Artists (30 Days of Gratitude)

30 Days of Gratitude: Day 12

We had our first Arts Ministry worship night tonight. Our Arts Ministry was started very much on a whim - I asked a student leader if she wanted to lead in that capacity, its as something we had talked about briefly over the past year. I could not have imagined what would have come from it. This arts small group has met constantly throughout the year, visioning and creating together, and asking how does God celebrate our art and how do we celebrate our God?

Our first Arts Worship night was a beautiful display of dance, poetry, and song. I never could have pictured tap dancers coming up or even the artists that were in our community sharing their heart in front of all us. Even those who wouldn't call themselves "artists" got to paint and sing together. We were invited as a whole community to worship God through the arts and I am forever grateful.

(students where invited to draw, write, and create together)

(we had tap dancers join us)

Psalm 23 (30 Days of Gratitude)

30 Days of Gratitude: Day 7

I retreated to Riverside this weekend to spend time with my dear friend Claire. Today was the most restful day I've had in a while. I'm reminded of Psalm 23 and how David finds his rest in the Lord. Here is how I found rest today.

The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want. 

I rest quiet coffee shops with affogados and coloring books. 

He leads me to deep conversations with dear friends and restores my soul. 

He guides me when life is sticky and messy for his greater glory. 

Even though depression and anxiety may cover me, darkness encompass me, I will not be afraid. 

For you are Immanuel, you are with me.

You Word and musical worship comfort me. 

You prepare me for rough situations and give more Chinese food that I could ever need. 

Surely the desires of my heart - good conversations, local businesses, wonderful food, cool weather, silence, music, and rest will be present. 

And in the midst of messy life I will dwell with you as you dwell with me. 

Asleep

A few days ago I shared about my journey through depression and anxiety. As I continue to engage with Jesus about that, the scripture that has been very prevalent in my life is Mark 4:35-41. Join me in the processings as I take the passage and compose a what's called a "found poem" where you use lines from the scripture or passage to create the whole poem. 

Asleep 

a found poem

Go across to the other side. 

Let us go across to the other side. 

Evening had come. 

Great wind arose. 

Wind, storm, arose. 

Waves, sea, arose. 

Waves beat into the boat. 

Great storm! 

Boat swamped! 

Wind, storm, arose. 

Waves, sea, arose. 

Jesus! 

Do you not care! 

We are perishing?! 

Do you not care!? 

Asleep on the cushion. 

Do you not care. 

Wind, storm, asleep. 

Waves, sea, asleep. 

Jesus. 

He woke. 

Woke up and rebuked. 

Rebuked the wind. 

Spoke to the said. 

Peace. Be still. 

Obeyed. 

Wind, storm, obey. 

Waves, sea, obey. 

Rebuked. Peace, be still. 

Wind, storm, calm. 

Waves, sea, calm. 

Dead calm. 

Afraid. 

Let us go across to the other side. 

Evening had come. 

The other side. 

Storm. 

Jesus. Was asleep. 

He woke up.

Peace be still. 

Who is this? 

We Cry

I don't know what I should be saying.
But I've been silent for too long.

Nine people dead because they went to a church prayer meeting,
to pray for revival,
to pray for hope and justice.
They welcomed in the stranger
only to have to hide under pews
pretending to be dead
just to stay alive.

I don't know what I should be saying.
Black men and women unable to feel safe
in the streets,
in their backyards,
in their churches.
You are the God of refuge, our fortress
but right now feels like open war.

I don't know what I should be saying.
Black vs. white.
Terrorist vs. mentally unstable.
A country divided against each other,
damaging each other
while blaming the foreigner.

I don't know what I should be saying.
what if I say the wrong thing?
My white hands cover my mouth
to prevent anything hurtful from slipping out.
But my silence speaks louder.

I don't know what I should be saying.
My lips want to cry to the Lord for justice and mercy
but no sound comes out my mouth
It is dry and weak,
afraid the Lord cannot hear

Jesus we cry for justice!
We plead for peace.
We weep for those lost.
Jesus do you hear us?

