Friday, April 30, 2010

Confession: I Write

I’m truly unworthy of this gift
This gift of thought and word, expression and belief
On some days like today, I actually can write
And on other days like yesterday, I’m shrinking behind this flashing pointer
These lines are not planned or deliberately rhythmic
My inner being is in control while the outer woman writes
What it writes, it does not know
The next line may look like quite a show
I’m lost in it and there seems to be no finding me
This is who I am, I accept it. I write.

3 Stooges

Confusion, fear and distraction
Whichever comes first, are sure to be met
To confusion, ignore.
It hates disregard...your calm will drive it away
To fear, laugh.
It gets can’t stand your apparent confidence in its presence
To distraction, press pause.
It loses its momentum and by the time you hit play, its own plan will be agitated
And to life, Live! Because it happens just once!

Answers Made Easy

Looking for answers has never and will never be easy
In looking, you may look in every right place
But at all the wrong times
In finding, you may understand most of the answers
But miss the part you need the most
In following, you may know which way to go
But end up going to that right place through the wrong way
Looking for answers has and never will be easy
But in looking, look with your eyes OPEN
In finding, find with your heart RECEPTIVE
And in following, follow with your feet CONFIDENTLY
That’s when it becomes easy.

Still Feels Like Yesterday

In the still of the night, my tears appear
They stream down very slowly and drop heavily
Into what is now a bed of seamless memories
They appear, and then disappear

Every year, I don’t remember. No I don’t
I experience it again in that moment, in that very hour
In that very day, scenes as clear as a movie in HD
Stained in the memory of my heart

My comfort to another is to only be strong and trust HIM
Looking forward and upward always
And though it tarry, to wait for it
But this feeling, it never goes away
Even though these tears appear and disappear.

Broken Inspiration

On some days a writer is inspired to write,
Inspired to write about life, many times about love
Inspired by movies, literature and tales of old
Suddenly the writer is fully equipped with words,
Thoughts and emotions to write well
But there’s that moment of realization,
The moment where the writer snaps back to reality
The reality of this world, this unfair heartless world
He wonders where the love is. Who cares enough to find it?
Or to keep it or to make it work
It starts and is blown away, it grows and is marred in one day
It’s found and slips away just as fast
What is the point of love, the writer wonders
It’s not always fun and when wickedness rains, it pours
It causes the outward to be reclusive,
The outspoken to be silent
The strong to be broken and the
Hopeful to be discouraged.
And then he puts his pen down, uninspired to write.