| The Sacred Act of Story Tellling Though Womens Eyes. For Women Writers
Posted: 10/8/2005 11:47:41 AM | Me and Marsha Lundy
I have and old black and white photograph of myself taken when I was about four years old. In this photograph I am reclining on the lap of my chief babysitter and cartetaker, a sweet faced, tanned, lean and long limbed teenager in bermuda shorts and a gingham blouse named Marsha Lundy. Behind us lay the familiar landscape of childhood that sometimes calls me back to a time where younger more tender memories were made.
As far as my mother was concerned, she would tell the story of, Marsha Lundy, who was my mentor, my idol, my queen, I followed her everwhere. Whenever she was around I was always within a few steps of her searching out her face her voice, her shape and form. These were things that I could not live without, she was the reason why my childhood existed. I would scream in sheer emotional agony whenever Marsha would depart, and tear from the arms of any of those who tried to restrain me.
Marsha was always there with a needed tissue or way always quick to tie a shoe. She always had a penny candy in her pocket or some other delightful treasure that was sure to brighten my face. She had these wonderful comforting arms that would hold me for all my scraped knees and bruised shins.
The odd thing about all the stories of loyalty and devotion to Marsha Lundy is that I have no memories of her. All the stories told of days gone by and I try so hard to picture my childhood goddess in my mind and yet there is nothing. I remember of the days being simpler and the defining difference between right and wrong being clearer. Clear as black and white, just like the photograph I have of forgotten memories, but now my judgements and definitions between right and wrong are more of a clouded grey in my older years.
But now i am an adult and i have no need of Marsha Lundy, I blow my own nose and the hands that tie my shoes are my own. No, I dont remember you, Marsha Lundy, but some how something seems lost by this lack of chemical transmittance of the brain. I dont remember Marsha Lundy, but somehow I miss her and I connect her to my sense of right and wrong. Just like the crisp edged lines in the black and white photograph that depicts days gone by, in my adulthood I have been led into this grey and fuzzy muddled world. So now I want to know where are you Marsha Lundy? | |
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| The Sacred Act of Story Tellling Though Womens Eyes. For Women Writers
Posted: 10/8/2005 11:48:17 AM | Childhood Seasons
Hot, humid, sticky summers seem to be normal in north central Iowa, along with snowy, bitter cold winters. In contrast to the harsh weather conditions, for the most part, the people of Iowa are warm and friendly, and make it a point to get to know their neighbors with an act of kindness or two. In the neighborhood where we lived their were so many families with children close to ages of the kids in our own family.
We had no close neighbors behind us, only fields that were usually planted in soybeans or alfalfa. The fields gave way to a tree line, a living emerald border, that divided them. At the edge of the field was a little gravel road lined with soy beans on one side and a creek on the other. Wildflowers seemed to spring out the ground overnight, as you could just swear that beautiful flower wasnt there yesterday. These were the bright lazy days of summer for me where I spent many happy hours exploring evey wonder as a child.
Infront of our house were six homes that were all filled with our playmates, all the houses but one, where an older couple lived and their children were grown. Back then I supposed that the parents felt more responsible for their own children , more in control. We didn't have all the government programs like we do today, but we had parent programs. Wanting to give us something to do and and in an attempt to keep us on the straight and narrow, my parents along with all the neighbors pooled their money together and bought some playground equipment from an old school that was scheduled for demolishion.
We were estatic to have all this fantastic fun equipment, better than free range in the huge toy store in the nearby big city of Mason City. We had a swing set, teeter totter, a slide, paralell bars, rings, and even our very own baseball diamond complete with back stop. All the kids would gather down at our place for lots of fun or a much loved game of baseball. On any given day you could hear the sound of happy voices echoing through the fields or down our long gravel driveway.
In the winter althought the baseball diamond or the cold steel playground equipment didnt offer much entertainment the grown ups did. Every winter our neighbor Don, would plow our driveway keeping it cleared of the heavy Iowan snow. He would also plow a huge square patch in our lawn. My father and brothers would line the edges of this patch with 1" x 6"s and then it was time for the hose. It would usually take 2 or maybe even 3 days to fill this massive patch but after the water had run and set, we had the best ice skating rink ever right in our own yard.
It's kind of sad when you think how today people are to busy getting on their computers communicating to each other that they don't do anything together. Sad to think that the school equipment has been ripped out, uprooted to make the neighborhood a safer place, due to insurance concerns. People are far to caught up with the idea of making the enviroment child proof, to keep our children safe. I did not live in a child proof enviroment, I lived in a happy one. | |
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| The Sacred Act of Story Tellling Though Womens Eyes. For Women Writers
Posted: 10/8/2005 11:49:20 AM | On Small Towns and Other Things
When I was small I really didn't realize what wonderful, warm and caring neighbors we had. I suppose that is due to the lack of comparing what neighbors I did have to the neighbors I didn't have. Life is kind of funny like that. They say you don't know what you got till it's gone, but I say you don't know what you got till it gets worse. All I know that growing up in Clear Lake, Iowa was without a lot of the stress and the headaches that seem to flood my world on a regular basis now.
