Stripping away the rose colored glasses of denial concerning my reality. Getting in touch with truth. Reaching out to others in empathy concerning their reality and their walk to truth.

Friday, October 17, 2008

the bench

I sit on my bench and watch them go by,
The people around who often wave, “hi”

They go by in cars or walk up the road
I spend quiet time in quiet time mode

When time passes slowly I have a long day
And hope for a friend to pass time away

School children laugh in groups as they pass,
But their cheery smiles go by much too fast.

Squirrels wait for crackers as I clear the wrap
Birds start their chirping when I long to nap

My bench is so old but it feels just like new
The place that it sits affords the best view.

The shade in the summer is in the right place
With sun in the winter to warm up my face

I take a good book or paper to write
For days when no people are readily in sight

When bench time is done, I gather my things
Return to my house, a renewed voice that sings!

Free this woman

I’m tired of judging the one person I live with. The years have loaned me chains to wrap around me to hold me back from living. Free this woman.

Genetics, predisposition questions, beatings, sexual exploits, and welcome to the world of rope and links. Somehow it all meshed into my being and told me: this is who you are. But I do not have to remain that tangled, distorted self another day. Today, just today, I count. Who shall free this woman?

A stranger asked me, “Which piece of your challenging puzzle is the hardest to accept?”

I could not answer… for the puzzle was not yet fully revealed. So instead I answered, “Today… today is the hardest piece to accept, but it is easier than trying to lump a week or month together into acceptance.”

He said, “Then, just for today… free this woman.”

I took another deep breathe and exhaled. Lying on the ground, hoping the fire ants were not on the move, I paused to see if I felt like crying. No? I stood and shook off the dirt and leaves and pronounced myself “free”.

There’s always a beginning and though I have started over each time with each part that needed help… I still believe the hardest part is acceptance. From there I am often moved by the momentary joy and a glimmer of hope. I hang on to those tiny moments as if they were precious pearls.

Free this woman.

Could I?

Could I be a shining light for someone in their darkest night?

Could I help a soul find rest by doing what I do the best?

Could I tell of hopeful things and watch for peace and what it brings?

I don’t know but I can try
Write my thoughts, I’ll let them fly
Maybe one will see in view:
A better life… a better you.

Could I write some things that help, that don’t rehash a nasty whelp?

Could I write my feelings out and let you learn without a doubt

That life goes on and we go too, with hearts together staying true?

Could I?

I am my words (version 2)

I want to explore without getting lost
And visit lone places without any cost

To love more freely and yet I do not
Fearing the pain I reject the whole lot

My mind swirls in time and though I’ve no say
My closet is full of more prayers for the day

Temptation is danger to people like me
Who laugh at their frailties, as foam of the sea?

Mysteries plague my end-less repentance
Tortured desires, the reverse of my senses

Life is much more yet I am here fighting
To be what I be; I am here for the writing.

My words will I give and not ask for them back
And I’m sure when I’m done, there won’t be a lack

I want to know people but fear what I’ll feel
When they know my past that makes me so ill.

Yet I share what I know, reveal what I’ve heard
Being true to myself because I am my words.

Thursday, October 16, 2008

Stand in the rising sun

It’s another morning when the sun is blazing as its rising and I stand there in awe. I stand there in the rising sun.

The night has left me doubting and perplexed; am I making the right decision.

Rising sun speak to this confused one.

I wrote a friend-to-be but I cannot say what I fear.
I wrote an old friend but there’s no answer.
I wrote a new acquaintance, but feel afraid to reach out.
I wrote myself and we cried.

The night gets closer and I am tired and still I work on afraid to stop. I’ll set my clock. The hours drag as I wait for the rising sun.

Till it’s another morning when the sun is blazing as its rising and I stand there in awe. I stand there is the rising sun.

Rising sun speak to this confused one.

Tuesday, October 14, 2008


Her house upon the hill was high above the massive rocks
The sand now packed in mounds kept richer soil in locks
The water held a mirror reflecting beauty fair
While ripples from the tide obeyed no one who lived near there

Out beyond the sea wall beyond the roaring waves
A large and awesome whale swam peacefully in its ways
She watched it from a distance and longed to join its side
In hopes of floating eagerly upon the rising tide

The beast was oh so beautiful and swam for quite a while
And then she saw the reason why, and offered up a smile
A cow with calf arrived to play and joined the larger one
The three would live within the bay and she would watch the fun

Her house upon the hill was high above the massive rocks
Though time would not be measured by the sound of ticking clocks
She’d hurry to sand and sea and sun to watch her whales
And when her friends did come to tea she offered all de-tales!

