Mama, Help Me

Mama, help me! Please be real

Mama, help me! Hold my hand

This absolute brilliance

To see things as they truly are is more than I can bear alone

Mama, help me…help me…help me

I listened and followed you out

My senses instantly assaulted with stench and horror

A legion of putrid corpses exposed

Mama, help me! Hold my hand and walk with me through

Mama, help me! Please be real

Don’t leave me here to die in the light…alone

I’m Right Here

I’m here. I’m here. I’m right here…and I am not well

 

Squatting in the ashes, scraping festering sores

And there you are…right there

Cold eyes deliberately unseeing

Cadaverous hearts, pickled and pristine

 

I would cherish any of you to sit with me where I am

Even as Job’s friends, whether mute or fumbling

To try and make sense of failure and despair

But no…you will not acknowledge me here

 

Denying my family – YOUR FAMILY – so much as a scrap

The affection and resources you lavish on dogs

Days became months turned to years spent right here

Silently screaming, staring at your backs turned…right there

 

I’m here. I’m here. I’m right here…and I am not well

 

 

To Know Kindness

KINDNESS

Before you know what kindness really is
you must lose things,
feel the future dissolve in a moment
like salt in a weakened broth.
What you held in your hand,
what you counted and carefully saved,
all this must go so you know
how desolate the landscape can be
between the regions of kindness.
How you ride and ride
thinking the bus will never stop,
the passengers eating maize and chicken
will stare out the window forever.

Before you learn the tender gravity of kindness,
you must travel where the Indian in a white poncho
lies dead by the side of the road.
You must see how this could be you,
how he too was someone
who journeyed through the night with plans
and the simple breath that kept him alive.

Before you know kindness as the deepest thing inside,
you must know sorrow as the other deepest thing.
You must wake up with sorrow.
You must speak to it till your voice
catches the thread of all sorrows
and you see the size of the cloth.

Then it is only kindness that makes sense anymore,
only kindness that ties your shoes
and sends you out into the day to mail letters and purchase bread,
only kindness that raises its head
from the crowd of the world to say
It is I you have been looking for,
and then goes with you everywhere
like a shadow or a friend.

Naomi Shihab Nye – Palestinian-American poet

Only Different Now (Mindful of JD)

I don’t know what I’d do without my litter mate, my soul sister, the one who sees me and loves me in a relationship that makes no sense outside of there being a very real and loving and involved God who made us aware of each other at just the right time. Any sooner and we wouldn’t have recognized each other. Any later? I shudder to think.

Charissa's Grace Notes

Be yourself only
different now
somehow
with all
that
grief.tumblr_mubepqA5O41qznczoo1_500In case you ever
thought that
you were just
a being, just
a humble
presencetumblr_lx4e3kosSN1qzwaddo1_1280you are not just
anything, you
mean something,
more than that
you mean
everything,tumblr_mplmt2mrm41rfp1lho1_r2_500because everything that
means something
beats inside
of you.Image 003

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All The Way

Go all the way…

That’s all They’ve given me – this Invitation to Die.

Be careful what you ask for in earnest, Child.

They will give you the desires of your heart. They’ve always made Good on Their Word.

Will I even recognize it?

Maybe the falling is all there is on this side of life.

What I mistook for arrival was a series of ledges.

Just enough time to catch my breath after having the wind knocked out of me.

Then…another free fall into intangible.

I’ve flinched and flailed in the darkness, losing my grip on ALL THE THINGS.

Now?

I anticipate nothing.

Done grasping.

Done fighting.

Done blaming.

Done explaining.

Done asking.

Done.

There is only nothing.

Falling.

Release.

There’s no way back, Child.

You crossed that threshold long ago when you asked for this.

Don’t try to resurrect yourself. You’ve come this far.

Now go all the way.

The Vines

When your Sister puts your own soul to words in gorgeous ways beyond what you are capable…you reblog. ❤

Charissa's Grace Notes

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Poetry is woven into the warp and weft of this creation.  The balance of sunrise and sunset, the pace of the tides, the trill of the birds and the rustle of the winds in the trees.

On it goes…everything in harmony, or dissonance yet in time and rhythm.   Let my first written post be a poem I wrote called The Vines.  It is a poem about humans, really…about anyone who wants to become…more!  Better!  Higher!

The Vines

They are tortured, the best ones…
the vines
Tortured!
Planted in skeins of shitty shallow soil.
Plopped into rocky ruins of ancient volcanic thrashing
and bucking.

They Thirst!
DIPSO!! SITIO!!
They will not drink vinegar, ruined wine

But instead they dig
Down
Roots compelled, FORCED past rocky reams
and veinous minerally walls.
For moisture.

The Vinedresser is compelled…not by cries
but by VISION and the future
of the wine to come

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Scary Girl

Hush Scary Girl, we don’t want any trouble

Hush Scary Girl, we surely do not want to see

Hush Scary Girl, unless you’re singin’ pretty nothings

Your voice is a terrifying thing


Hush Scary Girl, your talk of reconciliation

Hush Scary Girl, back to as you were before

Hush Scary Girl, you no longer serve our purpose

So burn the bridge and triple lock that door


We’d rather have you broken if it meant you’d shut your mouth

We’d rather see you crushed than stretched ourselves

We appeased you to your face in exchange for hasty exit

But you didn’t go away…You just wouldn’t go away

You refused to play our game and die in silence


Hush Scary Girl, now we just can’t have you thinkin’

Hush Scary Girl, this is not the way to be

Hush Scary Girl, now we can’t have people seeing

The Truth that Was and Is and Yet To Be