Saturday, October 30, 2010

how to dress for a halloween typhoon

I'm never getting rid of these jeans. never.

Sunday, October 17, 2010

I've been writing poetry lately...

And this is a storm.

In the beginning
The wind picks up
And rain slides from clouds
And I fight it with upright force
Leaning in
Hanging on
The the roots of overturned trees
Like hands of life guards
Helping me surge up and forward
Guiding, strong, I continue forward

Slogging through raging rivers
Feet brave despite the current
Despite slippery stones
Heart strong and fighting
I know where to go
And push forward

I slog through the damp forest toward a lighthouse
beckoning in the distance
Each inch hard won
And full of skinned knees and palms
But movement
Eyes up and alert
Muscles full of fight

And there are breaks in the storm
When the sun sneaks through the clouds
Light cascading down in sheafs
Like cliffs to far away fairy lands
And those moments of beauty, relief unlike any other salve
A moment to catch my breath
Noticing the small flowers
Growing in the moss and glinting between the wet rocks

But the storm grows
The wind growls deeper
And blows full of debris
of formerly beautiful things

Now with too much speed
And stinging to the eyes
Pelting down
And rivers like angry oceans
Oceans like angry gods
Too brutal to be passable

And the only thing to do
Is to fall to a stop
In the knee deep mud
On a wind battered slippery scree slope
And the light house too far away
The only thing to do
Is to find somewhere a little out of the wind
Pressing into an old mossy log
Of folding myself into a crack in the rocks
Anything to let the wind whip past me
And as the rain attempts to drown me
I curl up and know that, somehow, I will survive this gale
And I protect the flickering flame inside
That never fails
Storm after storm
Hidden behind my eyes or pressed next to my heart
Warming me no matter the surrounding chill
So I wrap these storm beaten arms
Tired shoulders
Bruised thighs
Stubbed toes
Around this fragile flame
And shelter it with everything I have left
And wait out this storm

The heavy solid beads
Of past love stories
Of beautiful places
Of sunset colors
Of moments of uncontrollable laughter
Of a friend's sincere promise
I string up like pearls or interlocking daisy chains
Wrapped in my fingers
Like prayer beads of the mothers of Chilean miners
Small touch stones
And though the storms beats so loud through the night
That the song of stars is impossible to hear or even remember
And the wind tears with vicious teeth
And the chill of rain seeps in

That lighthouse
Too far away to picture its light
Too far away to feel its undying glowing
But nonetheless waiting
And deep inside, that small flame, unwavering

And those touch stones
Heavy and smooth
With strength that will last through the dawn
Regardless of all the ruined maps
The lost footpath
The storm overwhelming

And morning will break
The sky, even if only slightly
Will soften
And there will moments to look up
And breath in
The life beauty of the forest
And ready for a new chapter
Ready for each new foot fall
To create puddles
That catch the rainbows
And reflect green life
Reflect the light of stubborn flames
And shining eyes
Looking around in wonder

The morning light, ever so slightly warm
and despite soggy feet
and stiff spine
the flame still burns, simmers, flickers, glows.
Undeniable, inextinguishable, stubborn.
And somewhere, through the dense thicket
Between the fallen blackberry brambles
And muddy hillsides,
All promising scratches and slippery footing
But nonetheless
Like a yellow brick road
I think I see my path.