The Process of Becoming Real

I keep changing my mind--not about where I'm going, but about what I see along the way. It feels like letting everyone's perception of me down every time my perspective shifts and the new view changes what I thought I saw, because I tell people what I see and who I am in relationship to that place, but then life moves me on.

Yet it always is better to be closer to reality, to honesty, to the growing and changing that is a part of real. I don't want to stop changing in the hands of my Creator.

Perhaps that is where I am blind, thinking each new position is the most solid foundation, as if it were a frozen thing. But there is always deeper. I'm not a man-made building set upon a poured concrete base. My foundation deepens as I grow, like a tree.

We are so much more natural than we know, and the roots sink deep as the branches rise. I wonder why we don't see the construction of it.

Why do we label others and frame them, never to grow? Think of those little circles of stone  and pavement we wrap around the tree base when we assume that it will stay this size forever. But then comes the sunshine and the rain; the water bears nutrients to the roots, and the tree grows--because that's the only thing it can do when it touches the source of life. And sidewalks crack, fences fall, walls move.

Life cannot be restricted from growth except by removing the food, light and water.

Why is Christ called the light of the world, the bread of life, the living water?

Soon I'll tell you how I changed my mind again. Perhaps someday the view will steady, but not until the restrictions I built around what I think must be fall away, leaving a natural field or wood over the tumbled ruin of my constructed ideas, a landscape shaped by God's will.

Unfinished Dance

I look at this image, begun in a playful moment of time without expectation, formed by whims tangled through life's ordinary motion. This time incomplete is complete; it is finished even though it seems scarcely begun. The unfinished motion pauses just as we so often do, blurred and indistinct, and when we look back there remains a memory of form, color, and potential.

We are bewildered by what might have been. Would there be graceful flow or fall? And the answer is always neither. What could have been or might have become never factors into grace--only what was and what will be.

Worthy Substitute - A Proper Villanelle (I think)

I saw what worth I lived in me
and thought my worthiness would show
and by this price I'd still be free.

But truth pursued and made me see
the debts I'd once claimed not to know.
I watched what worth I lived in me,

crumble to dust till I'd agree
I could no right nor value grow,
nor pay the price to set me free.

And I had failed to such degree!
Such contrast must increase my woe.
I knew no worth could live in me

when truth displayed to what degree
self righteousness had been my foe.
I begged the price to set me free.

A substitute, by just decree,
paid all my debt, complete and whole!
So now his worth must live in me; 
he paid the price that set me free.

Glimpsing Mystery

This is what my life is made of: 

The knowing and learning to know, accepting and believing that makes what was before seem shallow. It was only a lead into the real that makes life different than it was. True truth changes the way we act by how solid we perceive it to be--if I don't sit on the chair, do I really believe it will support me?

There are so many parts to life.

I can't afford to ignore any of them.

My children see me walk, and I tremble before God for the wisdom I want them to learn. None of that shadow-faith in something supposed ... I don't want that for them.... May they never cast their gifts away for lack of appreciation that they have been given. I live in the challenge it is to take and submit all I have been, am, and may be as a part of the made-whole design, in Christ. It is too easy to think it better to conform to the superficial standards bound up by do-and-do-not sameness. The condemning exposure of law pushes me with ever greater force toward the overwhelming gift of grace.

Worse and worse I realize myself to be, but more and more Christ is in return, making the empty full and the broken whole,... so where is the loss in this place?

Oh, I don't want my children clinging to an idea of faith instead of the ideal. But living whole and true and active is hard to demonstrate in the midst of the reality of humanity. Broken as we all are, even the admitting of it feels like risking the whole truth. Perceiving a creative and redeeming hand in the midst of it all, shaping repentance within what exists, into an impossible future and hope ... this is our quest.

Imitation is so incomplete.... Yet the large truth is glimpsed piece by piece as he demonstrates his great love through us, again and again.

 

Images:  Various photos I took last year, compiled together this afternoon.  "Tree Flake" is halfway down the page and "Changing View" ends the progression of thought.

