it's all beautiful

(The writing prompt for today was to write about a color and 

the memories attached to it)    

"I think it pisses God off if you walk by the color purple in a field 

and don't notice it."  

--Alice Walker, "The Color Purple"

you lived your life 

like a paintbrush on the world 

bringing vibrant color to the day

enveloping us all in joy 

i was always relieved to see you

knowing everything would be alright

now that you were here 

to bring calm and humor in equal measure

your dream house exuded the colors 

of the rainbow, a daring expression 

of your spirit that to all of us was 

so 'out there' 

you invited a gathering, people drawn

by your easy grace, feeling safe 

sharing in the sparkle of 

the hues that surrounded you 

every setting of your life was a 

medium for art and creativity 

always shining, the art itself 

your smile into the world  

toward the Last Days your audience

dwindled at your request to just 

me and your beloved as we sat 

vigil with you 

you insisted i have a cup of tea 

and a cookie as if this were a social 

call and not your grand bow as you

prepared to leave the stage

taking your paints and brushes with you

as the sun set upon the lake you

laid in your bed by the window 

watching the ducks, the water, the 

leaves softly dropping, unable to hold on

against november 

you'd had things planned big things 

everything with you was big even the 

little things but you- and therefore all of us-

were interrupted  

through occasional tears you looked out 

onto the soft, chilled air outside 

the many colors of the sky and earth 

as they faded for the season 

and in the midst of all our sorrows 

you said 

"it's all beautiful"  

all of it 

the geese leaving town for warmer climates

the leaves falling in death to winter-cold water

the squirrels clamoring for nuts to stash 

to get ready for what was coming  

"it's all beautiful" 

the vibrancy of autumn 

the harsh cold and snows of Nebraska winters

the beauty of spring
 a time for planting  

all of it 

beautiful  

i think of all the colors 

purple was one of your favorites 

for it's beauty and yet sometimes darkness 

its lenten ambivalence of death and life 

and so the color purple reminds me 

of you, the soothing smell of lavender 

your giggles and joy and silliness 

your defiance of stifling boundaries 

something as inconsequential as death 

i wrap myself, adorn myself in purple 

making peace with the paradoxes 

the sorrow amidst the joy 

the light that dawns in the darkness 

there's so much color 

so much intense color

and it's all 

beautiful

looking back

there was a time when
it was all one big scary ride
but i thought that was normal
no one told me different

i followed the voice in
the cornfield and it was good
the magic kept unfolding and
everybody cheered

it was a path that gave rewards
but when the music became noise
and the ride kept taking me high
only to fall so sharply

i had to get off
lest everything within me
shrivel up
die from shame

at never grabbing the golden ring

the institution the Eternal Parent
separating the sheep from the goats
and i always ended up in the
goat pen

kicking, butting, defending
explaining, draining, fighting
bloodletting until i was so faint
i couldn't stand

i remember longingly the sweetness
of the fruit on my tongue the
body and the blood  feeling blessed
nourished for the journey

the magic of words forming
through some sort of holy incantation
creating, shaping images, conjuring
the scene so we felt the sand

beneath our feet, felt the Middle Eastern heat
upon our heads, touched the sheep grazing on a hill
hearing life-giving words from his mouth
touching just the hem of his robe

i miss those moments when heaven
and earth touched so briefly and i was
in the midst of it, feeding, blessing
singing, holding, waiting in the dark

for the light

offering just enough grace
to chew on
but

i couldn't stay
the yoke became too heavy
cutting into my flesh
sucking my life

between the Powers and
some people whose pain
made them mean
i couldn't

offer up my life
i could not allow the nails
to pierce my own flesh
i couldn't bow to the stones thrown

i couldn't allow them any more
of my blood
and when i died to that life
i truly rose again

it's been a new morning
ever since

something good

(the writing prompt for today was love)

i must have had a wicked childhood

i must have had a miserable youth

but somewhere in my youth or childhood

i must have done something good... 

