January--Studies for new paintings

I've had a few sources of inspiration in the form of orders this month...here are a few study sketches in preparation for these works.

 

 

 

 

 

January--Sewing Project--Finished?

Happy New Year!  I finally finished sewing a design that I've been working on for several months now.  I'm not sure what the end product will be (throw pillow, wall art, baby bib...), but I'm glad to have finished a design that was stuck in my head.

Here it is:

It measures 18" x 24"

Here are some detail pictures :)

 

 

I really enjoyed choosing the colors and designing this piece.  I simply could not get it out of my mind until I had actually put it together.  

December-Christmas: First and Last

Wow!  It's been a month or so since I posted anything.  I have been busy, and now that it's a mere three days until Christmas, and my husband is working late, I have a few moments to reflect.  So now for the 2009 List of Christmas Firsts and Lasts:

First year to participate in Black Friday shenanigans
Last year to stay up late the night before Black Friday; I should have had my butt in bed


First year to experience Christmas as a married woman
Last year to have no idea what to get for my husband


First year to have our real tree become a fire hazard within a week of purchase
Last year to launch a Christmas tree off a three-story balcony


First year to not have turned on the heater even once
Last year to stay up until 2am baking--one can hope


First year to not decorate the yard (because we don't have one)
Last year to go without Dove Chocolate Peppermint Bark--what was I thinking?

First year to make cheese straws
Last year to leave all of the goodies at my brother's house   :)


First year to ship most of my Christmas gifts
Last year to enter any Wal-mart store after December 20th

First year to attend 3 or 4 separate family celebrations
Last year (hopefully) to not have all of my family together at once


First year to eat carrot souffle-no offense to the chef
Last year to eat carrot souffle


First year to have a Christmas Budget
Last year to blow said Christmas Budget

Merry Christmas everyone!

"When they saw the star, they rejoiced with exceeding great joy" Matthew 2:10

October--More Hand Drawn Designs :)

Don't Let a Good Friend Go...or How to Save Your Favorite Blanket :)

Most of you know that I used to live in Korea.  One of my favorite places to shop in Korea is the art/historic district In Sah Dong.  Several years ago, I bought two simple quilted blankets one rainy Saturday afternoon in Korea.  Well, I've had the blankets for about 5 years now, and they are starting to show some wear.  After all, my cat loves to make them into her nest, and I have used them as part of my regular bed linens for that entire time.  Regular use and washing has left the white one with two unsightly tears...booooo!  I'm not about to get rid of my favorite blanket.  So I made a repair :) 

I was not able to fully cover the tear, but at least now I know the tear will not "grow."

I still have to sew a button on to make the "middle" of the flower, but I really like the way this looks so far.

 

Admittedly, I need more practice as a seamstress...

 I really had fun picking out the fabrics at JoAnn's.  They had all of their "fat quarters" on sale for $.99, so I picked out three patterns of white for the large petals of the flower, and then a really lovely cream for the smaller petals.  I'm very pleased with how these colors compliment the existing blanket--my favorite!! :)

A Collection of Whimsy--Colored Pencil Drawings on 3.5" x 5" cards

So my husband and I were sitting on the couch last night watching some "futuristic" movie made in the late 1990's.  During the movie, my cat, and I emphasize "my", came and sat on his lap.  She never does this!  What was my husband's explanation?  "Well, obviously, she inexplicably attracted to khaki."  That statement about khaki made me think of doing a couple of monochromatic-ish colored pencil sketches before I went to bed..."said the little red hen, and she did."  :)  Here are the results:

 

 

I've also been working on a few preliminary sketches...stretching my pencils/paintbrushes as it were:

September--Custom Name Paintings II

Here is the painting for my niece, Natalie :)

September--Butterflies and Distracted by Color

 

 

 

September--Bright Spots--sometimes you have to make your own.

 

 The results of a late-night/early-morning painting session. :)

This is a close up of the painting on the right in the previous picture.

All three of these paintings are on re-purposed materials.  I love giving something new life!

Custom Name Paintings

I've been working on two custom name paintings for my nieces: Natalie and Elise. 

Here is the one for Elise :)

11" x 14" hand painted original acrylic painting on stretched canvas with custom colors and name.

Beautiful muted pinks, greens and warm yellows make a sweet and sophisticated background for your daughter or granddaughter's name or initials. These make excellent gifts for new mothers and mothers-to-be.

Each piece is original to your loved one and colors and lettering can be customized to fit your specific decor.

Pictured: 11" x 14" original acrylic painting--stretched canvas on wooden frame; comes equipped with a sawtooth--ready for hanging.

Available in the following sizes:
18" x 24" --$50.00
11" x 14" --$45.00
8" x 10" --$35.00

Designs for boys coming soon!

Hand-drawn cards for fall

At my sister, Bekah's advice, I've started working on some hand-drawn/hand-painted cards.  This is the beginning of my fall collection.  

Other designs will be available later this week.  I'm also working on a Christmas collection!  

3.5"x 5" cards

 

  

Set of 3 hand-drawn cards with envelopes:

$10.00  Reduced: $6.00  :)

Custom Name Sketches

So I'm working on these for my sister, Bekah, (who is, by the way, a very talented photographer www.rebeccatoddportraits.com).  These are simply preliminary colored pencil sketches of the paintings I'm going to do.  They will be 9"x12"  (These are actually 11" x 14") stretched canvas on wooden frame. :)

September--Geranium Custom Painting--COMPLETE!!

Hurray!  I finished my first ever custom painting!  I am really pleased, and I have such a great feeling of accomplishment!  Here are the results:

 

  

 

"Geraniums for Tabi"

"18x"24 Original Acrylic Painting on Stretched Canvas with Wooden Frame

Custom Price: $40.00 which includes shipping :)

September--Embellished Quilt Square

This is a scrap square from the lap quilt I just finished piecing yesterday.  I decided to embellish it with beading and put it in a frame.  I love how the gold tones in the fabrics match the elegant beading.  :)

This particular framed piece is available for $15.00.

