She laid back
on the soft green grass,
the sun’s rays
falling through the trees
resting softly upon her
like butterflies of light.
————–
*I am quite aware that I am not a poet, by any stretch of the definition. I know very little of stanzas and rhyming patterns, but I set a writing exercise goal to craft a “poem a day” for a month. These are my words. And sometimes my dreams.
There I stood
with outstretched wings
emboldened by my want,
holding the walls
of this little world
to keep from caving in.
But my stance grew thin
my certainty waned
and I felt them closing in.
Crumbling bricks
falling sky
the mounting rubble high,
And there I knelt
with broken wings,
the pieces
in my hands.
————–
*I am quite aware that I am not a poet, by any stretch of the definition. I know very little of stanzas and rhyming patterns, but I set a writing exercise goal to craft a “poem a day” for a month. These particular lines were born out of one minute of free-thought writing. I found the most delightful site today, OneWord.com where they give you one word and 60 seconds. And you? You just write. For me, this poem is what came. It’s a seriously imperfect, incomplete piece and I’d really like to develop it more, think on it more. Revise and dig deeper. I feel like there’s more to it than what’s there. But for today … It’s apparently all I want to say.
May you
always
be blessed
with
a safe place to fall
a shoulder to lean upon
a work that is true
a love that is fierce
a faith that bouys
and a heart that’s full.
For that is all I could wish for you.
————–
*I am quite aware that I am not a poet, by any stretch of the definition. I know very little of stanzas and rhyming patterns, but I set a writing exercise goal to craft a “poem a day” for a month. I conveniently chose February, as it is the shortest month of the year, but just my luck–it happens to be a leap year. So unfortunately for me, or for you (however you care to look at this), I have 29 poems to write. These particular lines came as I thought about what I want most for those I love. I wrote swiftly, penning quickly the stream of consciousness that flowed in the moment. And when I finished with the heart, the thoughts stopped. I searched for more, but none came. And I realized. This is all, completely all, I could ever wish for my dearests.
I want my day to feel like a whopping dollop of crème fraîche in a bowl of the juiciest strawberries ever grown.
I want kissing to feel like a breathless game of tug-of-war.
I want my next success to feel like the top of Kilimanjaro.
I want my body to feel like it can love me.
I want smiling to feel like that day between Winter and Summer when you notice the warm sun sinking into your pores for the first time in months.
I want my friendships to feel like those safe, quiet moments when you rest your head on someone’s shoulder.
I want my spirit to feel like sun rays busting through the clouds.
I want my integrity to feel like the tallest redwood tree in the forest.
I want my world to feel like a stranger’s smile.
I want my laughter to feel like pop rocks and moon pies and Coca Cola from a bottle.
I want the end of the day to feel like Chopin and candlelight.
I want my word to feel like the Eucharist on my tongue, a symphony in your ear.
I want being of service to feel like a mama bear’s instinct for her cubs.
I want my giving to feel like being caught in a torrential, but welcome, rainstorm.
I want my challenges to feel like the spider I crushed against the wall with one swift blow.
I want love to feel like laying in a hammock on a hot summer’s day, lemonade in hand.
I want my love to feel like the treasure at the end of the rainbow.
I want my writing to feel like the rivers that lead to Victoria Falls.
I want my ideas to feel like watching the stars come out at night and being lucky enough to see one shoot across the horizon.
————–
*I am quite aware that I am not a poet, by any stretch of the definition. I know very little of stanzas and rhyming patterns, but I set a writing exercise goal to craft a “poem a day” for a month. I conveniently chose February, as it is the shortest month of the year, but just my luck–it happens to be a leap year. So unfortunately for me, or for you (however you care to look at this), I have 29 poems to write. This inspiration for this poem came from here.
Sometimes I don’t want to smile
Sometimes I’d rather scream
For behind the
shiny silken screen
is a broken story
at least it feels
making due
getting by
but barely
at times
it seems
wondering
is this really the plot
how did it get here
where is it going
and when will it just end
the way I want
But even these words are
too honest and raw
And another step forward
another line written
is
perhaps too far.
And so I smile
And swallow the scream.