The Words Have IT

We all know that real words have IT.
We're not sure what IT could be,
but IT must be something good,
or why would words want IT to keep?
So we've decided to attack them,
that's what those who desire IT would do.
Except that the words have IT,
and our challenge once used quite a few.
Since the words claimed our propaganda,
we're stuck in a troublesome place,
not knowing how to get IT
without words knowing what we say.
So we plan together in secret
and gesture and wave a lot,
since words somehow know what we're saying,
now we wonder if they know our thoughts.
All creation has claimed they know IT,
and explain they are on IT's side,
so if IT is ruling the world, now,
perhaps we have no place to hide.
We've twisted some words back against IT,
but we see the results will not last,
in the end IT will rule all the future
and our fight will fade into the past.


----

I have a theory as to what IT might be, but I'm not saying. *grin* What do you think?

---

Photo:  Turmoil in the wake of a boat, taken last fall.

Emo Poets' Society

Suggestion: let's drive scholars crazy
by changing their meter a lot!
And when they cry out that we're lazy,
we'll quickly respond that we're not.

Abuse repertoires of trite phrases, 
insert random breaks in our lines, 
and bind wild concepts to places
they treasure as safe and refined.

Those book-bound and know-it-all poets
think they can defend all their rules.
Well, guess what? We're different and know it,
refusing to be like those fools.

So what if the reader can't follow
the thoughts we have placed in each line?
We'll show that their minds must be hollow 
by changing the way words define.

We mean so much more than we're saying.
Their shallow hearts just can't convey
enough of the deep, rich, felt meaning
to their limited minds, in some way.

And now as this world turns against us,
let's leave for a much better place.
We're sure that Mars' aliens will adjust
their meanings and rules with good grace.

As a writer of nonconforming poems, I think its safe to say I'm not picking on anyone more than myself. This idea came from my resistance to obeying the basic rules of villanelle, even though I could have worked harder and made it happen.

Hopefully I'm not this far gone, though. Depending on Martians to "get" my poetry might be a little extreme? Oh, I laugh, but this subtle antagonism needs to be faced. I shall write a proper villanelle, if only to assure myself that I can follow the rules.

It is true that form-bound poetry can easily become artificial or pretentious. However, this isn't the case when it is done well, and I need to keep that in mind. Building understanding of poetic form doesn't mean I bind myself to conformity, but it does mean I'll recognize the possibilities for structure in my own writing and respect it in the poems I read.

---

This picture was taken last year (in spite of the predations of my cat) when I was attempting a photo a week.

Submitted to One Shot Wednesday, where poets share and read together.

Villanelle - From Silence Turn Away

Dear, echo back the words I speak;
from silence turn away.
Just knowing you is what I seek.

Ignore sunset on hearts now bleak.
I loved you through the day,
but echo back the words I speak,

or trick your tongue to slip and sneak
those thoughts you didn't say.
Oh, knowing you is what I seek!

Your presence shines with such mystique.
Come meet and interplay,
or echo back the words I speak,

but frame the phrase or form critique;
don't think this is cliche.
Since knowing you is what I seek,

a silence is my last technique.
Do wonder if I'll stay.
Don't echo back the words I speak,
for knowing you is what I seek.

---

Well, now. Villanelle could be a poetry form I might manage to live in.

Here is a grateful link-out to One Stop Poetry, where I am learning about a new form every other week, with the opportunity to practice and share. Go read, learn, and participate if you're interested!

Pleasantly. Disturbing. Thursday.

What is it about permission? The Great Scott has returned to earth after a (probably very exciting) hiatus (you know, from Thursdays?) and I now have an excuse to write some random blog entry ... on Thursday. I think I like best the fact that there really aren't rules, or maybe it's the title.

I might be disturbing or you might be disturbing ... but at least it's pleasant and only on Thursdays.

Maybe this is the excuse I've needed to write a zombie story--or rather THE zombie story that has been trying to kick its way out of my brain. And I don't even watch zombie movies or read zombie books ... except that one whose title I don't remember. But, no. I'm confident it hasn't distilled enough (in its own juices & don't shudder) to be ready. I'm blaming Marcus Goodyear for this, because what he said about zombies being a decent illustration of biblical truth stuck with me. (Don't ask me when he said whatever he said because I don't remember.)

