Worlds

In my mind I travel to new worlds,
worlds I’ve created, worlds tainted by books
and history, drenched in imagination. I’ve traveled
many times to these imagined worlds,
escaping the world full of
waking and doing and sleeping in endless cycles
to a world where I had a shaping role,
to a world where I saved the day,
to a world where I felt alive.
Somehow alive always meant almost dying
always stabbed or shot in the same place
right below the lowest rib on my right.
I fall into other-consciousness, a deep slumber
from which I must, but dread to awake.

Home

They say that absence makes the heart grow fonder,
but maybe its about time: time to consider
what you have; time to see what you do
in the light of day; time to grow into
yourself, the one you always were but could
never find when surrounded by everything you ever needed.

The funny thing about absence and time
is how they work together. I grow fonder and
farther from those I love: fonder in ways I never knew,
farther in ways I never understood.
Leaving home taught me the hardest lesson I ever learned:
How much I treasure Mamma’s listening ears when I have a rough day;
how much I crave the voice of my Baba on days I feel far;
how much I value the wisdom of my sisters;
how much they will always be Home.

When I Grow Up

When I grow up, I’m going to be the first.
It has to be done one day, and I’m the only one
brave enough to do it. Some may want to invent
flying cars or discover life on Mars, but I
want to do something much more practical.
I’ve studied and practiced; I know it’s possible
to do the impossible; it has to be.
I’m sure the first person to charm a snake was
shunned and teased; the first lion tamer
must have almost lost his life a few times, and,
to be sure, the first person to domesticate a dog
almost gave up, but they all succeeded in the end.
Yes, I shall be the first and I will change the world.
Who’s to say a shark cannot be tamed?

Bird of the Bayou

I went home the other day,
walked paths full of memories,
relived in my mind the many nature walks
down this boardwalk: the ripple of the creek,
the wind in oaks, cypress, pine, and vines,
birdsong and squirrel-chatter, the buzzing of dragonflies and bees.
Building in the distance, a rumble of unnatural thunder
slowly makes its way towards me. My eyes dart upwards instantly
towards the clear blue sky eternities above me, searching for the
cause of this beautiful disruption. Before I can see it, I
feel the thunder in my chest reverberating against my ribs,
quickening my heart to keep up with the excitement inside.
Every muscle, bone, and cavity rattles, pushed by the
waves of thunderous sound.
And there, just above the trees I see it, the man-made
bird with his song of thunderous protection,
the bird I missed the most: the bird of the Bayou.

Seaside

I’ve packed my things in a hurry as I
run out the door stuffing items in a bag
mentally running over the list: a towel,
a book, a water bottle, sunscreen (SPF 50),
a change of clothes for the ride home.
Flip flops in hand, jumping on toes, I narrowly
avoid the stickers in the grass. 

The asphalt parking lot burns my bare feet
and the salty wind whips hair into my eyes
as the water bottle drops from my hands.
With a dash to the board walk,
I scamper down the stairs, and sink
as my still bare feet land in the
burning white sand, soft as new snow.

The sand squeaks beneath my feet
and sand flies into my eyes,
squinting as I try to
look at the emerald blue water
with its rolling waves and white foamy crests
and green June Grass floating around
which usually harbor the sting of the jellyfish.

The waves lap my toes and splash my knees with
biting salty water, burning scratches and cuts.
Quickly at first, I move in, until the waves start to
splatter my sensitive stomach, making me
gasp and squeal, tensing. I know the quick
plunge is safest: I inhale, bend my knees, and
submerge my shoulders beneath the icy waves,
held fast in the embrace of the ocean.

The Father Wept

*My first poem!! It's not the best, but it's a start.... As always, I love to hear your thoughts. Merry Christmas!*

In David’s town, that blessed night,

Our humble Saviour was born;

And as his mother cried in pain,

His Father wept for her.

When mothers’ screams rent the air

And babes were slaughtered in sight,

The Father wept to see them ache,

To watch his children moan. 

He knew the suffering would one day end,

Through the life and death of His Perfect Son;

A love so great that he would die,

A love incomprehensible.

Sickness, loss, earthly trials and pains,

The Saviour selflessly endured;

But the Father wept to see His Prince

Serve those he ruled above.

In the Garden waiting to be taken,

The Holy Son poured out his pain;

Though yearning to release his Child,

The Father wept instead.

His agony was great, but love was more;

He loved through suffering;

He loved through pain and misery;

He loved us unto death.

Beaten and mocked, He carried the Cross,

Walking the road to Calvary,

As Silent tears rolled down His face;

The Father wept with Him.

Nails through flesh through wooden cross,

Perfect blood spilled down,

The Father turned his face away,

And wept to loose his Son.

The day had come, the day of triumph;

The day of sorrow and pain;

When love would triumph and give life,

Through undeserved death.

Three days later, the debt was paid,

The promise was fulfilled,

Crying tears of joy this day,

The Father gave new life.

His love had triumphed, the day was won;

His tears not shed in vain;

Through perfect life, through perfect death

Eternal life He won.