Books and Movies, Camp, Musings, Poet Among Other Things

Filling Journals

I’ve had journals since– I don’t remember not having journals. Sure, the entries were about 20 words long and illustrated because I couldn’t read for so long, but I had things to say, even when I couldn’t articulate, let alone spell them. I look back on some of those rudimentary scribblings and laugh. If they weren’t so old they’d be embarrassing. e678b832b693eac8bcb557b690cce3d8But even though I couldn’t write down how I really felt, and often didn’t actually know, I wrote enough to trigger memories. There’s one journal that Dad gave me around the time he was deployed overseas. It’s just about the ugliest shade of green, that one that is evidently the only dye color the military has, so I quickly took my crayons to it and made it mine. Our basement flooded a few years ago and it was barely saved. But on one of the pages, that has been threatening to fall out for years now, are a few words about how my day was ruined because Wendy’s messed up my baked potato, complete with a picture of how the spud should have looked. I remember that day. We had just been visiting one of mom’s friends and I was overwhelmed with the cares of being 9. It was the last straw. Either mom was pregnant with Adam or Dad had just left, but I was an emotional wreck and I couldn’t show it, I couldn’t write, I couldn’t draw, and now my lunch was a travesty.

I have another journal that my then best friend’s mom gave me. It has a picture of us in the front. Little, tiny, 7 year old us. This one is blue with vines, a picture window on the cover and a ribbon bookmark with a heart lock charm on the end. The one that I simply cannot remember not having is my Winnie the Pooh locking diary.

I used those two off and on the most, since the military surplus one was ruined, but I’ve yet to fill a journal. I’ve filled plenty of random notebooks with sketches of rooms and beginnings of stories, but I’ve never written my soul from cover to cover. That’s what a journal is. The soul on paper. Whether it means what it says or is just a symptom of the true condition is for the reader, usually your older self, to decide.

But that trend is about to change. 4980f05fdb74af85e118941df03bd15f

I have six pages left. I really don’t know what to do with myself. It feels as if my filling of that last page will end something in my life. I got this journal 2 years ago when I was a finalist in the library’s poetry contest. It was the year that Meg was also a finalist and Claire was the Honorable Mention. I didn’t win anything, but it was my last year of eligibility. I graduated high school right after that, and then started writing in the little book at Camp that summer. Only first few pages actually bare the thoughts of a baby counselor, as I quickly got too busy to write. Instead, it chronicles the heartache of a life turned rightside up. Learning to accept my PCOS, giving myself permission to live, embracing my gifts. It’s all in there. It hurts to go back and read who I thought I had to be. But the closer I get to the end, the less it hurts and the more it is beautiful. Most of my “poems” are actually journal entries, written as I’m falling asleep. They are raw Annie. What she sees with her eyes, but also with her heart. Moonshadows. Will-o-the-wisps. Dew laden blades of grass.

The closing of my little book coincides with the closing of my first semester of college. I never thought I’d go to school past what was required. I had no need to. I began the journal feeling broken and purposeless. I close it happier, more full of life, and whole. You don’t come through a chapter like that without scars. But scars fade. They remind you who you are.

Poet Among Other Things

Of Sunrise and Fireflies

Morning

I sit on the stoop
Cradling a warm cup in my cold fingersSunriseedit
Its warmth makes them tingle
 
A single star pierces the eastern horizon
It hangs in the lightening sky
Defiant of the quickly rising sun
The sky turns princess colored
Clouds of periwinkle and pink
 
As the world greets the Prince of Day
It sheds its cloak of gray
And dons a robe of gold
 
The clouds that fell asleep
And drifted to blanket the earth
Turn golden as they awaken
And rise back to the air
 
Soon the star winks out
No longer able to compete
The color overpowers it
 
The evening songbirds bid sweet dreams
As the morning birds greet the light
And for a brief and shining moment
Both day and night
Singing at once
Shining at once
At perfect peace and unity
The star passing vigil to the sun
 
And I sit
For a moment under both watchful eyes
And I sip the warmth from my cup
A creature of both night and day 
 

