The Way I Felt

“12.07.20”

In the window, there was a bluebird.

It never whistled, never said a word,

Yet when I visited, you pointed it out,

That little clay bird, short, sweet, and stout.

Beneath the bird, an African violet sat,

Its joyful petals spread over its leafy lap.

You pointed it out to those who could see,

Which caused the giver, a third in line, much glee.

Around you were faces from our tree of genetics,

All smiling and posed or laughing and hectic.

Some of the faces were bathed in golden light,

While others were painted in black and white.

The last time I saw you, you sang us a song,

About a moose in some tracks, as you sat in our throng,

But today all the world is silent.

Even our salty tears fall in quiet.

You had told me a story about the white pinecone land,

And how, when you moved here, you missed the sand.

Your dad caught seafood, though you got none.

That food was for selling; it was a treat to get some.

One day there was a record playing in the living room.

It told the story of a boy, someone you once knew.

You would tell a tale, and the whole world listened,

But someone will read this now as their eyelashes glisten.

We’ll have to go up north when the ground’s not frozen

And watch amongst the buttonbushes as the ground gets opened.

Then you’ll become a daffodil in the Lord’s field,

While here on earth things have yet to yield.

You, a grandmother and a storyteller with heart,

You were a world changer who left a lasting mark.

And when the bluebird sings, I’ll see you still

And that little clay bird on the windowsill.

“Can You?” 12.21.2020

Can you imagine being nailed to a tree?

To blow in the wind like a simple leaf.

Can you imagine making that your fate?

To hang there in agony and patiently wait.

Would you do something like that for me,
Let yourself ache for all to see?

To have a public death for the greater good,

To hear of a better day coming and believe it could.

Can you give up what you scarcely have?

Would you do it for your mom or dad?

Would you feel your life fade away?

Would you even lift your head to say:

“Have patience, have peace.

Care for those, even the least.”

Maybe you can’t imagine it,

But that’s the throne on which my Savior sits.

That’s the price He chose to pay

For us to have that better day.

“Generation” 12.27.2020

I’m lost. I know people lost like me,

People drowning in sadness and apathy.

We’re pulled apart, scissors cutting string;

We feel of no use, bells that cannot ring.

We want to escape, yearn to soar,

But we don’t realize we’ll be on the ocean floor.

We are not Hercules; we are truly lost.

We may fall alongside the likes of Icarus.

We may stumble along the road,

Fall down the rabbit hole,

But how long will it take to return home?

And will our sister still be reading her tome?

If we’re chained to a rock, we’ll be beaten away,

But either we will wait for a savior or ourselves we save.

Do we seek revenge on the one who chained us?

Or shall we caution others under his lust?

In the end, too many choose to leave,

While others struggle in the deep.

Yes, I am lost, among others like me.

“Galaxy Boy” 02.22.2021

There’s a galaxy boy I know

Who I tend to worry about.

He spent his time chasing a goddess

Who treated him like a lout.

He then befriended her anyways,

Hoping to change her mind.

She took his hand

And made him fall in line.

Galaxy Boy holds the secret to the world,

Both yours and mine,

But he’s stuck with the goddess,

So no secrets he finds.

The goddess says she loves him now.

I believe that’s a lie.

She’ll drop him. He’ll fall to earth

And begin to cry.

I hope when he finds that time,

When he starts to fall,

He’ll remember my little poem

And know he’s worth it all.

A false god is fun for short,

But when she goes away,

Galaxy Boy will be himself,

And hopefully, he’ll stay.

“Take Me To The Gardens” 10.31.2020

Take me to the gardens to admire all the beauty,

And maybe when I look up, you’ll be looking at me.

Take me on a walk, and I’ll think of the faes I wrote of,

The ones I get lost looking for, the ones that I love.

Lose me among the tulips as I lie down for a nap,

And find me in the daisies or covered in tree sap.

Follow me through the gazebos, the middle of the square,

And watch as a stray flower ends up stuck in my hair.

Kiss me by the camellias, bloom like my emotions,

Then point down the rabbit trail we hope to get lost in.

Take me to see the sunflowers, somehow taller than I,

And tell me what you believe they’d see if they had eyes.

Maybe I’ll get lost in the gardens, looking through the weeds,

And maybe, if you’re watching, I’ll steal a couple seeds.

Think of me like the babbling stream that flows through the plants

And then decide to take of me and hold my hand.

You’ll soon lose me in a drawing that I drew for myself.

Remind me to breathe in fresh air, better for my health.

Paint me like a flower and try and keep me here alive

Because we are still young and hoping that we’ll survive.

Take me to the gardens where my hope is alive,

’Cause there amongst the wildest things, I begin to thrive.

“A Bouquet of Roses and Babysbreath” 12.07.2020

Miss Swift used roses to show the love she had,

But for me, they symbolize something bad.

They sat in my cup holder as I drove home.

A part of me wished they would fly out the window.

Flowers are like relationships: they come with seasons.

Both can bloom, thrive, and then die,

And when they inevitably do, someone cries.

So showing up with a bouquet seemed like an omen,

Like a grim appearing when I’ve begun hoping.

After a night of awkward laughter swimming in my head,

I was left resenting flowers, wishing they were dead.

I last received a rose at my angel’s relative’s funeral,

Back then, I’d opened it for faes, pretending they were real.

But these sit on a shelf in my room

Causing joy, confusion, and gloom.

I refuse to look at their rosy faces.

In fact, at the moment, I’m turned away.

Do you know that this relationship is intended for death?

Or were you just focused on a bouquet of roses and baby’s breath?

I’m not saying it will end soon.

I’m not saying I’ll give in to the gloom,

But I’m a realist, and when I look at bouquets,

I see rushed commitment followed by dark days.