“Going to make a word collection. You know, like hipsters collect obscure album art or children collect strange stones, I will collect words. I will put them in my pocket and at any possible moment reveal my treasure to the world.
My first word is Abide.
It’s one of the loveliest, softest, strongest words. It keeps going on – firm and golden and never ending as a wedding ring, tender and protective as a shallow, immovable as a fortress in the midst of a battle, or a cave in the onslaught of a raging storm. ” – From In Case of Books
Pervasive is a word I’m putting in my pocket. I know I’ll have need of it soon.
“The library is a boy I have a crush on him. I try to never too forward, though I adore him. So, I tell you a secret, a funny secret: I know neither Dewey nor his decimals. I never learned. Why? Because I’m an absolute schoolgirl when it comes to this crush and I soak up every moment of the mystery of love. Mapless, I go exploring, and how I feel like a pioneer, how I feel like a conqueror! Today (I can’t help leaning into tell you this delight) I found his poetry. And it’s hidden in such a lovely way – there in the back right corner. Dickinson and cummings and Frost and Eliot – oh – I’m tingling from the sensation of words breaking out of their lines, words in revolution of thought and meaning and juxtaposition. Anthologies send a cool rush all over me. Complete Works awe me as mountains do. Then, in accord with sweet poetry’s fine nature of surprise I find a book like nothing I’ve ever read before – Deaf American Poetry. It eclipses any young man’s roses. No wonder I’m smitten.” – From In Case of Books
We know this by the Battle
We know this by the Tree
There must be Blood –
For there to be Glory.
I walk not on the sidewalk but on the grass
Because I want to remember
That the brave paths are unpaved
For the most part
And the ones who are always sure of their feet
Are rarely sure of their hearts.
Father, tears fill up my hands I’m so tired and raw and weary
I guess it’s not so bad, but I just want to crawl up in your lap and kiss Your hands tonight
I want Your fingers stroking through my hair, I want to feel Your breath warming me
I want to know what Your T-shirt smells like, I want Your grace-scarred hands
Wrapped around my bruised ones
I want to know nothing but Your presence.
Feeling is a river
Not to be dammed
Lest the levees break and flood
But to be directed
Lest we die for want of love
The night spreads over the sky – a cool, dark purple cotton sheet
The sky is powdered crushed rose petals long expired.
Rainfall saturates colour
Grey light breathes over
Rain has kissed October
And left her blushing and breathless