Hiding from truth

I keep myself safe in the world of my own design
Erasing people who disagree
Keeping me the way I want to see and be
I become a person who is desirable
Only by me
Not she
 I won’t give truth entrée
I’ll run away, hide behind a tree
Beneath a blanket I call safety

I'm linking with G-Man with my 55 this morning

I like to face the truth, no matter how ugly, in my life.  Some people don't.  They fascinate me.

461.  Friday, but it seems the same as Thursday and Saturday when one doesn't have a job

462.  Lattes on a weekday

463.  Sleeping late

464.  Sleeping well

465.  Encouragement

466.  The offer of new employment

 

Love is a four letter word

Love warms my lips,
The four-letter-word,
The word I hesitate to use,
It makes me vulnerable,
It means I care,
It makes all of the other words moot
To speak it is to admit it.
To speak it is to strip naked - bare my heart - mean it - beg reciprocation -
Ten thousand angels are at my beck and call;  they guard my way.
I rejoice out loud 
Soft eyes wide-open, accepting my love as flowers accept sunshine
Leaves stir in the breeze and welcome me to rest in their shade.
It is music to me
Beginning
Blooming
Bubbling
and Bold

326.  Warm banana bread
327.  Rain cooling the roof of my house
328.  Being free
329.  Working hard and getting things accomplished
330.  New office mates and looking forward to seeing them tomorrow
331.  Watching tv and just chilling
332.  Having confidence that what comes around, goes around
333.  A comfortable bed
334.  My dog (even though he smells pretty bad)
335.  Not smelling like insect repellent and campfires
336.  Cool breezes

Defending the faith

Chick-Fil-A, Love Wins, Hermoine in 50 Shades of Grey
Hey, how's a believer to answer back?
Wring our hands?
Spout vitriol on the blog?
Is it enough to believe LOVE will be enough?
Is it fire we need to fight this firestorm?
Or squarely shut the door on all debate and pray it goes away?

Joining G-man on Friday flash 55

485.  The deepest crimson crepe myrtle I have ever seen
486.  A blue bird sitting on the basketball backstop in my driveway
487.  Sunny yellow gold finches flying around my bird-feeder
488.  Bright white begonias blooming outside my window
489.  Purple salvia standing tall next to the begonias

Summer night walk

 I can't lie, my son took this picture

Footsteps clip clap in flip flops. 

Headlights sweep 'cross dirty feet. 

Drizzling mists.  Streetlamp turning drops to diamonds. 

Spy a frog, hop the step. 

Nope, you cannot catch me yet. 

Thunder claps as lightnings flash. 

Drips drop harder, falling fast. 

I’m soaked to skin, my steps splish splash. 

Unbolt the door and let me in.

Joining G-Man with a Friday Flash 55

460.  Going out for dinner (to my favorite restaurant) with friends
461.  Husband is home from his travels
462.  Fully alert and awake this morning
463.  Friday (I just had to say it)

What comes of whining

I speak my need as you requested.

You’re busy with chores.  I shouldn’t be crying.

You get angry.

I give up, more easily than I typically do.  

Is this what I want? Are you going where I’m going?  Are cuddles on the couch forgotten feelings?

Slam

Silence settles around the house, now that you're gone.

Joining G-man with a Friday Flash 55

441.  Friday is here

442.  Only one more week on my own

443.  Understanding that sometimes when people yell, or talk very loud and aggressively to me, it's about them.  It's not about me

444.  Cooler temps outside.  whew

The drive home

Thunk, thunk, thunk of tires on pavement as the car weaves through the thick traffic of I95. We tease a few more miles per hour out of the engine and try to shave some time off the trek home. The highway curls around to the left and draws us forward with open road.

We relax and talk of vacation memories, beach and surf. We highlight our reminiscence with seashells and sunburns. Our driving chit-chat washes away the tedium of travel as we comb through each treasured anecdote.