Do you hear the cries of our hearts?
Do you hear the pleading for safety from violence?
From murder and terror?

God save us! Bring us into your arms
Bring us into refuge and safety.
We are angry, bitter, lost, and hopeless.

My friends I stand with you.
I weep with you.
I grieve with you.
Even if I don't know what I should be saying.
I say this is unfair.
I say this unjust.
I say Lord we need you.

Lord, you are the God who saves us; 
Day and night we cry out to you. 
May our prayer come before you; 
turn your ear to our cry. 

October

October

Crisp cool air.

Crackling brown leaves

raked together

in mounds and heaves.

From green to yellow

to red to brown,

the colors change

in the world around.

The moon rises

sooner each night. 

And stars gleam,

shining bright.

In the garage

the jackets wait

to be clothed

on evening dates.

Long Time

Just breathe...
Exhale and take in the air and let it out
Breathe out the stress, the frustration, the annoyance, the worry.
Breathe out the sleepless nights, the long to-do lists, the never ending stream of meetings and meet ups
Breathe out the work, the fears, the traveling, the miles, the events, the invitations.

Clearly it's been a while since I've been with my own thoughts. Even when I'm by myself, I'm not moving slow. I'm running in place.

Perhaps I'm running on empty.

Just breathe.

May I Listen?

I have been trying for the past week to write something about the Trayvon Martin/George Zimmerman trial verdict. I have been unable to come up with my own reflections because at the moment, I'm surrounded by the emotion. I wrote this because I realized that my silence, while it was as a way to not offend while emotions were raw, could be perceived as not caring. So I wrote this poem. I hope to find the words for future reflections. In the mean time, this was my favorite article about what to take from the verdict. 

I find I have trouble coming up with the right words to say
To express my anger, my frustration, my confusion, and overwhelming sense of fear
I am afraid to say so many wrong things
That what I say will just add to the ever growing list of your own frustrations, confusion, and overwhelming sense of hopeless
So I remain silent.
To you I am sorry that my silence conveyed apathy.
I assure you I do not feel apathetic.
This is a big deal.

My heart has been beating for you - pounding in my heart,
Wanting to jump out of my chest and embrace you
To give you loving arms to hold
Or shoulders to cry upon

My mind has been racing for you - swirling, whirling, and preventing sleep.
Wondering how we got here
Planing and planning what to do next
How to fix it, if it can be fixed
What to say, when to say it, and how

My soul has been grieving for you - hurting, bleeding, crying out for our rescue
Crying out to our God for peace
For justice, for mercy upon our souls
Crying out to a God who loves us
Who hears us when we call
Who gives us a new song in our mouths and sets our feet upon the rock.

I find I have trouble coming up with the right words to say
So instead of my speaking right now may I just listen?
Can I hear your stories, your pain, your hurt that others too often ignore.
Can I hear your reality, the one so different from my own
Will you bring me into your life?
I know it is a risk, to open yourself to up to yet another person who claims to care
I know you may feel afraid to be hurt, to be wounded, to be misunderstood
I fear the same so I remained quiet.
That may have hurt you and I am deeply sorry.

But will you tell me your stories? Will you share your life?
Because I am here to listen.

Capes

When I was a child everything seemed larger.
The sun wasn't just a sun but a giant glowing ball of awesomeness in the sky that hurt your eyes if you looked at it for too long.
Its presence meant being outside and playing
and despite my lack of understand for how things worked, I knew that it brought life.
Grass grew taller like when all the boys in the fifth grade suddenly became tall and lanky over the summer and I was no longer the tallest person in class.
Hair grew brighter in the sun so I would actually look blonde instead of the "dishwater blonde" my mother called it but I referred to my hair as golden.
The sun was life and love and summer time.