--the sound of music

where did you come from? 

who are you? 

i remember asking you this 

when you first snuck into my life 

your soft brown eyes looked at me

and in those moments i felt 

so beautiful, so strong, like i 

could do anything 

when i first hugged you i 

remember it felt as if i had come home

that there was a space inside your heart 

in the shape of me 

where did you come from?

i asked because you seemed other-worldly

so precious, so what I needed 

your love healed all the broken places  

you breathed life into my tired soul 

you made me laugh and it was ok to cry 

you said when you read my words 

it was like reading your own heart 

i knew 

i knew i had come home 

i knew that i could never leave you 

i knew that you are gift 

we've lived a lot of life you and i 

we've trudged through major obstacles 

found our way through long, dark alleys 

we've built a life with many twists and turns 

but all of it, the dark and the light 

the ordinary and the extraordinary 

the living and the grieving 

the joy and the sorrow 

all of it is beautiful because 

it's with you 

morning coffee with you is paradise 

the tiny simple rituals of everyday 

is communion 

you've wrapped me up 

infused me, enlivened me, 

loved away all the scarred places 

and given me a home 

in your heart 

i did nothing to deserve it 

because nothing i could do 

would match the treasure 

that is you 

you're my blanket of peace 

at night,

a solid warm hand in the day 

that allows me to be whole

i am so much more 

as part of you and me 

as us 

than i could ever be alone 

life 

is so much richer 

delicious 

holy 

with your eyes 

loving me

invocation

(the writing prompt for today was: magic) 

we lay our hands on the head of a child the sick the dying and

we say words, calling for help asking for some intervention of unseen

spirits presence an invocation an invitation to the Unseen be it the saints 

or Jesus or loved ones that still seem to linger 

we say words to empower to break up the dark things that keep the good

from getting in go away cancer be gone draining spirits let me child know 

she is loved protect envelope give wisdom 

we're surprised when it happens when the depressed get up and dance 

when the dying decide to live for another day when a devastated community

responds with love instead of hate 

words thrown up and out to who-knows-where pleading with whoever's-out-there

to help to save 

and there is that unseen hand in the dark that person who drops into our life who

changes the landscape of our lives there's relief and breath and hope a way 

made out of no way a path in the wilderness in the madness there is shelter a gentle 

push on the back to keep going believing in the invisible the wonder the hidden goodness

the light that never went out but we couldn't see 

we invoke we lay hands we plead we raise our fists we implore and sometimes

sometimes all the cogs of the unverserse kick into place the light gets through a door

opens a darkened window bursts open with light and it feels 

like 

magic

what is Truth?

(the OctoPriMo daily writing prompt was 'draining'- what drains you?)

too much information demanding 

what do you think?what will you say? 

picking, picking, picking scabs, poking the 

lion, daring it to roar and attack 

noise, noise, noise, chaos, yellling, spitting

god gives me the right to hate you and I'm 

his favorite polls and debates and senseless numbers

dividing the sheep from the goats goading goading goading

poking, testing, pushing  too far 

why aren't you more like me? selfish people spewing hate 

people who are supposed to love you use the word to 

manipulate control shame not seeing you for who you are 

but what they want you to be 

facades, lies, fabrications, it doesn't matter anymore 

what is Truth?  nobody cares anymore words all crashing 

hurting, splintering, crushing, killing there are no rules 

nagging nagging nagging me me me mine mine mine 

people people people sucking sucking sucking 

you are never enough you are never what they want or feel

comfortable with you are never who they need you to be to 

feel good about themselves you never know what is true and right 

and good they will take and take and take and it will

never be enough

you 

will never be enough

The Barbaric Yawp

(the OctoPriMo writing prompt for today was to write about a favorite scene from a movie. Mine is from "Dead Poets' Society) 