Two weeks without plans shaped and styled to fill each day. Two weeks of days lengthened from lack of watches and schedules. Two weeks with cares rinsed away and the "must do's" blown off the calendar. We tease each other with dreams of next year.

258.  Safely home from vacation
259.  Sleeping in my own bed
260.  Pleasant driving conversation
261.  Singing along with the radio in the car
262.  Coming home to a clean house

I used verbs a hairstylist might use and am linking to d'Verse for the first time.  Btw, I'm using my phone to write today (no, I'm not the one driving). 

Sprinter (haiku)

February first
Pleasant balmy cloudless sky
I dub thee Sprinter

I will miss Em's meme at Imperfect Prose.  I learned so much about love and Jesus and hope here.  I wish her the best.  Good health.  Good luck.  Good times.  God bless.

by mjesli

Poison ivy

Fear took me over and stirred my thoughts
Mixing the compost of dark thoughts through my fertile mind
My imagination grew a vine of dread with thick strong stems
I try to pull them out
But the root stayed firmly stuck, in my brain

Foreboding a future I cannot foresee or control
Roots of fear work their way down my throat
I choke on them as they work their way inward
I try to change the taste from bile to honey by thinking sweet thoughts
But the taste is bitter and lingers on my tongue

Panic fills me when I contemplate life's transitions
Employment ends, classes begin, life twists life turns
I feel the roots work their way to my belly, acid flows
It bubbles, it gurgles and roils.  Pink potion please
But I vomit the vitriol of fear

Cold sweat covers my skin as I wipe puke from my lips
I try to wash it away and rinse sour spit from my mouth
I glimpse myself in the mirror I see the terror in my eyes
Spiral tendrils twisting through my hair and fingers sprouting leaves
The vine of dread bloomed full in me

Praying the break of dawn with sunshine rays to kill this creeper in me
Shift the shadows, shine the light
See the forest for the trees, all is darkest before dawn
Truth lies in axioms of the ages
I can brave another day

Christmas tree haiku

Bare tree with baubles
Silver icicles drip down
Can you see the cross?

Sunday 160 - Making bread

Bad choices make great stories
Do they not?
Fodder & grist for the mill
Mixed with her tears
Baked with his ire
I will enjoy the fruits of my labor
With butter & jam

This is Monkey Man's last time hosting the Sunday 160.  I didn't post here very often, but I loved the challenge of the 160.  Fare thee well, Monkey Man.

56 similes found in in the Post or hs student papers (or neither, but they’re still hilarious)

I'm always looking for ways to improve my writing.  Especially to improve my poetry.  I think similes are so helpful in bringing words to life.  I found this HUGE list of similes and they are HILARIOUS.  It's hard to tell where this list originated.  Some say it was from a Washington Post contest.  Others avow the list is collected from high school English teachers.  Who cares?  They are funny.

Feel free to select your favorites in the comments.  :)

I hope your weekend is joyful and relaxing, like a stressful and sad work week isn't.