When I was a child I used to play pretend.
Whether it was sword fighting or dragon slaying or cookie baking or dog chasing
there was no end to the ideas in my infinite imagination.
An empty wrapping paper roll became Excalibur while a piece of rug began a magic carpet and a hammock a motorcycle.
I could travel to Narnia or Tattoine or under the sea or in the jungle, go wherever I pleased and always make it back in time just for dinner.
Nothing had to be simply what it was.

When I was I child, I thought like a child and everything was magical.
The only evil in the world wore black capes and red masks and cackled as they laughed.
It was so simple to identify every villain and so simple to vanquish them with one wave of my wand or slash from my sword or one bite from the poisonous cookie they were destined to eat.

As an adult, evil doesn't wear such bright colors.
It hides in subway stations and parking lots. Underneath flowerbeds or regular beds, blending into the bleakness of the floor below.
It mixes the good with the bad so well that it turns into a gray blob that no longer holds any color but disguises itself as a well positioned rain cloud.

Sometimes I wish I wore a cape.
Bright red with a large letter M embossed on the back so people would know that I fight against evil.
But only kids wear capes nowadays, just like kids are the only ones to wear the illusion that they can make a difference anymore.
I put away that costume years ago.

Sometimes I wish I wore a cape so I could remember that I too can make a difference.

Rocks

I wrote this poem about four years ago, when I first studied 1 Corinthians and was given the task to look at what I felt I was entitled to. Four years later, I had picked up all the same entitlements but masked them with different words and different spins but they were the same. I let them go again and I hope that four years later I have not picked them all up again.

At the Bottom of the Sea
I stood upon a dock lined with mattresses,
With five friends standing small.
So no one sees the inscriptions I wrote upon their faces,
The words harbored in my heart from all.

Together we hide in the darkness,
Hoping it will bring us peace.
But the harder I clutch their hands,
My contentment begins to cease.

Their stony faces have no expressions
As they stand solemnly still.
I close my eyes just to be hidden
From the outside world.
I carried them around all day and night.
My entitlements, my rocks, my rights.

Freedom stood across from me,
The eldest of them all.
He was given to me upon my birth,
And always standing tall.

Fiercely independent and strong,
But upon my word and command
He would jump into the ocean himself
For I knew without him I could stand.

The twins of a pair stood in between
They were the desire to be praised
They never parted each other's side or mine,
For Respect and Affection are what I most craved.

They rarely looked at me,
But eyes were always daring off into the distance,
Hoping to catch a glimpse of someone watching
For a stolen smile would always lift their spirits.

I carried the twins for as long as I could talk,
When I saw that words brought praise and high remarks
Desperate speech I used just to get attention
It was a long a journey I thus then embarked.

The youngest, Leadership, stood next to me
He was new to this twisted family I had formed,
But the easiest to see with his dark sleek face
All knew that I deserved to have such a beauty adorned.

The smallest and easily missed
Stood quietly at my side
I rarely spoke of him
Or with him one day I might abide.

The man, the partner, the husband.
He was a future right, but one I wanted still.
The man I rarely spoke of to anyone.
It was my heart he was meant to fill.

He would be the hardest to let go of.
But then again, I held tightly onto to all of them.
They sat together, out of sight, out of mind
For everyone else had their own burdens.

Five rocks. Five rights. Five words.
I carried them around the nights and days
That I stayed on this secluded island.
Weighing more each moment that they stayed.

Smooth and soft, round and real.
Each I knew I deserved to have and to hold.
Who could contest that I had not earned them.
Yet there was one who wanted them let go.

I was commanded to throw each one away
Into the depths of the ocean below.
And there they would remain in
The dark depths that would swallow them whole.

And so there I stood alone
With these strange friends of mine
Small simple, but carrying great burdens
That had plagued me for too long a time.

One by one I threw them into the giant sea
Never knowing where they went or would go
All give, for it had to be all or nothing
I just let them go.