————–
*I am quite aware that I am not a poet, by any stretch of the definition. I know very little of stanzas and rhyming patterns, but I set a writing exercise goal to craft a “poem a day” for a month. I conveniently chose February, as it is the shortest month of the year, but just my luck–it happens to be a leap year. So unfortunately for me, or for you (however you care to look at this), I have 29 poems to write.
Just let the words fall
Just let them flow
They may tumble
or trip
They may bobble
and skip
At times their absurdity
may wrinkle your brow
But spit them
scratch them
be brave
allow.
Just let the words fall
Just let them flow
‘Tis better to open
than silence endow.
————–
*I am quite aware that I am not a poet, by any stretch of the definition. I know very little of stanzas and rhyming patterns, but I set a writing exercise goal to craft a “poem a day” for a month. I conveniently chose February, as it is the shortest month of the year, but just my luck–it happens to be a leap year. So unfortunately for me, or for you (however you care to look at this), I have 29 poems to write.
You are
the sun’s first rays
through the dusty blinds
the orange poppies
on a mountainside
You’re the funny fizzle
of pop on my tongue
the goldest star
on my job well done
You’re the scent of sugar cookies
as I breeze through the door
the swirling water
on the ocean floor
The top of the ferris wheel
the flight of a swing
You’re daydreams
and bird wings
and glittery things
You’re a run through the sprinkler
you’re the paint on the walls
the tumbling river
of a waterfall
You’re the wrinkles that line
the edge of my eyes
A bright red kite
in the bluest of skies
You’re Christmas morning
and birthday balloons
You’re twinkle lights, candlelight
the stars and the moon
You’re my deepest laugh
and the widest sea
My rocketship
My anchor
You are
———-
*I am quite aware that I am not a poet, by any stretch of the definition. I know very little of stanzas and rhyming patterns, but I set a writing exercise goal to craft a “poem a day” for a month. I conveniently chose February, as it is the shortest month of the year, but just my luck–it happens to be a leap year. So unfortunately for me, or for you (however you care to look at this), I have 29 poems to write.
I should very much like
to roll around
in nonsense
for at least an hour or two.
To flap my wings
with absurdity,
and nary a care,
or shadow of worry.
And if any look on
and wonder at the sight –
then let them wonder, I say.
For I’m beginning to see
that it’s in my absurdity
and nonsense
that
the best dreams take flight.
———-
*I am quite aware that I am not a poet, by any stretch of the definition. I know very little of stanzas and rhyming patterns, but I set a writing exercise goal to craft a “poem a day” for a month. I conveniently chose February, as it is the shortest month of the year, but just my luck–it happens to be a leap year. So unfortunately for me, or for you (however you care to look at this), I have 29 poems to write. This particular poem was the result of 4 minutes of free thinking. No mulling. No chewing. No editing. Simply writing the words that marched from my head to my hand without pause.
I was sitting in the front row, almost center. On either side of me sat a dozen women, with another row full behind me. Some rocked back and forth with babies cradled in their arms. Others sat quietly with wrinkled hands clasped delicately in their laps. And a few gingerly flipped through the scriptures open on their knee.
The hum of whispered chatter that begins the ladies’ meeting on Sundays is one of the happiest sounds I think I know.
Class began and the woman beside me read, “…Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy mind. This is the first and great commandment. And the second is like unto it, Thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself.”
That’s hard sometimes. To love your neighbor, that is. All of them. And without equivocation. Especially the prickly ones.
But as I thought about it, I came to some conclusions.
Loving your neighbor requires that you get outside yourself. You have to sidestep your bubble of life and extend your reach beyond your daily task list. I think we get so caught up in our “busy,” our “hurry,” our “need,” that we don’t see each other sometimes. Sure our eyes generally register that another human being is somewhere within the vicinity of our sight. But. We’ve got to start seeing each other. We’ve got to start looking the people in front of us in the eye, and seek to understand what’s behind the blue, or the brown, or the green. We’ve got to push the edges of our spheres out a bit and position ourselves inside opportunities to love another soul.
Loving your neighbor is easier when you know their story. Each of us is a vast library of collected works. We are chapters upon chapters of events and experiences and education. Some good. Some bad. Some happy. Some sad. And the sum of those stories equals our “why’s” for doing what we do, acting the way we act, thinking the way we think, and saying the things we say. But I have learned that love comes more easily and swiftly when you know those stories. Because the stories bring understanding. And understanding brings compassion. Yes. Loving someone is easier when you know their story.
