Would you look at that? A week’s flown by already. How did it go for everyone? Mine was less eventful than the one before, which was a blessing. And NaPoWriMo! It’s been going well, though it seems I can’t write a short poem for the life of me. I’m not sure that’s necessarily bad—it’s just my style—but I don’t want to be wordy to the point of being superfluous or unnecessary. I could probably afford to learn some simplicity and succinctness. Speaking of which, if you guys have any critiques, do share. And, of course, enjoy!
see the girl
day 9
see the girl tipping her head back
beneath the strewn stars,
breathing in their light and the coolness of night
see the girl flying on the swing,
loose hair painting sky,
laughter mingling with the breeze and the sigh of the trees
see the girl off to the side
admist chatter and laughter,
soaking in the meaning behind trivilaities and personalities
see the girl running down the street,
wet with sweat and red as a rose,
panting and burning, alive as a sunrise in the vast skies
see her glowing and growing
see her dancing and fighting
see her falling and righting
see her trying and flying
see that girl?
she is a world
Stagnant Seconds
day 10
stagnant wood pool murk
like that terrible fear that
one day you’ll tip your head back
and the stars will no longer stun
time just exists—
but it doesn’t,
just a figment of our frenzied
desperation for domination—
just pulls everything into
its numbing nothingness
stretch of year after year after—
a blur, all the lives and loves,
all our imperfect shining,
reduced to a blur as brown
as the dirt we mindlessly trample
funny how this counting of seconds
makes nothing count—
how?
I need the stars to stagger me,
need history to matter,
humanity,
life—lives
those must last beyond
the interminable eddy time drags all
memories into
funny how it rushes ever forward,
untameable, unstoppable,
as water through fingers, sand
(sand in a glass),
yet stangancy is all it ever reaches
~
when did we ever convinces ourselves
that we were made to be bound by time?
Story Soul
day 12
sometimes I marvel
that we have been graced
with this wonder of words
that we, dawn dew soon gone,
posses this infinite power,
this unimaginable glory—
we, little we, sing a story!
~
sometimes I question
how we can ever hope
to fit the forever of our souls,
the cosmos and complexity of us,
into flat, clumsy symbols
infinitely meager in meaning—
words, little words: so demeaning!
~
letters and language are not, I know,
made in His image like a human life
but then I realize that He is the Word
so we are formed after phrases after all
~
and that is, perhaps, the answer—
He, I mean, of course is the answer
in that He is both soul and story,
all One perfect, inseparable harmony
~
why do we always try to separate
what has always been together?
Whiteout
day 15
What I wouldn’t give for a whiteout for
These scribbled-over pages of life
(But the ink’s still there, under everything)
What I wouldn’t give for a rewind for
This film of failure in need of editing
(But you can’t get it right in a thousand redos)
What I wouldn’t give for a delete for
Those wrong choices fed by lying voices
(But now there’s a hole, a hiccup in the story)
Look what I have been given: forgiveness for
All the regrets, mistakes, and disobedient days
(And the ink’s washed white,
Perfection’s already prevailed,
Words re-woven into a masterpiece)
Leave a Reply