I felt lighter the moment I walked back
Without five rocks buried in the small
Pockets of my pants. But there was the unsettling feeling
That I had not done the right thing after all.

For I missed those rights once they were gone.
And even though that island is far behind
And the rocks are lost among the sand and sea
With other of their own kind.

I am still tempted to pick them back up.
God give me strength to leave them where they belong.

Bed of Pencils

I couldn't fall asleep tonight so I decided to write poetry. I was inspired by the phrase I wrote about a while ago "we hold onto grudges as easily as we hold onto pencils" that I wrote in a blog post almost a year. It's not fully formed out yet but I feel just like I want to get it out in it's raw stages and that's ok.

Laying on a Bed of Pencils

I cannot fall asleep tonight.

I lay awake on my bed of sharp nails of un-forgiveness,

tossing and turning mind racing from every single wrong –

what they did, where they were, what they said.

The sharp nails piercing my skin

bruising and bleeding – the reminders of the pain

I cannot fall asleep tonight because I am terrible at forgiveness.

But I am all too great at remembering.

Despite how many scriptures I read

or movies I see that tell me the same thing –

forgiveness is a choice that I must make

I hear the good words from preachers, pastors, and pulpits

sitting in pew after pew but nothing penetrates in brain of mine

other than all of the wrongdoing.

Oh I know I should make that choice every day.

It’s what the good Lord told me long ago ever since that prayer I prayed.

He said, “love others, forgive the wrongs did and done,

do unto others what you desire done unto you.”

doesn’t mean I do it.

Sunday school teachers and preachers drilled over and over

candy prizes for memories scriptures that I certainly don’t remember anymore.

To me forgiveness was a land of sweet marshmallow candy.

fuzzy feelings that are just as real as unicorns and leprechauns.

The fake stuff I only regurgitate because I have to,

because mom is watching me right now

waiting for the magic words that when heard apparently makes it all go away.

“I forgive you” –  which we all know only means I don’t want to talk about this anymore

because I sure as hell don’t forgive your sorry ass.

I hold grudges as easily as I hold pencils.

Writing my hatred upon the faces of my enemies.

Spelling out their failures – what’s a seven letter word for left behind?

“a-b-a-n-d-o-n” – abandon. Ding! Move onto the next round.

Sitting in a corner by myself with my sketch pad

sketching my the hurt of past onto relationships of the present.

Burning and bruising all those that have wronged me

I hold grudges as easily as I breathe.

With every intake of breath I remember –

The time you left me waiting at the bus stop

for two whole hours never knowing, never showing up

I stare at the phone willing it to ring, to explain, to justify

to give a reason because there must be one for all the waiting

you wouldn’t just forget, leave me here with my thoughts and memories

remembering the times of the past where I sat waiting by the window

for that red pick-up truck that was already an hour late.

The clock ticks on by and the sky shines bright but no car drives past that I know.

Now the moon rises over the sky but no apology comes.

Lame excuses whispered and half-hearted sorries said only to make yourself feel better:

“Got tied up at work.”

“Got tied up at work.”

Record stuck on repeat, repeating and skipping, skipping and repeating

the same sounds

“Got tied up at work.”

With every intake of breath I remember –

the time you hung up the phone too early.

I called in pain and stress and I got just a little bit less of your time

than what I asked for.

Didn’t ask for much in the first place – never do.

And you didn’t even ask the next day how I was doing.

I sat in solitary darkness, only feeling my tears fall, not seeing anything.

We were separated by roads and stop lights and houses

but you still couldn’t see anything – you shut the door,

leaving me hanging and waiting and sitting in my own shit.

I tried to be open and honest with you but all I got was –

“Can’t do this now.”

When you hung up that phone did you know that I went back to that bus stop?

Went back to the staying and waiting and praying – dear Lord not again

I will not let this happen again!

Years later the record changed sound but it still means the same thing

What’s a seven letter word for “given up?”

F-o-r-s-a-k-e – forsake. Ding! Move onto the next round.

