I stand alone,
forsaken,
forlorn among mankind.
The mockery of princes is upon me—
yea, even paupers shun my touch;
a wanderer am I,
stripped of home and
belonging.
Morning brings no respite,
relief refuses to aid me—
sunlight only bends her scornful gaze
upon my face
‘til I am exposed,
and night offers no rest from my
oppression.

Frail beats my heart.

Crunch! Snap! Crunch! Sturdy, fur-lined boots decimated piles of dead leaves and loose twigs on the forest floor as the large brigade of unruly fumbles trekked through the dense timberland.

Forgiving myself,
It’s hard.
I know the feeling
Of Condemnation,
Of Shame
The sting of sin in our own lives
Reminding us of whom we are
Whom we tell ourselves that we are:
Unworthy
Repeated failures
Not fixable
Trash

These lies I’ve pinned
To myself,
Some longer than others.

My pride would that I mount perfection’s peak —
In every word and deed excel all men,
And in no craft or courage be found weak,
And ken each winding path of wisdom’s pen
Across the page of heav’n and earth and sea,
And never shirk the duties or demands
Laid on a man by love or honesty.
But while pride spurs me on, it reins me back —
For if I gain new prowess I confess
That I had some deficiency or lack
Before of wisdom, strength or righteousness.
So pride with longing looks and cannot climb,

~ This is also something from my book. In the story it’s a song, but I wrote it as a poem so it works without a tune. It’s from the perspective of a mother singing to her child. ~

In the times of joy,
Of beauty and of light,
In days free of trouble—
Danger, sorrow, plight

When your life is filled
With blessings of ev’ry kind
Ne’er forget my words;
Keep them forever in your mind:

Remember, my dear,
That I love you still
I have loved you always
And I always will

Long distance is
Reaching
To touch your face
Then realizing
That my fingertips can only
Brush
The screen.
Long distance is
Rubbing my thumb
Along the back of my
Own hand
Because it’s
Empty
Without your hand to hold.
Long distance is
Looking for your face
Every time I’m in a crowd.
It’s looking up
With a smile, to share
A joke, or trade
Glances
But you’re not there to
Catch
My eye.
Long distance is
Knowing I belong with you

It wasn’t okay. It absolutely wasn’t okay, and she knew it; not just deep down inside her chest but floating up in the shallows, near her eyes, too. The truth was there. And the truth was that what he had done was not okay. But regardless of that truth, that undeniable, unsettling, concrete truth, Enna found herself speaking that age-old lie.
“It’s okay,” she said. She smiled so Arlo would know she had meant it.
“Okay.” He accepted her lie. He was soul-blind, so it was easy.

Silence…

It’s that twisting in my chest
like a stone is weighing down on me
and I feel like I can’t
breathe.
Measuring up is
hard to do…
stress and heartache
rolled up in a
meatball
with hot-sauce made of
stinging pride,
reminding me that I’m not
good enough
to measure up.

I’m just a
little person with a
burden, feet are dragging me
down,
down,
down
in sinking sand.
Where
will it
end?

Grace.

Grace?
I don’t deserve that.

Hello everyone,

God willing we'll have another poetry party the evening of Saturday, September 7th.

This time I want to devote the first part of the party to recitations from the 'metaphysical poets,' John Donne and George Herbert.

I'd also like to go out and pick blackberries earlier in the day and then have some pies or pancakes with our metaphysical poems.

If you want to come from out of town, bed and board's no problem.

I shake as fear grows
And feel my heart thump.
I’ve heard the decrees—
They’re rules everyone knows.

To break the decree
Likely means death.
Yet I see no way out
Of the problem before me.

To obey my calling
And save those in need
I must disobey the rule
And risk ev’rything.

Must I obey?
Must I do it?
Can’t I refuse
And just turn away?

I fear the punishment,
I fear for my life.
Why on this errand
Am I now sent?