On My Heart

Spots

My hearted has been spotted.
Spotted by places.
Places have spotted my heart.
My heart has spots in it because of those places.

The road above my Grandma's driveway.
A spot.
In snow, rain, or shine, I have sat upon that space and pondered the heavens and wrestled within my own head.
I have danced there, cried there, and talked there. I have run to there and from there. 
In that spot, I have drawn closer to God, closer to myself, and closer to those people who I yearn to be with.

The road leading to my house has spotted me too.
Up and down. Up and down. 
On a sled, in my yoga pants, and with a school bag.
On that hill, that long winding hill, I have found space to think, the first daffodils of spring, the way to my neighbor's house, and dad's truck coming up the driveway. 
It was a place of exercise, mediation, dogs, and shin splints. 
It was the way to and from home.


I spot some spots that dot the globe, brilliantly white.  I spot them as I drive and fly; their serenity spots me every time.
On that mount, diverse, yet consistent, I have seen miracles, heard thoughts, and found comfort.
I have been schooled, I have listened, and I have been calmed.
I have been overwhelmed. I have walked there, talked there, and felt loved there.
I don't even have to stand in that spot to be marked by the occasion.  
Just driving on the road flying past it or parking beside it instills that calmness in my heart.  So I often drive by just to be inspired by that spot.


I spot these places of comfort and include them repeatedly in my life.
But really the places become spots on my heart.
Pieces of my sanity.
Pieces of my spirituality.
Possessed by the places that allow for my understanding.

Perfect Days

Perfect Days:

·        Wind, warm sand, cool ocean floaters.

·        Wind in my hair, sun on my face, snow under my board

·        Wind in the trees, colors all around, spice and pumpkins

·        Wind in my hair, sunglasses on my face, water splashing my legs

·        Wind all around, “lean!” being screamed, a jet-ski in view

·        Wind coming in the windows, summer music blasting, laughter from the girls

·        Wind in my hair, your arms around me, kisses on my face

The Back Story

The Back Story

I am from the morning and moon, born after twelve hours, nine to nine.

I am from the soft grass that crinkled beneath my toes as I wandered through my backyard, smelling the tulips and daffodils.

I am from the old brick school, paralleling the creek bed of crawdads, with a giant slide that accompanied the tire swing of my childhood.

I am from oranges, yellows, and reds, the colors that fueled our economy and embellished my imagination on the hikes, where I was an Indian captive or Pocahontas.

I am from the land of “school is delayed!” There was an inch of snow this morning!

I am from my basement, towel covering the crack in my door, hiding the reading light late into the night.

I am from the blue and gold cement stadium, an amphitheater of sports nestled in the Smokeys.

I am from early mornings and long drives, the birth of my most important education.

I am from plane rides and road trips, the child of constant movement with a steady base.

*Inspired by George Ella Lyon's "Where I'm From"

For the Fat Kid

FOR THE FAT KID
I love you like a fat kid loves chocolate cake.
I love you like a smile loves a dentist.
I love you like a cloud loves the daffodils.
I love you like the rainbow loves the rain.
I love you like my muscles do when you’ve killed my knots.
I love you like my dreams love my alarm the night before a big trip.

In short, I think I’m in “like” with you.
“In love” is for the fat kid.

Incriminating Evidence

Water cup: I fill it every morning

Two forks: one plastic, one metal; I bring them for my lunches at work.

Spoon: also for lunch at work

Salt: from a restaurant just in case I need it for one of my lunches

Hershey’s candy bar wrapper: I got it while pretending to be interested in book binding

Humoru: a magnet because my friend was in the stand-up comedy club

Wallet: a necessary evil

Loose change: proof of my laziness because I could have put it in my wallet

Paper towels from breakfast: might as well use them as tissues

Clunky ring: pretty in theory, but impossible to put up with

General Conference ticket: I went

Business card from the Latin festival: this was for a jewelry artist

Flower clip: replacement for last year’s, which is missing

Mascara: my safety since I forget that step in my morning routine

Lipgloss: thrown in just in case I feel the need to impress

Chapstick: my actual lip preference

Two red pens: I hate the color, but haven’t bought a different color for grading

One blue pen : I grade with it since I hate red

Three black pens: I can only write with black

Receipt: kept because I feel like I should budget, but crinkled at the bottom of my purse since I don’t