Loving your neighbor is impossible without extending grace. No one is perfect. People don’t always say what you’d wish they’d say, or do what you wish they’d do. Sometimes they say hurtful things. Sometimes they say stupid things. Sometimes they don’t say anything—when they probably ought to. But. People are human. People forget. People don’t always know. So perhaps a better response to those disappointments or frustrations or annoyances is to simply give someone the benefit of the doubt. To remember that we’re all just trying to do our best. That sometimes our best comes out a mess. And just extend grace.
At the end of the lesson, the teacher made a passing comment that I think went mostly unnoticed, but was perhaps the most profound sentiment of the class. She said, “God makes amazing people.”
And I think she’s right.
God does make amazing people. And to love them is not just a commandment. It is a privilege.
If someone really loved me, they would buy me an etymology dictionary for my birthday (which is in less than two months, by the way, in case you were wondering) For real. If I could go back to college and do it all over again, I would. And I would study the origin of words. That’s all. Just the origin of words, all. day. long. Is that even a possible major? Well. If not. I would petition the University to make it one. That’s how much I love etymology. I mean … listen to this:
Behold: comes from a Mid English word meaning “to keep”, which came from the Old English word behealdan, meaning “to hold”. The current definition is “to perceive through sight or conception.”
Perceive: comes from the Latin word percapere meaning “thoroughly to take”. The current definition is “to attain awareness or understanding, to become aware through the senses.”
Now the word Desire: It comes from the Latin word desiderare, meaning “long for, wish for; demand, expect.” The current definition is to long for, express a wish for. To request.” The dictionary goes on to say that desire stresses the strength of feeling and often implies strong intention or aim.
So interesting, no? Enlightening.
As I read the scriptures this morning, I found that I was paying close attention to what certain people desired. And then I began noting what they were “beholding.” And in understanding the words more deeply, I understood the Word more deeply.
I beheld a tree, whose fruit was desirable to make one happy … wherefore, I began to be desirous that my family should partake of it also; for I knew that it was desirable above all other fruit. … And … I beheld a river of water; and it ran along, and it was near the tree of which I was partaking the fruit … and I beheld your mother … And … I beckoned … with a loud voice that they should come unto me, and partake of the fruit, which was desirable above all other fruit. (–Lehi, a prophet in the Book of Mormon. Reference.)
And I … was desirous also that I might see, and hear, and know of the these things, by the power of the Holy Ghost, which is the gift of God unto all those who diligently seek him, as well in times of old as in the time that he should manifest himself unto the children of men … And the angel said unto me again: Look and behold the condescension of God! And I looked and beheld the Redeemer of the world … And I beheld that he went forth, ministering unto the people. (–Nephi, Lehi’s son. Reference here and here.)
I will never reveal the number of hours I have spent trying to learn this dance. Let’s just say it’s like “Single Ladies” all over again.
And between her moves (in those heels, no less) and the 5,000 key change’s in this thing, there is only one thing to say:
Beyonce kills it. Every. stinkin. time.
It always seems that I gear up for momentous occasions/holidays/events, excited for the pivot point I anticipate it to be in my life, only to be met with disappointment and morning-after-let-down that it didn’t turn out to be quite as life-altering as I projected it to be.
And yet, I still herald New Year’s (new weeks, new days, etc.) with the hope that it will dawn bright and with faith that change is indeed possible.
The older I get, however, the more I understand that it’s not so much in the event that change is made. It is in the choice–regardless of the date.
To be different today, to be something better, to make something meaningful, to do something remarkable, depends not upon the occasion, but rather — upon me.
So while I’m grateful for the cycle and seasons of life and time that give me reason to pause and reflect, I find I’m particularly aware on this first day of our next trip around the sun, of where I am now, of what I want, of what stands in my way, and of the choices I need to make–deliberately from moment to moment–to actually live the life I have resolved.
___
It is not enough to want to make the effort. It’s in the doing, not just the thinking, that we accomplish our goals. -Thomas S. Monson