Be obscure clearly.  ~E.B. White 

Friday, August 8, 2014

Song writing therapy

When I was just three, trying to fall asleep

 You said, the stars wanted to kiss me.

Close your eyes, pucker up, and drift away with me

 You’ll see, even the air you breathe, loves you.


Little girl, come work with me, see who you can be

 You said, it’s all about empathy

Use your heart, use your hands, feel it in your own body

You’ll see, you’ll be just what they need  


And then your head was

Gone gone, gone gone

And then your feet were

Gone gone, gone gone

And I wanted you

Gone gone, gone gone


When I was twenty three, learning to be in my own body

 You called, and said you needed me

Use your hart, use your head, feel it in your own body

 Little girl, it’s all about empathy


And then my head was

Gone gone, gone gone

And then my words were

Gone gone, gone gone

And I wanted to be 

Gone gone, gone gone

And I saw I couldn't be what you need


Friday, October 26, 2012


We made a mess of ourselves,
Kept warm in it.
Slept in unkempt beds,
Stained sheets and covered feathers.
What deceitful warmth,
The comfort of unclean rest.

He has made our baths to run clean
We pull ourselves into our innocent state,
Cut are cuticles back to our meaty flesh,
Our knees make a way back our beginnings.

Fall three times to the bottom,

Let every part be touched by our collection of Hope.
Each time feels like something has been lost,
Each time feels like something has come back to life;
Something we never new had left us,
though we needed and lacked.
We bless Him who called us to this immersion. 

"Blessed are You, Adonai, Ruler of the Universe, Who has sanctified us with this Mikvah and commanded us concerning immersion."

"Blessed are You, God, Majestic Spirit of the Universe, Who makes us holy by embracing us in living waters."

"Blessed are You, Source of all Life, Who has kept us alive and sustained us, and enabled us to reach this day."

He made our mouths to sooth the hearts of many.
Our hands have become like swaddling clothes to His people.
He humbles us with our own words,
With His placement of them on our tongues.
We have become His work.
A contrast to the wanting of his will.

How than shall we love?
Should we place hope in things our father has not;
Our faith in the works of our hearts.
Do we leave these longings and desires to our own minds?
What kind of love is this?
What is love but the acknowledgment of worth, inherent,
Given to us by our maker.
Love should be found in us,
The best and the worst should be welcomed as one

Friday, April 27, 2012

My Beloved Friends

My Beloved Friends.

You keep time heavy on your toes;
I will keep it on my thigh.
I will bend to your melody.
I watch for the parting of your lips,
Waiting for the time to force this breath from gut.

I  begged for love,
When it was already at my feet.
Something big was lost in my head and found in their hands.
Life comes in Your way.

Childish hope has made me weep.
My cheeks covered my eyes,
My knees could not keep from swinging.
My blankets fluttered from my joyous feet.
Heartless choices, crinkled my forehead.

I say to myself, this
Is the day my heart will be made well. 
Restoration of love is a thing to be in awe of!
What comes with time, might be made full in a moment.

Tuesday, April 26, 2011


Why these frantic times? Hearts not given to the peace they belong to. Images, not given to clarity, left when the light is gone.I pressed my palms to my eyes. What should fill the dark places left in your absence?
What does this time mean to teach us? We have fallen so many times, me into the arms of a helper and you to your own. What can you learn from me? You have no ability to be pressed upon. When you fell upon my shoulders the curvature of my bones left you without marking.

Are you mine to carry? Should one cling to their babe for their own sake? What should be the order of things? Should the wisdom of a child be given such responsibility? What is strength to us?Feet that stand on rock, or mire left to be become fuel. What should be the placement of burdens?

We only long to be carried. To be allowed the comforts and instabilities of a young woman. A life that has not been afforded to me. What A place of heartache among the joyousness of a body. The things to come to know. The power in the putting down of things. The safety of the placement of my feet. We are not made to carry such things. He has not asked us to join in the bearing of each others fear but to join in the placement of those burdens upon Him. That He would be given the honor of being our redemption from much more then what we call our own.

Something has been lost between my heart and my month, taken from my mouth and made ugly. My teeth have been made some primitive weapon you used upon your back, and then asked to me dress your wounds.

I am thankful for you, My Grace. You have been used,this taught me the damage of a life lived for my own being, made me a woman who can see past her own trouble, and yet not disregard the weight of its meaning. What has been given to me is beauty, the refinement of tears, the goodness of hardened hands that do not cry out when put to work. The love of many in the absence of such few. They are not my father, and yet they do His work.