September--Lemons in a Stark World

This is my first attempt at still life.  Yay for lemons!

This is a 9"x12" acrylic matted to 8"x10".  It comes framed.

$25.00

September--Geranium Project Canvas Sketch

Here is the on canvas sketch.  :)  Now I've got to fill in the first layer of the background.  The geraniums in this painting are going to be red with yellow lights, so I need to choose a background color that will bring out the best in my foreground subject....hmmmm.

Okay, Here is the canvas with the first layer of background.  I'll go back and lighten it up a bit later on.

 

Here's the first layer of color and shading.  Many more layers to go.

More of the layering.

Even more detail in this last one.  I'm getting ready to add the center stem on the top bud, then I think the perspective will improve.  :)  Still many more layers and blending of colors and shades to come, but it really is taking shape.

The next progression...

 

I plan to add more accents with violet/deep red; I also plan to lighten the background as well.

September--Geranium Project

I have a couple of custom projects on my plate.  One of my friends from college asked me to do a geranium painting for her.  It's an 18"x24", so double the size of the paintings I've done so far.  I'm excited at the challenge knowing that my painting is going to be a meaningful gift!  Here are the preliminary sketches I did last night...simple ink pen.

 

Which one do you like best?

Beaded Bangles :)

I made these bracelets several years ago when I was living in Korea and the fabric market was a regular weekend escape for me.  These particular bangles are simply made from memory wire and beads, but they have several decorative uses.  :)

 

These are available 3 bangles for $6.  I can also custom make them in any color.  :)

September Paintings

I'm still having fun learning to paint flowers.  I found this canvas at Goodwill--actually found two of them with "Paris" prints glued to the front.  I decided that I could take the print sticker off the canvas and paint my own work instead.  So I did.  :)  Here's the result of my first "re-purposing" attempt.

 

8"x11.5" stretched canvas.  Ready to hang.

$16.00 USD

Here are some close-up photos of the same painting:

Another Re-Purposed Original Artwork:

 

The painting itself is 8"x10" with the Iron Frame 12"x16".

Ready to hang.

$25.00 

Here are some close-ups of the same painting:

  

August Paintings--Imaginary Flower

 

9"x12"  Acrylic on 110lb Mixed Media Paper

$16.00

August Paintings--Fall Colors

 

5"x7" acrylic painting on 110 lb mixed media paper

$16.00 USD

August Paintings :)

I've started painting again...it's been a while, but I'm enjoying it!  If I sell anything, 90% of the proceeds will go to Mercy Homes of India.  Read all about it at the Mercy Homes website.

9"x12" acrylic--$16.00--SOLD

Genesis 22

Abraham, not play acting
but set on stage; flooded
in lighting and set in motion;
scripted and cued for us

for us to see beyond
the temple scrim to make
murky action bold, obvious and unavoidable

we, consumed in the scene
watch the mountain ascent
study closely, the boy's eyes
searching his father's face for understanding;
for direction, occupation

the fire and wood are here, but where
is the lamb?

oh sweet grief; oh sweet agreement
staged in bright faith
shining like the altar fire
glinting on a sharpened blade

in agreement, the aged binds the willing youth
and raises up the scepter death

but hold and wait and see
the glory of god revealed in Golgotha,
marked by a ram in a thicket
and the God who swears by none
greater than Himself

Portrait of a Man I've Only Read About

The common hours of the day
I see your Presence rise like starlight
in my child's eyes filled with laughter

In the mean moments of early morning
when discipline becomes the voice of mockery
I feel your Presence wrap my mind
in long-suffering, joyfilled approval
your smile resting with your Word on my forehead

In the Sunday morning hour
when everyone sits still, finally
I sing songs and hear stories of your Presence
the Presence who later today
will silence the Accuser

the Presence who will secure my home
as I open it to strangers
who will restore to me all I spend on those who cannot repay

who will strengthen my ill back
to bear up under my own burdens
and others' too; to love without agenda
or restraint

For Easter on January 20, 2008

My thinned-handed friend grasps and releases and grasps again a white tissue. Her ravaged eyes filled with hope; filled with tears.

My most improbable God
I see You now through eyes of scattered starlight.
Oh, most improbable, dependable name: El Shaddai,
of the Promise
whose existence means "It is accomplished."
whose command "be blameless"
set free my father, Abraham, my brother, David,
my mother, Rahab, and my ruined sister, Tamar.

Be blameless: confess the sin which is consistent and constant;
a curse: unshakable and denounced.

This confession, of a Sunday starry night under a searing full moon
shines a light--set in motion at the origin of time and hovered over the Light of the World
now waits; holding steady gaze and delivering uncovered grief of its fester.

She buries her head in her frail hands and grows in favor with God and among men.

In view of March

my phone clicks into silence
the satellites push silver wings to face away
some direction where the horizon gradually embraces another cycle of sunlight

we've been talking for hours
literally chunks of time have evaporated
into personality and laughter...

and now that I'm in a quasi silence,
my soft, black cat purring into warmth,
pillow secure, sheet and blanket thick around my body

I think of one more thing...
to say to you
or to show you
or to hope you see

always one more... something.
I love that.

The Pacific Room

In the stands at Wrigley, the wind brushed through
on a barker's voice carrying the flavor of hot dogs,
beer and cigars.

The far hedges drank up the outfield fence to the
sound of cracking bat and peanut shells; the sweep
of the crowd dusted with heartfelt profanity falling
like magic dust from three rows up.

The sun, shining rust and golden through ball park
chardonnay, leaked behind the sports bars and roof top
cafes; sneaked down to the pier where a thousand
little boats turned crimson. luffed; their full saild
bled a smart, lavender orange into rippled water.

