puddles on the floor

the cistern is broken.

the tears flow out.

they have no where to go.

they gather together.

their surface rising higher.

their fall quickly diminishing.

they immediately meet their resting place.

they have no choice.

the result is tragic and not chosen.

the drowning is done.

heartfelt journey

I'm going on a journey, and I am going to follow my heart.

My journey is going to start with a Southbound train. The train will stop in New York City. Just over three years ago the city captured my heart, and now there are many people here who are close to my heart.

Then I am going to get on a plane that is headed for adventure, because adventure has always made my heart beat. The plane will land in Guatemala. It was here that I witnessed a remarkable act of selfless love, and it deeply moved my heart.

I am going to meet people from different cultures because a while back I learned a tough lesson about appreciating diversity and from it my heart grew stronger.

I am going to help with a soccer camp for Nicaraguan girls because this sport has given my heart much joy.

I am going to stand in awe of breathtaking mountains and boundless seas because the hand that made them also holds my heart.

After all that I am going to come back and walk across a graduation stage because all the papers and exams and lectures enriched my mind, some of which trickled down to my heart.

But then I am going to spend two months at a camp in the quaint town of Golden, Missouri. It was here that my heart first found some long-term direction.

I am going to go to a couple of weddings because it is good to celebrate, and this will probably give hope to my heart.

And then I am going to wander, most likely in the South because I think I am a Southern girl at heart.

At the Ledge

We leaped, we skipped, we ran.

Not knowing where we were going, 

but loving where we were.

I walked, I crawled, I stopped.

Now I am here at the ledge 

and I know I have to jump.

There's a beautiful horizon before me

But my face is buried in the ground

because I don't want to look up.

You said you'd be here too

and that I'd be in your arms

tucked inside close to you.

But I'm alone

and I'm terrified to jump

without you here beside me.

You see my eyes lost sight of you

but my heart never did.

So I'll be still and wait.

Until I can dare to step out on my own

Or until you come and take my hand and hold my heart.

Somethin Fresh for those who Fresh Out

Hey J.R. you missed somethin while you was locked up.

I know you said you were still preppin your game,

Removin the cobwebs and strippin the rust.

But how bout I get you fresh on the times,

Ill spell it all out for you and give it to ya straight.

Its obvious that you think you's a playa,

But if you comin after me you better know how to play my game.

You see I aint no Barbie doll just plastic and pretty.

Im not an icon of beauty just because you think I'm candy for your hungry eyes.

There's more to me than polished pearls, thick hips, and sparklin baby blues.

Inside there's a beatin heart that needs to be cherished

A thoughtful mind that deserves to be valued

And a real desire to be wooed and pursued.

This doesn't happen by me strokin your ego and makin your hormones happy.

Because when you touch me on the outside, your reach cuts within.

It stabs my beaten heart and rattles my mind until its out for the count.

I know you aint a stranger to how this goes down

So dont think you got me by actin a fool.

And you better keep listenin because I'm not through tellin you wats good.

I wasnt mass produced in a factory made for you to have and to use

And then be disposed of just so you can snatch up who's comin out next.

So you best take note of who I am and what makes me special.

Don't move from me to another like it aint no thang

Cuz thats not how I roll and its not how you get anywhere wit me.

Trust

"Excuse me sir," she broke the silence in the cafe with her long, Southern-belle draw, "how far away is that McDonalds?"

"Oh it's just over the bridge and four blocks up," he replied. His voice was true but tired. "When does your bus leave?"

"Just under an hour from now. I'm catching the 6:15 to DC."

"Well you should have no problem making it back in time, it's just a ten minute walk. And you'll be able to stretch your money a whole lot further there than you will here. This whole place is starting to get to me. I'm trying to move on, but I've been stuck here three, long days."

His name was Paul, and his story was puzzling. A tale of unfortunate events had left him there eight hours from home, seventeen dollars short of a bus ticket with no credit card and no family to help out.

A shaky "Hello dear Paul," came from an aged, dark skinned woman who looked like she would take anyone home and fill their stomach with collard greens and chitlins. "Your pour soul was here before I left for Virginia. Still haven't been able to make it home, huh?"

"Not yet, mam, not yet. Just seventeen dollars shy is all. It'll come," said his voice. His sinking eyes and long face told a different story. When her eyes met his, she knew it was right.

She pulled out the twenty dollar bill from her purse. It was folded many times over. It had been with her many days and many miles, but she knew it was all for this. It had came to her when she appeared down and out as a blessing from a generous, trusting man. She knew that was the only way this dollar bill could ever be given away. And although it had landed in her hand under false pretenses, she hoped it would not leave her hand under the same.

But she needed to take her turn as the trusting one. And so she did.

It left her hand and met his. And now his face and hands and feet told another story. His mouth opened and no words came out. His hand grasped the money tightly. His feet turned and marched onward much like a train barreling full steam ahead.

She didn't know if he was about to break through the depot doors in full stride to the nearest liquor store or if he was actually heading to the ticket counter. She thought to herself, "well that was that." Then she spotted his bag and coat sitting in the booth across from her. In a few minutes time, he returned for his things with a ticket in hand and a smile hung ear to ear. "Thank you, thank you, thank you," he cried.

Her heart rose in her chest due to the trust and hope that was swelling within.

"Hey, why don't I run down to that McDonalds before your bus comes. It's the least I can do to say thanks. If you just give me a few dollars, I'll be back in plenty time before you're headed to DC."

He put on his jacket, took her money, and left his bag and his ticket. He never came back for it. And she got on the bus much more aware of her full heart, not her empty stomach.

promises for after the storm

it entered with the sting of the cold and the bite of the wind

as the storm picked up, snow fell harder 

and this white whirlwind made everything else quite unclear  

but falling snow must eventually rest--which it did wonderfully

it washed, cleansed, and purified everything that it encountered

it was a pristine blanket covering all that lay still under its touch

a beautiful sight it was, but so much of its beauty went unseen

for as the snow melted away, the blanket faded into the earth below

now the roots and seeds having sat dormant, dry, and barren 

tasted the refreshing water seeping through, which quenched their lingering thirst

they delighted in the ferocity of the storm

having brought buckets pouring forth much needed nutrients 

into their wide-opened, welcoming mouths

they grow, bud, and flourish in ways they never did before

the trees clap their hands and their mountains and hills burst into song

they are alive

"...and so is my word that goes out from my mouth..."

Is. 55

clay

there is a heap of tender clay in your hands. 

my tears fall and soften this red lump, a messy mass in your palm.

my pain moves your fingers gently and purposefully.

it is yours to knead and press, to shape and bend just the way you want it.

you may place it on your wheel which spins seemingly out of control.

the world surrounding appears to orbit too fast to make sense of it all.

but really you speed the wheel along so that it is the clay which races--

moving in circles, going nowhere except in the direction of its transformation.

all the while your guiding hands never falter.

for they are always constant in your creation, keeping it on the wheel where it needs to be.

you take your time with this red pulsating piece.

and once off the wheel, you wait patiently while it rests still finding strength in the warmth you provide.

then at just the right time, you take it up, fix your gaze upon it, and adore your artwork--

my heart perfectly formed by you the Potter, ready to love and live, to be used amidst the rest of your handiwork.