On day one, the image stirred you,
wrestled with your psyche, and evoked
emotions that had lain dormant. You
carried that image, like a baby
pic in a wallet, pulling it out to show
others as you smiled – the proud parent.

On day two, like a journalist, questions
flowed from your mind –
who this image,
what this image,
when this image,
where this image,
how this image,
why this image,
until whole humans formed in your mind,
their eyes vibrant blue or brooding brown,
their limbs movable,
their minds full of angst and yearning,
just the things good stories
are made of.

On day three, you retrieve the image and
see these humans walking about you,
their mouths moving, but nothing being heard
until your anxiety dissipates, then voices,
soft murmuring voices that tickle your ear
tell you that they are ready to be written.

On day four, image taped to side of laptop,
humans crowd around you, voices sing
a dissonant tune like a fork scraping a metal pan,
but you calm yourself, yet again, channel the
anxiety, eradicate the “is the idea good”,
eliminate the editor, and funnel your thoughts
into one question: “What’s the best way to
begin this thing?”

On day five, you stop, the dissonance so loud
you can taste it in your mouth, sour like curdled
milk. Before you, long stretches of nothing lie,
with only the tips of the ending seen just beyond
the horizon. You bang the desk, you stand, you
pace, you hear the footsteps of humans, hear
the voices of humans, and you wonder how you
will travel the width of your middle wasteland
and tell a story that’s worth reading. In the middle
of the night, as snores make their escape, you will
jolt from the bed, race to your laptop, smile because
it’s on and still warm, and you will write the conflict,
the tension that was always inside you, waiting for
its release.

On day six, you can barely catch your
breath as you and the humans you have birthed
take your time heading to the last page. You know,
on the smallest scale imaginable, what it’s like to
create a life – far beyond that of just being a mother
or father, for you have giving life, and you have set the
stage for that life, and now you must lay the life to rest.
Living, breathing, real, they touch you, pleading with
you, asking you, “Can there be a sequel,” but you know
this one is finished. The last period will be the last
period. And when that last period is placed, you sit
back, take a deep breath, shed a tear, and think, “I
think I’ve done them justice.”

On day seven, you rest, fingers sore, carpel tunnel
flaring, mind spent. You’re proud, for you have
taking that one image – the same image you hold
in your hand now – and created a world filled with
lives and scenarios and trials and grief and joy and
wonder and closure. As you close your eyes,
ready for the nap you haven’t allowed yourself to
have since the image burned into your memory,
you sit up with a start: “I need to go back and rework
the beginning. Doesn’t have enough punch.”

And…on the eighth day, the new beginning,
revisions.

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July marks the second installment of CLG-E’s Once Upon a Time… podcast series.

This month, I’m showcasing three faith poems: “On Soft, Tender Knees,” “I’m Sorry,” and “Loose”!

You can listen below and also take the time to check out my podcast site (CLG-E Podcasts) for future podcasts on writing and storytelling!

Please leave comments – let me know your thoughts!

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I had been so busy lately that I couldn’t do it, but after I read my girl’s (Jennifer Coissiere) poem, I was inspired to do my own.

Don’t have a title for it…but here it is!

As a young girl, I thought about the boy that would
Break through my walls and
Call my name in such a tender way that all my
Defenses would crumble around me.
Every day, every day, I would look around, hoping to
Find him, and sometimes, I thought I did though he would vanish like a
Ghost, leaving me
Haunted, hollow, and alone.
I decided not to think of the boy, the man, but to focus on my
Job, my education, my career, hence
Killing the wishful thinking, the WHAT IFs of love, of relationships. I
Lived quietly, in my box, focusing on my
Mind but
Never the heart because that would hurt, that would
Open up the truth that I was alone and wanting to be a
Part of a union with a man who would make my heart, mind, and body
Quake with a joy that’s only second to the
Redeeming love of Jesus. Just as I got used to the
Same quiet nothing of my life, he came to me,
Tantalized by the God in me, and the inner beauty that
Usurped my outer beauty. Quickly, he took up
Vacancy in my heart, wanting to love me – flaws and all as I
Willingly sought to do the same, and the feelings, the joy I feel cannot be
Xeroxed; it can only be experienced when you openly give of
Yourself and allow yourself to move beyond the
Zero of One mentality and learn to love yourself and allow others to love you back.

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On Tablets

I once had a tablet full of dreams,
but at my darkest hour, I snatched
it from its secret place and ripped
it to shreds, for dreams are for naught.

Naught for a person like me; others got
their shine, seemingly at the right place
at the right time while I stood in a grocery
line, making provisions for me and mine.

I was working my fingers to the bone,
making sure lights stayed on in the home
but not on me, not on me and my dreams
that I allowed to be ripped at the seams.

I was making sure everyone was okay while
I put a delay on me and my life ’til years
ticked by and I realized I had stood still
and took care of everyone else’s ills.

I was sick in my heart, mind, and spirit,
but had no one to hear it for they were
making plans, and moving on, and seeing
a future I helped to shed light on.

In my darkness, with nothing left for me,
I wrote visions on tablets to abet dreams
into fruition and show the devil he didn’t
have me because one light still beamed.

That one light, My Father, showed me dreams
had not died despite my darkest hour; seeds
I planted flowered into a beautiful garden
to tend, to mend the broken parts of me.

And those dreams upon tablets will keep me
when I can’t keep myself and will move me
when life keeps me still and will teach me
when others try to kill my spirit and hope.

And those dreams, those visions will come
at their appointed time, shouting their truth
for they don’t lie, and I will be there, smiling
and waiting for them to come to pass.

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Been playing around with Audacity and this is actually my SECOND mp3 I made.  It’s titled Chocolate Kisses and features a poem I wrote a million years ago integrated with a mix that my SO (significant other) did; he’s muy talented with original and sampled work.

Check it out, and don’t be too harsh, LOL

FYI – kinda sexy! LOL

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