I was mistaken to think I would never be forsaken again

I was mistaken to hope I would never be left waiting at the bus stop

sitting in my car, or lying awake in bed – unable to sleep

praying, wishing, hoping that I would magically pop into your mind and remind you to call

just to see how I am doing 

The red face of the clock shines an ungodly hour

and here I am still awake on my bed of sharp pencils,

I can easily pick up and hold.

Lord help me drop the grudges as easily as I drop the pencil 

because I need to sleep tonight.

I hold grudges as surely as the day passes.

each one blackens my already dark heart and keeps me

wishing, praying, hoping, saying, that things will be different –

as long as it they who make the changes.

I will be ok as long as it is they who arrive when they say will

or stay on the phone long enough to hear the cries of my anxious heart.

I will be ok as long as it is they who make every effort to change.

I cannot sleep – not because I am un-forgiving but because I am selfish.

I live in a world circling, revolving, spinning around my self-created needs.

I look to help in the mountains where self-created, ill-fated gods reside,

instead of my true creator.

I look to the idols of attention, desire, self-satisfaction, and independence

to bring me out of this pit of self-hatred.

To bring reprieve from the heavy weight of the fall and all the crap that comes along with it

- the separation – the isolation – the loneliness.

Can I look to the stars that shine above in the blackest of skies

hoping that some light pierces into the sharp selfish soul.

Here He is, the creator, the master, the savior who

never forgot, never forsook, never gave up, never gave in

who sat at the bus stop and in the car when and is sitting by the bed I was crying out to a God I thought couldn’t hear me
as I wept aloud in the screams of my own own hurt, I couldn't hear the whispers - 

Daughter I love you.

Daughter I gave everything to be with you.

Will you let the grudges and the hurts slips through fingers and fall forever to the floor

Because what good has holding onto them done for you.

He whispers.

Be free from the chains of your memories.

I cannot sleep because I cannot hear the words of my father

Be at peace. Your faith has healed you.

Poetry Practice

Practicing poetry today while at work... 

My eyes are not working well today
They go in and out of focus
i close my eyes for a moment until I realize --
No! I cannot fall asleep.
I'm at work. In an office.
Was that phone ringing?
No, it was someone else's.

Why am I so tired?
Why does my body have a hard time getting out of bed in the morning?
Why is so hard to move lately?
I remember the days when I could run freely
Skipping, ok well I never really skipped but I did run freely
Joyously, with fire and passion
From one place to the next.
Setting a blaze behind me as a went, a trail of fiery passion
Burning, scorching, hot, hot heat.
Now I'm just lucky if I get out of bed on time.

What happened? Why am I so tired?

Solstice Canyon

I could stare at you forever. 

Look into the distance and marvel and at your beauty. 

I keep staring probably because it's hard to breathe because this hill was really difficult, 

and despite the fact that they say that I am not slowing them down, 

I know that my friends want to hurry and see more, keep moving. 

But I want to stop and breathe. 

Just take in your beauty.  

Is that too forward of me? 

I hope not because you are the most beautiful thing I've seen all day. 

The way your body moves and curves

The way your eyes, blue as the ocean lead me to tears

The flowers you wear, the purples, yellows, reds, all blended together so no one looked more lovely 

I could stand here for hours and just stare into your glory. 

Probably because then I have to walk back down this really difficult mountain (and it was quite a struggle to get up to the top anyway)

But it was worth it. So very worth it. 

I could stop and stare at you forever. 

Lies Are Shot at Me Like Bullets

(written during FUI in July 2010) 

Lies are shot at me like bullets,

Leaving their holes inside my soul,

Leaving their scars behind, even when the shells are gone

Screaming – I AM A FAILURE!

I wonder, when the disappointment will end?

I hear only hurtful words, replaying on a stuck loop in my mind.

I see the hidden tears masked with shouts.

I want to escape to my own world where the shouts are silenced.

A world with mountains that point to the heavens

And clouds that cool the air.