The city woke beneath my 9th floor perch. The lights
of the Ferris wheel, impatient horns and the El
clack-clacking dripped under the doors onto paisley
lobby carpet.

Sounds and exhaustion chased me to the window,
shadows crossed my feet,
above Michigan avenue I watched blue and blue converging.

Between Black Balsam and Sam's Knob

Rippled in wind, the water stirs
pebbles releasing oxygenated secrets
whispers, passwords,
uncollected wisdom, panned out through miner's hands; unworthy
passed on down stream where feet to be washed hesitate at first
touch. touch of knowledge; discernment from centuries of movement
trees bend to this understanding, life force flow: direction
flow, follow,
harshly flowing mosaic: rock to dirt to sand

Jackson Pollack

I brought 3,000 pieces for a mosaic. Gold and twin laced together. Stucco shards and flakes of paint pasted. I placed them there with a hairline tip and spilled to make the finish. Garnet molasses buried bits of bone and muscle; fossilized in layers of wit and fuzzy pain. I cannot finish; I will never be removed. Gazing from alternating directions reveals picture and detail; complete and separate; working.

I will not lie to you

and tell you I am lofty purpose;
destined to see diamonds and pearls;
tell you I have the confidence of street preachers
that service is salvation or that I believe
myths and fables about the good life;
tell you I am complete

My Single Journey is a Homecoming

a place, destination unknown to me
mapped out before I knew of the existence of moving

I must trust this
or travel should not be
and the hurried answers of the rivers
should be only maxims of travel--removes
I am dragged along simply to learn
to be with nature: to be one or two or three
selves in the half light of half life.

I must trust this or I cannot move.
Stagnation is not security; it is stagnation.

Nit

Note: Written in 1998, this poem reflects memories of summers in Mississippi--Fourth of July celebrations and late nights at the lighted public tennis courts where all the bugs came to tan.

Just under the dew lies the heat of the day
stamped on the abdomens of carpenter ants.
Crickets push their fires in the early 4am
of human indifference. June bugs are
always early in April, toasted mild chocolate
rust from their mid-winter vacations.
They cling to our screens and shoe soles
waiting for a chance to show off the summer
they brought us. Gnats cluster in our breath
jumping in and out of shallow water
telling craw-dad cousins the early demise of
train track mud relatives.

Little legs carry anklets of tobacco spittle
away from coach-pitch bleachers
across the outfield to lay-cold slabs frying daily
10-5pm. Bed warmers for the horned, the hard shelled.

Perennials

Notes: I wrote this poem in 2000 while living in a very cookie-cutter neighborhood.


I live in the Suburban Hell my brother speaks
so passionately against. Funny how he doesn't live anywhere.

People are separated only by a few brick walls and the uniqueness in their flower beds.
Blackeyed Susans, Peonies,
Zinnias, Marigolds, Goodness Grows Veronica...a purpley
flower that looks more mountains than
mulch born. It's pictured in
Better Homes and Gardens right next to the
Dropmore Catmint, a stunning yellow.
These are supposed to be powerhouse perennials, but basically
it's your choice of what will root: Petunias, Dahlia, Imaptients,
Chrysanthemums, Jasmine, Jonquils.

Well, I won't root.
Not here in the bermuda sod, shot-gun houses
where the only difference between
978 and 984 is the thickness of formality. Please don't
let your yippy mut run through my Miss Lingard Phlox
again.
And Charlotte Lane is not for me because I don't plant.
Especially not the Goblin Blanket Flower.

Sing a plainsong

A sailing leaf turns in circles a clear sky
mocks the dark outline of a hawk 30 feet up

I enter the magic of silence:
my eyes transfixed--glassed over
the heart, soul, mind and strength--pulled along on funneling thermals
sink down through whipping, winding trails in the middle of swirling logic

dizzy

I remember what one man said about the woods:
how dark and deep and still with solstice winter's chill and pall
I linger sirened out of mind in isolation
too long, too still, too deep, too dark
the way I came too far back--

I lift my head, my swimming, prodigal head
to find the straight path--the narrow way
marked well
with Humility's warmth.

This is the way I see it going down

December starlight--frost and snow and clear black sky--
ruthless magic steals away the logic and reason;
beguiles innocently
broken down thought covered over in plastic empirical science

a wrapped mystery
an intoxicating, outlandish and ancient idea;
no, a story, no a person
yes to all of those

strangely grateful and foolish
not to have believed
but to have waited so long in a cold, deep deception

kairos

My melancholy has burst out into full color
full out in strong autumn sun and dances
in a crazy blue sky to see a white birch in a muddy field
followed along by a white fence guarding a milk-filled cow.

Withdrawing into winter's heart; residual joy gleams the veins of leaves wrought amber in my eye--purplish and red: painfully bright in a green lawn next sharing space with a gravel road, brown and wet and gray

These pieces fitted
make changes, once reviewed,
congruous--dripping with purpose and hope

Deaf

White paper morning--crispy shavings of a backlit moon
I find myself praying in sign language

Newly deaf; newly mute—other senses not yet adjusted to compensate

I am boorish—spitting crude assertions from published works onto awkward, stumbling prayer; muddling as though my vesture is sepulcher

—I’m glad to go down, to burrow deep allowing waters to close over;
not sure when the moon will change again and allow me up.

Oh sweet, dark, change--husky sheath and cosseted
Dry and cool, I do the work of life.

I am hidden, in my own mind, at least.
Protected by the confidence that things change—things always change

Subtle

On Wednesday You winked at the evening sky
and made it blush a tangerine candy floss
just about the time I was looking over Your latest blessing.

I stood across the street from the house with an open yard
that shares it's border with a green belt tree line.
This is just the beginning of Your plans or maybe this is the middle--my heartbeats are deep, stretched out with praise feeding the great gray swirls You tied
like a bow on the gift of this day and the rest of my life.

