Across From You

~ Elizabeth W. Marshall ~ 5 Comments

wpid-IMG_20140219_125837.jpgAcross From You

There are things more mysterious than this
Like how the moon shines down on earth
From the darkest place way off
In outer space
Throws moon glow on my bare and wintry lawn
Waxing, waning always remaining
The same
When things around me scream uncertainty and
Change
Like a child I seem dumbfounded
As  I grasp for understanding
And struggle to explain

There are things more mysterious than this
Though it feels complex and nearly unknowable to me
Like how
The dog loves so devotedly
The parrot learns to mimic so quickly
And the dolphin smile like human beings
Wide with their winsome grins

But all the same I find it curious
And a riddle in my fragile soul
How this gift of you and me
Is permanent and unshakeable
In this crazy wildly spinning orb

How I can sit across from you
And you from me
And have you
Mine my hurts and ease my pain
Complete my sentences
And read my mind
Find what’s hidden and buried deep
Keep me from floating off the edge
Rushing in and giving life
Bringing light when darkness blankets my soul

How you can celebrate my victories
As if they were your own
Cheer me on and dry my tears
Say the one thing I need to hear
Be my advocate and my guide
Shore me up when I am sinking fast

Though I seek beauty everyday
I stumble on the mysteries still
And I and you are added in that mix
The swirling mingling blend of two
For how can I ever come to understand
A love as complex and beautiful as this

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Joining Lyli for Thought Provoking Thursday

Standing At The Sink

~ Elizabeth W. Marshall ~ Leave a comment

wpid-20140212_145037.jpgStanding At The Sink

If you find me staring through the pane
Fuzzy, focusing on things
That aren’t right here
Far away I seem to you
Wandering out
back in again
Lost in thought inside my head
Making art and hearing holy whispers to press ahead
Bubbles resting in the kitchen sink
It is not the labor that you think
Upon first glance,
upon a second glance
You’ll see
Breathing rapid at the chance

To go chase Robins in my dreams
Daily washing worry down the metal
Drain
Choosing to find beauty in the ash
He bowed
Wrestled something from the soil
Hope, I think, was birthed on my front lawn

He landed there in front of me
As I stood steeped in worry at my sink
The birds transformed me into
Something holy new

Now I am rusty breasted in my dreams
Wings will take me far from here
I can join the Robins and
Go places in my mind
Disappear, fly somewhere other
Than leaning on the dirty sink

Every anxious thought
So filled with fear
Is floating in a sea
Made of foamy bubbles laced with dirt
I am a vessel
Propped up, leaning on the counter
Trying not to
Sink

Even the drain does not want
To take from me
This toxic waste

And if you see me resting in the rocking chair

Here but not, a countenance
Filled with worry and concern

I am not resting, idle though it seems
I have run away, escaping to my
Dreams
Asked them to carry me
Someplace other than right now, right here

The words give solace
Comfort
And remove me from
A place of tears

Now I have joined the Robins
Dancing on a sea of brown
They’ve brought
A story laced with hope

My soul
Is grateful for a flock of orange breasted birds
Content when digging
In the wormy dirt.
And I am back now
Washing dishes in the sink.

The Agony Of Defeat

~ Elizabeth W. Marshall ~ 5 Comments

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The Agony of Defeat
I ask him
what happens when the Super G competitors
wipe out as they are winding their way
Down
Down
Down
making hairpin turns, carving the
ice and snow like a man takes
a new Gillette razor to the side of
his square jaw line
carving carefully to avoid a
ripping of flesh, a tearing of skin
avoiding blood at all costs

one wrong move
tactically taken
down the Russian mountainside

and pride and ego
land in the soft snow off to the side
spine and bone and muscle
in tact or broken
like the dream
bruised and busted up

we children of the sixties remember

we recall the Saturday slogan on TV
the thrill of victory, the agony of defeat

I scream at the screen
as the athletics
dissolve into a pile
a medal-less mess

and I want grace extended and do overs and second chances
for every last one

oh but that we would
extend it
the comforting caress
Balm
of the Spirit
Blow the winds of Mercy
Comfort a suffering saint

these elements of blood and grace and death and life
the Spirit’s there
at the moment of impact
always wiping the skinned knee
of his child
lying in a mangled heap
paralyzed
frozen by fear and disgrace

the agony of defeat
loss and pain
sadness and disappointment
roll down the cheek, by-product
of defeat
like an avalanche

He who makes us white
As snow
Mercy
He makes it new

Comforted in loss

Raising us up
from dejection
and defeat

I cover my eyes
Like a child
Look away
So much to bear

I tell him it’s the stories I love

Of the overcoming ones
The get-back-up-again ones

Tell me your story
Of mountaintops and mountainsides
Of trudging in the valley
Of defeat
And I’ll tell mine

The thrill of victory
Battle cry of those who
Break the seal on the package of grace

and at all costs
run into the arms
of a Carpenter
whose flesh was ripped
skin was torn
whose blood was shed

We look into His eyes
And
Forget

The agony of defeat.

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Joining Laura Boggess at Laura Boggess dot com for Playdates At The Wellspring & Jennifer Dukes Lee for #tellhisstory

The Winter Of A Potential Malcontent

~ Elizabeth W. Marshall ~ Leave a comment

wpid-20140212_145037.jpgFor a long and frozen moment
Moments of dark and cold fall over us
Weapons of malcontent
I might have known
War zone trauma
Traumatized by Pax
So close to peace, its wretched name
Trees break, grunt, moan
Fall from the sky, war wounded
Like bombs extinguishing
Life from the day
Exploding
Last week’s tulips bow in mourning
My shoulders
Rise to my ears in fear
A mortar of pine and oak, ice and pine
Will land on this
World of mine
Repetition of a death march
Battle weary are we

The talking head said
To fight cabin fever
Stay hydrated, move,
Stimulate your mind
All creativity is drying up
Going up in smoke with the fire
That is now our world, hovering round
The hearth of the home
2014 reeks of 1814

No power no water
No light
Disconnection sets in
Dirty and cold

The piano, frozen
As am I
Spoiled by Pandora and Spotify
Times like this we wish
We could remember to play
Ebony and ivory

The winter will not be a victor
I refuse to bow down and give in
Lonely and cold
Dark and restlessness
Quiet and routine bully my soul
My white flag, were I to raise it
Would not be seen

We are adrift in a sea of white
And grays color the soul

Though I know Spring, like the tide will rise
And the sun will burn
Ice will melt
And yes
We will dance and feast, warm our souls
On the heat of the earth
The tyranny of the urgent is ruling the day
Heavy handed and cruel
I will not lie down in defeat

For these are the days
The right here times
When the battle is on
And in full swing
I armor up with
Flashlight in hand
And the words
Always
Words will shift the balance of power
Ravenous and hungry
I devour her words.

At first I sat with “Booked”
In my hands
Propped in the threshold of the front door
Squeezing the light out of the day
As the earth stood nearly still
When an early visitor came to call
Nightfall
And darkness
And I like a child rolled up in a ball
Fought hard against tears
Formed from the  words
As they lept from the page

I battle-scarred

Seeking solace
I remain
Held captive, nearly numb
Frozen in place

Now thawed by Prior
And her words
Held
In a warm embrace
Safe from Pax, seeking
Peace
Inside the pages

Of “Booked”