Amy's Blog

"It begins in deadly hearts of stars,
in elements consumed, transfigured
in killing, birthing heat.

It begins deep within, in the murderous
seething of earth's innards.

It begins with rock defeated, riven, worn,
stone creased and cracked and crushed
a million times, battered
to sand and sent on its silted way.

It begins in womb-dark murk and musk of soil,
in death and rot and rank decay,
in spilled seeds split and broken down,
in loss, collapse and festering,
by blessed unseen bugs and germs
digesting darkness into light.

In awful places this miracle,
this life begins.

Brokenness
becomes
something.

In darkness, deaths and desolations
is the birth of what shall be."

"If you do not tell the truth about yourself
you cannot tell it about other people."

Truth begins at home in the quiet chambers of your own story. If you can't face your own wounds, how can you honor someone else’s? If you won’t name your joy, how will you recognize it in another?

Honest words carry weight only when they rise from a place of lived truth. When you tell the truth about yourself the wild, the tender, the holy mess you make space for others to do the same.

That’s where real connection begins. That’s where the songs are born.

"A man standing at the bus stop
reading the newspaper is on fire
Flames are peeking out
from beneath his collar and cuffs
His shoes have begun to melt

The woman next to him
wants to mention it to him
that he is burning
but she is drowning
Water is everywhere
in her mouth and ears
in her eyes
A stream of water runs
steadily from her blouse

Another woman stands at the bus stop
freezing to death
She tries to stand near the man
who is on fire
to try to melt the icicles
that have formed on her eyelashes
and on her nostrils
to stop her teeth long enough
from chattering to say something
to the woman who is drowning
but the woman who is freezing to death
has trouble moving
with blocks of ice on her feet

It takes the three some time
to board the bus
what with the flames
and water and ice
But when they finally climb the stairs
and take their seats
the driver doesn’t even notice
that none of them has paid
because he is tortured
by visions and is wondering
if the man who got off at the last stop
was really being mauled to death
by wild dogs."

I just went to the circus for the first time last night
Thank you, Chris!
My super secret surprise
Was awesome!
I've always wanted to go!

I wonder what I would have felt as a child
I was so sensitive
I think I would have closed my eyes
And cried
I almost felt like that at age 45
I'm glad you held my hand

It was
The ultimate show of over consumption
A spectacular spectacle
A mix-match of the brilliant and the bizarre
Awesome and cheesy all wrapped to go
From beginning to end
Never taking a breath
Pounding and pounding

The ringmaster
Ablaze with rhinestones
The acrobats and the clowns
The elephants and the tigers
Horses
Doing tricks
They didn't seem to really enjoy
As they steal the show!

Animals are amazing!
I love trapeze artists flying so high
The bearded lady and the wild man of Borneo
Made honorable mention
With a clown act
That was tongue in cheek
in our PC era of art

Men balancing women
And women balancing men
Each showing their skill
As they contort their bodies
into abnormal positions
sequined outfits
shining in the lights

Motorcycles in a steel ball
4, 5, 6, 7
until it is a blur
how can they do that?

Meetal Man (we renamed him Meatball man)
Holding up astounding weights
As people pile on top of people
On top of him

Trampolines, glitter
Pirates, stilts, dancing beautiful girls
Dancing lion suits
With two people rolling in harmony
under more people in lion suits
more and more
too much to see
too much to process
too much to comprehend

my eyes trying to go 2, 3, 4 different directions
as it plays on and on
with tired children crying
and spilling snowcones
and popcorn
as the parents
Many a freak-show themselves
try to ignore them

It is spectacular
Breathtaking
Overwhelming
Slightly disturbing at times
A Mix of over-blown showmanship
and
amazing talent
The beautiful and the weird
All mixed together
Delivered at breakneck speed
With so much energy it wears out the eyes
And the mind
Which definitely can't comprehend it all

I loved it and wanted to run away

Yes, this is the legacy
of what PT Barnum had in mind
This is the circus

Magic
Slight of hand, smoke and mirrors, lights and flash
making everything more
brilliant than it could possibly be

This is definitely, over the top, big-top
Self declared,
but it still could be true the greatest show on earth!

So, I have been wanting to do a poetry blog for a while and I am excited that I am ready to begin it.
Lots of things in my life have been progressing and I am ready to step forward.
It is a little scary and daunting, but I know that life is all about living and I never want to stop.

This blog will not be limited to just poetry but to anything sort of artistic expression that stands out to me as simple, stripped down (acoustic) thoughts about life or pumped up, screaming, magnified (amplified) thoughts about life.

I hope it is inspiring and fun as life should be!

