20 Lines A Day

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The Healing Parts

The healing parts are mighty and wild,
careening through the dark mind,
simultaneously passive and angry,
they take you over, consume your soul.

They hunger for affection, else they grow
a life of their own, they thrive on tenderness,
else they join together to conquer
their demons with your pain.

The healing parts want to survive,
as the soul writhing in the night.
They are displaced and dissociated,
and only love returns them home,
validation of their realness,
so they may quench their fires,
no longer reduce you to ashes from the
inside out.

The healing parts are us,
and we, them. We are the parts
we buried deep so long ago, the voice
silenced and the voice raging, the broken, fragile,
lonely, fearful, hurting, hating parts.  We are healing
and we are real.

©SpiritLed 2014


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When Silence Ends

When, as a child, did you play happily
by the stream, and come singing home,
passionately sharing your adventures,
only for the beloveds to tell you, “Quiet!”

And when, in your classes, did you
confidently speak your truth, answer
their questions, paint your construction
paper masterpiece,  and the trusteds told you,
“It’s not good enough.”

And when did you feel the whisper of spirit
in your soul, gently guiding you on your way,
and you shared, and they laughed?

And when did you stop listening, painting, writing, speaking, trusting? 

And when will you decide that the darkness has
lasted too long, that the  passion of a new day
can no longer wait, lest  you tear free from your
own skin where you’ve been confined all these years?

That stumbling across stones and briars,
feet cut and bleeding, is preferable to the safe
and righteous path, where no pain, in fact
nothing at all, makes cuts into your soul?

When will you decide that fear of words
without real meaning will no longer be the
prison walls that demand freedom of the captor?

And when will you stoke the flames, when will you once
again tend to the spark, blow the breath of life into
the still-smoldering ashes, collect the branches and
twigs that have fallen in your path, burn them on
your altar, and fuel the dawning of reclaimed light?

© SpiritLed 2014


Lord help me !

"Broken sky"

“Broken sky”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Photo credit : Julian Hernandez (c) D.R.

 

If we are in prison,
It’s as real as a deadly illusion,
If we are in prison,
We’re as alive as this poor confusion !

And days go by like barbed wire,
And I can’t stand the midnight choir,
Every time we dance on fire,
You just want to take me higher…

And if we are in prison,
I guess this is a golden cage,
And if we are in prison,
I only have to calm my rage !

For it’s a sin to stay awake
When everyone sleeps in one’s bed,
Although we still have love to make,
Even to watch the walking dead.

February, the 10th


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February’s Muse, by Susan Dean Wessells

Cold.
Once again neglecting
to stoke
the embers
of the fire
within.

Huddled
on the stone hearth,
warmed
by wood’s surrender
I gaze into
the fiery heart
awaiting the confession
of the secret
of flame.

Darkness steals in.
The long night
of winter
cloaks the promise
of spring.

Susan Dean Wessells

Susan Dean Wessells has been writing poetry since ethe age of eight. Her life has been rich with varied experiences which nourish her writing. In 2007 she realized a lifelong dream of being a contestant on the Jeopardy! game show. She is currently writing a novel about vampire nuns.


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Bonfire

Silent trumpet sounds

Forewarning…inviting

The oblivious and innocent

Into vacuous voids,

ethereal eclipses -

Angelic wings dance blithely

Dripping tiny baubles of hope

Melting in mid-air

Dreams, splayed like kindling

Beneath a roaring fire

Where sparks ignite the dirt

With stars too heavy to fly toward the moon

Suffocating lest fingertips burn

Leaving ashy-white memories

Subtly heralding promises of pleasure.

Etched on mental panes

Snowflake images of perfection

transforming teardrops

with the heat from one

quiet sigh.


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Narrow Soul

Sadness abounds the narrow soul

to control, explain

fear rides side by side

gripping at the throat!

of life

listless and in stupor

they contain all the pain

too much to swallow in the hollow

shallow smallness of their brain.

Narrow souls can never dance

if by chance

they entrance

then – the locks on their minds slam shut!

to “forever time”

destroying the essence of the sublime

forgetting the spark that lit their fire

snuffing it out to forsake

their desire

in control the narrow soul

is consuming sadness whole.

© [Jeanette Shihadeh] and [thepainterspalate.wordpress.com], [2012]. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material, artwork, or photo’s without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to [Jeanette Shihadeh] and [thepainterspalate.wordpress.com] with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.