1. Her eyes were like two brown circles with big black dots in the center.
2. He was as tall as a 6′3″ tree.
3. Her face was a perfect oval, like a circle that had its two sides gently compressed by a Thigh Master.
4. From the attic came an unearthly howl. The whole scene had an eerie, surreal quality, like when you’re on vacation in another city and Jeopardy comes on at 7:00 p.m. instead of 7:30.
5. John and Mary had never met. They were like two hummingbirds who had also never met.
6. She had a deep, throaty, genuine laugh, like that sound a dog makes just before it throws up.
7. The ballerina rose gracefully en pointe and extended one slender leg behind her, like a dog at a fire hydrant.
8. He was as lame as a duck. Not the metaphorical lame duck, either, but a real duck that was actually lame. Maybe from stepping on a land mine or something.
9. Her vocabulary was as bad as, like, whatever.
10. She grew on him like she was a colony of E. coli and he was room-temperature Canadian beef.
11. The revelation that his marriage of 30 years had disintegrated because of his wife’s infidelity came as a rude shock, like a surcharge at a formerly surcharge-free ATM.
12. The lamp just sat there, like an inanimate object.
13. McBride fell 12 stories, hitting the pavement like a Hefty bag filled with vegetable soup.
14. His thoughts tumbled in his head, making and breaking alliances like underpants in a dryer without Cling Free.
15. He spoke with the wisdom that can only come from experience, like a guy who went blind because he looked at asolar eclipse without one of those boxes with a pinhole in it and now goes around the country speaking at high schools about the dangers of looking at a solar eclipse without one of those boxes with a pinhole in it.
16. Long separated by cruel fate, the star-crossed lovers raced across the grassy field toward each other like two freight trains, one having left Cleveland at 6:36 p.m. traveling at 55 mph, the other from Topeka at 4:19 p.m. at a speed of 35 mph.
17. Shots rang out, as shots are apt to do.
18. The little boat gently drifted across the pond exactly the way a bowling ball wouldn’t.
19. Her hair glistened in the rain like a nose hair after a sneeze.
20. The hailstones leaped from the pavement, just like maggots when you fry them in hot grease.
21. They lived in a typical suburban neighborhood with picket fences that resembled Nancy Kerrigan’s teeth.
22. He fell for her like his heart was a mob informant and she was the East River.
23. Even in his last years, Grand pappy had a mind like a steel trap, only one that had been left out so long, it had rusted shut.
24. He felt like he was being hunted down like a dog, in a place that hunts dogs, I suppose.
25. She was as easy as the TV Guide crossword.
26. She walked into my office like a centipede with 98 missing legs.
27. The plan was simple, like my brother-in-law Phil. But unlike Phil, this plan just might work.
28. The young fighter had a hungry look, the kind you get from not eating for a while.
29. “Oh, Jason, take me!” she panted, her breasts heaving like a college freshman on $1-a-beer night.
30. It hurt the way your tongue hurts after you accidentally staple it to the wall.
31. It was an American tradition, like fathers chasing kids around with power tools.
32. He was deeply in love. When she spoke, he thought he heard bells, as if she were a garbage truck backing up.
33. The politician was gone but unnoticed, like the period after the Dr. on a Dr Pepper can.
34. Her eyes were like limpid pools, only they had forgotten to put in any pH cleanser.
35. Her date was pleasant enough, but she knew that if her life was a movie this guy would be buried in the credits as something like “Second Tall Man.”
36. The thunder was ominous-sounding, much like the sound of a thin sheet of metal being shaken backstage during the storm scene in a play.
37. The red brick wall was the color of a brick-red Crayola crayon.
38. She caught your eye like one of those pointy hook latches that used to dangle from screen doors and would fly up whenever you banged the door open again.
39. Her pants fit her like a glove, well, maybe more like a mitten, actually.
40. Fishing is like waiting for something that does not happen very often.
41. They were as good friends as the people on “Friends.”
42. Oooo, he smells bad, she thought, as bad as Calvin Klein’s Obsession would smell if it were called Enema and was made from spoiled Spamburgers instead of natural floral fragrances.
43. The knife was as sharp as the one used by Rep. Sheila Jackson Lee (D-Tex.) in her first several points of parliamentary procedure made to Rep. Henry Hyde (R-Ill.) in the House Judiciary Committee hearings on the impeachment of President William Jefferson Clinton.
44. He was as bald as one of the Three Stooges, either Curly or Larry, you know, the one who goes woo woo woo.
45. The sardines were packed as tight as the coach section of a 747.
46. Her eyes were shining like two marbles that someone dropped in mucus and then held up to catch the light.
47. The baseball player stepped out of the box and spit like a fountain statue of a Greek god that scratches itself a lot and spits brown, rusty tobacco water and refuses to sign autographs for all the little Greek kids unless they pay him lots of drachmas.
48. I felt a nameless dread. Well, there probably is a long German name for it, like Geschpooklichkeit or something, but I don’t speak German. Anyway, it’s a dread that nobody knows the name for, like those little square plastic gizmos that close your bread bags. I don’t know the name for those either.
49. She was as unhappy as when someone puts your cake out in the rain, and all the sweet green icing flows down and then you lose the recipe, and on top of that you can’t sing worth a damn.
50. Her artistic sense was exquisitely refined, like someone who can tell butter from I Can’t Believe It’s Not Butter.
51. It came down the stairs looking very much like something no one had ever seen before.
52. Bob was as perplexed as a hacker who means to access T:flw.quid55328.com\aaakk/ch@ung but gets T:\flw.quidaaakk/ch@ung by mistake.
53. You know how in “Rocky” he prepares for the fight by punching sides of raw beef? Well, yesterday it was as cold as that meat locker he was in.
54. The dandelion swayed in the gentle breeze like an oscillating electric fan set on medium.
55. Her lips were red and full, like tubes of blood drawn by an inattentive phlebotomist.
56. The sunset displayed rich, spectacular hues like a .jpeg file at 10 percent cyan, 10 percent magenta, 60 percent yellow and 10 percent black.

