Add this to your site |
Writer's Treehouse was created as a way to keep my writing and my art separate so I had two blogs, but it's easier for me, at the moment, to post from one blog until I have more time...so my writing will stay for at least a little while on the Creative Faery. I hope you will visit me here!
Thanks for your support!
Usually Sundays are to talk about my blessings, and in a way, this talks about my celebration of having a direct connection with my God...However, in a conversation this week wherein I wanted to tell my friend about a new church I wanted to visit, someone whom I don't know began spewing Thou Shalts at me because I hadn't been to church in awhile. I got the sinking feeling I knew where this conversation was going, and stopped him. But he inspired this poem and a lot of thought about who my God is and what my true purpose so this is my blessing.
Church & The Telephone Game
You practiced your preaching
On me today
While I was in the midst of celebrating
A new house of God.
Wagging your finger
Because I haven’t been to church.
Imposing religion on me
And spewing forth
Your “thou shalt” vomit
Of what our God wants from me.
I held up my hand to shield its splatter
And fortunately you stopped.
You see, I have a problem
When someone thumps their bible words at me
And does not LIVE the word.
Church can be a new addiction
For those recovering.
Church can be a crutch
To avoid facing your veritable purpose.
Church can be like the telephone game
Full of he said, she said, they saids
And losing full meaning of the original
Message by everyone’s interpretation.
I choose a direct connection with my God.
When He calls, I answer.
And the message is clear
When the line is not corrupt.
Then, and only then, can I be judged
By Him who hath the true message.
And now this House of God
That I wanted to visit to connect with His people
Has been challenged
For it is the judgment of those like you
That keeps me home.
Fiction Friday challenged us to use 25 words to create a story and use as many words as we could...I got all 25 words and created a very interesting story that is really kind of wild and very weird! But it was fun to get the creative juices flowing and "Play" with words....Thanks for the challenge!
Here are the words and the story...You should try it!
|
I paid the fare to embark a barge for an exploring adventure…as I strolled on board, I noticed a crowd gathered in awe of a stunning sight…It was a unicorn who had been trapped in a snare. He was tore and sore, and gorging himself on Frosted Flakes that had been scattered like leaves across the deck floor.
*
Upon closer scrutiny, this was no ordinary unicorn of folklore, but of a marvelous, rare breed of flaming beauties. This particular unicorn was the Fiery Lord of the Unicorns of the most High and Precious. His muscles were rippled and cut, and his crown of hair had a flair…no seriously, a flare of fire!
I tried to warn the others to stand clear of the torch upon his head, but they insisted a creature this rare had to be captured. Again, they tried to coo him into their lair, this time baited with hare stew. He wasn’t impressed, because aside from the occasional Corn Flake concoction, his usual feast consisted of a soup of four leaf clovers, golden apples and sweet cherry blossoms (of which they had none.)
The Unicorn threw them a harsh, scornful look, and then I happily watched him soar into the heavens, carving his picture in the sky to mark that he was there… He was not a prize to hoard, but a beauty to be shared. Well, this trip was certainly no bore!
*
Yes, my unicorn is orange with wings....but that is the beauty of fantasy fiction right?
Here is my first pastel of an animal...you can tell its sha
pe!... Yes, I'm still
learning how to blend...but I like the way I weaved his mane..
These two poems were inspired by watching to young adults take on their lives after a terrible bout with drug abuse...They graduated from drug court, a wonderful step program that provides kids with a framework of success and taking on their lives. I witnessed them get to know themselves. Just so you understand the switch in the poem...they showed us a "before" picture and an "after" picture...eyes are the window to the soul. (please forgive the asterisks...I'm having trouble with spacing right now.)
For Josh
Pock marks
Scratches
Pockets for eyes
*
Shaved head
Skinned head
Jerk head
*
Self destruction
Self disgust
Self loathing
*
It’s time.
*
The cavernous journey has begun.
Rummage around those bottomless, murky places
Look, over there!
*
Go ahead
*
Touch it…
No, grab it…
No, rip it & chuck it!
*
Look! There’s more!
Over there…
And there…
*
Go deeper
This cave is filled
with oozing muck.
*
You’re lucky..
Most people never come here
They won’t examine the evil
And eats them from the inside out
*
Leaving just a sheath
*
Now, my friend…
Look to your right
See that glow?
*
Follow it.
*
As you do
the light will glow brighter
And more purposeful
*
Go ahead..touch it,
Embrace it…
Drink it…
*
This is what your soul tastes like.
Sweet isn’t it?