"As you're reading this, your life's getting shorter.
It's ticking away.

I'm not saying this to frighten you.
Or even scare you.
Though it may.

I'm saying this to awaken you.
To inspire you.
To rise you out of your deep slumber.
To really know you won't live forever.
To share your unique gifts.
To ignite your great inner fire.
To ignite your great inner strength.
To ignite your great inner light.
To shine.
Brightly shine.

To awaken your great inner beauty.
To motivate.
Yourself and others.
To love.
Yourself and others.

To paint.
To write.
To teach.
To innovate.
To sing.
To dance.
To care.
To feel.
To listen.
To learn.
To laugh.

The clock's ticking.
The world needs you.
Make your move."

"The man who jumped from the highway bridge one afternoon
who drove his car along in rush hour traffic
then carefully pulled it over, fussed with something briefly on the dash,
so casually that another driver passing
thought he was looking for a map, or a cassette tape,
that had slid during the last turn before the bridge — that's all —

and then stepped out of the car, standing, stretching,
and closing the door routinely, a man in need of a break
on a long drive, a man untroubled by his next appointment,
a man who felt himself growing tired and thought
he needed some air, looked up the highway once
and then down at the almost frozen rows of traffic
under the haze that lingered above the bridge

and then broke simply and suddenly into a run, a dead run,
one motorist called it, crossing in front of his car
and not even stopping at the railing between the bridge
and the empty space beside the bridge, entering that space
and opening his mouth in what one driver called a scream,
though she heard no sound above the drone of traffic, and
other drivers saw as a gasp for breath, not unlike a child takes
when diving into a backyard pool, and he executed then
a nearly perfect, if a little rushed, swan dive out across the space
next to the bridge and into the water ninety-five feet below.

One fisherman in a boat a little upstream
saw the man who jumped from the highway bridge,
the moment he left the bridge and entered his dive, and the fisherman
swore he saw not a man but a large bird, a falcon or an eagle,
shot mid-flight by an angry driver, a large bird
who was trying to regain some sense of beauty, some sense of flight,
in its final dying seconds."

"Before I let you read this poem,
I will cut it into tiny strips,
wrap them around apple seeds,
and I will plant them in
long parallel rows
two
long parallel rows

so that, years from now,
when our children are grown,
you and I will be able to
hobble down a corridor of trees
and watch our grandchildren
eat crisp red love poems
that have fallen onto leaves."

We sometimes seem to forget how important our choices are.
Each day we are faced with a multitude of choices and all of those choices matter.

Even the smallest of choices can have a huge impact on us and those around us.

Even at our most aware, it is a difficult balance to live to our fullest and also be very aware of the choices we are making.

I believe it is extremely important
every minute
every day
every choice!

Make it matter!

"Our revels now are ended.
These our actors,
As I foretold you, were all spirits and
Are melted into air, into thin air:

And, like the baseless
fabric of this vision,
The cloud-capp'd towers, the gorgeous palaces,
The solemn temples, the great globe itself,
Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve

And, like this insubstantial pageant faded,
Leave not a rack behind.

We are such stuff
As dreams are made on,
and our little life
Is rounded with a sleep."

God of love,
at the foot of the cross
we confess our violence,
our desire to make others
carry our suffering.
Forgive us.

We confess our fear,
our illusion of our unworthiness,
our anxiety to justify ourselves
rather than to love.
Forgive us.

We confess our self-centeredness:
that other people become
means or obstacles to our ends
instead of people,
sacred and beloved.

We hurt and judge,
we exploit and dehumanize.
We think that we or others
are unworthy.
We betray your love in us
and we crucify.
Forgive us.

At the foot of the cross
we behold this mystery:
that broken as we are,
we are sacred and beloved,
and you cherish us.

In our darkest violence
you forgive us.
In our deepest shame
you give yourself to us.
In our most adamant betrayals
you are one with us.

At the foot of the cross
give us the gift of sorrow,
the wisdom of an unflinching gaze.

Bless us, that we may know our brokenness,
that we may receive your presence,
that we may accept your forgiveness,
that we may be transformed by your love.

We pray for those whom we have hurt,
and bless those who have hurt us.
We ask and receive forgiveness of all.
We seek only to trust, only to love,
only to heal and to be healed.

At the foot of the cross,
may we die to our fear,
our self-centeredness,
our separation from others.

Take our old, mean lives
and give us new ones,
tender as new green shoots,
lives of grace,
lives of love, mercy and tenderness.

At the foot of the cross,
O gentle God,
may we die with Christ,
that you may raise us up in love.

Amen.