And Rockabye Sweet Baby James

Today we heard the Banez baby was born--
what sweet grief, his father with You, his mother with us.

As we pray for her, waiting in frantic surrender--
the pressure of Your Grace; the light I hold in my hand--falls over my own broken head.
With no more resolve to stand or step, folded; bent low,
my shoulders shake, my throat rubs out a low cry
and swoons with a rhythm; I hear You, I hear You; I hear You.

My words are stilted, but Your oil, Your presence; Your joy and glory;
Your Body marvels at sweet Baby James.

Shoal Lake

Laura and I stumble down well after dark to sit
on the dock at Shoal Lake.
As the quiet settles around us, we listen to the frogs call the late evening moon
over the trees.

I bring a bag of Ranier cherries and plunk the pits into the black water.
Laura holds a blanket and a sheet.
Together we bring a good night to a close
and memories to the surface.
It was a hard year for me, and I say this more than once.
With so much in mind: Philippines, Thailand, India, Korea, Coaching and our Monday nights.

We talk of men in general and some in specific.
Just as we begin to admit our mutual frustration,
a loon, long and desperate howls out from his hidden nest on the dark shore line.

Laura loves that sound
like I love to see the city lights come on in the evening.

I tell a dumb joke and we break down in fatigued giggles
just for the beauty of laughing uncontrollably again.

You are my ttong-sang and I am your uhnni.
You are golden; you teach me in so many ways.
Your friendship, like a sound or a light reminds me that God is personal.

House of Prayer

Muted voices
not allowed to
cry out; hushed
up to honor
order--we repent.

Field

It is the first week of July
and the June bugs know their
numbered days are moving inevitably toward oblivion

I spread my sarong on Bermuda
wet with early evening dew
and because I do they swarm
their floundering amber bodies around
me

Wing chased wind the air sits
a few feet from a tall sodium
safety light.

With the summer insects I feel
a closing approach from the West
and then from the East so that a single
light is the focus of the whole world.

Afternoon thoughts

Tonight as the sky formed and shifted
around thunder heads crossing the river 20
miles away a bit west and north of here,

the trees formed the green of my thoughts,
and I found a blue, lovely and deep like
the words I search for even now.

The spotted paint horses hang low
and smooth in my mind staged
in the pale pasture with trees behind.

I am lost. I want to be in the dark brown
sheen of the animals and the quiet of their eating.

The stallion is taller than the rest, and I feel tired
to think of his strength.

Then I finally see it; a rainbow hangs over the southeast.
I can see where both ends met the horizon
and now the wind
and now the slow drops to wash, refresh,
and make new my ragged hope.

mango, pomegranate, guava, star

The grief and joy of Presence
is an exotic fruit I have just
discovered in my hand as
I sit weeping in the Thodapuza
courtyard; all my brightly
colored sisters sing just yards
away through a concrete
wall, over a river of shoes.

It is the song in my mouth
as I surface in the lagoon
near Naweni Koro
Praise God from whom all blessings flow...

It is the unprecedented
snowstorm howling gray
and brown over the
weh guken hahkyo in Pyongtaek;
I shoot a video; breathless giggles.

It is the sensation of the rise
and fall in Phuket's waves
and later in my dreams.

It is the sari dripping down
from my head and playing
around my feet; I hold a
little brown hand and hope.

It is this moment: my friends
have gathered around; a soft brown
dog sleeps under the table;
the Word is open and speaks all of us
into the Presence of God.

Irresistible

The moon is pasted over in cloud tonight--
my thoughts crouch behind avoiding notice,
secretly hoping to be presented
brought out of hiding with upturned hand--

but wait, it is patience's cue;
she must come first; must always come before;
she and prayer must lead the way into the irresistible.

Dear James

Your death did not make the headlines
but it's all we can talk about here.

Yours was not a single death because death never is single
Layers of people, roles, regrets and sorrow always mix about and crisscross.

Today, when we met with God together, I couldn't say
that we wished you were back with us because then I would
have wept beyond what is reasonable.

I don't know exactly how it's done, this shared suffering, this shouldered up burden but it's here among us and our understanding and our prayers and our lives.

Our praise for your life remains--I want to stretch that praise into a covering, a banner
over your wife and children, over your mother, your sister and brother. It would be a red doorpost, the red scarf of Jericho, the brilliant wedding canopy, and the Passover which is all our hope.

Vaya Com Dios

today the clouds came in and staged a Monet right in front of my eyes
sprawling bungalows, tile roofs
palms and purple majesty
big sky, tall green hills

and for a moment I realized how complete God is in the follow-through
how each detail knows it's position and cue
how the trees and shrubs looks so green against the clouds stacked on each other
how the wind knows just so to move the hammock
how the sun lines up behind "Edgar" every morning on the Barra beach next to the seaside dive and shrimp and rice and sucre de limon.

Thoughts from the casket

It's always cold on Easter in Mississippi,
and I felt it all the way through this morning's run.

Afterward, I swaddled myself in a blanket and let the strong sun hit my face and
the unopened Bible on my lap.

Sometimes that's all I can do when the whirlwind steals my breath,
and the fire crisps my lips. Sometimes all I can do is listen and think;
squeeze my grave cloth wrapped body into the cleft and hide.

I feel like dying because I'm dead and sloughing off as Christ,
who laid aside His grave clothes, lives for me.

So as I run and my grave clothes flap back in my face like a flag or a banner,
I pretend they are really Christ's standard signaling that He is in the lead.