But now you're fairly warned, if you don't like zombies, that maybe you should stop reading my blog, just in case I do write the story that is currently ... erm ... stewing. Anyway, I can't say I'm disturbed, though maybe you are, now. You didn't know I thought about zombies, did you?

I was going somewhere before I got derailed by the zombies. Uh ... hmmm ...

Oh, yes! I really am thankful it's Thursday. Or, rather, I'm thankful it's this Thursday in particular. Because everything I've already gone through is now a part of my past (and I don't have to go through those same things again) and life looks better when you've experienced overwhelming grace enough to realize that it's not just going to run out when you need it most. So even when bad stuff exists continually, it's still just not enough to make a bad day.

Speaking of which, why is it that people ask, "How are you doing?" I mean, people who are still walking down the hallway and obviously don't have the time to actually talk. Because I don't know how to answer that question. And it's becoming more and more difficult to answer now that I'm not automatically depressed when things are rough!

I mean, God is present AND I'm aware that he is managing my life, so I'm having the best days ever.

But then, if you know about my health and want to know whether I'm doing better, I'm not ... well, sort of, I'm over the flu, but still tired. And, really, the poor health just ends up being another place where I can see God doing great things. There's nothing like having actual physical strength provided when it's needed to prove God is taking care of my needs.

But then, maybe they're thinking about David's lack of a job. And nothing has changed there ... and he's pretty depressed about it too. (You can pray for him to find his strength in Christ.) Though I'm confident God has a plan in all of this, so I'm (strangely, perhaps) not even slightly worried. I'm quite willing to lose everything, knowing God will manage to bring us through onto a new path, even if it's not one I've considered yet. But, again, that's not a simple answer for someone running down the hall.

Do they want to know I'm fine? Or are they concerned about my husband, who is not fine? Are they asking about circumstances? Or are they asking .... Augh!

Okay, enough rambling. I'll start again next Thursday ... because it's so freeing to have permission ...

OH! THAT'S what I was going to talk about!

Maybe next Thursday.

Thanks for starting this up again, Sir Scott. May your week be blessed in mysterious ways, and may you have the eyes to see the blessings.

And for the rest of you, do feel free to join the fun. Follow the link to visit others who have Pleasantly Disturbing Thursdays.

The Blessing of All We Are Not

This story starts on a dark day, in sorrow that God seems distant. I seem to remember asking God to teach me how to pray for real a while back, and he answered by making me ever more desperate to know him.

By studying his Words and by knowing more of him ... prayer naturally grows.

I wanted to share, but I needed someone to share with. The words wouldn't manifest just because I wanted to write them. God brought me a friend who goes through the feelings I know, the dry desperation of physical weakness, emotional overload, spiritual emptiness, and faced with her pain, I asked him to take over.

I wasn't sure what to say, but I knew she needed help, the same help I have found in him. The same help I've been given by many others who, themselves, studied his Word and shared what he taught them.

I'm continuing the pattern ... sharing these words, re-offering the gift he gave me on the altar of grace.

Maybe they are for you. Who can know?

--- before God, words pour, uninhibited---

Better to know the good place I desire is not sourced in circumstance or something I do. That broken feeling of a shattered reservoir drained dry ... it's supposed to be that way because I'm broken. I keep remembering that on the bad days. You've given me a gift of knowing I'm not able, a gift not everyone has; my heart knows how much damage the self-righteous can do.

Everything I am not ... you are. Light, life, joy, holiness, righteousness ... and it's okay for me to not be when you are so much. You promised to be for me what I cannot be. I don't understand how it works, but I'm yours to replace.

No matter what it looks like from here, I'm going to believe you are already in my place. You are my righteousness. My version, even the best of it, is dirty and inevitably useless, no matter how it may be admired. I'll just keep stepping back and taking my eyes off myself.