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A Battle-Weary Wife

Bird:

Having a hard day today, and I sincerely wish I could write poetry, because the way I’m feeling, that would have been perfect. Instead, I just wrote about what I’m going through…. Bird

Originally posted on Everyone Has A Story...:

“To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything, and your heart will certainly be wrung and possibly broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact, you must give your heart to no one, not even to an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements; lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket- safe, dark, motionless, airless–it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable.” C.S. Lewis

I don’t know if there have been truer words spoken about this emotion we call love. As with everything else in my

Women with Broken Heart

Women with Broken Heart (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

life, satan is very good at delivering meaningful, purposeful blows to my life, and he has taken on my marriage recently.

I am no weak person. Through the storms of life, I have been broken and rebuilt…

View original 260 more words


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And the Second Post: The Time I Burnt Down A Truck I Was Test Driving

Published on: Mar 18, 2012 @ 8:57 on Everyone Has A Story -

birdmartin.wordpress.com

“One of the things I am learning as I write these little excerpts from my life is that this is one really good way to stop trying to “be” anything other than yourself.

I have run in a lot of circles. I went to Christian schools and public schools. I have friends — I’m talking realfriends that range from atheists all the way up to pastors, and everything in between. My best friend has changed sides so many times, I honestly don’t know what she believes at this moment. And she is still my very best friend in the whole world. My kids love the Lord, but they cuss like sailors sometimes…as I’m sure people are going to notice

Ok. This isn't a truck, and the little girl should be a little boy, and it isn't on fire, but pretend it was. I have a really good pix of it on my original post, but I got kind of freaked out about copyrighting, so I am using one of my own pictures. Since I've started blogging, I'm getting better at keeping a photographic record of my adventures so I don't get sued...

from some of their posts on this site. Actually, my son who is busy composing a story for this blog is the one who cusses the least in this family…go figure. And now I find out that some of the motorcycle family I’m in read it too, along with my mother-in-law and sister-in-law. And after being initially alarmed, I had to laugh. There simply are lessons in everything. It is just better to stop worrying what other people think of you, and just let it all hang out. It is definitely a lot less work.

So, that all being said, let me share one of my finest moments.

When the kids were little, Don was asked to go to Laredo and “clean up” a distressed restaurant there. He is gifted at managing restaurants, and over the years, we had moved from restaurant to restaurant all over Texas. He’d get them profitable again, and then we’d move on to the next one.

At this time, we’d pretty much stayed in San Antonio for quite a bit of time, and I had landed a really, really good job. So, since the company estimated it would only take Don 6 months to clean up this restaurant, we chose to live separately so I could hang on to my job. We’d travel once a week or so to see each other, but it wasn’t ideal for our kind of relationship at all. My kids were acting out…they have to have their dad around, and I don’t know that we’d built up enough trust in each other at that time to be completely okay with this. So, since he seemed to have put roots down in Laredo, we agreed on one of my visits to see him that I needed to go ahead and move back home with him.

Problem was we both drove tiny cars, and there was no money to move. When companies moved us around, they always paid for the moves. But that wasn’t the case this time. Don, being the charming guy that he is, went to a car salesman friend of his and explained the situation. The guy, named Sam (not his real name), suggested that since it was mainly clothes and small stuff, that we “test drive” one of the big pick-up trucks for the weekend. We were assured this was a common occurrence, and that the extra miles on the truck wouldn’t matter, because it was already slightly used. Sounded perfect.

So, the next morning my little 6-year-old son and I head off to San Antonio to get our stuff. We sang and talked, and talked and sang all the way down there. It was great because we’re both tone-deaf so we couldn’t tell we really sucked — we had a blast. It didn’t take all that long to get our stuff together, and the next morning we were headed back towards our new life.

I have been able to overcome some serious vices over the years, but the bane of my existence is smoking cigarettes. I haven’t mastered that one yet. There are just some things that my brain can’t do without having a stupid cigarette in my hand. Here’s my list of cigarette must-haves:

Wake up – smoke a cigarette

Drink coffee – smoke a cigarette

Talk on the phone – smoke a cigarette

Drive – smoke a cigarette

Get ready for bed – smoke a cigarette

There are many other cigarette times in between, but these are MUST haves…I’ve tried quitting, but that is a post for another day. Suffice it to say, I haven’t given up — I’ve just remained a complete failure in this area.

So, I’m happily speeding my little boy and I down the highway, windows open, flicking cigarette butts out the window as needed, because we wouldn’t want to return the truck with a dirty ashtray, when Dj freaks out. One, or possibly more, cigarettes had caught our stuff on fire in the back of the truck I was supposedly test driving, and I had a pretty awesome fire going on.