Such a bittersweet day

this morning began cool with a steady climb to the mid-80's
and I talked a little with Jesus while I pulled the sheet closer

when I reached the entrance to the stairwell, the sweet grapesicle holly trees
ran a river scent trail that stopped me

mid-morning frustration--patronization
I wondered why I was called
why I had to be the one who made nice; who gave a fair chance

I picked a holly branch filled with lime green buds and deep green leaves
I looked closely to see the drops of sweet grapesicle
the station bridge road; the grain mill
how many times did I pass that place and stop to smell more deeply the grape candy scent

I was afraid of tonight; afraid of the awkward moments
afraid that my too nice would not hide my too nervous

Then God dipped into and poured over cupped handfulls: laughter sweet and rich like grapesicle and the bright moon from the Walmart parking lot.

to not embarrass you

I've been sitting at my desk working on things that suck me dry.

I want to do great things.
I want to do good things.
I just don't want to embarrass you.

I have the chance to be burnished brass or crude;
to be washed away by the culture and the flesh; the pride of life my decision-maker.

I want to do great things.
I want to love big and long.
I want my life to stretch out in beauty like the morning sky.
I just don't want to embarrass you.

I have the chance to be soothing song or brash;
to be carried along by the lust of the eyes; the carnival show my entertainment and distraction.

I want to do great things.
I want to glory small.
I want to see my life stretch out in moments of redemption.
I just don't want to embarrass you.

I have the chance to be transparent,
to relax in my own skin, the quiet, gentle, unbothered spirit.
I have the chance to lead others
into the unconditional love of God, but I have to go first.

Running under the sky

the clouds divide over southern Arizona near the Mexican border

the breath of Alaska--mountains--I stand in an exhale of misty ice

the beginning of Fall and my first 8 miles; I round the corner to enter the stadium and hear a roar and a song

I am singing with the sky--my feet fall in rhythm with my breathing

I take off

past the The Eye of the Tiger straight out into Elijah's freeway

Friday, February 9, 2007

The five o'clock birds have come again
to visit in the holly bush outside my window.

I am at peace to watch them grow their feathers out against the cold
to hear them talk their talk in tones and whistles;

to remember that all my anxious lists,
fretting breaths, fervent dreams
can stand behind me for a while.

I shake my hands away from doing;
away from conversation and demand
and lay them in my lap as I wonder in awe and worship in rest.

Mary's Last Dance

Today in sunshine through stained glass
I listened.
I watched Robert Earle--the man who crossed the room for Mary.
I watched him say goodbye to her, and I have to wonder.

I have to wonder what will be when I'm in a
shiny casket. How far will my life stretch out?
I dreamed my death last night--or some version of it.
It was a warmth that spread from my middle out to the ends.

Then between Nesbit and Bridgeforth
I was befriended by endurance
to pick up the pieces of my last impatience;
to reconstruct with slow prayer what I have torn down in haste.

Bless this day of Mary's last dance, last song.
Bless the Delta and my mother who escaped.
Bless the Father, Son and Holy Ghost--through Sumner and Tutwiler,
past Clarksdale on the by-pass and back up to Walls.

Communion

Let it be for me
the body and the blood
let it be for me
the living word of God

wafer thin and hollow wine
my thoughts
ritual by man's design

but let it be for me
the sinner's sweet release
let it be for me
overwhelming peace

remorse is all i know
shame is all i see
but by God's grace and love
let it be for me

Tuesday

Red ribbon; cut crystal hung to catch the light;
to increase energy across the spectrum; across the body.

Hard wood floors; beaded doorways--topaz, peridot
Incense, jade, scents, smells & breathing.

Deliver me, Lord, from calculated, dispassionate prayer.
Calculated; rehearsed & recited.
Deliver me, Lord, from incantations, methods and motions.

Release me only to the Spirit who indwells.

Caesura

The Story:
When I wrote this poem, I had been traveling for two weeks and was looking at traveling for another two weeks. I do enjoy travel; but not alone. I was driving to my sister's house at sunset in Indiana, and as I kept passing farm houses lit up with either oil lamps or soft electric light, I longed to be home in both the physical and spiritual sense. I was tired and I wanted to belong somewhere. I thought of how lovely it would be to spend time with my sister and stay at her house instead of a hotel, and the grace of God descended into my thoughts and I praised Him.

Caesura

My eye is drawn to the window light;
warm lamp of the resting farmhouse,
dusk safely moving toward a slow supper.

Soft
soft, soft.
A sleeping toddler,
conversation with my sister
and the real self I try to display along with
pamphlets, powerpoint and lights.

My caesura,
my gift of desperation
to step aside and breathe
to turn away and weep
to close my eyes, to smile in secret.

Breathe on me, Selah.
Spirit's logic my warm fire,
the knowlege of you exhales passion
over the cold, wet gravel.

Hwy 304 West

Fogg Road knows it's name
and delivered a special note
in your hand, yesterday.

pink sunset, low mist over haybales

I had to stop.
I had to stop the car, risk the road and a barking dog

to spend a few minutes
studying the angles and strokes
and find your signature in the corner of this moment.

Winter 7:02am

Snuggled tight in down and cotton
linen thoughts and morning vows.

I find a sovereign God is waiting,
waving off my fearful doubts closed thick around my whispering lips.

I'm losing the faith it takes to be intimate
to do more than submit to power.

Watching the light grow on the ceiling,
I beat my chest, "Have mercy on me, a sinner."

Hospice

Death; the spector,
blackhooded
shadows equally my logic and emotion.

Not so much the end of all things as the end of me.

Blessed.
Warm fire,
from my chair a view of the moon through branches.

In the morning I will wake
and find the turn row.

Frost under my feet.

I breathe; I am; I will be,
until the future is present continuous.

Mississippi Solstice

I have a winter sky heart
with careful stars
beside a moon so bright it'll be ash by the end of the week.

No snow gray; close and heavy.
No cloud puffs in thin wind.

Just soft auburn
and high, high sky.

There's a brittle crackle longing--
the fear of breathing deeply;
the hope.

I can see you , God; just past deep blue.

Valhalla Merlot

Rock me out.
Take every wrinkle,
spot, dark circle.