I'm asking you to exhibit your wisdom here, even though I could never be wise. In fact, when you're being righteous in me, you've said that, generally, people will be skeptical because your wisdom seems foolish ... probably even to me, when I'm thinking like the world around me.

You provide all my needs, even the need to realize I was depending on myself too much, and oh how the dry feeling torments me. I thirst for you now, as if in a land without water. I'm not even sure how I got here, but whether the cause is physical, spiritual, or emotional the result is the same. You're in charge of all these aspects of me. And neither my health nor my feelings can invalidate your truth or your provision. Even if my spirit fails, you've promised that if I count on you, you'll manage the rest.

You are my strength. I realized again today how weak I am, but you say when I'm weakest, that's when you're shown as strongest. So this is your chance.

You promised.

I'm just going to believe what you said is real ... in the dark, even though I can't see and don't feel like I know. Though I'd really like to see it, you know. Maybe a few of those encouragers that you've set up around the church would help.... Well, I'd like to meet them, if you could make it happen. But then, you can encourage with anything, so I'll keep looking for you.

My will is to be strong, and happy, and positive, and full,... admirable!... You know. I want to know I'm in the right place. But you told me you're holding my place for me.

I choose not to go after my will, not to expect my way, but to count on your will in me even if I don't completely understand how your will takes the place of mine. You know I can't even move that direction ... not on my own. But then, you said you would work in me both to will and to do ... and that has to be the only way just now. So I will wait on you.

I can't even imagine what would fix this suffering. Your ways are beyond me and they are guaranteed to work. I'm really glad that's true,... especially now. Even the idea of being able to understand you is a warning. It would mean you are ... not enough. I'd rather be incomparably small, knowing you're beyond comprehension.

And in the end, I'll have joy again. You promised.

So I'll go through this dry place until it breaks apart and moves out from between us. And there is joy and peace just in knowing there is a way through, even if my world breaks apart before my eyes in order to create that path.

I will set my hope on you for you are my salvation.

Broad Dreams in a Narrow World

Wrapped in warmth, curled in quiet, I open my laptop to interact and relate. I see Miwa Mtreyek's work and smile at the dream, watch again and again, feel my imagination stir.



Life is full of fragile dreams that somehow grow into new ...

And then I find this adventure, a tent of culture, mixed and blended for the joy of a daughter. She reminds me of my own youngest, L.L. Barkat's youngest.... I sense that same shimmering ability to live full in the moment. How fragile it can make us, but how much more beauty is touched in compensation.

So, already in the mood for dreams, I think for a moment of what it would look like to gather the experience of all the variety the world offers. Small doses, glimpses for my children,... oh, I won't pretend. I would love this. I could get lost in this idea with half the chance, and travel the world in the process of completing it ... (though it could be done without leaving home, with a little discerning research.)

A shelf of boxes, each one unique. We could start with the most vibrant cultures of the world ... pieces of fabric; photo, art, and culture books; distinctive ornaments; CDs of music; DVDs of traditional art or performance. It would be beautiful and interactive, this display.

I can see a backdrop of color, bright and compelling. It would be best if the fabric held the scent of a foreign marketplace. A toy or tool to bring interactive and tactile experience unique to that part of the world. Books for knowledge, but only good books, the ones written and photographed by people who live life full and don't peer down like vultures ready to pick apart the dead remains of all they see.

Oh, it would be beautiful.

And then I realize that people don't fit in boxes, and it's the people that are the greatest treasure of these places. This is why the idea of travel clings to the thought, like an inseparable dimension.

To take the everyday out of the life and thought that surrounds it makes it seem exotic. It's very easy to be caught in the distortion that the veneer of exotic life carries and never see the people who live and breathe, making the exotic into ordinary life.

It is better to interact than to collect,
to keep nothing upon returning,
but to leave my heart behind.
The only true understanding
belongs to love and relationship,
mirroring the gift God gave
when he came to live among us.

Not Empty

There is a fullness to this place, a presence
brighter than sight and more tangible than touch.
Oh, to see beyond the impenetrable curtain ...
a tear gapes open before my eyes
then the curtain falls beneath the onslaught of holiness.

