Poetry

What They Notice

The stain on your shirt
The lint on your dress
The whites of your eyes
The frown on your face
The sweat on your nose
The smell of your breath
The sound of your voice
They don't notice. . . . you.

My Little Prayers

I wonder where my prayers went - 
The ones I prayed as a little girl.
Did they talk to God?
I wonder what he thought.
I wonder what messages he sent back -
Signs that I didn't see or overlooked because I ignored the world of my spirit.
I wonder if they couldn't rise, and just stayed near the earth -
Listened to by fallen angels and guardians of light.
But maybe they never left me.
Maybe they buried inside my inner world of spirit and truth.
Maybe they grew into my Self and now I struggle to purge the weeds of my sins that were never sins -
Those weeds that choke my confidence and my courage.
I wish I could have them back -
Those little prayers, those little tears, those little "sins",
And that little girl. 

Guess I Didn't Mean Much

I guess I didn’t mean much to you.
Goodbye is so easily said, so easily heard, so easily executed.
Why is it that I think I should have meant so much to you?
Am I a narcissist? Self-obsessed? Self-deluded?
Maybe I just battle against her.
That her that says I’m no good and never good enough.
I hate her but I love her. She is me. She always will be.
She is that small child inside of me with big eyes and big talent but little confidence.
Always trying, always achieving, but still not good enough.
If I could just tell her – if I could somehow hold her hand and tell her how amazing she is.
If I could tell her that she doesn’t need to achieve, she just needs to BE.
Who she is is amazing. She does not need to be the greatest or the best or the most.
She just IS.
So I guess I should thank you for our goodbye. I should thank you for reminding me again how amazing I am.
And it’s okay that I didn’t mean much to you.
I mean a lot to my Self.

 

Dumbass

Dumbass.
She loved you.
You didn’t even recognize it.
All you see is yourself.
Your problems, your feelings.
What about her?
And you had no consideration for what you were doing to her -
Pulling her down, drowning her, killing her with every time you ignored her.
And she was beauty, purity, Love.
A true soul. Fidelity defined. Love defined.
Dumbass.
You don’t deserve her.

 

 

June 30

You should have read what I wrote.
I accidentally deleted it.
Maybe I'll write it again.
Maybe I didn't need to share.
Maybe I just needed to get it down just for myself.
About this day. 

Like Hell

I miss you like hell.
I don’t know if I miss you or just what I thought was you.
That you that I connected with.
That you that talked to me for hours.
That you that understood everything and judged nothing.
That you that accepted that new me and embraced everything I was becoming.
Maybe I just miss those feelings.
Maybe it doesn’t have to do with you.
I am passion. I am fire. I ooze soul out of every pore and cell of my being. That is me. And always has been.
Maybe I just became me and you were just there.
I miss love. I miss being able to say it, to share it, to feel it.
I miss being able to pour all of me all over someone else and have it felt, accepted, reciprocated.
Maybe.
I’ve been missing it a long time.
I guess she’s right – my wise friend.
I hate her words – those sounds that underline that there is no hope. No possibility. No way.
I don’t care.
I miss you like hell.

 

Just an Old Wound

Long and deep, covered with new skin,
I showed it off, “Look it’s just an old wound. It’s almost healed.”
Ready to go on, free from the past,
I can breathe! I am better!
And then you ripped it open – once again.
Flesh torn apart, blood running down my body,
The scar is gone. I am wounded again.
Crying for 2 days, regretting the past,
Feeling old feelings, Unable to move on.
It’s just an old wound.

 

Father's Day 2012

Homemade peanut butter ice cream,
Begging Dad to turn the crank,
Echoes of music from below my bed,
Jammers in the basement playing familiar songs.
Bluegrass festivals, bands on the stage, pickers in the grass.
Sermons from above – notes on my paper every Sunday.
Smiles and laughter – eager to please, ready to entertain.
Family band – complaints from the daughters on fiddle, an education in performing.
Warm snuggles with hairy arms and a baritone voice.
Older and wiser – both of us. All of us. Changes – so many they seem unreal now.
Falling in love, babies, more love, sadness, heartbreak.
But always Love. And always Music.
A tie that binds – or maybe just a thread in common – weaving its notes in and around us.
And always around us.
Watching each other age. Finding new ground. Turning over old ground.
Here we are today – Father, Daughter, Music, Love.
Radically different. Still the same.
Happy Father’s Day.

Written Too Many Years Ago (Song Lyrics)

A song I wrote too many years ago. Funny how I don't listen to myself. Hope to record this one on the next album.

I Need Time to Feel Alright

Those were awful words you said,
They’re still running in my head.
I watch them circle round and round, try not to let em tear me down,
But somehow they’re still not dead.

You’re sorry shows all over you
And maybe I’m sorry too
For those careless thoughts and lies that should never see the light
But they’re sounds we can’t undo.

I need time to feel alright
I need more than just a night
I need time to feel my heartbreak
I can’t just say that things are OK
All the damage has been done
And you’re not the only one
Who still feels the hurt inside
Who’s just wanting just to try
I need time to feel alright.

 

The Opening of the Door

I opened the door. Finally.
I didn’t realize that I opened it. A dream told me.
And then I listened to myself and knew that I could breathe again.
Everything that I locked inside was free.
I’m not going back. I can’t.
I shut the door behind me. I think the knocking continues because something calls me.
Maybe someone.
Wanting me to return.
Never.
I will be my Self or I will not be.