November

A swirl of steam wraps 'round
Cinnamon apple caramel cream
Dreams of leaf beds concealing me
Heaps of sweets say November's near

Leaves off trees whip 'round and 'round
Greens fade 'way to orange and sound
Golden brown crunch covers ground
Smokey smells seep through weeds

Snuggling in socks and sweaters now
Bid farewell to summer play
Resign ourselves to shorter days
Songs of Christmas say November's near

Why social justice doesn't work and OWS won't make a difference

This is a parable called the River.

A group of people are standing at a river bank and suddenly hear the cries of a baby.  Shocked, they see an infant floating--drowning--in the water.  One person immediately dives in to rescue the child.  But as this is going on, yet another baby comes floating down the river, and then another!  People continue to jump in to save the babies and then see that one person has started to walk away from the group still on shore.  Accusingly they shout, "where are you going?"  The response:  "I'm going upstream to stop whoever's throwing babies into the river.

The moral of the story is to get to the root of the problem, right?  If we get to the root of the problem then all will be well.

I don't have to travel all the way upstream to tell you what the root of the problem is.  I can tell you now.  The problem is sin.  The problem is always sin.  And the problem will always be sin.

If I go upstream and find an evil man throwing babies into the river I cannot take the evil out of the man.  If I kill the evil man, there will be another to take his place.  If I go upstream and find a daycare built against the river with no barrier between the children and the river and see children falling in the river, I can talk to the owner.  I will find a lazy or greedy establishment, unwilling to do the work or spend the money to provide a fence.  If I build a fence to protect the children at this establishment, another establishment will be erected further up the river with lower costs, and there will be no fence.  Babies will continues to fall into the river.  

We cannot depend on government to save us.  We cannot take greed or sloth or vanity or wrath or envy out of government any more than we can take it out of a man.  Only Jesus can change a heart.

We cannot do anything about the root of the problem.  Only Jesus can fix the problem.  All we can do is jump in the river and pull out as many babies as we can.  When we, the Church, agree to waste its time searching for and attempting to fix the root of the problem we are only spinning our wheels and wasting our time and resources.  There will always be sin in the world until Jesus returns.

The Church is the body of Christ, just as the Bible describes.  Jesus met individuals where they were and in the condition they were in, he didn't meet with political figures and try to change the system.  I believe Jesus said something like, pay your taxes or render unto Caesar that which belongs to Caesar.  I believe the religious / political leaders didn't care too much for Jesus.  They rejected him.

So all you ministers, pastors, priests, Sunday school teachers, Christians who are promoting or participating or beating a drum for OWS.  You are not being the body of Christ.   Jump in the river.  Save a baby.  Social justice is a waste of your time here on earth.