Rock me out
with gels and
creams; hopes
held high in glossy
80lb magazine
pages.

Rock me out.
If I have the
perfect shoe,
the cream shade
that defies age
and all touch with reality.

Rock me out;
white teeth,
perfect skin,
soft hair with highlights.

Rock me out.
Trade me up.
Sell me out.
Sell me short.

Retrace the Steps

I've always been too much like Levertov
too much
on
the
next
line
too much like the Hebrews
repeating images
using pictures--restating in other words
the already said
too much in love with Levine
and his stark line and his white images
of taste and grime and industry
and dirt and the list goes on to one
too much in sway like Neruda
full of plump pomegranites
and li-young lee--word mistakes
and twists and turns in persimmons

i like persimmons

too much like Dickenson
all dashes and rhythms
too much like w.s.
with nothing to say
next to the white chickens
not enough like eliot
the epic eludes, eludes, eludes
bishop's fish and oily rainbows

so bring the requiem of notes played and words read, spelled
spoken and tasted.

I breathe the steps I've taken
and I will breathe them again
and they will be read.

Thrios Arkadelphia

I'm trapped in the home stretch
caught in the last .2 miles to the finish
If I could just get beyond,
If I could just reach,
out, past, there, in front;
just at the tip of the longest finger
of the daydreaming transient.

Angry, red and bitter;
I gesticulate--
the homeless hitchhiker
terrifying every do-gooder,
stomping and swearing.

I'm so damned helpless,
trapped and helpless
watching the dust devils dance.

Burning Song

And, Lord, would You receive
the flaming tongue
the burning song
the smoking; smoldering
hopes and longing.

Oh, Lord to be awakened
to Your fire
Your fuel
Your altar.

Help, Lord, help
and receive my song of coals
my burning song.

Breathe in deeply, Oh Living Breath
and exhale Your pleasure and satisfaction
over my burning song
my coal-heaped head.

Jealous Pictures

watched the seasons come down
in jealous pictures

i guarded my heart right out;
right past the last turn

and letting go
a seering fall; a seering fall
into a small world and a big God

I Miss the House

I have been singing for 3 hours
but now the worshipping begins
because just now I've washed
or I am washing or I'm being washed
--let the blood clean
all I've been carrying around
all day--let the rain that thundered
in on top of my practiced singing
soak the altar; I'm with Baal
in my pride, but how I desire
to dance with delight around the
burning altar. I want to be holy,
so I'm going to stopy trying and
just die. That seems to be the
quickest way.
Amber and Leah sway in front of me.
Ryan sings over my head.
Micah bearcrawls to Becca's song.
I could add my harmony but that
doesn't build the Kingdom.
What builds the Kingdom is my
own death and the cessation of
scribbling in the shadows of
other worshippers.

For Clyde Tinsley and the Son of the Living God

This afternoon we gathered to remember
a husband
father
grandfather
goodman
brother in the Body.

We sang songs and told stories:
he was a giver, encourager,
learned of the Word; dedicated to the beauty of his family and the spoken action of love.

Tonight we gather together to remember
son
brother
rabbi
friend
messiah
peace.

We are singing songs and in my heart are a thousand stories
as we read Paul's account of the beginning of the end
of the beginning of all we hope.

30 August--CAHBC

In the meeting room tonight
stained glass windows and drawn hearts
I want to raise my hand
to add
to join in the conversation
but I find myself just listening
just giving scripted answers in unison

A vivid One-on-one is what I have
I and the Spirit are whispering
elbow in the side, "No. YOU say it!"

I'm not alone in my whispers
but if I stood
if I stood as the new creation I am
then I would be; alone.

Sophia Was Sad; Now We Both Are

Reality is a struggle today; the real is not so much.
A dream came early this morning--it seemed so true; so factual
that waking didn't dispell it.
Wearing that dream all morning keeps the fog around;
keeps the bright green leaves in 3D;
keeps the images of all that was lost so close; yet so intangible.

I had a conversation with my former life.
We argued over what is real; what should be and what is.
In desperation, I cried out quietly in a whisper.
Like the rescue of a thousand horses, Truth came.
Like Solomon with the much acclaimed half baby decision.
I, the true mother found myself screaming--"Oh please don't kill the sovereignty of God
just to make what was, again."

Just like God asked Job: "Would you discredit my justice?"
"Would you condemn Me to justify yourself?"

Of course not silly; it was just a dream.

Still a bit of sunset at 7:30

I want to see the stars
like David did
when he sang the psalms and songs of solitude; of the intentional focus of God.

I want to turn aside
like Moses did
when he noticed the burning miracle of God's presence and purpose.

I want to rise in very relationship like Enoch and Elijah did
when they were caught up in walking close; in conversation.

I want to remain
like Joshua did
when he continued in the temple; when he couldn't get enough.

But when?
When do I turn aside?
When do I see or sing; rise or remain?

Here; here and now.
Here in the middle of doing,
speaking, thinking and expressing
and moving and having my being.

Forum of Appius and the Three Taverns Acts 28:1-16

What does it mean to travel miles and miles
to look upon inconvenience as opportunity

In the middle of the day--a word, a thought, a smile--a meal
Right after the longest night--an affirmation, a testimony
In the face of doubt--a co-conspirator; partner in reality

Press in--the light over Saul on the Damascus road--overbearing; weighty; unshakable
Overflow--Malta--"..the rest of the sick on the island came and were cured."
Fear not--God is keeping me alive and you with me.

Go and stir up your gifts--you cog; you well-fitting joint; you belt; you knit together in your mother's womb for this very purpose. And, after prayer, lay hands on and heal the Body of Christ.

The Logical Conclusion--Dreamsong

I cannot see a storm approach at night.
When the wind grows mysterious, tremulous and scattered,
my thoughts will match it.
My thoughts will carry it out to the end;
till I reach the conclusion that all things...
all things are in Him and through Him and by Him.

