.  Please enjoy this little foretaste of our upcoming project.

Where have you gone and why do you hide?

Do you not long to stand beside?

I want to know where you begin

And the mystery that is within

Hunger strikes it stings back.

You always feel the pain before you know you lack.

He has gone far away for so long

With only the promise of a new song.

You hear

        You hear

Slow down and dance with me.

Turn around. I'm here don't you see.

And dance with me.

Melody's out of reach - 

Where echoes of longing and desire meet.

On his lips are the words to complete

And in his voice food to eat.

You hear

You hear

Slow down and dance with me.

Turn around. I'm here don't you see.

And dance with me.

But the feast doesn't end

Nor does the music born of the heart bend.

Tracing out his line with each tune,

He draws near to be with me soon.

You hear

You hear

Slow down and dance with me. 

Turn around. I'm here don't you see.

And dance with me.

Where have you gone and why do you hide?

Do you not long to stand beside?

I want to know where you end

And the mystery that is within.

I'm A Girl With

It is often refreshing to write honestly about one's self.  It is not often done, I believe, because it is much to scary to be frequented by many a melancholy artist.  The natural depression of the creative does not allow for too much time in self-reflection if one is to remain healthy.  So instead we write about things we don't know like far off lands with daggers and unicorns...well, I don't but I've heard some people do.

Nevertheless, I thought it might be appropriate today to post a poem that expresses the frustrations I had as a child and that still linger in me even now, as an adult.  I was terribly clumsy - more so than most - and I have not recovered. 

This is silly and was quite fun to write.  

An ode to being quite imperfect:

I'm a girl with

  broken-hearted

Songs and whispers

  tears and blisters

It's not so bad

     That I am small

It's just hard to hear

     when I call

I tie my bonnet

  with roses on it

To keep my tangles

  from flying in angles

It's not so bad

     That I am small

There's just no help

     for hair at all

So heal my scratches

  but don't cover with patches 

Forgive this wild

  and scrape-kneed child

It's not so bad

     That I'm small

It makes it closer

     when I fall