Here, Not Forgotten: Welcome Back to Blogging and Writing

Hello, my poor, ignored blog. Ignored is the wrong word; many thoughts have been poured into your development and continuation. I have so wanted to pour all my energies and time into my writings, for the blog and for my personal pleasure, but for a while life has been too busy. It's been a great busy- traveling, work, learning, and a ton of new Kindle books! I'm looking forward to bunches and loads of new book reviews, but for now, here is a poem. This poem shares a bit of what I feel when the flutterings of poem flit across my mind- exaltation in writing, but despair in the process. It's called...

The First Words

I know my purpose and

I know my soul

It’s the essence of promise

and grand ideas,

epic journeys, and at the very center

a beginning.

I am the first sprinkle

of rain on a sunny day

because today

the world needs a rainbow.

I am the rallying cry for

a journey, war, tears, and victory

and I will

lead the army that follows.

But I don’t know the big picture

All I know is the power

I hold for this moment

so I wait for the pen to bleed

me out onto the blank page

that will hold my very existence.

And then I start to catch glimpses

of busy schedules, distractions, inadequacies

and I wither

forgotten and unwritten.

Fabric, Glitter, and Sticky Fingers: Let's take advantage of somebody else hot glue gunning their fingers together!

Let me take a moment to be honest. I am not crafty. I cannot make something great out of popsicle sticks, ribbon, cotton balls, and a hot glue gun. For those people who can make a masterpiece out of raw material- kudos to you!


The website Etsy.com takes handmade crafts to a whole new level. It's basically a marketplace for those brilliantly crafty people to sell their art to the public. But we're not talking popsicle stick figurines here; we're talking about jewelery, household decor, bags, pottery, quilts...anything you can think of! It's so cool I had to write a blog to share it with as many people as possible.

My favorite creator/seller on Etsy is Beesocks. She creates the BEST covers for Kindles, Ipads, Nooks, passports, and other similar items. They are fabulously unique at a very high quality. I bought a Kindle cover as a gift for my darling mother, and almost stole it for myself! (And, yes, bloggers have mothers and they are usually the best mommas out there...at least mine is!) Here's a link to Beesocks on Etsy.com, and I highly encourage all you crafty and non-crafty folks to check it out.

A Dream Inverted

I open the door
step out into light
garish light
it saves me right after it
knocks me to the dusty ground
but rising again-
that is what happens every time-
I look forward and up,
mainly up, because I see
a canopy of trees
with branches of time
spreading out and around,
intertwined and singled out
What I think is significant
is the gaping emptiness
directly above
where time is not present
or maybe just not yet
and I know after I follow
this path I’m on,
after the beauty and heartache
of travel,
if I ever make it back
branches will weave as
my song, story, and time
will close, with a thud
and click of key,
that light-filled gap.
Probably, by then, it
will be dark.

Tribute to a Friend; I stole your sweatpants and I'm not sorry.

This is a diversion from my usual blogging, but a dear friend of mine who has inspired and pushed me has passed away earlier this year. Even though it's been a few months, it all seems so raw. And tonight, finally, I seem to have been able to spill out some words. I wish to do nothing but honor and cherish his memory...

I try again and again to write about him. Our story is too unique and powerful to lay outside the realm of words. But every time the words start to come out, it is only a trite couple of lines that do nothing but show the emptiness of my words. Again, this is as far as I get before I stop, knowing my words from here on out are going to be shallow reflections of a life that can only be appreciated by those that lived in the vibrancy of his life. But I feel as if I must go on. It’s been building inside for so long.

Let’s start at the beginning, and the beginning is not pretty. Even as it brings a smile to my mouth, I can say with confidence that we hated each other. He knew it all; I knew more. He took authority; I had authority. And from his point of view? He knew it all; I needed his help. He had authority; I tried to have more. And it’s here that I start that weird, laughing/crying section that dissolves into bittersweet recollections. We could never figure out what spurred our dislike of each other into the best of friendship. There were many discussions of what could have been that trigger- what in the world turned us from enemies into a team. We never had an answer.

But that friendship…oh, I wish I could say he got as much out of it as I did. But this is one of those things where I know that I came out ahead. Scottie had an undeniable belief in me that I would be every bit as amazing and successful as I dreamed to be. There are a lot of friends that profess belief, but Scottie actually believed. It’s only now that I see how rare he was.