I am exhausted from the city that never sleeps.

I do not sleep well.

Awaken by heat and sirens

That blaze throughout the night and day.

Those words still blare like sirens in the dark night.

They scream with a child’s pain, who is now screaming at me.

I pretend to have it all together for I must keep up appearances.

Inside I feel frustrated and finished.

The wounds are too deep to hide,

Telling me I should have known what to say.

If I touch something, will it fail?

Why am I not better?

I worry that I have ruined everything.

Hiding in back bedrooms, I cry only in secret.

Somewhere in the back of my mind, I understand that I was right.

I was right to set a standard,

To take a stand.

And I say these seemingly meaningless words to make myself feel better.

I dream of cooler weather and tempers,

A life outside this city, a life in the mountains of my mind.

For I need a rest, a shelter from the shooting shells.

I lie still, bleeding, waiting for rescue.

Lies are shot at me like bullets.

Easily believed, easily received,

Leaving gaping wounds behind

Whispering – I am a failure.

I wear a mask too disgusting to wear any longer.

The tears will no longer stay hidden in back bedrooms.

I cannot hide the bullet holes with glitter any more

Can the world see right through me?

When the outside world returns, the tears do not disappear.

They return to their secret places, in dark shadows,

Waiting to pounce on their prey, once the threat has retreated,

Once I am alone.

That is when the lies come and invade.

Like a thief in the night,

Ready to steal what is left of my truth.

What is left of my security.

I lift my eyes up to the hills.

Where does my help come from?

My help comes from the Lord,

The maker of heaven and earth.

Will the Lord come and rescue one who is buried

Beneath broken shells of words?

Covered in dark ash,

Cowering in a pit of despair.

For when the lies are shot at me like bullets

I run into a foxhole, a pit of hell,

Praying for protection from the screams and whispers of

I am a failure.

But I waited patiently for the Lord.

What else was I to do?

The Lord turned to me and he heard my cry.

He came to my rescue.

He lifted me out of the slimy pit,

Out of the mud and mire.

He set my feet on a rock

And gave me a firm place to stand.

He put a new song in my mouth,

A hymn of praise to our God.

Now many will see and fear

And put their trust in the Lord.

Leap Day

I had to have a post on leap day. It would be a shame not to blog on the one day every four years where the date will say February 29th. I don't actually see what is so special about Leap Day (other than it occurs every four years). But the summer olympics occur every four years and they have gymnastics and I think that is that is far superior. So in honor of Leap Day and the future olympics to occur this summer I have included a clip from Stick It and a limerick about a frog.

There once was a froggy named Ted

Who desperately wanted to a girl, wed

So it was on Leap Day

He got on his knee to say,

But a large croak was all to be said. 

And the Stick It trailer. Watch this movie. It is highly amusing.

God Went to Beauty School

Sometimes, it can be difficult to express yourself so you rely on others to do it for you. That's why I like reading books and poetry. Sometimes, other people just say it better than I do.

God Went to Beauty School
by Cynthia Rylant

he went there to learn how
to give a good perm
and ended up just crazy about nails
so he opened up his own shop.
Nails by Jim He called it.
he was afraid to call it
Nails by God.
He was sure people would
think He was being
disrespectful and using
His own name in vain
and nobody would tip.
He got into nails, of course,
because He's always loved
hands - hands were some of the best things
He'd ever done
and this way He could just
hold in His
and admire those delicate things
bones just above the knuckles,
delicate as bird's wings, and after He'd done that
awhile,
He could paint all the nails
any color He wanted,
then say,
Beautiful,
and mean it.

I'm Going to Open an Umbrella in My Pants

A Found Poem (from the book The Hotel on the Corner of Bitter and Sweet by Jamie Ford)

I'm Going to Open an Umbrella in My Pants

Didn't understand the words

Because I am Chinese

Trying to speak English. 

Quoted some profound Western philosophy

But I didn't understand the words. 