Spirit-Less Place-Church

Theology of politic superiority ingrained;
blind to the lost, or worn, or weak;
ignored, self's sin and stain;
rich in pomp and civilized, culturally refined. 
How could the Word be lost amid human designs?

The most recent sources of thought provocation for this poem are posts by Faith, Fiction, Friends and Peter Faur.

I'm not sure how to positively define the difference between the cultural idea of church and the immovable and inescapable reality of being the Church that comes with belonging to Christ. The Church is the Church because it is actively owned and used by God, and any who wish to claim him might consider the damaging ramifications of inverting that connection.

This poem probably gives you an idea of what I think is definitively "antichurchness" as illustrated in the Bible. (Though "I think" is the key element of the prior sentence.) I certainly don't feel equipped to solve the communication problem that has resulted from misplaced interpretations, though I'm confident God intentionally demonstrates the difference between real and fake by the lives of those who continually, entirely set themselves aside by faith in submission to his Spirit.

Re-Inventing Tomato Soup

I've been thinking about tomato-basil soup for a couple years--ever since experiencing the lovely flavor at a tiny restaurant that has since gone out of business. Today it occurred to me that I should find a recipe and try to make some.

Only ... all the recipes disagreed, and some of them contained ingredients I knew had no part of that tantalizing flavor of memory. So I fished through the cabinets and proceeded to perform experiment #1. (Quite frankly, I'm just sick of Campbell's tomato soup. Bleh!)

The result was delicious! Oh, I'll modify it a bit in experiment #2, but it doesn't need much tweaking. Here is the recipe, just in case you want to try it. Note that this is enough for two moderate bowls of soup, so plan to multiply if you're "soup people" or are feeding more than two.

2 TBSP olive oil - Pour into the bottom of the pot you'll be using and heat on medium high.
1/2 medium white onion, diced - Stir-fry until the onion begins to caramelize (that stage after transparency when the onion turns golden brown)
Add...
15+ large fresh/frozen basil leaves, sliced thin
1 TBSP butter - Stir-fry the basil and butter with the onion for a minute or two. Keep a close eye at this point, since you don't want the butter to burn. Once the butter bits turn light brown, be ready with the wine (or broth).
Add...
1/4 C. Chinese cooking rice wine - Scrape any onion/butter that is stuck to the bottom of the pan as you simmer this for a moment to bring that flavor into the broth. (I happened to have the rice wine on hand, and it's one thing I'll experiment with next time, possibly substituting a sweet white wine. If you use real wine, be prepared to add salt.) Vegetable or chicken broth would work as well.
1 TBSP maple syrup - (or honey, or a couple teaspoons of sugar) Don't skip this bit because it cuts the acidic flavor.
1-2 tsp. cayenne hot pepper sauce (to taste)
14.5 oz can of petite diced tomatoes with juice - (Next time I'll try 2 1/2 cups chopped fresh tomatoes, or use crushed tomatoes and mince your onions and herbs to skip pureeing later.)
2 TBSP tomato paste - stir and simmer for 5+ minutes

At this point, you can proceed to serve*, or you can run the soup through the food processor to puree like I did since David likes his tomato soup smooth.

If you prefer thinner soup, return the puree to the pot, add milk or broth to your preferred consistency and bring to a simmer.

2 TBSP plain yogurt / bowl - I used about 1/4 cup of Greek yogurt for the full recipe. (*You could stir it in before serving, but at this point I was thinking of my camera. It's not every day I throw stuff together and discover it tastes GOOD! ) For a formal/romantic display, pour the soup into the bowl and place the dollop of yogurt on top, then decorate with a sprig of basil.

If you try it, let me know! Oh, and if you come up with a great modification or have a suggestion, I'd be interested to hear that too. Thanks!

Random Empires and Kingdoms (a short story repost)

Beware of randomly generated story prompts! See the end of this post for further explanation, should you survive. (Resurrected from the archives just for laughs.)