Not the bitter cup you’ve been drinking
*
Now, nurture it
Love it
Embrace it
*
Bring this light with you everywhere you go
For you will find more darkness
Later in your journey
*
it’s never completely gone..
But, my friend, this journey is different
You will always have your light.
*
And if it begins to fade
You know it’s Source
Go there and replenish your supply.
*
*
For Caris (his support system)
They never noticed you.
You were there…a few steps back.
As a matter of fact,
Without you
The journey would not have been made.
The cave would not have been explored.
*
You held the map.
You held the compass.
You held the bottle of courage to sip from.
*
And when the time came…
You allowed the spelunker his cave
While you ventured into your own deep darkness
*
You found your own treasure
And you let its radiance glow
and shine in your face..
*
When complete,
Only one got credit for the journey.
You deserved it
*
But you didn’t need it
For you were there.
You were the witness.
*
And THEY thought
The treasure was the prize
The real prize was the journey
*
For now you both know
The Source.
Ahh...it is Thursday, and I am delighted to share this with you...it's still roughly sketched, but it holds my heart dear...Summer. When my children were young, they drank rain and they put on their swimsuits and just played in it. These pictures always reminded me of Langston Hughes poem, "April Rain Song." 
I look at these and I see they capture their joy for this event, and Irelate it to my own enjoyment of sunshine. With this in mind, I wrote about my dear friend, Summer. This is my attempt at capturing the essence of it and the energy I feel. Sometimes I have so much energy, my husband thinks I'm Tigger...so here's my word for Fiction Friday combined in a poem for Poetry Thursday.
*
Tiggerish Summer
Summer vibrates its rhythms to my heart
The buzzes of its alarm
quakes me awake
*
I drink a cup of its lovely radiance
And feel its electric flow from head to toe
I am Tiggerish for the day.
*
I will run and not be weary.
I will sing and not be whining
For I am ALIVE!
*
It is impossible to hold me down
For I know tomorrow promises me
Another cup
*
Soon, my friend, I will miss you.
If I were living a different life, I'd be another Charles Kuralt, going around America collecting stories of people. I love learning about their lives and human nature, how they deal with adversity and how they learn to be content with so little. This past week I was able to watch a video about some women of Gee's Bend, Alabama. What I loved about watching these women was the strong bonds that they built as women through quilting. Quilting was how they got through hardtimes, just as art or writing gets some of you through the rough patches. But it was MORE than this, quilting was a way of life for them, their way of connecting with each other, singing their praises to their God and making sense of their lives. They didn't waste anything! Every scrap of cloth from old clothes, flour sacks or just laying around was used. Sometimes they had to wait to fill it in until there was cloth available.
I wish you could see the whole video because it makes more sense; you see more of the deeper connection they have with each other and their quilts. You just get a few links to clips for you to see (remember youtube doesn't work well on my blog.)
interviews of the quilters: here and here.
singing quilts: here.
Our poem (a friend and I co-wrote it), is in honor of these women and to all us with brokeness in our lives that we mend through whatever means is available to us, art, writing, drinking coffee...
Comin’ Home
What is home? What is precious?
What is truly rich? What is community?
Community
Faith, family ties and spirituality.
Bonds of tradition and necessity,
safety.
Rich
Creative spark from necessity,
radiant colors of possibility.
Soulful pulse and rhythm tell the story
of human experience.
Precious
The gift of love, beauty from scraps.
Relationships are the necessity
and life itself.
Home may be a broken down shell,
but not a broken down spirit.
Marie Wallace
Wayne Ross
This poem started as a poem to my stepmother, but as I related it to my own experience of step parenting, it became a tool for me to heal my own pain. Though there are many, many years my step mom didn't act as a mom because she was often dysfunctional and had her addictions. I can't pretend to know what she went through, and I'm sure she was often misunderstood...and I'm positive she never was appreciated for many of the things she did. This job of step mothering is highly volatile, but it has many rewards...and the strength it takes to bear it can only be given by God and sheer determination. I faced it without drugs or drinking...it's like having a baby with no anesthesia, but the pain goes on for a lifetime. I want to honor us both in this poem. And I dedicate it to all the step moms out there who ever took this job on, whether you felt success or not, you deserve to be appreciated even if only by a stranger. XOXOXO Thank you mom...for coming back and for a better relationship this year. I'm sorry it took so long for us to heal.
Wicked Stepmother
I know that a mom’s job is hard,
And that a step mother’s job is even harder
That when you wear that badge,
You wear it PROUDLY
But that the badge tears deeply into your flesh.