Tuesday, October 19, 2010


I wailed write, write
And He love, love
And we spoke of the same thing.

I held on to bundles of parchment,
They did nothing but bleed the oil from the fingertips,left them dry, split, and tender;
It gave me no place to find wisdom,
No place to leave my own.

I had dreams of someone,
Who would pour forth tears I had not cried for myself;
Someone, to Read back to me letters I had never written, or received.

I built Homes full of things that were to explain the condition of my heart, and all that it held.
I wanted for hands larger then my own, to hold everything that I felt was mine, all that had been entrusted to me, these hands that could hold mine without wavering.

I found love in my cheekbones,That I have never known,
Or fathomed,Pain from my heart, unpracticed;
Not knowing what it had missed since his failure
The burn of a healing wound, and the beauty of fresh covering.

Saturday, February 20, 2010

For Heart's Sake

You stuck to my fingers.
I pushed you through cracks, under locked doors.
I hid you behind the top left post of my bed.
I prayed that I could ignore you and build a home of my own;
Fill it with children that were not mine and  love tangible enough to boast of.

I made you into a metaphor,
A word.
I left you by my night-stand,
Arose and fell to the sight of your name.
I wrote you on the palm of my hand,
Awoke with you upon my cheek.

You were used, my love,
kept my heart from roaming far from His home.
He has sweet melodies to woo me,
the warmth of a families' love to soothe my spirit.
I held you for my own heart's sake,
When it is asked of me I will leave you for His.


 This is a collection of poems that I have written in the last few years... I took a break from writing but recently realized just how much I have missed it . 

You have not made me melt.

Your contrivance shook me.

My feet fell clumsily on what you had for me.

I relish each laugh line;

Each hair turned a wiry gray.

I know they bring me closer to you.

The birds have stepped on your eyes,

They have left their mark.

Your words are hard to come by.

Your tongue not as restless as mine.

Your teeth a wise and stalwart cage.

Your broken hands made me fall in love with you.

Your name, answers my prayers.

I have not been frightened by the crippling of your hands
I long to place my lips to your fractured places,
Where I can taste of Him.

We have not been left unscathed.
No burden can be cared for alone.

What has been kept from me?
I long to pour out.

Letters of hopeful redemption,
Sent from a soul who bore mine.
They bear my name twice.

What has been kept from me,
I long to pour out.

I have lamented over the bitterness of my mouth.
Words clung to my cheeks
Chewed and spat out of the corners of my lips.

Your hand made space for my thoughts
You parted the air with your mouth
For my words,
but did not share your own.

Your eyes carry the weight of your heart
They know no rest but that of their maker,
A testimony of your soul.

The intimacy of friendship has not been lost,
To know a soul like none other.
The gathering of heartache,
The tumbling of stone.

Many a wilting flower has been kept on my windowsill.

I fell in love with a painting of your face,
With the spelling of your name.
I sketched of the date of your death as I imagined the pitch of your voice,
The tonality of your introductions
I reached out my hand to touch your bearded cheek,
To place my thumb upon your weak chin.

I read about you before I saw your face.
your words came out nervously, you never wore socks with your dress shoes.
I read the novels you asked me to,
I fell in love with the songs you played for me,
And then I fell in love with you.

I memorized the slouch of your shoulders before I knew your name.
I fell in love with the shape of your hands, the length of your nose.
When I sought after you I found nothing,
Nothing but a word, a look, a gesture with no meaning.
I wanted to carry you home,
To hold you together with my hands.
I fell out of love with the pain you carried,
And loved the man who needed to bear it.

I grew fond of your time and
I sang faintly in order to hear you.
I fell in love with your sweet severity,
With your reached out hand.

I did not hand you my heart and you did not ask for it.
You grew too old for me and I too wise to ignore this.
I waited for someone to take your hand and did not find someone to take mine

Introspections shared, should it be
Should our senses be deprived, given one thing to mull over
Should the bitterness of your cups be compared

Should my life be mapped out on my temples,
 Or scrawled out across my back.

Should road maps be laid out over my skin,
Suggesting the placement of my veins.

Should you be warned as to their placement,
Would it not be your responsibility if one should be nicked in our dealings?

Should I be so plain with you,
If I would have been asked for my hand, I would have gladly taken yours.