My Voice

 

It’s no secret that politics and I rarely speak

I forget which party is right

And which one is left.

 

Yet I have something,

Something that’s within me.

I know my belief and I stand by it.

 

I believe in a world of equality:

Where it doesn’t matter

If your appearance or belief is this or that

All it matters is authenticity

 

I believe in a world of beauty:

A beauty that only exists because God made it

A beauty that is seen through actions

A beauty that is all around of us

 

I believe in a world of hope:

A hope that people will do good

A hope for the future generation

A hope that believing is worth it

Confession: I wrote this several nights ago, and it has been sitting in my draft folder for quite some time. It never felt right to post it (ironic as it is about my voice). I am sharing this now, because I believe now (as election day is upon us) is the time to share my voice.

I may not be the loudest one in the room. I may not be the most serious one. I may be the one who is quietly sitting there, agreeing or disagreeing without a fuss… but you know why I do that? I respect others and I listen. I still give my own opinions (although sometimes it takes a while, especially when I get talked over).

You have a voice. Maybe you’re shy, like me, and it is difficult to speak. Maybe you feel like when your conversationalist partner takes a breath, you have to quickly say what’s on your mind before your voice drowned out? That’s okay. Everyone’s voice is different. Some people are born with a great gift of spoken words, while others, such as myself, are born with gift of the written word. Your voice is your weapon. My weapon is writing. I speak through graphite and ink.

Let me conclude this post with a short plea. Election day is upon us, as I previously stated, and I know many people dislike the two primary candidates. Have hope and if not for you, but for the future generation. Think of a child, or two, that you know and think of an ideal world that you wish for him or her. Think of that as you vote. I don’t know many kids, as I still feel like a kid myself, but I know a few (like a nephew and a niece) and I like to think of a world for them. It is one of the ways that helps me decide who to vote for. Lastly, respect the leaders, even if you disagree with them. Pray for guidance for the leaders and the people.

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Aspen

I am a storyteller. I love telling and hearing stories, especially stories that are based on a philosophical level. My favorite tree are aspens. Aspens are these tall, white trees that have knots. The knots look like eyes, and if you were to carve your name in an aspen it starts to look a scar. Aspens are neat. It reminds of God and how He is ever-watching and always there. This poem is supposed to feel ethereal. For me, it is easy to sit amongst aspens and feel God’s presence around me. Aspens enthrall me and I just HAD to write a poem about them.

 

Reaching high to the heavens,

Green and white shimmers in the celestial light,

There I stand.

 

Some will call them imperfections,

Others will note them as beautymarks.

I call them my eyes

The eyes that see truth –

 

A year pass away

A decade flutters away

A lifetime blink away –

Yet I still feel the scars.

 

The scars that I bore on the white bark

The scars that others have caused

The scars that tells a story –

A story of love, anguish, and a mark.

 

Sometimes it is a young person,

A young person, burdened with the world’s troubles,

And just wanted to be remembered.

 

Sometimes it is a couple in love,

A couple who desires for their love to never fade.

 

Sometimes it is an older person,

A person who have seen many years

And wanted to pass down wisdom.

 

Many have left, wandered away,

Never returning to see my scar.

Many have ran their fingertips on those faded ones,

Never knowing the emotions that coursed through the one’s body

How the Giver smiled, laughed gaily as barks were chipped away.

 

But I remain,

I remain in the place.

I still feel the emotion

I still remember them.

 

I could have been a comfort

I could have been a joy

Thus I will remain standing.

 

Who am I?

A storyteller.

A confidant.

An aspen.

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Road Less Traveled/Four People

Sorry for the rough draft of this poem. I just made it. It is about the road less traveled.

Sitting in a café
Dreams in her eyes
Itching feet,
Eyes glancing at the door
Is it that the way?

Is it the way?
The way to breathe life into dreams
The way to add miles to feat
The way to see a new perspective

These feet of mine were made to run
Not for dangling.
These hands were mine were made to touch,
Not for twiddling.

Sitting in a café
Light in her eyes
Bouncing feet,
Smiles at the door
Is it time?

Is it time?
Time to breathe life into dreams
Time to add miles to feat
Time to see a new perspective

—-
And, y’all get another poem. A week from last Sunday, it was apparently Grandparents Day. I didn’t know that and yeah. But I play my own music and I declare today to be Elizabeth’s Grandparents Day. I have awesome grandparents, who taught me to love Jesus, to love travels, and to be me. It’s has some humor in it. The reason why I snuck this poem with the first one, because many of y’all won’t understand it because it’s a special piece. I talked about my grandmothers first, because I was going to do them in order of age. But I felt bad, because the youngest always go last and so my grandmothers went first. I don’t think my grandfathers would mind though. This next piece is written for my awesome grandparents.
—-

Thoughts intertwining,
Crisscrossing with others.
Loss of words
How do I describe you?

Four people
Four parts
Four personalities
One purpose.

