sea sparkle

We sprinkled sea water
Upon your hair,
So when it dried
We could see it
Sparkling in the sun.

heart close

I want my heart to pound next to yours. You'd left it at that, and then we stood chest to chest in a hug as our hearts continued their beating of blood, if only a bit more rapidly than before.

I know the words you said didn't signify one distinct moment of heart pounding because we'd stood like this before. Held each other like this before. And, yet, it was different because this was the first time I'd heard you say I want in anything related to the future.

Your eyes met mine and you said I want my heart to pound next to yours. And that's what made me want to hold on to forever.

before the sun woke you up

Before the sun woke you up, I had already been to the river. I dipped in my toes. Hushing the automatic shocked gasp, I rocked back on my heels. I didn't want to startle you or the deer that grazed but one hundred yards away.

The butterflies began unfurling their wings to the warming rays as you fluttered open your eyes. Too bad we can't take flight with them and skim the surface to search out the source of this icy water.

But not always too bad because here we gaze with our eyes closed. We figure out their flight patterns and follow them even while moored solidly to the rock upon which we crouch.

not of the rain

I run through the rain.
Wish it would soak through my skin,
Rather than slide off,
Leaving me by myself again.

summer praise

caught between the lines drawn with two thick black pieces of chalk. there's dust in the air and i find it hard to inhale and then i have nothing at all to exhale. it's just a cough and i feel as if there are hands on my throat. the fingers dig into my skin and I close my eyes. it doesn't have to be so violent, though. we can run through fields on blue sky, yellow sun, pink flower days. we can fall on our backs and wish on a cloud. yes, this is called day-time desiring. it's not a nighttime ritual where stars get wishes shoved upon them. it's just a cloud. maybe the whitest. maybe the puffiest. maybe the one that's moving the fastest and we can stop it long enough to cast our wish upon it, before we lose sight of it to the brown mountain. our wish. we share. it's not a mine nor a yours thing. it's simply simple and all the colors make us smile and shine. we've forgotten the snow-cold winter days when we wore nothing but frost on our faces. for now is the time for freckles. the time for blonding of hair.

a year ago (rushwrite)

Hopes too high.
Come crashing down like a kite cut from the sky.
Failure to fly
Creates a crumpled figure
Crushed into dirty snow.
My nose bleeds through my fingers.
I wipe my hands on my pants
Then raise them to catch the blood again.
There's no stopping it.
The legs of my pants cling to me with wet.
The patches where I knelt
Have turned a shade of icy, bloody brown.

instant magic

at least that's what it felt like

because at first
there was nothing

and then in a flash
everything existed

let's

Because I haven't writtten on here in ages and I haven't really written much creatively of late, I looked back to something I wrote this February and modified it. See below...(yay for lunchtime to give me time to eat, listen to a Conference talk, and write a little bit...one more class to go for the day.)



You'd never guess my greatest fear.
You'd never guess the things so dear to me.
You'd never guess all this about me,
And I, in turn, would never guess as much about you.

That's why there's talk,
No?

That's why we need to talk.

I would like to try to
Get around
All the
Guessing,
Conjecturing,
Supposing.

Things aren't always what they seem to be.
Isn't that a saying?
Well, same with people.

So let's talk.
Because you'd never guess all I want you to know,
Need you to know.
And I'd never guess the same.

orbs

My dreams miss me.

I startled awake,
And left them weeping their weaving tale.

I almost cried

When I stepped outside.
The moon globed in the west.

But with no glasses gracing my face,
I couldn't make out its detail.

Is it the same with you sometimes?

You step away from me,
And tires spinning have crushed the lenses

Which bring things into focus.

I can see the oval of your face,

But can't distinguish
Between the way your mouth moves
To make an 'O' sound
And the way it slowly

comes to a sad close.

pause

Waves crash upon the sand. I search for rounded sea glass amid the pebbles that stick to the bottom of my feet. We sink into sand and sea water kisses our knees. I kneel and fill my hands with sand. I move and mound it into the shape of a dome. You remain standing, so, with more sand, I cover your feet. Moments later you crouch down, breaking through your feet's fetters, and add to the dome. But your eyes stretch out to the horizon and don't focus on this moment. My eyes on yours, I can't see where you've gone, although you're still very literally and physically here. I'm not with you, wherever you are. I stand and step a few more paces into the water until it hits me hip-high. I raise my arms and look up at the white clouds turning pink. I sway my hands in the water and bring some to my face. I start back towards you. Looking at my feet, I place them on the bigger rocks. I don't want to slip. And then. Underwater. I choke because the force of you pushing me under has left me without air. The abruptness of submersion incites me to laughter, not aiding the choking situation much. I grab your waist. I laugh. You smile. I quiet down, regain the ability to breathe again, and it's just us standing there. Heaving breaths towards the horizon and wet with water, we pause. Together.

already

She couldn't bring back the way he said her name,
Despite the ringing in her ears.