"I used to believe a lot of things that no longer seem to fit into my strategy for making sense of this world. Considering some of those beliefs, I consider this progress.

For instance, I’ve heard it said that beginning something is the hardest part. That if we can just get the ball rolling, momentum alone will take us from there. “Once begun, half done…”

I used to believe that.

But in my experience, we’re not much like boulders rolling down a hill.
Well, except when things go badly then, it seems, we roll with the best of them, right on down to the bottom.

But as it concerns the finer things those that we know will elevate us, make us better people, allow us to contribute more to the world and its people, experience more genuine love and joy — in those cases, it’s been my experience that in fact, beginning is very easy.

One small choice followed by action and it’s done.
I don’t wish to minimize this there’s amazing power in beginning something that brings a little bit more of us into the world.

What I love most is the sense of peace and calm and contentment I feel in that moment. It’s perfect and abundant and feels like it will easily spill over into the next moment, the next day, and replace whatever it was that had been holding its place before.

But beginning, while significant, is nowhere near the hardest part.

Have you ever started a rigorous physical training of any sort, after a long break?
There’s a certain excitement in it.
And it’s easy to harness that excitement and turn it into resolve, into a determination to begin.

Our creative endeavors are like that, too.
It’s easy to get excited about a new web project or a story idea or countless other outlets for that energy.

And it’s even pretty easy to begin again on day two, to roll with the alleged momentum that starting seemed to initiate.

But as with muscles that haven’t been worked in years, day two isn’t the problem.
We feel it — but just enough to be proud of ourselves for beginning.
For starting down a road that, while not perfectly paved, surely leads somewhere good.

But day three?
Day three makes us question our initiative.
It reminds us what it’s like to get hurt and it encourages us to doubt our determination, to fear where it might take us.

Day three exists to help us justify mediocrity.
To agree with us when we begin to defend cowardice or explain failure’s inevitability or judge others.
Day three is there to help us forget the reasons for day one in the first place, and to keep us from getting to day four unscathed.

But damn it, we need day four.

Why?
Because it means we beat day three, at least this once, and if we did it once, we can do it again.
Because it’s just enough of a victory to remind us what’s possible.
Because without it, good things become just like the things that came before them, instead of becoming something more.
Something great.
Something worthy.

Does day five and beyond get any easier?
Not really, at least not for me, at least not so far.

But I think that’s alright.

Easy may indicate mastery, but not growth.
To the contrary, I think.

And this is where things seem to have gotten a bit tricky.
Our culture, our society, celebrates mastery but, frankly, it ignores the growth that led to it.

The daily regimen of effort that made it all possible, and that continues to do so
(you didn’t think the masters sit back with their feet up, having ‘arrived’?).

Which means many either see mastery as a skill that others are born with and, so, don’t even bother to try,
or we see it as an entitlement, erroneously believing that it will ‘just happen’.

Neither option, in my view, seems to gush with wonder.
With amazement.
With a proper reverence for the miracle of life or our duty to expand it by way of our very existence.

And without wonder and amazement and duty, what have we?

Well, we have this.

And by ‘this’ I mean mediocrity.
Dissatisfaction.
Disenchantment.
Apathy.
Fear.
Despair.

It’s understandable of course, which is precisely why it persists.
We can justify it, rationalize it.

But if we ever want something more,
we need to get past the starting line
and get on with the hard work
that being wonderful and amazing and dutiful require.

We need to begin, and then begin again.
And again.
Every day.
Forever."

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"Just as how much money you have is an irrelevant measure of your true worth as a human being,
dominance over others has very little to do with strength.

Brute force, sure but not strength.
Not real strength.

Thomas Jefferson believed that strength emanated from union.
From the ability to call upon the people and have them act,
in unity,
against tyranny,
in favor of freedom."

"First:
Nobody can manage time.
But you can manage those things that take up your time.

Second:
Time is expensive.
As a matter of fact, 80 percent of our day is spent on those things or those people that only bring us two percent of our results.

Third:
Time is perishable.
It cannot be saved for later use.

Fourth:
Time is measurable.
Everybody has the same amount of time — pauper or king.
It is not how much time you have; it is how much you use.

Fifth:
Time is irreplaceable.
We never make back time once it is gone.

Sixth:
Time is a priority.
You have enough time for anything in the world, so long as it ranks high enough among your priorities."

"In the lengthening days of early spring,
among the vanishing snow shadows,
I hear new bird songs, see geese overhead,
and greet the long-awaited return of smells.

Trees light their little green sparklers,
and I walk among them.