Evening

In the cool air of a summer ‘eve
I laid in the grass beneath a low branch
And hardly dared take breath
And as the sun hid all her light
I heard the Queen of the Fireflies speak
fireflygirl
 
Come now, my sisters
Let us dance among the pines
Let us twinkle like starlight
And frolic through the oaks
We will speak to the stars
Sending sparkling messages
Flitting between eager hands
As they try to catch our light
We shall tease them with our beauty
And dance just out of reach
Great fun it is, this game of tag
But careful lest the Gigglers win
And end our game for good
For though they mean well
Captivity is none too kind
To our small and meager glow
So dance away my sister lights
And tease, but do not touch”
 
So off they flew to begin their game
As the Gigglers came outdoors
With peals of laughter and screams of delight
They ran with small hearts pounding
The chase began
Like none before
A chase worthy of legend
Both Gigglers and Fire
Knowing their parts so well
The one would fly just out of reach
The other with hands outstretched
The green ones lingering just long enough
The hands closing shut with a clap
But fingers pull back
To give joyed eyes a peek
And let wings carry little lights free
Like floating stars in this moonlit air
Like freshborn nymphs on the dew dropped grass
Dance and laugh intertwined
On this joyous and glorious evening
Poet Among Other Things, Short

Brightness Doesn’t Fear The Night

You’re still the little girl inside
With eyes so full of wonder
You see things no one else can see
They scare you when you tell them
But stand up and be brave
Don’t let your light go out
The brightest starA Dying Star Shrouded by a Blanket of Hailstones Forms the Bug Nebula (NGC 6302)Goes through the most darkness
You’re that crying little girl inside
Feeling everything so strongly
The pain, and sorrow, and hurt
The evil in all the world
To acknowledge it would kill you
But there it sits
So you ignore them all
Not only the world’s pain
You ignore the world’s Joy
But, little girl, feel them
They overwhelm the heart of one
Especially one like yours
But share that burden with Me
I love your precious heart, little girl
I can see the strength you can’t
For, little girl, you are brave
The world to you is Beautiful
You are free to feel it, little girl
Don’t fear who you were made to be
Take the Joy of the world
Don’t throw it out with the pain
Find My other little girls and boys
Show them who they are inside
Remind them of when they still saw Me
When the world glittered
When the world loved
Because, little girl, you see wonderful
And you can see it in their eyes
Use your light to brighten
Make the twinkle shine
You are Beautiful, Brave and Bright

Do not fear who you could be
Do not hide from the world’s pain
For you can see the Beautiful within

Camp, Poet Among Other Things, Short

Flying the Thread

I am getting ready to head to NeKaMo Camp for 2 weeks, so I haven’t had much chance to write. Since I don’t want to abandon my lovely little blog completely, I present for your reading enjoyment, Flying the Thread.

 

Mists rise from the cool, lapping water

The air is still

Yet the vapors dance among the reeds

Like slender forms

Like the spirits of vessels gone by

They drift ashore and lick my feet

The cold enters through my toes

It trickles up my spine

The wisps dance and twirl around me

The cool moistness overtakes my body

I become like the wisps

Lost in their eddies

Twirling in whiteness

Moving without effort

Never touching

Yet in one mass

Passing through each other

We fly over the grass

Droplets slide down the blades

Movement so fast and fluid

Neither water nor air

Cold but full of life

I leap from drooping flower head to drooping  flower head

Faster and faster

Further and further

Until I don’t need to land

I soar above the trees

I dive down into their green blackness

Weaving between sleeping leaves

Leaving in my wake shimmers of water

I dive faster

Skimming across the surface

Flying with the fireflies

The twinkle like the stars above

We dance and sparkle

I begin to shine

Though the tall, dry grasses

Like a star fallen to earth

I float high

Higher than the flies around me

Towards the darkness above

Joining the stars in their patterns of light

Shining brighter than the fire I left behind

Swimming through clouds of pure color

Twinkling, swirling, shining

We waltz together to soundless music

I look back on everywhere I’ve been

A pattern of water and fire and light

Like a single strand of brilliant thread

Connecting worlds so different

Yet they fit together

Like a puzzle scattered on a table

Some parts similar, many scattered

The thread ties them all together

And a Beautiful painting emerges