Sunglasses: I hate bright light

Fake glasses: for when I want to feel smart or block fluorescent light inside buildings

Earrings: impossible to live without; these are my spares

3-D movie glasses plastic case: evidence of my passion

Harry Potter movie ticket: better evidence of my passion

iPhone: my lifeline and source of distraction and source of frustration and elation

Keys: my second set, which has my house key rather than my office keys

Snowy Snapshots

As I got out of my car at some point during the day, I looked up and saw a clearing in the wispy clouds about the Wasatch front. There was a peak so definitive that from far below I could see individual branches. They looked so perfect frosted in the snowy layers that clung to each pine strand and needle, with the clouds to frame the moment, the blue sky the backdrop, and a moment for me to pause and stare: until I realized I had to go to work. So I walked away from my picture, and its cast now in the brief respite of my mind.

The joy of poetry is that it can bring these eidetic images back to us. I am had the library looking over sample questions for the Praxis II that I'm taking on Saturday, when this poem was listed as part of a question, and it opened my former picture, once again for just a moment.

Robert Frost's Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening:

Whose woods these are I think I know. - A
His house is in the village, though; - A
He will not see me stopping here - B
To watch his woods fill up with snow. - A
My little horse must think it queer - B
To stop without a farmhouse near - B
Between the woods and frozen lake - C
The darkest evening of the year. - B
He gives his harness bells a shake - C
To ask if there is some mistake. - C
The only other sound's the sweep - D
Of easy wind and downy flake. - C
The woods are lovely, dark and deep. - D
But I have promises to keep, - D
And miles to go before I sleep, - D
And miles to go before I sleep. - D

Like Frost, I feel like I have miles to go before I sleep. Miles to go. And many virtues to acquire, patience to be developed, and hope to be embellished by the break in the clouds or in the village. Somehow the snow and clouds, their whiteness, cleans my air and let's me breathe in: small walking moments in the run of my life.

Character

Halloween beckons.
It calls to my Inner child,
Which is why today,
four days before the Blessed day,
I am dressed as Nala,
A young lioness ready to pounce and pin.
Nala takes my reserved self and makes it
fiesty,
hearty,
and firesome,
which led me to tomorrow:

Katniss, the firegirl,
Young heroine of my heart.
I'm not the Mockingjay,
but I dream of being
Firegirl.
I can see my arms ablaze with fabric,
my bodice aflamed in
red,
orange,
and yellow.
My hands burning their gloves.

on Friday, I will be someone.
Some identity I love.
People may not
Recognize the
Nala
or
Katniss,
But on the inside:
I am changed.
I am a character.
I see many characters.
I can be many characters,
Characterized and selected
by my
Secular Worship.

Raw Warning

Raw Warning

Writing and Reading
Not a dangerous scene.
In spite of all our travels,
The dangers are unseen.

Perhaps we think of conflicts,
Of wars about the good.
Of social movements plenty,
Of characters who could.

And then we sit in classes,
We talk and fill the boards.
We turn in all our papers--
Insecurity withstood.

Yet my hands have their scarring.
Like bed sores a la carte
From the computer where they rest
Rubbing raw, from thinking smart.

So English isn't shooting,
But safe I don't believe,
Look at my hands and elbows.
They testify; they bleed.

:-)

Happiness means letting go of things
outside of your control.
It means forging new levels of patience.
And new methods for coping.

Happiness means being grateful
for what blessingsyou have.
Not demanding that they be
tailor-made to your wishes.

Happiness means accepting life as it is.
And stepping forward with
hope for tomorrow--

And yesterday--
And today.

Hope that tomorrow will find growth.
Yesterday, meaning.
And today________________________________.
(FILL IN THE BLANK)



Written on July 7, 2010

Lemons

Lemon, a tart flavor that makes
the bland, bright;
the weak, strong;
the boring, memorable.

Lemons lighten the hardened,
liven the burdened, YET
lament the crummy.

Lemons illuminate life,
making minuscule moments magically looming.

Lemons lighten up life
AND
awaken the senses:
the eyes, our smells, the taste,
AND
in so doing,
Changes my air.