Then the great flowering procession begins:
first the gentle, snow-defiant crocuses,
and the hyacinth, low and easy to miss,
then the forsythia, the dogwood, dandelions
and daffodils, followed in proper order
by the tulips and the flowering trees,
crabs and cherries, and the azaleas.

Little purple things, and white ones, dot the yard.

Finally the lilacs bloom, and I walk among them.
The catalpa tree will blossom much later,
and I will stand beside it as well.

Among flowering beings, softly opening,
with billowing wonders, I, too, live,
with my own great unfolding."

"Is so simple, despite thoughts to the contrary.

I was reading through some old content on this site recently posts, quotes, and postcards.
In all honesty, I was dumbfounded. A lot of it just didn't make sense to me.
What did I mean by that? I kept asking myself.
And I started to get dejected because I just couldn't reconnect to the emotions that inspired each piece of writing.

I began to think about my writing process and realized that I have never once planned a post.
Sometimes I have an idea about what I want to write, but more often than not,
I'll be running or reading or otherwise engaged and a thought will pop into my head that inspires me to write.
So I do.
I begin to type and I just see where the words take me.

And that's when it hit me.

Just as art is simply the expression of one single moment, one idea, one inspiration,
the appreciation of art isn't possible in every moment,
from every perspective,
by everyone.

Because I, as the artist, can't fully appreciate each art form I've created at any given time,
doesn't make it any less valuable.
To the contrary, it makes it that much more critical to create when inspiration strikes
because that unique form of art may only be possible in that moment.

Wait a minute, a day, a week, and it's gone.
Something may replace it, sure, but not the same thing.

All of which brings me to what I've come to believe is the highest goal of any art:
Not to be revered by millions of people
or to earn a steep financial reward.

But simply,
to connect with one person,
in that one moment
when they're ready to receive it.

On any other day, at any other time, they might glance at it and move on.
But on that day,
at that moment,
it might just change everything."

"The man Buddha once told us that one becomes good little by little —
as a water pot is filled with water,
drop by drop by drop.

(He also tells us that one becomes evil, little by little,
drop by drop by little decision drop.)

Little by little.
Drop by drop.
Little by little.
Drop by drop.

After years of trying to fill my water pot ALL! AT! ONCE!,
I’m finally understanding that my attempts to change everything NOW
were like trying to fill a beautiful, delicate water pot
with a fire hydrant.

Rather than winding up with a full pot,
I pretty much sprayed the thing all around the room
(and nearly cracked it!).

Little by little.
Drop by drop.
That’s the way to roll.

Moment by moment.
Little decision by little mundane decision.
Day in and day out.

THAT’s where it’s at."

"There is no art without love.

Art is always the making of the soul,
the craft of man's touch,
whether that touch is corporeal
or the touch of the mind and spirit;

so it has been since Neanderthal times,
and so it will always be."

"That the best things in life are free.

That is just about the oldest, most trite, most hackneyed
‘saying’ you could come across today.

But it is so, so true.
And it is important never to lose sight of that.

So look around you.
Wherever you see friendship,
loyalty,
laughter,
love…

there is your treasure."

"You must never feel badly about making mistakes
as long as you take the trouble to learn from them.

For you often learn more
by being wrong for the right reasons
than you do
by being right for the wrong reasons."

"Winning is great, sure,
but if you are really going to do something in life,
the secret is learning how to lose.

Nobody goes undefeated all the time.

If you can pick up after a crushing defeat,
and go on to win again,
you are going to be a champion someday."

"You have burned your bridges.
You have passed through the gate marked no return.
And for you there is no going back.

No going back to the security of the known, familiar house,
To the well-worn dispensations and the threadbare coverings.

Now you are out there in uncharted territory,
Heavy with threat and shadows not yet entered.
The risks are high,
and yet you strike out boldly,
Guided only by unwavering conviction
And the longing for the true centre of the land.

This is what it means to do a new thing.

So, you travel lightly.
You are abandoned, given up in all things
To the task that lies ahead.

Therefore, you may be exactly who you are.
You have inhabited yourself,
You are at home,
And home is where you are,
Even if it is the desert.

No one can dispossess you of your own in-dwelling.

This is what it means to be free.

We stand, one foot upon the bridge,
Wondering if we too have the courage to go over
And strike the match behind us."

"The snow is falling upward,
The sun is falling down;
The moon is out in morning,
And the stars are spinning round.

The birds are singing at midnight,
And the owls hoot at noon;
The snow is falling upward,
And in morning hangs the moon.

The lovers never go to sleep,
And the dreamers never wake;
The willows have all forgot to weep,
And the earth, it always shakes.

The snow is falling upward,
All the stars are falling down;
I meet my love in the moonlight,
And I never touch the ground."