Her memory echoed with his voice--

I don't know,

Wait and see,

and

Oh my goodness.

Her name, though,

No.

She would think.
She would wonder.

How did you say my name?
Was it always with a hint of a smile?
Why did I rarely lock eyes with you in that moment?
Was it out of fear?
Or out of too much heedless love?
Did you ever say my name happily?
Or was it always already soaked with regret?

Always already,
Her name
Gone.

set to "Dance Theme of the 80's"

last night.
sun down.
street lights.
drive round.

song loud.
chlorine sting.
perfect crowd.
voices sing.

pull in.
one more.
perfect grins.
sweet core.

ledge's edge

Next to the windowsill
She curled herself into sleep,
Hoping some big friendly giant would scoop her up
And take her away from
Here.

But her perch was not edgy enough.
How was she to know?

So,
No sauntering, amiable giant
Became her rescuer.

There she lay,
Awake the whole night.
Eyes closed but awake,
Waiting.

Morning came.
She stepped back into the room
And tried to face the day.

rushwrite 4 may 2009

How can I miss something I have never had?

I miss the way I held you in my dream.

You were mine,
And I held you.

You were new to this earth,
And I was yours.

I held you.

A soft new towel to swaddle you in.

I miss the way my hand supported your head.

I miss your eyes.
Your mouth.
Your round belly.

I miss you.

You had no name to me yet,
But I knew our blood forged the bond between us.

Sometimes it's just you.
Sometimes you're a girl.
Sometimes you're a boy.
I hope it doesn't disturb you--no set sex.
It seems no cause for alarm to me;
Just dreamland making dreamy sense like usual.

Sometimes it's just you with me.
Sometimes, like last night, more accompany you.

Last night you had two older sisters.
All of you were mine.
I was all of yours.
And I miss you all.

I ask this question too:
Who stands,
Who sits,
Who stays
Beside me?

For in dream, there is no one.

Not even a phantom
Not even a wisp of tangible air
Not even a vanishing flash

Nothing.
No one.
No one here now either.

I stand

Sol
i
tary

Almost solitary.
Solitarily missing you.

Visit me again soon.
I already miss you.
I miss you already.
I will always miss you.
I always will miss you.

And this part might not make sense:
Even when you come, I might still miss you;
I might be in such shock that you've finally let me hold you for real,
For the first time--
We will be each others.

steel my heart

water my eyes
rock my knees
flower my forehead
wind my hair
fire my feet
dirt my belly
light my hands

could I?

I could almost
If you would

I could almost whisper your name
I could almost write you a letter in another language
I could almost laugh at your eyes making a silent joke

I could almost
If you would

If you would call me up to describe the shattered bird's egg you held
If you would perch on a rock with me and gaze above and below
If you would see me

If you would
I could

I could jump without a fear of falling
I could hold my breath forever
I could let you see me

I could

open after

it wasn't the way you blinked your eyes before laughter
it was the way you opened them after
they always seemed more sad
as if you realized nothing at no time in no place
could possibly make you laugh in precisely the same way

you would open your eyes
and the spark of light would shine
still brightly
but tinged with a more serious edge

it had something to do
also
with the slight furrowing of your brow

for an instant
the space above your nose would converge
holding back something unseen

and so it's you I think of now
as the laughter dies
on an exhalation
followed by a deep inhalation

it's you because your after-laughter-eyes
haunt me
taunt me
with a morsel of knowledge at which
I cannot even begin to grasp

so keep it up
you
your creasing brow
the withholding
the keeping yourself out of reach
I cannot understand you
and your laughter's aftermath

yet?

to rachel

Oh, Rachie, 'tis not easy at all for me. It's just my spewing. Don't know if any of it makes much sense at anytime. But thanks for reading. I write mostly for myself; I'm selfish that way, but it's nice to know that at least one person happens to take a lil' gander at these things.

fill in the rest

writing prompt for today:
Use one of the following phrases as the first line of your poem.
Write at least two poems in the ten minutes we have to write.
No, your poem doesn't have to rhyme.
Be creative in crafting vivid imagery.

First lines:

• One window is all I need
• Forgive me while I lower my head now
• He hadn't fished on any river
• Once I dreamed I succeeded in balancing on an egg
• She blinked and moved on

(If you absolutely detest all of these first lines, go ahead and write your own.)


Here's what I came up with in about five minutes...nothing much, but it's always fun to go off for a moment:


one window is all I need
though I'd like three or four
luxury is not an option
with these dark dank walls
closing me in

one window is all I need
but no plea
can crack open a break
in this stone

one window is all I need
to see
to gaze
at a spot of hope
removed from here

all I need is one window
is one window all I need?
is survival one window?
survival is one day
one moment

one breath

need

2-0

They run the length of the field
With their four shadows marking Xs
Round them.

I watch them pass, trap, juke.
I listen to the Spanish.

