Fail to Smile

Writer’s block and too busy this week. It was a strain just to get Wednesday out. You probably noticed…

So here is an ancient poem. I am not sure what I was thinking at the end. Guess I thought it was cool?

Fail To Smile

2/16/00

She has straight teeth that fail to smile,
For life is too short,
Running straight and in file.
She has eyes that fail to blink,
For what she might miss.
Her ship comes in only to sink,
And she cries little more than once a week,
At all the things she’s done.
Going back for more each night,
She cries herself to sleep.
To wake she will fight,
Her eyes hidden away from light,
Struggling for them to keep
Shut.

No words could utter as mad as her eyes,
No thoughts her pain could realize.
She lives out at sea,
Blue as the sea,
Calm as the breakers against the skies.

LoveherdearsweeteyescompleteherlifeIpray.
Ifonlyshewascontentandnotjustsatisfied.
ButwhoamItosay?
Isithearingherlipsfortheyhavesighed.
HowamItopray?

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Jeaux

I wrote this back when I still thought she was going to get over me. Yeah right…. Since she is back after being gone three weeks I am not making a fancy post today.

Enjoy this, it’s slightly embarrassing.

“Jeaux”

Looking into your eyes,
I realize,
That life is long and beautiful,
When I can spend its days with you.
Those eyes,
As deep as heaven’s pools,
As bright as a virgin snowfall,
Show me the future,
When I will walk into a small shop in a big town,
Just a curious visit,
And I see you,
Sitting there,
Smiling,
Lost in a dream,
And I will look you in the eyes and say,
“So Jeaux, got any Dylan vinyl?”
And you will look at me and smile and say,
“I knew someone once, Bob was his name.”
And I’ll reply,
“So Jeaux, I see you got your shop.”
And we will reminisce,
I will search the vinyls, the incense(notably vanilla and eucalyptus), the teas, the coffees,
And then I will turn to you,
Kiss you full on the mouth,
And admit how much I’ve missed you over the years,
Life without the love we share wouldn’t be life,
Love without you wouldn’t be love,
The sea is nothing without its salt,
And I am nothing without you.

You Know Me

Getting told what I already know

But I deny,

You know me

And make me cry.

You know me.

You know me better than I know me,

You read all the lines I try to hide in the book of my mind,

Without me speaking a single word.

You see my actions and know my motives,

When I am unaware I acted at all.

You add flesh to the bones of my thought,

Even the thoughts I didn’t know I had

Until you poked them out.

You know my fears,

My insecurities,

And when I share,

My ambitions.

You know my needs,

Though not my wants,

Which I only tell in extreme conditions.

You know me,

Though I hardly seem to know you at all.

I’ve spent too much time navel gazing.

Too much time inside,

Always hearing but never listening,

With ears plugged with pride.

You know me,

I thought I knew me,

But I lied.

I don’t know anyone really.

Passion

If passion was clothing,

We’d never be naked…

Some feelings are too immense for words,

Too painfully explosive to cross one’s lips.

And when they dare breach that threshold,

They tumble out jumbled and quivering from exhaustion.

They dance around in one’s head,

Jumping to a feverish pitch,

Wanting to consume their object,

Wanting to be one with it,

To mold atom into atom,

To literally be it.

Love is called a fire,

One is said to burn with passion,

To be consumed with it,

To be enraptured by its object.

Love is terrifying in its power,

In its ability to empty one’s mind,

And fill it with nothing but thoughts about the beauty and loveliness of another.

Love has the power to consume hours,

To make time disappear,

As one lies in the arms of another.

Love is a power,

A force,

A thing not to be trifled with.

It is a terrible monster,

Lying in wait,

Waiting to pounce upon two people when they are least expectant,

Waiting to consume them and make them act with insanity.

Love is an action.

Driven by a will to serve another.

Undergirded with a passion to make the other immensely,

And insatiably,

Happy.

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MAM: July 2, 2018: A Waterfall is Within

I don’t know exactly when I wrote this or the circumstances, but it seems pretty descriptive of so many points in my life. Enjoy!

A waterfall is within,
But drying up before my eyes, I weep dry tears, I fear I am falling out of faith, I fear I am falling out of grace, I fear grace was never here.

Beating my head against a brick wall of my own sin, breaking through every barrier I have put in my way, endlessly tripping down the same path, when will it end?

I fear I may never be able to win this war, I lose battle after battle, I fight with no ally, I fight alone, I fight within, I fight myself to sleep and grieve with every broken promise made to myself and the ones I love.

Is there an end, a way to win, is there a battle I may be victorious in? Never alone will I win, never alone can I conquer myself, I am too frail, too deep in my own flood of desires and passions. I am consumed.

I am faltered, I am weak, I am weary, I have fallen. I can’t get up from this pit, I am endlessly lost in this grave, underground but still walking, dead but still breathing, I need help, I need life.

I need forgiveness, I need strength, I need a Hand to lift me up, I need to turn around, to make my way back to joy. I cannot win my battles alone, I cannot fight my struggles inside, I must bring the war into the open.

Lead me on, Spirit. Be my shield and my sword, be my horse that carries me through the sea of deadly temptations, wielding their bloody axes, hacking into those without You, killing those who mock You, not knowing of Your might.

Lift me up, turn me away, send me running far out into the open, far away from the death that is within me.

Forgive me, cleanse me, heal me, cause my heart to be apologetic, cause my life to reflect You, cause my mind to dwell on You, cause my body to desire You.

I have thirsted, I have drowned, I have hungered and been gluttonous with that which is deadly, I have been arrogant and I have been smashed to bits.

But my life is faith, my walk is delicate, my desires are few, for I am fulfilled by my salvation, I am lifted up and guided through hard times by the Spirit who is greater than I.

I am nothing. God is Everything.

Stop Fearing Your Own Voice

Kids aren’t afraid of their own voice.

I got an email the other day about writing in your own voice. We grow up being told in school how to write, and writing in your own voice is a big no no. You must write through a filter, just like good speakers talk through a filter. I can’t tell you how many “great” speakers truly grate on me with their speech patterns (Hillary Clinton and Obama both have a cadence that runs me up a wall).

It’s much the same with writers, there are some bloggers who I read once and think “never again.” Sometimes it is because they are too long winded. Sometimes it is because they are too stiff and formal, sometimes they are just trying to sound too fluffy for my tastes.

That article really got me thinking though. I filter a lot. (My 12th grade English teacher would kill me for using “a lot.”) I hold back so much out of fear. Mostly fear of the audience and what they might think, but also just fear of really being myself. (And “really”… she really hated that one.)

Whether it is writing or painting or picking a picture to post (don’t get me started on my guitar playing) I hold back. I don’t put my all into anything, I am afraid of it. I am afraid you will see me for what I am. You will see my flaws, my lack of talent, my lack of ability, or my ignorance. I fear that you will chuckle at me or walk away confused by me. I fear you will think I am a fool or a dork or any number of other pejoratives.

Perhaps I am all too aware of my flaws. Knowing them makes it all the more difficult to show my best. I am not the aloof kindergartner who actually believes his recorder playing sounds good (it never sounds good), I am a grown man who knows what he is trying for and exactly how far off the mark he is.

But just because I am not quite on the mark does not mean that I can’t show off my progress. I am getting ever closer to the mark, when I put in the effort. Whether it be in painting, in writing, in taking pictures, in playing music (that one’s in a holding pattern) or any of the dozen or so things I attempt to do in life, I am progressing.

Not sure if better…
Or just a change in style.

I need not fear my own voice or my own hand, for both are bound to improve with exercise.

And neither should you.