*
I know that you feel underappreciated
But more so,
Undervalued,
And sometimes…not even human
*
I know that the job is hard
Because the badge doesn’t
give you any authority
Over ANYTHING.
*
It’s more like a label
with a lot of names
attached to it
Mostly…WICKED.
*
I grew up wanting to be a mom
I didn’t grow up wanting to be a step mom.
*
But I took on the job
And…it almost killed me
I was in the line of fire daily
with no hazard pay.
*
Sometimes hazards weren’t even marked.
A situation that seemed normal
Would blow like a road side bomb
Unsuspecting
*
With a lot of damage.
And when the reports
of the carnage and casualties are read
No one would believe it.
*
I know that when that stepchild grows up
No matter how well she does as an adult
I will get no credit for the good,
And ALL the credit for the bad
*
My stepmother badge will never
Be a good thing
Except to me.
And when I die…
*
My dear God,
I hope you will know
That I gave Motherhood
All my best.
That when you gave me the
Title of MOTHER
There was no side “step.”
And I am proud of the work I’ve done.
Poetry Thursday - Since Sunday is my anniversary to the most wonderful man in the world...it doesn't sound poetic, but it is true! He is my rock; he is my hero; he is my best friend. I look forward to many more years with him.
My LAF
I gazed in adoration at the
Unexpected gift before me –
A bouquet of three –
a daisy, a carnation, and a rose…
An odd assortment to some,
But the intentions were true and thoughtful
For they are three of my favorites.
*
As I admired their loveliness,
I contemplated the qualities of each
which draws my appreciation,
And I was reminded of my true love
One I hold dear and precious.
*
The rose speaks of my Lover’s velveteen kisses
Which linger on my lips for hours
And of his goodness and honesty
Which have allowed our love to open
And blossom to the greatest beauty known.
*
The carnation’s white feathery edges
Are likened to my Angel’s wings
Which have taken me
On an astral flight to peace and freedom
Of being who I am.
*
The daisy is like my Friend,
Centered and most colorful in the middle,
With his outermost edges pointing to
many adventurous places
To catch the best of the sun’s rays!
*
The greenery of the ensemble is
A memento of his spring
Which has showed me life
And brought my heart
Out of a cold, dark winter.
*
The water represents the spiritual life
Given to all for growth.
*
The vase’s beauty is likened to
His graceful, gorgeous body
Which contains all these wonderful things.
*
And lastly, the elegant ribbon
Which ties this passionate package together
Is his terrific mind
which explores, reflects and reveals
his love of life.
*
Oh my love, wherever you are,
thanks for the best gift
Which reminds me of the wonder of you,
For you are my sunshine, my smile,
My L A F….
*
I love you angel!
I haven't written a poem in awhile, but this one was inspired by the beautiful women in the blog world who support and lift each other everyday...it's not meant to leave men out...it's to celebrate that when one of us fall (a single woman in this case), there is someone to catch you, even if only through words.
Sisterhood Through Words
Armed with inspired courage
the woman embarked on her journey
anywhere away from these erroneous zones
for she had children who depended
on her for strength and wisdom
her thread of truth engrained
her heart pulsed the exemplary path to her feet.
Dear women,
Know that your daily work
Not only propelled her
It sustained her very breath.
Your words
Your encouragement
Your belief
Are her power
And life force.
Well...I've been playing with my writing class styling lessons and have created two different styles of poems about my daughters in an effort to work on character development...which goes perfectly with the fact that my daughters are two different people. Though it may seem I prefer one over the other, it is not true. Each daughter is arriving at her destiny in her own way at her own Divine time, and I celebrate their uniqueness. I hope I have done them justice. I know that I will continue revising each of these until I get them perfect, but I wanted to share them now so I could showcase them...
By the way...one of the styles is to be precise with your description which is why all the perfect computations on hair color, etc. Enjoy!
#1
Passion purple headed freaky girl
Confused heart
Poker hot flames
Igniting her veins
Desperate for her freedom flight
To Who Knows, Who Cares where?
With one foot loosely planted
Toward her future
And the other firmly, deeply rooted
In the past
Goes nowhere
Must be present to win
#2
There is a 5’8,” 140 pound, Loreal #LB02 haired girl
Determined brain
Algorithms proceeding through her veins
Sure about her 4.5 year future
As a Graphic Artist
Both feet walking the 22 gates
To the waiting Delta 737
Headed for
Portland, Oregon
430.58 miles from Boise
Is present to win
