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

It Is Winter

This is not an incredible poem but I was feeling a little neglectful of the blog and thought I might shoot this up there mostly to make me feel better. I regret not writing more but with the album about to come out it has been harder than I would have thought to find time to write.

Either way, I don't want you to feel concerned about the content of the poem. I'm not depressed but winter to me is depressing so it seem suitable to write in such a way that I expressed that.



It is winter
And I find now that I feel my breathe
I find now that I am more or less
I find now what I lost

It is winter
And all the memories come too
All the sadness and bliss
All the time

And in my heart the breadth of these days
Does not exist on the same plain
As the rest

It is not higher nor lower
But I am different
I am changed

It is winter
And everyone thinks warm thoughts
Everyone thinks of summer
Everyone but me

Me who wonders only how she
Can move toward being
better

If only it were possible
To ignore the cold
and just live

One more memory

I've been writing a song... unbelievable I know but this one I'm especially excited about.  

A couple days ago I had this memory pop into my mind.  It was one of my first memories and one of the happiest I've known since.  

My dad used to have this old, green mg complete with torn vinyl seats and rusty floors.  It was incredible.  As broken down as it was I still wish we had that car.  

Being the only girl of four, I didn't get much time with my dad so when he suggested going for a ride in his rust bucket of a vehicle I jumped at the opportunity.  He was taking me for a ride in the mg and I was going to sit in the front seat with my hands gripping the door handle and window all the way down just to let the breeze run wildly through my hair.  I wasn't even tall enough to see out the window.  The only thing in view from my sticky throne was the sky and some branches and I thought to myself, "This is heaven - my dad by my side and nothing to see but sky".  It felt like I was flying. 

I've never told my dad how much that day meant to me and it was easy to forget when other car rides piled on top of it - car rides to ballet, to lacrosse, to choir, to band, car rides to college and back, car rides with difficult questions to answer.

That ride was the beginning of many but it embodies the unique relationship this man and I share.  

It's protection.  It's challenging.  It's inspiring.  It's what I needed when I didn't want it.  It's realizing there is someone else just like me who doesn't care whether I failed a test or whether I sing the right words to Paul Simon songs.  It's the feeling of knowing there is someone riding right beside you who looks at the world the same way you do and treasures the view from an old car.

Long ago we got rid of the car and on that day my dad and I both cried.

Here it is:

It's the first time I'm going with you

It's the first time I'd even dare

The whole world passes by without a care

Gonna breathe it all in I swear

I'm too small they say

for the will that drives me on

I'm too wild they say

to contend as just a pawn

so I'll go, go, go until I'm gone

My happiest day would be 

not seeing what's ahead

The two of us not knowing where it's gonna end

and our futures charging the wind

I don't know the way

to live life on my own

I'm afraid to

race on all alone

but I still go, go, go until I'm gone

It's time that I hate

It's what's done me in

Oh the line we must walk all of us balancing

but if I look at you I forget where I've been

and we go, go, go until we're gone

Years ago, when I was a little girl, I remember my mother reading me this poem. Its simplicity struck me.  Its meaning was attainable to me even at a young age and it was poignant to me then though I still do not know why.  

Thinking back, I believe that was the beginning of my love of poetry - the rhythm, the meter, the mystery, the misinterpretation.  The whole experience was magical to me.  So, in light of this memory I thought that I might post it to help us all remember the joy of words and the beauty they bring to our lives.

Bed In Summer

In winter I get up at night

and dress by yellow candle light.

In summer quite the other way

I have to go to bed by day

I have to go to bed and see

the birds still hopping in the trees

and hear the grown up people's feet

still going past me in the street.

And does it not seem hard to you

when all the sky is clear and blue

and I should like so much to play

to have to go to bed by day?

-Robert Louis Stevenson

The Dirty Shirt Hearthbreak

 

You know that piece of clothing you wore when you were a kid that was just the berries?  Whether it was a dress or a pair of boots or a hat or a shirt, you would wear it every day and in between times too.  It didn’t matter how ridiculous it looked on you, you would wear it and it was the only thing that made you feel comfortable and made you feel like you.  When I was a little girl I had this dress that I loved but I was so clumsy and such a dirt magnet that it would get filthy quite often.  It never felt the same when it wasn’t on me.  This is poem is dedicated to all those pieces of clothing.

 

Dirty Shirt Heartbreak

 

My favorite shirt is dirty

It’s sitting within view

A top my pile of laundry

Still covered in dusty dew

 

How I wish it were clean

So that I could wear it

I wish I had not seen

The stain from that carrot

 

It doesn’t really look good on me

But it’s my favorite, my absolute favorite

It doesn’t really fit either

But it’s so soft, so absolutely soft

 

I don’t think I’ll go out today

I just don’t want to

There is just no way

I need my shirt, I just do