Jesus

That name means anything sometimes
but my meaning frightens or excites,
my sincerity will sends shivers down your back.
I’ve embarrassed, I’ve encouraged, I’ve been
turned away from for that name
but I have passion and I have curiosity.
That name means everything to me
He made everything
including the people who turn away and who get shivers of excitement,
including me who can’t turn away and searches longingly for a glimpse
of that person.
I will use that name.

I wrote this poem after a party one day where when asked, “What are you going to do after school?” I answered, “Follow Jesus.” I got many reactions.

Something New

I do not know what will come.
I am listening for direction
but no person can show me
unless with the Spirits intervention.
I know where guidance comes from.
I am listening to the heavens;
patiently I am trying
something new
I have to do.
I have to try for
I can not just get by on my own –
a person needs grace
to keep up to pace.

I do not know
how what will come.
I hope I do not miss it the first time
though I know I will not miss it forever.
He’ll press it to me
soak me in it
till I notice His instruction
that surrounds me.
I’ll think ‘I should have been listening’.
Or I could find it directly
despite my human tendency to be ignorant.
I could hit it in the air with my prayer
and spectacular fireworks would emit
from the collision between earth and heaven.
I admit, I hope I am hearing
but more I hope more for fireworks.

I Will Eat Peaches

The road travels that way
but my ideas have carried me away
as they do each time a gust of wind
sets me on the ground again.

I spend too little attention
to know what a “dreamer”‘s definition
is – I just see the clouds and know
I have to ability to go.

The oppurtunists sit on top the trees
deserving the peaches they eat.
With an idea and the will,
this way will give me thrill
and I’ll be happier than everyone else.

My poetry writing has been lagging lately, but I’m excited about some new creations!

Neither Force Will Win

End war in the valley
between the river and the desert,
a chronic rivalry.
End the corrosion of the valley.
Our honor, we bury
in bloodied, hungry dirt.
Make peace in the valley
between the river and the desert.

This is another poem in my favorite form, the triolet. I wrote it for a local poetry contest, describing our community.

This is the kind of fierce battle I imagined for this poem.

A Lack of Understanding

You are an idiom,
never saying what you mean.
You are always singing what you want to scream
into the empty night air.
Do you sing but not pour les spectateurs?
You sing not to please,
forgetting perfect tone and leur idée fixée.
Sing as loud as you need. Be clumsy. Be scary
singing into the night’s silent air.
The only two existing are you and the sky.
Be clumsy. Be scary

mais les spectateurs l’aimeraient aussi.
They have found you.
Tu as inspiré during the unintentional debut.
Ils courent et vous le piétiner-
Ils vous aiment pour tout ce que vous êtes, sur et hors de la scène,
though isn’t it all the same for them?
Run! Get away, quick, before they consume you!

Find the sky.
Find a star that is alone.
Sit. Relax until you can bear
being a star again.

Translations for French

pour les spectateurs
for the audience

leur idée fixée.
their fixed idea or obsession

mais les spectateurs aimeraient aussi
but the audience would love that too

Tu as inspiré
You have inspired

Ils courent et vous le piétiner
They run and trample to you

Ils vous aiment pour tout ce que vous êtes, sur et hors scène,
They love you for all that you are, on and off stage,

A Special Brew

Who is that?

Oh, I think I recognize
that jacket and your face.

Yes, you are the man from down the street
that I see each Monday
except for some weeks.

You say you like to travel?
Still, I hear you volunteer
at the local soup kitchen
someplace I’ve never been.

It’s you I’ve seen in the pews on Sunday
first or second row
which are the first to take
communion from the ushers.
Why thank you, I do enjoy the choir

and thank you, I bought it to celebrate the spring.
You’re welcome; the coffee is a special brew.
Wow, your hands are warm
and yes,
I love you too.
Yes, I will marry you.

This poem is not about anyone specific. I just wanted to write about how quickly relationships seem to progress.

Genesis

Are my ideas of love only pure imagination?
Can they be achieved?
Can this relationship become a trusty rope
or will it be thin string?
When will Isaac’s messenger come to find me
for my water buckets are filled and prepared!

Actually, a small dip in the well would do.

Alas. I am no Rebekah. I am only dead grass in winter
and I need your flowers and violin music to revive me.
I need the doves and the orange trees and sun to remind me
what summer is
for this citrus-less winter consumes me.

Triolet

I long for a place full of green trees
as I sit on this desert rock.
Would any be as joyful as me?
I long for a place full of green trees
to see the moss, squirrels and bees
instead of the lizards, sand and hungry hawks.
I long for a place full of green trees
as I sit on this desert rock.

This poem form is called a triolet and I’ve been testing it out a little for practice with form. The rhyme pattern is ABaAabAB, that is the first, the forth and the seventh line is repeated, the third and fifth lines rhyme with the first, the second and eighth lines are repeated and the sixth line rhymes with the second. It is an exciting step in my work with poetry!

For Claire

We are a pair of kindergartners
who now step into classes
that do not use craft partners.

We have learned how to grow and how to live young
though we are on the bottom wrung.
I love the scars on which we cannot place a date,
love the ironies this world creates.
We forgive the cuts and scrapes of past mistakes
and have learned to swim through tides of joy and pain.
Just like we swam on Swim Day in kindergarten,
we go with friends whose love is never meek.

A Portrait

To me, you are the mature girl
standing on the corner of Daybreak Street and Sunset Drive.
One leads to the comforts of home.
The other is an exciting and ferocious road.

Your back is to me. The tips of your hair flutter
with the chilly wind blowing down Sunset Drive
toward those who freeze under their meager houses, tents,
and donated sweaters. They have tried
to amount to better, but lucky circumstances fail them.
They need your warmth to be inspired.
Your hand is stretched down that road,

but where does your heart lie?

Your right hand reaches down Daybreak Street
where I see the family home.
Your essence is sentimental.
Brown-yellow leaves in clustered aspen trees
are found only in the backyard.
Confidence is built into the walkway.
I see a place to find life: a husband, a child, a mantra,
and a set of personal cookware.

While you daydream of possibilities,
I find you still standing on the corner.
You turn around and together we sit on the curb
next to the absence of passerby to wait for a sign.

This poem was hard for me to write. I’ve never tried writing a “portrait” of myself before.