Praise the Living God; my very breath.
Praise the Hands that hold the meaning of all beauty: of every word.

The exhalations of the wind--
the sigh of God; the sigh before the breath before the song begins.
I have to stop and breathe the deep smell of rain.

Early Morning Ezekiel

Standing under lightning and thunder
and the urge to close my eyes
and hold my breath.

I have to move; I have to breathe.
Where can I go from Your Spirit?
Where can I go from Your Presence?

I'm next to Ezekiel--carried up in the Spirit,
facedown as the temple is filled; on my side
for days on end.

I watch the Prince's gate--the East door
and worship at the threshold.

Next time I'll go in; I promise.

Draw Close

You are the beauty in the beginning,
the satisfaction in the end;
the giver of the good gift of suffering,
and the fashioner of sorrow.
There is solace in Your eyes and patience on Your face.

Lines from intimate gaze release the breath I've been holding.
You speak a language just for me.

Like oil, your presence spills over my cheeks and lips;

We have turned aside to Sabbath together.

Colorado Psalm

Praise the intentional, individual God,
specific and whole, intent; gazing; perceiving.
Personal, relational, patient and persistent.
He is a God who waits; who breathes;
who calls and knows; who persists and invites.
He is a God who knocks and listens;
who draws close; approachable and approaching;
pursuing and releasing.

Praise the personal, universal God who keeps
the oceans and my longing in perfect rhythm.

Don't Be So Hasty

I'm unwrapping the long gift;
box within box carefully decorated,
designed, intended for me and this
continual string of moments
I know this is the beginning.
I know this is the middle.
I know this is the end.

The distance leads the horizon
that opens to the goal that bursts into flame.
The glow marks the place where at the end
of today's run will rise yet another horizon
a phoenix of hope through endurance;
through persistence
through the humility to know
that the answers are not the prize
the high calling is not the distant glimmer
but Christ, the nebulous monument
the tangibly invisible reward
rests as my pocket possession
eluding into joy.

Candyapple Moon

The candyapple moon is out tonight
it's pulling on the waves
like the Spirit's pulling on my heart
when this celestial confection fills my view
I lose perspective
When I take it in I can no longer see where I end
and you begin
I'm sorry; I'm so sorry
to look at you that way
to label you the pride of life
and love you in decay

I Told You So

The forebearance of all things
burlap wrapped around the 3rd degree burn of all your words
all your failures and vehement justifications

I shoulder up and quiet down
all the things I have the right to say
and the freedom to withhold.

Covenant

Abram soon to be renamed,
stands at the edge of choosing--
opposite of Lot who did not have the promise
The promise; definite article
reflected at the pool of Bethesda
patient waiting for the unattainable
to crawl within reach--two polars moving
in opposite directions; me and hope
as infinitely incompatible as greed
and giving; as 8 o'clock am and College Algebra

Walking Song

The stranger walking in front of me is singing the song You gave me
this morning. I won't begrudge Him; I want to sing it too.
I can hear the melody in my heart, but I can't feel the right notes;
my voice is off pitch beause it's Your breath coming
over my vocal cords; not my own.
Keep breathing, Lord, breathe out through me.
It feels like death because it is.
But this resucitation is libation.

Chisandong 849

Windtunnel,
or at least the street;
no, alley; smells, garlic and cabbage
and dogs
ice slush still hasn't melted
No drain traps and our lips curl

Saturday Night Confession

Other lovers draw me away
with promised intimacy; with
tangible security; with neon
prosperity, the glitter
of a plan; a schedule.

I sacrifice my ability to be drunk in you.
I sacrifice the allure of your distant voice for a conversation across the table.

Forgive me, forgive my affair with the immediate.

My dearest love; my righteous judge.
I'm counting down the days.
I don't know how long, but I do long.
I long for the end of all things and the beginning of the way things should be.

Humility is the most beautiful

The mountain sunset is in your eyes
I need to soak it in--pink, 3D
Nothing on earth is as beautiful as you
And I hold you and close my eyes
so I can breathe you in
and taste your grace:

the rain falling outside
the red and yellow roses down the street
the gentleness of three friends harmonizing your stories

my children love me and are expressive--beautiful
the guitar is out of tune--glorious
the brothers I will never lose dance in worship--strength to remain
the Word is for me--personal

10 Minute Spill

Fountain lick; the sound of water down the building,
or is it just circulating with the whir of the AC?
No, it's really coming down now and the strawberries
will have beaded up
under the clouds over Songtan Farmer's market.
The tile on the strip is slipping like ice now
and the buildings drip with sky saliva
Can't teach an ahjahshee the new tricks
cab drivers use. Sometimes I wish I had
face and hands like brown speckled paper.

Haiku--A collection

First day of winter
Truly the streets are quiet
For now snow is king

Clear stacked together
Makes white of brown fields turning
Mushy gray from feet

Brown lifeless concrete
Burning barefoot soles of feet
Scars from crossing streets

Heat is overhead
Sounds of shuffling on the street
Brown lifeless concrete

Stream turned vapor white
I should have stayed in bed
Heat is overhead

The Phone Cards Are On Me...Love, Ray

I don't hate goodbyes;
I'm just afraid of the "hellos" that lead to them
and the inevitable forgetting; memory gene pool
shallow and thin; not even wispy
too strong a word for our first meeting.

It's like that now; almost; nothing new coming in
just premade cards stacking up in my
"I can't bring myself to throw it away" box
because it's supposed to mean something
even if that moment is 5 months old.
I don't mind saying "goodbye"
just promise you won't hear me.