See the Light

Red light!  Stop!
Halt all action on the street.
99% are taking over.
Take my picture.  Instagram.
I'm a tweeting bird on the wireless.
Greed, lies, it's not fair.
Arrest me!
Where's my trophy?  I got a C.  
Good enough. 72% is passing.  I got me a degree
In theater. I deserve the best.
What more does it take to pay the rent?

Yellow light!  Caution!
Slow down anonymous rhetoric and think.
You bought the dream.  You signed the form.
Pay the piper, pay the debt.  With interest.
You're on your knees in protest now.
When did you ever turn and bow?
To God
Blame the man.  Don't look down
At your iPhone, flat screen, data flow
On mom's plan.  She owes me
Doesn't she?  I didn't ask to be born.

Green light! Go!
Get a job.  Raise your family.
Stay with the wife you chose.
It's all grass, everywhere, none is better anywhere.
You don't need more than you have.
Be content and be generous
To all.
What goes around will come around.
You aren't entitled to the good life.
Don't believe the lies.  Repent your sin.
Return to truth.  The real truth, not yours.

Procrastination

Nothing is so fatiguing as the eternal hanging on of an uncompleted task. ~ William James

True this.

I've got a few thing hanging over my head lately.  They are, without a doubt, exhausting me.  I'm not tired from doing, but I'm tired of thinking I SHOULD be doing them.  I have a list.  Maybe if I write this list and share it with all of you, I will start accomplishing SOMETHING.

But, before I write the list, I want to talk a bit about procrastination.  I want to talk about good procrastination and bad procrastination.  I've learned there are three types of procrastination.  Depending on what you do instead of working on something, you:

1. do nothing
2. work on something less important
3. work on something more important

I will suggest the type 3 individual is doing good procrastination.  He is putting off the small stuff to take care of the big stuff.  I'm going to suggest many moms fall into being the type 3 procrastinators.  I believe being actively involved with your children is a "big stuff" project, as opposed to dusting the bookshelf.  However, watching Ellen instead of being actively involved with your children or dusting is a type 1 or bad procrastination.
 
This is certainly the "reader's digest" condensed version of this theory, but I hope you are getting my drift.  Some of the small stuff things, like mowing the lawn, filing your taxes, grocery shopping, and the like, will eventually become big stuff problems if avoided long enough.  So even though you may have big stuff in your lives, like raising children, running a business, finishing your dissertation, writing the next great American novel, you eventually have to deal with some of the small stuff before they become big problems.

And this is where I find myself.  Lately I've been dealing with the big problem of my broken house and destroyed landscaping.  I've been hoping the roofer, we have ALREADY hired, will start replacing our roof.  I thought when this finally began my paralysis on doing other jobs, *read small stuff*, would end.  But, no roofing work has begun.  No repairs on the house are underway.  Now the small stuff is starting to build up and weigh heavily on my mind.  My procrastination must end.  I can no longer use the excuse of fixing my house to keep me from doing the small stuff.  So, back to the concept of writing down my list.

• Send in my winter CSA contract and check
• Iron all the clothes I have piled on the chair in my bedroom
• Fill out the tax forms for donations to Vintage Value
• Send church the letter telling them we have moved on to a different church
• Pull weeds and pull overgrown annuals out of my flower beds
• Wash all the mildew off the front door of my house
• Call the rancher and order my lamb
• Work with my son to sort through stuff from his room
• Go for a walk every now and then *read start exercising*

Wish me luck.  :)  Oh, while I was thinking about getting some of these things done, I rewrote Carly Simon's Anticipation to fit my post today.  If I felt ambitious I would have sung it and made a YouTube.  Maybe I'll do that someday...  When I find some time.

I don’t ever finish all the chores I have to do

But I think about them all the day

And I wonder if I'm really going to do them now

Or just wait ‘til after what Ellen has to say.