Wishing you could read this.
We shared an elementary school
We shared talks from tomatoes to library visits
You told me to never grow up,
The baby of the grandkids can’t grow up.
Sorry for that broken rule

Stitching the family tree,
Like beading ornaments.
From Africa visits to family histories
To weekend visits and to string of pearls.
I love it all,
Yet favorite memory is talking, just talking
Sorry for the broad memory

I can see it clearly
You holding me as a newborn
Asking what I wanted to do with my life.
You wanting to stay connected,
Wanting to know what to pray for.
Sorry for the lack of response

Memories of laughing in Austin,
Memories of playing in the river.
Fell in love with Ireland
All the while thinking of you and Irish music.
Joked about finding family in Grantham
Sorry for failed mission

You are my role model
You are my friend
You are my grandparent
My apology to you is more like a:

Sorry, not sorry for breaking the rule
Were you really being serious?
Sorry, not sorry for the broad memory
Talks with you are special to me
Sorry, not sorry for not responding
I didn’t want to tell you everything at once.
Sorry, not sorry for failed mission
Life needs more mysteries.

Now that humor has run dry,
You are rolling your eyes.
Let me say one more thing (before you get bored):
Thank you for everything.

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I wonder, oh I wonder

Bluebells are blossoming,
Dotting the ever-so greens with blue.
The sky reflects the blues on the ground
Or perhaps it’s gray with raindrops?

Someone’s out there,
Walking the trodden path
Talking to the quietness of nature
Being at one with the greens and blues

Explosions of yellow, here and there,
Students smile at those daffodils.
Allurement of the stone walls,
Students race toward the barrack.

Sitting at the edge of the
Mile of thrill and wonder.
The castle, nestled in greens, looks like home

I wonder, oh I wonder:
How is my castle, my home?

A year ago, it was Easter Sunday. I went to church, had a final (which I passed!), and yet I was a bit nostalgic. My days in England were dwindling, there were only three more days. I was going to miss England and the manor (coughcoughcastlecough) that quickly became home. I was going to miss the friends that I had made during those fifteen weeks. Fast forward to a year later, I miss England, the manor [read: castle] that became home, and the friendships that were formed. My prediction came true. I am always going to miss Harlaxton. I do, from time to time, wonder what the weather is like (52 degrees Fahrenheit, after midnight – thank you, weather app) and what the fields and woods are like? Is anything in bloom already? In my nineteen years, I have called many places home. Places I may never see again, but dreams to visit again. Harlaxton is one of my homes, and I really, really hope/wish/dream that I will revisit that manor house.

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More To It

In society, love and marriage and children is all around us. Just watch those Hollywood movies, listen to pop songs, or go to Barnes & Noble (sighs) and go to the romance section. There are books about relationships and Bible studies. I am not saying it’s wrong. I think, it’s nice but do those movies, books, and music tell us anything? As to not spoil anything, read the poem and I’ll finish this paragraph.

First comes love
Then comes marriage
And then that baby in the carriage.

Nursery rhyme hums quietly,
Bringing faces of disgust or teasing.
Depends on if the rhyme is to you

Whatever is love?
Love may be hearts in collision
Love may be two halves as whole
Love may be polar opposites
Or it could just be in films.

Whatever is marriage?
Marriage may be a ceremony
Marriage may be a union
Marriage may be the start of the new
Or it could be nothing in particular.

Whatever is baby in the carriage?
Baby may be to show love
Baby may be perfection
Baby may be a contract
Or it could be another person.

Blogs are written
Films are made
Watching others is encouraged
Listening to others is thought-provoking
But there may be more to it.

I have read blogs about marriage and relationships. Those blogs frequently pop up on my Facebook newsfeed. Some I agree with, and others I have questions. I have watched romance films. I have heard people discussed what a Godly marriage looks like. For instance, next week I am going to have a Bible study about that at my BSM. I was, also, blessed to grow up watching my parents’ marriage grow (28 and counting!), attended fiftieth wedding anniversaries of my grandparents, and attended my brother’s wedding. Those experiences of watching are wonderful and I use those as to what I desire in marriage if that is in my future. However, what if love, marriage, and having kids is something where you never understand it fully until it happens? I could be wrong though. After all, I am single and not near marriage or love or having kids anytime soon.

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Matthew 19:14

How are leaves made,
Asks the little child to the mother.
The answer is God
The child is content

Sun sets, stars arose,
Dreams settle over sleeps.
Breaking slumber, the little child
Tiptoes to the window

God stands by an oak
The little child runs out.
God smiles
Relaying on who created what

I want one, I want one,
Cries the little child to God.
The answer is yes
Paints litter the lawn

Look at my leaf, I made it,
Declares the child to all who passes by.
The answers are soft laughters
And the little child continues to create

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Never Wavering

Is there a place that will always be home for you?

The old becomes new
The chapter is ending
The picture is fading
The credits are rolling.
But the feeling never wavers

Perfect serenity in the Prayer Garden
Friends turning into family
A few scrape here and there.
But the feeling never wavers

The gate is closing behind
Tears welled up
The spirit is nurtured
A new road opens.
But the feeling never wavers

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