---

Tubadab Warcurse stomped into Thirty Turtles headquarters and tossed a handful of Jellied Frosted Jawbreakers onto the table. "Which one of you unknowable biters gave these to the top ultrapsychoinformatics master? You all knew he had a sweet tooth and that he's terribly allergic to jelly, and now he's dead! He was just about ready to pinpoint the location of the Economic Syndicate of Shires secret hideout, too!"

The council froze.

"What's this?" Tubadub tapped the brittle arm of the closest politician and an icicle broke from his sleeve and clattered to the floor. "They're frozen!"

"Yes." A new voice echoed through the room.

Tubadub turned and saw a courageous magical girl with wide blue eyes. Her very short, curly, luxurious hair was the color of ripe plums, and was worn in a utilitarian style. She had an amazonian figure and her plain outfit was mostly blue and yellow. Her water powers had to have been invoked by strange little monsters. He wondered why he was thinking about her plain outfit as she sprinted toward him followed by a herd of sheep.

"I used the Sacrifice of Chains to increase the power of the Shire. And now ... I ... will rule this paltry country! Release the teleporting vampire sheep!" She screamed as she leaped into the air using the forbidden art of Elbow of the Poor Priest. Behind her, the sheep began to glow with an eerie red light as she descended into Tubadub's arms.

He couldn't help but follow the training ingrained in him from an early age. Master Paprikahaunt of the School of the Sky had often tossed random girls into the middle of practice just to make sure he knew the best technique for catching them. "Be careful or I'll use One Million Foxes Underhook of Rolling Knees on your sheep," he said, setting her gently on the floor.

"I'm taking over your government!" She gestured toward the statue-like figures surrounding them. "I have felled your council with my  Charismatic Holy Change!"

"Have you looked at me yet?" Tubadub asked calmly. Since she claimed to be from the Shire, he couldn't help but feel this must be divine compensation for the unfortunate and untimely death of the ultrapsychoinformatics master. "By the way, what's your name?"

"Melody Brand!" Her eyes finally focused on him, and her mouth gaped open.

He knew what she was seeing--due to having looked in a mirror longer than is usually advisable that very morning--and had known he would have this effect from many years of experience at stunning females. His almond-shaped eyes had often been called the exact color of summer leaves. His long, midnight black hair was mostly bound in a series of braids and his build was rather angular. Soon she would compare him to a billowing sandstorm.

"You're just like a billowing sandstorm!" She said, right on cue, and the Vampiric Sheep wandered out the door as she lost her concentration.

"Yes," he said, staring deep into her eyes. "And now you will tell me where the Economic Syndicate of Shires has its secret hideout."

"Why?" She blinked. "And why do I think of a sandstorm when I look at you? Why aren't you like a mountain, or perhaps a rock,... or a pebble?"

Concerned at her incredible resistance to his looks, Tubadub repeated his question, hoping to receive an answer before she broke out from beneath his spell completely.

"Why, it's at home, of course!" she said, finally.

"At home!" Tubadub let her limp form slide to the floor and began to pace. "What does it mean? How am I ever going to find the Incomparable Princess of Great Attire and marry her? No other woman will do, because only she is rumored to be flashy enough to be noticeable next to me."

"I am the Princess of Great Attire!" Melody sat up and glared at him. "And I'm taking over your..."

"Yes, yes, my government. I heard you the first time. But that's ridiculous! Your attire is, to be plain spoken,... too plain!"

"Oh, this? This is my camouflage coverall. I knew I'd never make it into Thirty Turtles headquarters in my real clothes. I just wore them underneath so I could reveal the best-outfit-ever in my moment of glory. Only, you got in my way!" She pouted for a moment, then glared at him. "Why aren't you frozen with the rest of them?"

"Hmm?" He looked around the room, then studied her outfit again. "You're really the Princess of Great Attire? Well, you're going to have to prove it."

"You first!" She jumped to her feet, careful not to look directly at his face. "Why aren't you frozen? The Sacrifice of Chains is supposed to work on everyone,... unless ... but that isn't possible!... Are you...?"

"I wear the Foul Goblin's Cube of the Damned Witchery of the Screaming Eagles, girl! I am protected against every enchantment and technique. It's a necessity in my position. Now prove your claim!"