I don't understand,
But turn it up anyway to hear
The rise and fall of their voices.

It looks cold and wet,
But envy still bites.

I want to make such a crisp pass.
I want to run onto the ball
Perfectly riding into the open space.

Terry Tempest Williams

“Writers break black letters out of lead and line them up on white sheets of paper and ask others to read the sentences we have created for ourselves” (Finding Beauty in a Broken World 19).

question of the heart

What do you do with a heart that has stopped beating for love?

This is not a multiple choice question,
For your information.

For your information, also,
It's not really your heart I'm musing about;
It's mine.
You would have probably guessed as much anyway
By my tone of voice
And by the way I've placed my right hand
In position above where I assume my heart to be.

I assume
Because I've never actually opened the cavity in which it lies.
I've bled its blood,
But I've never seen its pounding rhythms.
Only felt.
But the feeling deeper than touch that could have been is gone, vanished.
Could have been.

Like I said,
What do you do?
What do I do?

I've stopped living for love
And as I sank into sleep last night
It was this image which made my eyes blink awake for one last moment.

The image was this:
A massive sledgehammer in both my hands.
I wield the end of it like an expert.
Standing, I take in a lungful of air
Then set myself down, lying on the ground.
It's done, I think.
And in response my force catapults the hammer's thick end upon my heart.
Bones offer no protection.

But I seek no protection, so it's fine.

I'm muted and at peace.

Le fin [de mon coeur].

3 swing shots from 20 may 05

I'm in the mood to write, but only have 19 minutes and I have absolutely 0 inspiration at the moment. So I'm writing the following based on the above 3 pictures. No promises. Ok, maybe there's 1 promise, but it's pretty much a promise to myself. Write, Lyn, and you'll feel better. Somehow. Eventually. Not that I'm feeling bad. I just know I'll feel better and I don't have to promise anything to anyone else. And I guess there's the promise that minutes keep ticking and now I've only 15 to get to some real writing.


Swing.

Swings.

The lush summertime green looks so soft I'd like to touch it for awhile.
Because today, yesterday, and likely tomorrow, I'll step outside and fill my lungs with mucky gray air.
Waiting for a storm now to blow it all away.

Sophie.
Liza Beth.
Josh.

The children of my summers.

This is the beginning of summer before my mission.
In fact, glancing at the date listed on the picture folder, it's Andrew's birthday. He's in France somewhere in that year 2005. I have five days till entering the MTC.

This is the sharing of laughter.
This is the pushing.
This is the swinging.
This is the sharing of smiles.

I push you.
Higher.
Higher.

Again.
Again.

My mom said once that I'm a child of summer. I agreed with her while thinking, how strange, though, Mother, for I was born on a winter's day.
I despise not winter, but I so delight in summer.
And days like today make me crave its warmth.

Would you look at that grass?

These are the kids who filled me up with love.
Summer nights.
Afternoons.
Mornings even.

Picking raspberries.
Chalking the driveway.
Reading books.
Hide-and-go-seeking.



Swing, little one.
Move away from me,
And then come nearer.

Smile at me, little one.
Stretch your arms,
And yawn.

Swing, middle one.
Hide your smile with your lips,
But I can still see it in your eyes.

Swing, middle one.
Grow so tall,
And soon your feet will scrape the ground.

Swing, oldest one.
Up in the tree
You always climb.

Smile, your silly smile.
Arms wrapped round yourself.
If you fall, the grass catches softly, kindly.

Pray for me little ones, like I know you did.
For I left you once on a long journey.
How I missed the sound of your prayers,
Praying for Andrew.

I pray for you.

As we keep swinging.

As we keep growing
Up and older.

Higher and higher.

Again and again.

Pray always.
Never stop smiling.




And with 1 minute left, c'est le fin de quelque chose. Something to come back to and explore perhaps or perhaps something to leave forever. Who knows?

"You can see anything you want, yessir, but it's the words that sing, they soar and descend. I bow to them. I love them, I cling to them, I run them down, I bite into them, I melt them down. I love words so much. The unexpected ones. The ones I wait for greedily or stalk until suddenly they drop." -Pablo Neruda

Just a lovely quote from a more than lovely writer...

wishful thinking

Darkness outside the windows states
The sun has set.

Yet we sit inside
With lights on.

And, Mother, you create even more
By setting ablaze the candles.

They stick up out of the rhubarb pie--
My birthday request.

No, I did not request one more candle
For the annual addition requires none of my persistance.

It's the rhubarb I've desired--
This pie.

Now these candles call my attention.
They await my extinguishing breath.

I assume everyone singing to me wonders what sort of wish creation
Occurs inside my head.

I feel confusion, not a light wishful-making feeling.
I know not for what to wish.

There are too many things.
Too many people.
Too many situations.
Too many

And I'm one.
I'm one with one more year
Behind me.
Ahead of me?

Smoke.