There is a larger part to this story. One I’m hesitant to share. I don’t know why; my closest guess is that what I’m about to share is the largest part of Scottie’s heart, and I hold it very dear to my heart. To share it is to share Scottie. And to share Scottie is to say he’s gone. I know each person that Scottie touched has felt his touch in their lives, but I must say, I am very jealous of Scottie’s part in my life. Please, do not take this part of Scottie’s life with anything less than the utmost respect. I can’t bear to see him lessened in any way.

Scottie saved my most important relationship. More importantly, he saved a vital part of myself. There was a night soon after I thought everyone I truly loved had abandoned me, and he picked me up from soccer practice, bought us a hot and ready pizza, and talked to me in that parking lot long into the night. I was bitter, angry, and sad, and I don’t remember the specific words he told me, but I do remember that that was the night I tried not to hate. I tried to be the better, stronger person all because of him.

I also stole a pair of his sweatpants that night. I never gave them back, and for a long time felt rather guilty. But now…now I couldn’t be happier about being a thief. Now I can wrap myself into him, just as he and his lessons have wrapped themselves around my heart.

The Realities of Fantasy

The popular thought these days is to be into the hard truths of life. You can see it in the movies Hollywood produces, the reality shows on television, and the novels on best seller lists. But I choose to live in the fantastic. I choose to read novels that create a world, a race of people, a species of magic, a history, a landscape, a foe, and a triumph that I have never before encountered nor will I ever except in the far reaches of imagination. J.R.R. Tolkien shares his opinion: “I have claimed that Escape is one of the main functions of fairy-stories, and since I do not disapprove of them, it is plain that I do not accept the tone of scorn or pity with which 'Escape' is now so often used. Why should a man be scorned if, finding himself in prison, he tries to get out and go home? Or if he cannot do so, he thinks and talks about other topics than jailers and prison-walls?"

Escape is not the only aspect of fantasy that I love. I love the epic triumph of good over evil. I love the grasping ambitions of the hero who is reluctantly trying to save the entire world because there is a small village tucked away in a peaceful valley where his (or her) parents and the livestock only have wolves to fear, and the hero means to keep it that way. I love how magic is so prevalent. I love that fantasy novels use words like ‘vanquish’ instead of ‘win’. I love how I believe that every epic fantasy tale I read is real. G.K. Chesterton backs me up on this one when he says, “Fairy tales are more than true; not because they tell us that dragons exist, but because they tell us that dragons can be beaten” (emphasis my own).

I am not writing this to defend all fantasy novels; I am, in fact, quite picky about which ones I will spend time reading, and there are certainly some pretty awful ones out there. What I wish to share with you is why you will be reading book reviews, quotes, and thoughts regarding fantasy literature and why it is so hard for me to stay away from that genre.

Excuse me now while I escape my prison and slay some dragons.

Celebrating the Power of Words

There is so much inherent magic in words. There is power in crafting together a sentence. There is an artistry that shines through the mundane makeup of words. And that's what I want to celebrate today.

My last post featured the poems of Mary Oliver, and now I want to feature the words of Oliver. A while ago I was reading through many poems by her and in almost every poem a line or two would jump out at me, catching my imagination. In a scrambling burst of inspiration I made a piece of "word art" that combines my personality with lines from twenty of Oliver's poems. I haven't changed any of the words of her poetry, I have simply rearranged chunks of twenty poems into one poem. I call it "The Oliver Collage".

I fold the pages as I rise,
And tip the envelope, from which
like stones, leaves, fire it falls cold
into my body, waking the bones.
Something
just now
moved through my heart.
Something
that more or less
kills me with delight,
that lights up the otherwise
blunt wilderness of the body.
Nor am I talking
about the exceptional,
the fearful, the dreadful,
the very extravagant.

The stars began to burn
through the sheets of clouds,
and there was a new voice
which I slowly
recognized as my own.
It was what I was born for-
drowning in the music
so that I might step inside
and be less myself than part of everything.
And yet, how often I'm fooled
before such brisk, corpuscular belief,
but if I had to guess
I would say that only
my heart is on fire
like a shower of meteors,
like a million flowers on fire.