"Your Imperially Royal High-Ness!" She knelt before him. "I didn't know you were here or I would have waited till you were gone to take over this lowly kingdom and run it better than those idiots! You'll receive better tribute from me, that's for sure."

"I don't care about you taking over this government!" Tubadub stomped his foot for the first time since last year. "Prove your claim!"

"Oh? Well, that's easy." She slipped the blue and yellow outfit from her shoulders, to reveal a southern-belle style dress. "And my father will be here momentarily to vouch for me, since I told him to give me enough time to take over before bringing the new council in to take the place of these icicles."

Tubadub grinned. "That's excellent! He will be just in time to compliment us, my government-absconding girl! Now you can rule the Empire of Ten Thousand Large Thieves by my side!" He opened his arms. "Come to me!"

"I get to be Empress?" Melody laughed and leaped into his practiced catch. "And I get to snuggle such a cutie, too! Wow! I'm sorry I made my hideout so secret."

And they ruled the world with their dazzling appearances until someone stole the Foul Goblin's Cube of the Damned Witchery of the Screaming Eagles for nefarious purposes, leaving them defenseless against the Large Thieves.

What happened after that is another story.

---

Seventh Sanctum  is a place for laughs and help breaking through writer's block. There, you will find a variety of random generators for anything from a spaceship model to evil animal minions. Let's see if you can figure out which generators I used for the contents of the story above....

A Full and Empty Grave

How full is the empty space into which all emptiness is cast?

---

Photo:  A pile of stones by the lake, taken mid-summer 2010.

I'm playing with the idea of imprinting poems onto some sort of image more frequently, yet still pondering the ramifications of the thought ...

Entered in One Shot Wednesday, where poetry lovers write and read.

Emptying Like a Seed

Spread on the earth, the buried 
seeds split and empty;
knowing in death growth begins.

---

Image:  "Seedling" by Karen Eck - Digital painting, completed this week.

---

Entered into Random Acts of Poetry at The High Calling.

Friday Photo

Delicate, spin the merry princesses,
skirts wide around dancing forms.
Yet the mystery deepens,
why their slippers aren't worn ...

---

Usually the dancing princesses bewilder their father with their worn out slippers when they have had no chance to dance, but in this story he watches them dance every night and they never need a new pair of slippers.

He is not so foolish as to offer half or even all his kingdom, and his daughters are not promised to what may be unworthy men; but there is a reward for the one who discovers the reason, since he cannot sleep at night for wondering.

---

Isn't the photo lovely? This is "Orchid" by Elizabeth Weller at Flicker. Used with permission.

News:  In an incomprehensible glimpse of grace, "The Moment of Exchange" has been highlighted in the January 6th The High Calling - Around the Network. Follow this link to read the thoughts of others who have faced brokenness and found blessing through grace.

---

In case you are interested in joining this story game:

Do you know why the slippers don't wear out? Write a poem (or poetic prose) telling why, and link back here in the comments.

Change

When the door opened, 
someone had hidden the world,
and I lost the ground.

- Short and sweet. It's getting easier to write short, though I must admit I play with horrendously long stories in my mind and try to think how it would be to write stanza after stanza on the same topic. However, it's amusing to discover how much can be said in a diminishing amount of words. It's a bit of a thrill to go from ten lines to five and think it means more in the end.

- Image:  "Masked" a digital image derived from "Red Wind" duplicated, reflected and color-changed.

- Entered in One Shot Poetry where poets link together and share their work.

Bits and Pieces

Empty of words,
still I look at the blank page
and desire to share this feeling.

---

A first kiss sparks before many eyes
while the elegant cake waits below
for two-become-one to share a slice.

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Art waits to be seen
so it may breathe and live.

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My brother has finally married as of this weekend! I look forward to knowing my new sister even better than I do now, for she is already a treasure to me.

I made them some art, but it is (1) incomplete until I add the wedding photo and (2) I don't have their permission to share, since it has photos of them in it. So now I have to wait till they get back from the honeymoon ... oh, well!