Procrastination, Procrastination

It’s making me late

It’s keeping you waiting

And I tell you how easy it is to put things off

And how right it feels to nothing at all.

But I rehashed the things I have to do last night

Then started thinking about how to avoid this work.

Procrastination, Procrastination

It’s making me late

It’s keeping you waiting

And tomorrow we might not have clean clothes

I'm no prophet, but I know we will need food

So I'll try to get out to the grocery store

I'll get to it, 'cause I'll get it done someday.

I'll get it done someday.

I'll get to it, 'cause I'll get it done someday.

I'll get it done someday.

I'll get it done someday.

I'll get it done someday.

I'll get it done someday.

  I'll get it done someday.  

 

 

I guess I should get working on that list now.  :)

Balloon ride

Indigo skies await me
Held breath and cold feet
How high will I fly?

Colors glow
Fires blow hot air
How soon will I fly?

Crowd grows
Spines will chill
How many will fly?

Soar, float, rocket high
Blast into the sky
How can this craft fly?

Hot air, cool breeze
Calm hand, shaking knees
How long will I fly?

Cluster of colors
Gather in groups
How do we fly free?

I break from the pack
Float above trees
How free from earth am I?

Sweet silence is mine
Peacefulness find
How it quiets my mind.

Yet gravity wins
All flying must end
How long must I wait to rejoin the wind?

images by Mark Smith

Kisses from my son

My son is kissing me on the cheek every day
I try not to flinch
We have had so much distance in our lives
Since he became a man.

My son is a mystery I cannot solve
His expression mostly flat
I have no hint to the thoughts in his head
Since he was three years old.
 
My son needs extreme sensations to emote
A reaction to an event or feeling
There is no subtle emotional response
He hurts himself to feel.
 
My son is kissing me on the cheek every day
I try to accept
His efforts to convey love to me
Since it does not come naturally.

My son is my heart and soul
I want a perfect life for him
Life handed him high hurdles
It's hard to watch him jump

My son is  slowly growing wiser in life
Making efforts to navigate this world
Uncharted waters I don't understand
So I'll provide the life boat.

My son is kissing me on the cheek every day
I still feel the stubble of his chin
No baby kisses anymore
He's making a choice to show me love.

School's here

Three, two, one
Summer is done
Shortened days
Lunchroom trays
School in session
Answer the question
Join the throng
As days speed along
Before we know it
We'll be frost bit
With chilly breezes
And someone preaches
"Remember the blast
Of heat that harassed
Us all through June"
Coming soon
We will enjoy
With every girl and boy
Christmas vacation
Days and weeks hasten
To bring us spring
And begin the counting
Of the days
With shouts of hoorays
School will be done
Three, two, one 

Zingers

Like musical notes on a staff
Sit birds in an orderly manner
While below their tiny feet
Whiz voltage of uncounted measure

Calmly I type out my prose
While power is soaring nearby
Plastic protecting small hands
From shocking me to a quick fry

Inside my brain spin strange thoughts
Dangerous if not packaged well
Keep my mouth shut, all to myself
Don't tell them all go to hell

Once all the power is loosed
Once the words pour from me sharp
Sparks fly so high and burn hot
Hurt zings straight to their soft heart

Hot weather

I feel the air on my skin
Wet, hot, thick
Like walking through a blanket
It slaps my cheeks and soaks my neck

I feel the sun on my skin
Bright, burning, hot
Penetrating my head
Simmering my brain in my skull

I feel oppressed and opposed
Grass is brittle and dry
Garden wilting and limp
Squirrels are slow and birds silent

I long for ocean breezes
Cool water lapping feet
Sweating glasses of tea on ice
My body resting on the sand

I pray for this wave to break
Foaming, crashing, spreading out
Over the continent of red
Wash us with a whisper of winter

I'm linking to Emily, but I haven't heard from her in a couple days.  Maybe she is having her baby?  I hope.