sweaty palms, musty air 

breathed by students for the 

last two hundred years 

recirculated for the next group

he sits up front, yet is 

sure that no one can see him 

invisible, unimpressive 

not the One Expected to Do Great Things 

he adjusts his tie that is 

cutting off his oxygen or is 

it the knowledge that he is here 

to become someone he is not  

he slumps in shame afraid 

to admit he didn't do the work 

he tried, he worked, he ached 

but the words of his soul 

weren't worth repeating  

every day he is bumped along 

against the shoulders of the Future Doctor 

Future Lawyer all tied up in suits and 

ties and polished shoes 

he repeats words that fall like 

dust on his tongue, words his father 

treasures but evoke no passion 

no heart no life for him 

be a man not an amoeba

Seize the Day 

just rubbish, he sighs 

sweeping the dreams out of 

the corners of his heart 

he must be clean he must...  

sitting there, shrinking, dying 

the weight of institutions, of society 

of his Parents or some benign God 

invoked reverently at meals 

bear down him 

he can't breathe 

surely he's going to die 

because living is so hard 

he believes everything inside of him 

is worthless 

as the spotlight shines in his 

darkness, publicizing his shame 

his terror his failure 

the varnish on the old desk 

sticks to his clothes 

his chest constricts as he's pulled 

out of his darkened room where it 

is safe and he's propelled into being seen

and viewed as the Other Son 

misfit, crazy, pushing against institutions 

and structure and stabililty 

dancing on the edge of madness 

challenging decorum and tradition 

the man pulls and pulls

holding him firmly 

pushing his face to look up 

at the picture of 

the Mad Man, the Misfit 

the One who'd seen the horrors of war 

and shoved the words, the truth in faces

that turned away  

degenerate, angry, daring, 

trampling on the storage places of 

the grapes of wrath 

o captain, my captain 

seize the day this moment 

all time suspended clocks stop 

the universe holds it's breath 

the din of the masses are silenced 

Uncle Walt in his grave turns to see 

the desperate souls longing, aching to be 

born into who they are, the misfits 

the artists, the lovers all longing to be free

the madman dances with him, pulls 

his song out of his soul with his eyes closed 

spinning, swirling, seeing only the Now 

This Moment, This Breath 

it is yours we are listening for 

your unique verse, your part in the grand play 

that holy second when you dance free 

without fear to the rythm of who you are 

as he spins, his heart breaks free the tie

is loosened and he feels like he could fly 

he opens his eyes and people are watching, 

watching him come to life, watching him be born 

he is alive

seize the day, boys, seize the day 

the old man whispers from the earth

seize the day

Nature's Hologram

(For Day One of the OctpoWrimo Daily Prompt: Clouds)

when i was little
clouds floated up above
the tall buildings
like meringue on a pie

faraway, unreachable, transcendent

now where i live they reach down to
the ground, tickling the edge of the
horizon
not above but beside, a cottony boundary

seedbed for the thirsty earth
friendly and beautiful, an orchestra pit
for angels serenading
rows and flows of angel hair 

flying above them, visage from a window
i want to step out and bounce on the
billowy white surfaces, lay down in their
encompassing embrace

commune with their weightlessness
sink into their depths
pull off a piece like cotton candy
and squeeze it in my palms

from below there are days those unmenacing
billows turn yellow and black
and twist, turning Jekyll into Hyde
swirling, spinning, touching down

and destroying
dismantling
making a way where there was
no way leaving only devastation

as walls tumble and foundations cave
there is a silence after the train wreck
and the soft, baby's butt innocence returns
to a blinding blue canvas

as if nothing happened

ice cream castles in the air 
feather canyons everywhere 

after the storm there is peace again
a smile from the heavens across the
horizon with orange and purple and light
the moon in the wings waiting to go on

you can't grasp it or hold it
or control it you can't touch it or
bounce on it's soft billowy surface
or play harps with the angels

you can only look and wonder
knowing the power that lurks in the beauty
a power to respect, a wonder to embrace
i really don't know clouds at all