There are too many failures in this story. First, yes, I was smoking around my son. Second, I was Messing with Texas by throwing them out the window. Third, I obviously wasn’t paying much attention to anything around me, because I didn’t just see some smoke; it was a full-fledged fire going on over the rolling gas tank I was driving. There are so many more, but you get it…

I pulled the truck over to the side of the highway, scooped up my boy, and we stood what I would determine a safe distance from the inferno, and waited. We didn’t own cell phones and there used to be almost nothing between San Antonio and Laredo except for one small prison town that only the truly brave would ever stop at. And we’d already passed through that town awhile ago. I watched the truck begin to melt, and I knew — I’m getting another divorce.

As luck would have it, people started pulling over, and while the women began to collect over by me, their fire-bug husbands started “playing” with the fire, pulling burning boxes and quilts out of the back of the truck and stomping out the fire with their feet. Now, I’ve had a flat tire on this same route, and only AAA would come to my aid. No one else that time would stop. But, hey, start a rolling bonfire, and everybody is your friend….

One of the less-than-amused wives had a cell phone, and she called 911 and let me borrow it to call my husband. My husband is….passionate. So, I was actually happy to be delivering this news to him on a phone at least 60 miles away. It meant I had about an hour to live.

The conversation went a little like this:

Don: Hello?

Me: Don, I started a fire in the truck, and it’s burning up. I’m sorry.

Don: That’s not funny. When are you getting here?

Me: I’m not kidding. I really burnt down the truck, and all our stuff in it.

Don: Seriously, stop it. I’m not in the mood to play around…

Me: I’m not playing around. I need you to come get me.

Don: You’d better be kidding.

Me: I’m not. Are you coming?

Ok. I have to stop here, because the rest was pretty disturbing.

After the fire had been put out, all the firebugs and their wives split, and DJ and I were left with the Texas State Trooper that had taken our report. He was really trying to be serious and professional, but he couldn’t help laughing at me. A lot. Insultingly, a lot. He packed me and Dj into his car, saying he couldn’t leave us by this truck until my husband showed up, so we’d ride with him for a while and we’d check back for Don occasionally. Okay, that part was actually pretty fun for us. He told us all kinds of story as we chased speeders down the road going over 100 miles an hour at times — and he never missed a beat telling his story…It was way cool. But anyways…

Finally, Don and my girls showed up. After inspecting the melted truck, Don tried turning it on, and lo and behold! the thing still drove just fine. We all headed back to Laredo — me in my Mercury Topaz and Don in a lump that might have been a truck once upon a time.

And for Tickled Plum: We left the burnt remnants of our worldly possessions right there on the side of the highway for someone else to clean up. That one is for you, Tickled….

Sam wasn’t as freaked as you’d think he’d be. Instead, he gave us an address in Mexico, and told us to get it fixed before we brought it back — he’d cover for us for the extra time.

Viva la Mexico!! The place we took the truck had it looking like a brand new vehicle, exactly the same as before I destroyed it, all in 2 days, for $300! We returned the truck to Sam, and nothing ever came of the incident again. Cool.

My point with this story is just that there are going to be aspects of my life that are going to appall someone I know — more so with some, while others will be able to relate. But this is just a true story. I am what I am.

– Bird”

Note: I have about a million really bizarre things that have either happened to me, or that I’ve caused to happen to someone else. This one just kind of sums up the levels of politically incorrect, rather careless, undeniably selfish, and still rather humorous behaviors that cause mishaps that I’ve had to explain to someone…usually my husband, who really hates two things: spending money and having people know our private lives. As you can see, I routinely do things he hates, but he loves me, and since this family has no problems laughing at ourselves, he’s given me the nod to blog..As long as one day in the future it brings home a paycheck. :-) Hey, he didn’t give me any specific times, now did he?? It’s been almost a year now, and I finally have people that aren’t related to me actually reading and encouraging me with their comments, so I honestly don’t care about the paycheck. The comments and “Likes” make me feel happy, worthwhile, and they give me a feeling of acceptance that not one of my paychecks all 25 years I was in the workforce ever did. So, hopefully, as long as I can keep pawning Don’s power tools, generators, and power washers out of the garage to pay the bills (because all my jewelry is already gone now) and Don keeps slaving away for the Man, I can keep pursuing my dream to be a writer. Thanks for reading my contribution.

Also, I added the Tickled Plum part because her comment about leaving her backseat on the side of the road makes me laugh every time I read it…It occurred to me after I read her story that I had left all those burnt boxes, quilts, microwaves, etc. right there on the side of the highway. I know. I suck.

 

– Cathie

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