Broken Birdsong

In an Instagram world You’re a Polaroid; A fresh classic at heart, Full of life and color Undeterred by the norm, You brim with good vibes; Spreading tailor-made rays Of sunlight through the trees Your laugh is outrageous - I strain just to hear The tear-bringing joy sound That bursts forth from your frame Yes, that is the image In you, Polaroid, That the focus is on, To best capture the light Mirth, it forms in your eyes, And now in my mind, As I take mental shots Of you rolling with glee Oh, my Polaroid friend, With your flashing smile, And those belly laugh jokes, You spread love instantly One snapshot of you, child, I share with the world That you expose to me In your own awesome way {this poem is also an entry to a contest. if you'd like to help me out, find me here & share from that page. you're a beautiful human being, & I'm grateful.}

[maybe the labels cued you in, or maybe you're an old hat at this, & remembered when I told you  of my intent to post these poems. These are pre-healing poems, typed by a post-healing poet, & the perspective is profound & overwhelming to me. This poem, specifically, was so vital at that time. It was a battle. I wept over it. I sketched it. I breathed these words for weeks, & now here they are, & the hope is so much more real to me.] (written August 14th, 2014) Can't get to sleep Cannot wake up Confused, I weep With empty cup Endless cycles Lost trains of thought Shame recitals Battles un-fought Strength all but gone Can't move my lips Hold sketch I've drawn In fingertips I know the words to pray Can't bring myself to say them How can I feel this way, Knowing all I'm saved from? Do You feel rejected As I do? Confused and dejected, I doubt Truth Why do these things feel real When they're false? Were I dead, co

It's almost strange to me, how prominent naming has become in my life. I never gave it much thought before. Now, I find myself thinking about someday babies, & rather than trying to come up with the most lovely & unique name (e.g., Mykelti), I ponder names that have significance to me. I used to think that naming babies after people was so out of date ... but, now? It's not so much a thing of heritage (although I definitely want to pass down my middle name), but of deeper meaning. I want my babies to be named after a prayer warrior with a gentle spirit, or a person that always knew how to comfort those around them, & lift them up. I want to name them after artists - give them the name of some human who overcame pain & made Beauty out of their life. I want to pray those things over my children; to bless those qualities in them even before they are born, & every day after. I give them a name that, when spoken, is essentially a prayer. I could call a child

(written July 23rd, 2014 - almost exactly a year ago) Ink-smudged hands betray me Proof that I'm still fighting My thoughts can be rambunctious I don't quite know where I am I'm a finger puppet Keep forgetting my lines I can't seem to stop it Mimicking roles not my own I want out of the gray To stark lines of paper Where I have found a way To stitch together my thoughts With a black pen as thread Here I can find my voice Preaching inside my head Odd, how now they all listen So observe my stained hands Tremble at what you know Who you know that I am "What has her pen done this time?" I underline the Scriptures Claiming promises as mine I pray to the Creator Writing His words next to my own I make art through the pain Writing poems, sketching Proof that I still remain You have not defeated me My God sees the darkness As I view blank paper He readies His brushes And paints with His light and grace His hands are twice as

I wanted to be an artist. I thought the definition of Artist was "one who paints pretty pictures." & somewhere in that definition, I was sure was the stipulation that the art had to be quick & effortless. It wasn't supposed to be something you learned, but something you created ... You were full of art, & therefore, you simply made art. As I grew older, I saw that there was more to art than paintbrushes. I even admitted that there was art within me. But I failed to notice what had happened to me ... I became art-oriented. This is something I'm only now discovering, & I don't fully understand it, nor its connotations. (by the way, I looked "connotations" up, to make sure the full definition was what I wanted to express here {I love looking up words I thought I knew & discovering new depths to them}, & I was thoroughly satisfied with the result. A definitively pleasing definition to read. Add looking it up to today'