Breakfast of sticky rice, pork, and mushrooms. 

Chinese vs. English.

Jou San. 

Stern look on Father's face. 

Good morning. 

Approval. 

All because of scholarshipping. 

So I'm going to open an umbrella in my pants. 

But my mother knew

Even if she didn't understand the words. 

Peter's Plea: A Good Friday Poem

I return here desperate to leave my own shame.

Alone, there is no one left to blame.

I am sitting in the slime that surrounds only my own name.

In this spot, my distraught heart will stand.

Where swords were once drawn at hand

And lowered at one weakened man’s command.

There was one who stood to give a deadly kiss.

Another, an ear he should have made to miss.

And their lives now suddenly thrown into fear’s abyss.

Choked with fear of the unknown

But a single man’s love not yet shown

And a God who needed to return to His throne.

A man pleas for forgiveness.

He’s not the only one.

Three times I spoke those fatal words

Of a denial I pray he never heard.

Then three nails that pierced his skin

To free my life from the chains of sin.

Now I live in constant despair

Because of the three words I let loose in the air.

Scars that burn in the dead of night

But only when the sun rises they might

Reveal the burn within.

He sat in the garden alone.

I tried not to succumb to sleep

But exhaustion digs down deep.

A lamb being led to the slaughter

That one might save a son or daughter.

A God remaining in the in the heavens above

Trying to show unadulterated love,

It pleased him to crush his own son.

And he was satisfied when it was done.

This sacrifice unlike any I have seen;

Unearthly, indescribable, a mystery.

He dug me up out of the pit of hell,

And gave me the stories to tell.

Instead of removing my own shame

I gave thanks with bitterness, anger, and blame.

For it was the only thing I chose to let remain.

I was too afraid to stand naked in the garden,

Unable to receive any form of pardon.

I hoped that the paper leaves would cover the hardened

Human that I have become.

Lord what is it that I have done.

And the crow cries, three…two…one.

And we sit alone in an empty garden.

Peter and I.

One in the same.

Betrayer. Denier. Afraid.

It is here I plea

For grace and mercy.

From the only man who could stay up on a cross

So all would not be lost.

And when we leave the place

From which we tried to hide our face,

We were not the only ones. 

Ode to a Love Affair

My students are working on a poetry book and their first poem they wrote as an ode. This was mine:

Ode to a Love Affair

The first time I saw you

Hiding in a lonely street

Almost forgotten but I still you
And my heart skipped a beat.

I heard about you from afar

My friends told me of your wonders so great

I knew that I would love you

Even on our first date.

I saw your nametag first

Written in green and white

I knew that I had found heaven

Even at the first sight.

I brought a coupon with me

Tacky I thought it must be

But you were understanding and joyful

For I was prepared you see.

My empty wallet thanked you

For it has little to spare

But you were loving and understanding of my troubles

I thought love this must be so rare.

Each time I went to the place you lived

I was wonderfully fed,

I was so tired from all the food

That I had to go straight to bed.

But our three year love affair must end.

How I terribly the dread that day.

For I am leaving town you see

And I must make my own way.

I will always cherish our time together

I will never forget you my treat.

I will miss your wonderful sandwiches,

Oh beautiful Deli on High Street.

Love Poem to PACT

A love Haiku in honor of PACT: 

Twitching eye started 

Chinese food in library

PACT how I love you 

Poetry: The Photographer

The Photographer

Click, a flash. One more memory preserved.

One more picture to look back at when life

Seems to pass by. A true art to capture

The human experience. Joy. Hate. Fear.

The love of a mother. The innocence

Of a child a small child. The mysteries of life.

There is a strange empty feeling. Somehow,

Lost in the art. A part of my soul, gone.

The passion that once fueled the mind of a

Rebel, now withering away like flowers

In winter, covered in snow, awaiting

Their demise. A part of my soul, only,

To be found in one more faded picture.

Perhaps my memories are unfulfilled.