Monday, October 13, 2008

Tall Trees

I was eight years old when our babysitter blew her brains out. No, they couldn’t have imagined why she would do that? Didn’t everyone love her? On my lap lay my paper, and many pencils; pieces of charcoal and white conte were gifts from the babysitter.

It was the viewing of the body and though everyone was curious about the damaged side of her head, I focused on the side that had a slight smile. Sleep of the angels? Of course some adults wanted to stop me until I told this one man: “I want to remember her beauty and joy. You look at what you want to remember.” And my Mom almost made me leave after that, but our minister said “no, she will stay.”

Later I lay in the big field and the tall trees stood above me and though I felt so small, so insignificant, those trees had enough power to lift the bruising from my heart and bid me a rest. I had been seeking solace in this place of tall trees; here again I needed their reassurance that life might continue without a special friend.

The minister lay down too and looked up into the trees and spoke, “Hi dc, your Mom called and said you wanted to meet me. Okay, I’m here, what would you like to talk about?”

“Oh, nothing really; I just wanted you to help me listen in case there’s something said and I don’t understand it. I’m almost nine, but I’m still a kid.”

“Why here, in this place?”

“The babysitter and I were here last Saturday… lying right here on these leaves. She told me that if things weren’t better when she got home she was going to blow her brains out.” I was shaking and barely holding back eight, almost nine year old sobs.

“I’m so sorry, dc… but”.

“I didn’t know what she meant or I could have told my Mom!” Now the dam was broken.

“Bless your heart.”

“No, bless my ears so I can understand from now on. I didn’t know, I didn’t know.”

It was a strange wind that stayed with the trees all through winter. I’d park my bike and walk into the circle and call her name. But no one answered. On her birthday I took a balloon and let it go up through the trees; pink, her favorite color.

Spring came and my mind left. My parents refused therapy for me, it was a no-no. All I know is that one day when I was twelve I looked in the mirror and saw myself and not “Barbara” staring back at me. I knew I was free, and so was she.

A Prisoner in Time

You captured me
because I let you
hear that,
I let you
capture me
now I'm going
and you
will not cry
why because
I was a good prisoner
a prisoner in time
why you spoke less
no sweetness
music stopped
no song
just carried on
in the new time
a low time
and I can go
I can let you go
my prison time
and you said
I was a good word
you captured me
because I let you
hear me,
I let you
capture me

Switched Teams

I hail from the “Carolinas” in the States; born and raised here. Don’t know why I keep coming back. It’s mostly the coast that holds me; holds me with all its wonder and my secrets. I used to be a basic Carolina girl who loved football. Got tired of all the negative and destructive behavior of sports professionals in our area; enough was enough.

See this Carolina Panther sitting on a granite wall? Well on that wall my name is engraved as one of the first seat license owners in the, then, “Erickson Stadium”. Imagine a small town girl cut into the wall. It was expensive but I was told it would make a great investment… gee I wish somebody had told “The Carolina Panthers” that.

Sold my ticket to family and went off to invest in people in other ways. I’ve had a lot more scoring on the board and lots of happy people getting needs met. So if you want to really invest your time, talent, and finances… invest in peoples’ lives. Your contribution becomes engraved on your heart. Please and thank you.

Another Fall

Its fall and the leaves are taking their time now to come down to the ground, to cover me with their jewel tones.

Its fall and the wind is dancing and prancing and my hair is blowing around and covers my eyes and I strain to see the path.

Its fall and short walks become longer, easier breathing, cool restful wind, and a nice chill prevented by a light jacket.

Its fall and my sweet Canadian geese strut from the lake down to Mrs. Nix’s and a group will take flight out soon.

Its fall and the last spotted monarch left two weeks ago and we are sad but know she will send new troops this coming spring.

Its fall, my Mom’s favorite time of year and I’m glad she passed on in spring because I love the fall too, and this was always our play season.

Its fall and as I wait for those leaves to accumulate so I can rake and jump in them, I wonder why I feel so alive in the dying time of the year? Or was that the answer.