Deep inside me, whispering is
a murmur of
chance, luck, coincidence, serendipity,
but I'll take grace
as I stride deeper and deeper
into the world,
and I plan to be there soon,
and, so far, I am
just that lucky,
my legs splashing
over the edge of darkness.
Don't call this world adorable,
or useful, that's not it.
Don't call this world an explanation,
or even an education.
It's frisky, you can die for it.

I don't know where
such certainty comes from.
Not love,
not the wind,
not the inside of a stone.
Not anything.
But I didn't stop
though the wind pried
as I left their voices behind.
I have done so,
brilliantly,
so joyfully.
This broken year will make no change
on the orderliness of the world.
In the glare of your mind,
be honest.

A lifetime isn't long enough for the
beauty of this world
and the responsibilities of your life.
Every day
I see or hear
something
in the music,
strong as the pulling moon.
I was dazzled,
letting the silver clasps out of my hair,
hurrying, taking off
my clothes.
Oh what is that beautiful thing
that just happened?
I am perfectly content not knowing.
I know that much.

What do I know? But this:
it was what I was born for-
to instruct myself
over and over
in joy
to lose myself,
to look,
to listen,
to become
what the soul is supposed to be-
a wild place never visited,
and I plan to be there soon.
Today began,
I feel myself turning
into something of inexplicable value.
I know that much.

Featured Poet: Mary Oliver

There are poems, and then there are poems. The poems I love I read constantly, and when I do my heart flutters a little, my lips tug themselves into a smile, and I’m pretty sure my eyes shine a little brighter. There are many different authors and styles of poetry that can grasp this reaction from me, but today I will share just one author with you. Her name is Mary Oliver, and here are two poems.

The Journey

One day you finally knew
what you had to do, and began,
though the voices around you
kept shouting
their bad advice--
though the whole house
began to tremble
and you felt the old tug
at your ankles.
"Mend my life!"
each voice cried.
But you didn't stop.
You knew what you had to do,
though the wind pried
with its stiff fingers
at the very foundations,
though their melancholy
was terrible.
It was already late
enough, and a wild night,
and the road full of fallen
branches and stones.
But little by little,
as you left their voices behind,
the stars began to burn
through the sheets of clouds,
and there was a new voice
which you slowly
recognized as your own,
that kept you company
as you strode deeper and deeper
into the world,
determined to do
the only thing you could do--
determined to save
the only life you could save.

After Arguing Against the Contention that Art Must Come From Discontent.

Whispering to each handhold, "I'll be back,"
I go up the cliff in the dark. One place
I loosen a rock and listen a long time
till it hits, faint in the gulf, but the rush
of the torrent almost drowns it out, and the wind --
I almost forgot the wind: it tears at your side
or it waits and then buffets; you sag outward...

I remember they said it would be hard. I scramble
by luck into a little pocket out of
the wind and begin to beat on the stones
with my scratched numb hands, rocking back and forth
in silent laughter there in the dark--
"Made it again!" Oh how I love this climb!
-- the whispering to the stones, the drag, the weight
as your muscles crack and ease on, working
right. They are back there, discontent,
waiting to be driven forth. I pound
on the earth, riding the earth past the stars:
"Made it again! Made it again!"

Quotes by Jesus

Come Armageddon by Anne Perry is a Christian fantasy novel; a mix between The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe by C.S. Lewis and The Legends of the Guardian-King series by Karen Hancock (which if you haven’t read either, go to the library right now). The book was fairly good, but it was the afterword that shook my world, and continues to unto this day. Anne Perry writes out a dialog between Jesus and Satan, and the following quote immediately was and remains to this day one of my favorite quotes of all time. And this quote is by Jesus, not Satan, but hopefully that’s pretty apparent.

“To be perfect is to do your best, without shadow of deceit or cowardice, without self-justification or dissembling. It is to strive with an honest mind and a pure heart, and an eye single to the love of good. It is not to climb without falling, but each time you fall, to rise again and continue the journey, no matter how hard it may be, discounting the bruises and the pain, the grief and the hope deferred. It is to face the light with courage, and never to deny it. It requires all that a man has, to the height and breadth and depth of his soul, but it does not require more.”

 Words to live by, my friends.