Suwon

Today we went to Suwon;
travel on short term.
I was waiting to cross after we hiked fortress walls.
We darted out in front of the last car,
bowl full of meeguhks and two Canadiennes.
Canada Will & American Will; distinctions, decisions
come to me like imprecise seconds on the clock
in the living room; keeps losing time.
I thought: I have lost this year
I fell in love with paper and neglected blue sky

The thing I keep thinking

All fantasies and imaginings taken in chains to Christ
--change custody; once captive now captor
and I want to scream; up on the roof; out at the rice paddies

Instead, inside the furnace is kindled by the same hand--
ignited from the throne to burn away all the fuel He gave into sweet incense
--the prayers of the saints.

Grace & Peace: Live on Stage!

Concept 1 & Concept 2 wrapped neatly
pick it up--one size fits all
one Spirit; on Christ; one Baptism
Bread lines; army green cloaks of humility
but don't I have to come begging; don't I have to keep asking; coming back
again and again--addict; junkie; mystery pills--G & P
Can't it just be an IV?
or do I have to be knighted again, blessed with holy water...
like the first time didn't take--bad perm 7th grade

I want to live in it!
I want to worship in Your temple without forgetting to remove my shoes.
I want to lie out like Ezekiel; on my side so You can pour over me all I hide my face from.

Mountains 2000 & Mobile 2003

The gentle beckoning of a Savior
--out on the ledge;crawling
hands & knees scraping on concrete
stingin now, but He's stopped, and He's wooing.

Release & life/Release & death
But this isn't just one moment of revelation;
a lifetime of rescues
Now He's a lover, and in between rescues--I'm satisfied

The intimate wooing of a lover--in the secret place;
moving--my attention is His, and I know Him.

Muslim of Humility

What time I am overwhelmed
I will trust in You.
Siren song call to death.
I will put my forehead on the ground
and pull my knees up under
Knees and face to the floor
my prayer rug is a sweatshirt
I lie on the floor of my classroom
door locked, lights off
not concerned with direction but duration

The Censer is Full

The four square city
has a four square cross
rotating in front of the glory of God
like an ornament or a doorway
to the grain from Your hand

the grain of gold in a clay bowl
shaken out
while the Lion watches
the fire follows the harvest of repentance
wings unfurl, eyes, spokes on wheels of flame
wrapped around my terrible LORD
the holy black and white

Masks Dissolving

let the water move
stir up the stagnate baptismal
the inward fire will dance on the surface
because it dances in the depths

first obedience; second blessing
let the golden bowl tip and pour,
douse; quench but fuel
and the fire will fall
and the fire will rise, surround and consume
the living sacrifice

Ji San Dong 849 2nd Floor

I bought a new dress today; I keep getting them dirty.
This one's a burial shroud too; the one I always wanted
I'm a bride and my veil is the pall
that hides my glory.
I've trimmed my wick; my lamp is full
and I've been standing outside looking up the road for 17 years.
It's a dusty spot, and some others waiting with me
have made it a home of sorts with all the conveniences,
but I can spot a counterfeit,
and on clear days I can see the room built for me--the place prepared
where I will live with my husband.

Hmmm, my husband.

Tonight the whole city smells like fresh grapes and honeysuckle
I'm waiting outside again because this is not my home anymore
the breeze carries traffic sounds and yellow pine pollen
the sounds of all my longing;

the seed went into the ground, died, and birthed a tree
the tree produced fruit and the fruit dropped from the branch
fell into the ground and died.

just bury me in my wedding dress

2001-Offering Envelope Side 2

Partially sanctified, Father.
Is that why I doubt?
Is that why I follow without compass?

Partiality is blessed.
Blessed partiality; craving...to desire is blessed

To enter Your presence, Father.
To bring back to You the wisdom, peace and goodness
You sent out in me.
Wholesomeness--to be full before You, Lord.

2001--Offering Envelope Side 1

I threw my emotions out into
the streets, out there with the
wisdom to know they came from you.
Oh, I feel suffering.
You must have hidden that one
in my pocket while my false logic
threw my infant belief out with the bathwater.
Challenged, I feel that too,
but I am not surprised that
You challenge me; surprise me.
Order my pride till it has no more foundation to stand.

It comes as no real shock
that my most dear loved ones think I'm foolish,
pitiable because I chose to listen;
to listen to Your Spirit.

Speak Spirit; speak to my foolishness; speak to my undoing.
And as You continue to abase me; speak to those I love;
speak against their foolishness.

A Continuation of the Beginning in Strict Denial of the End: Because of Jesus and Pablo Neruda

We are the two gathered in His name.
We are the one flesh.
We are.
He is.
We are: the vine and branches;
the shepherd and sheep;
the lover and beloved.
We are.
He is.

After the Airport

Solomon is nothing; and all his songs, caucophony.
The stars are empty, the sea is no mystery.

But you, you are my long forever.
I cannot see beyond the joy that waits in your arms.
Your hands stretch out around me, holding my fear
as if it were only a drop resting in your palm.
That is where I am, cradled, covered, knowing your strength.

Your joy is my joy.
You are my continuation; I am yours.
You are wild; I am beautiful.
You are romance; I am the prize.

Instead of Fear and Worry

simplicity is the beginning
the boiled down--the revealed
how I long for simplicity--not ignorance--simplicity

but peace is bought; not earned
bought like white robes and a new name
it is bought without money
it is bought with everything that I think at some point was mine
how ridiculous

I own nothing
I claim nothing as my own
I am nothing

maybe humility is the beginning
maybe it's the middle too
and maybe at the end of all things...
after I have drunk the cup down to the bottom
I'll find humility--the only thing that won't be burned away

Thodupuzha Centre Full Gospel Church One Day Women's Conference

I see my Delta blues, my motown melody, my 1, 3, 5 fits well without a steady beat
and I can sing all over the 12/8.
They are so much in earnest, hands striking
faster and faster until a cry emerges,
rises from somewhere in my inner man.
It is the same cry I make so many times when I am desperate;
when there is nothing left;
no dream, no hope, no pretense, no fight
and I have to grieve this world: the death that is and will come.