Author in the Woods

Here beside the ongoing babble of the brook,

Beneath the bridge that reminds me of falling leaves

Both a beautiful red, yet also decaying,

I wrote a verse, a poem, if you will.

It flowed like the stream I could feel tickling my toes,

With words as piercing to the soul as a bird's call to the ear.

Upon this creek-side rock I sat with pen upon paper,

A slight drizzle like the falling of snow.

It was a perfect fit to the mellowness of the mood.

Mountain People & Contra

   People of the mountains are among some of my favorite to watch, especially when they are dancing. Swirling on the dance floor is a strange combination of somber attitudes and energetic movements.

  Each have an unspoken unity of pride in the mountains, which belong to no man, yet claimed by all.

  Mountain women seem stern and firm, but when they swivel between the seemingly unorganized patterns of people, to the listening eye, there can be spotted a hidden joy revealed in the corners of her eyes. The prettiest thing to see is the long handmade skirts bearing earthy designs that tickle to life at the edge of a twirl.
  Time-worn, wrinkly fingers, that look fragile and frail yet feel strong and rough, grasp five tender fingers to allemande left. The kind of fingers that have seen not yet half of the years the prior had.
  On stage, the fiddle, the dulcimer, and banjo play a tone that these mountain folk have accepted as their own second heart beat. The mumble of the caller causing occasional rhythmic interruptions to the sounds of the mountain people stomping in long lines. A holler goes up as these people march back and forth. It sings of freedom, joy, and, pride.
  Everyone finishes the song with one last spinning of their partners only to applaud the musicians  for the gift of one last dance before the long, hard day of work begins again.

  It is clear to me these mountain people love their folk.

Shattered

There once was a girl as normal as you and I,
She studied and thought and played all with heart.
She looked up from her studies one day and exclaimed,
"Why haven't I seen you before? and from where have you come?
He looked at her and said, "Nowhere and no matter," with the cutest of smiles.
"But come with me now to a world full of windows and castles."
With a twinkle in his deep, wonderful eyes he reached for her hand.

Right then she sighed.

She was startled, not by touch nor by embrace,
But only the memory held in its place.
She sighed once again and put down her books,
Then stared out the window with the most longing of looks.
She saw the usual: trees and such
Then she saw an old couple, the man on a crutch.
They laughed and talked along their stroll.
To find a friend like that would surely be luck.
There's still time she thought as she pulled back her books.

Turning up the music, she laughed
Why do I worry? Why do I care?
If I am who I am, then there is nothing to fear.
What, then, is this we girls put ourselves through?
Is it not better to wait for the day before its coming?
Not to dream about him, nor dream about that,
But rather be thankful that nothing, save dreams, have shattered.


*This is a poem I wrote a couple years ago. Today I found, edited, and have (obviously) published it. I don't normally like to describe my poems, but this one begs for it. I wrote it after I realized my high school crush didn't like me back, the reality I had built up in my own mind was a fairy tale, and, that I wanted a longer-lasting relationship that that one could ever have grown into. For now, I am content to grow in my Christ-centered identity and wait for The Master of the Universe to carry out my life, whichever path that might be. Also, I am currently working on a non-love story piece (for a change, Ha!), so be on the lookout later on this month!

Love Me Not

I think to myself how stupid to stay in my room when there's great potential for a beautiful and budding relationship with the strangers I passed daily. Reality hits then and cuts like a knife: my selfish pride, my failures and faults. That time when I was running my lip and couldn't catch it in time to keep from tripping on all these awkward words as they stumble out.

 I am clumsy, I am dull, but worst of all I am a girl.

 A girl needs someone to depend on, a friend to stand beside who's not afraid to catch her too.  A girl needs someone spontaneous in her life who will surprise her with small gifts of kindness or a hug from behind. A girl needs someone to see beyond her fears and love her as she is. A girl needs a place to direct her passion, the kind that fits best in a heart.

What a blasted curse it is to be a girl when you're alone.

An Old Cabin

Upon this spot I rest.
I think a bird has built a nest.
My deck holds much wear
though my floors are quite bare.

My wooden walls with much decay
have seen faces of dismay.
Joy and happiness too, I've seen,
Pensive persons and perhaps some mean.

If years were pennies, I'd have two dollars,
but that don't make sense here in these hollers.
Pull up a chair and rock for a spell
and note the sillage of memories.

A Tree Grows

As the light hits the tips of leaves,
Red, as crimson blood, spilled
The stories held in this field
Of lives lost in fighting.

A gun was fired.

Two hearts sink low as
A determined soldier falls.
A sacrifice of hearts that never lost hope,
That's where this tree grows.

When I Grow Up

As a young girl, I wanted to be a princess. With an elaborate tiara and pink, dainty slippers. To have the gowns and shoes, with daily talks over tea and sweets.
Yes, that is what I first wanted. Then I thought to be stuck in a tower with some impulsive prince to come rescue me from a time where I am free of responsibility, would be no pleasure. Because the world is not as nice as my little tower would've been.
 For a while, I thought it might be fun to be a powerful dragon spewing careless flame not giving way to the emotions that came. I knew what it was like to be hurt, because I had waited for forever and a day for a prince to come rescue me. Many princes did walk by, but they never noticed me in my tall tower.  Now, inhaling a breath of wind, to exhale a combustion of memories, reeking of seclusion and havoc, I had no care for the fate of princes.
After a time, I wished to nevermore be that monster, so, I became a dragon reduced to the qualities of a lizard. A lizard that had scales like a fish. Part scales and part lady, swimming in an ocean of gaiety, I dreamed of the caves as a secret between the waves.  A mermaid was I, and I had no Flounder. I was alone and the world was full of hurt. So I came up and walked on dirt.
I grew up some and became a young adult, and I wanted to be a hero. To save the day and fly away, defeating the strife of this world and saving those around me. Though I tried on a cape, my feats never amounted to great. My feet would never separate against the pull of the world, the pull of responsibilities that came with growing old.  I moved from town to town, but still I was ground-bound. Forever the air I breathe: the life I lead, my own version of kryptonite.

I grew up and stayed up late, making for sleepless nights. Working hard, I had no strength left to try on my super-suit. Soon I said: I just want to never grow up. Because growing up means making the hard choice, being brave, being bold, and so much more. I didn't want to be old.
I wanted to be a princess full of pert, a dragon free from hurt, a mermaid on dirt, a hero wearing a casual shirt. Simply, I'm a jigsaw puzzle waiting to be completed. Pieces of myself are tucked away in the hearts of those who love me. Perhaps, I'll always be nothing but a mystery.  Time will tell, as grandparents unfold their stories to grandchildren: "Once upon a time, before I grew up..."