When I was little all the neighbors watched out for one another, living in a small town this was very common as you lived under the scrutiny of almost all the town residence. The town seemed so close knit that if you borrowed a cup of sugar from the neighbor the next day when you went to the store the grocer would ask you if you remembered to add sugar to your list. This small town where I grew up has a population that was relatively the same at 6000 people but has grown ten times the size in area. As confusing as this all seems there is a logical explanation for this and it's because the town is a vacation spot and the population can easily go from 6,000 in the winter to 60,00 in the summer. Seemed like every family in Iowa with a boat showed up on the lake shore every summer for a chance at some fishing or waterskiing.
My mother who never learned to swim and was very hydro phobic really made here children suffer for her lack of swimming technique, and all of us kids were forced to take swimming lessons every year, come hell or high water. She wanted to make sure all her children were prepared for the high water part, but I guess she figured our lessons in hell would come later in life. I remember how she would get a terrified look, eyes open wide like saucers, when advising us what to do whenever a boat approached us in the water that was being driven by anyone besides a resident of Clear Lake. "Just swim away as fast as possible;" she would halfway screech halfway whine, kind of like a screech owl trying to unsettle a mouse. "Just get away and yell don't come any closer, stay away." Now there was good reason for this as far as some of the inexperienced boaters coming to close to swimmers with those dangerous slicing blades of the propeller, but it didn't change the fact that my mother was passing her obsessive paranoid fears down to her children in the name of safety. My mother was more catlike than anyone I ever knew and she hated water and all that was held within.
There were many advantages to growing up in a small town, such as there was no need for a lost and found, seems if you lost something, your item was identified by at least ten different people on it's way to lost and found. And that's even if it got that far, usually the person that found whatever you lost would place a phone call or simply just drop by with the item you had lost just about the time you noticed it was missing. This sounds like such an ideal life doesn't it? Well believe me it wasn't always so great. Everyone knew all your personal business too. We could tell what girls had been clued in about the change in their bodies or had started or had been given the talk on menstruation by their mothers, those were the ones who didn't giggle during the FYI film in health class. To my mothers horror, I was one of those who giggled right along with the rest of my uneducated and in so much trouble classmates.
All in all I would have to say life was good growing up where I did. I learned strong community values though I suppose I should put them into practice. But I learned something more important than that, we all grow up under the pluses and the minuses of life. We all learn to be dependant and independent of each other. And if we're lucky we'll find ourselves somewhere right in the middle of it all. This is where I want to be. | |
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| The Sacred Act of Story Tellling Though Womens Eyes. For Women Writers
Posted: 10/8/2005 11:49:35 AM | No concept of chords
In the house of the lords
No vocal needs be flown
Grounded ears be known
Falling back in total submission
I have reached this obvious transition
I only was addicted to you
My love for you
Wasn’t true
In and out of my position
Under the shrewd eye of accusation
I’m slipping through the cracks falling under things
Cautious and wild, preying on what the future brings
I can not take from your hand what you offer to give
My own hands will pair together a new way to live | |
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| The Sacred Act of Story Tellling Though Womens Eyes. For Women Writers
Posted: 10/8/2005 11:50:34 AM | Tore down and busted
Limbs severely rusted
There are no alibis
Within your eyes
I surrender my gaze to memory of mist
A fleeting moment of your haunting kiss
Within all the elements of truth and in light
I am seeing you the first time with second sight
I will not be pulled under your unforgiving sea
I will not let this emotional flooding drown me
I will soar above these rippled waters of infliction
I will direct my life in purpose in thoughtful reflection
I will be the me,
I need to be
And all in time due
I will be the me
Without the need
To be the me in you | |
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| The Sacred Act of Story Tellling Though Womens Eyes. For Women Writers
Posted: 10/8/2005 11:50:47 AM | Taking it in movement blow by blow
This is the world I’ve come to know
Getting knocked down and drug out
Raising a muted voice to a clear shout
Bending deaf ears to all my praise
Living life in the velvet of visual haze
Being upfront in the back of my mind
Seeing but not reading the danger sign
I am this being from within
Being what I am full of sin
I will not bend to your will and become less than what I am
I can not give up on myself nor force you to understand
We can not exist with only knowing our desperation
Life is meant to be lived in all its joy and celebration
Most of the time I will try
Sometimes I will cry
But I know I can’t rely
Reliving our unholy lie | |
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| The Sacred Act of Story Tellling Though Womens Eyes. For Women Writers
Posted: 10/8/2005 11:51:13 AM | Grounds of Love
No matter what the intention or the good I want to do
I find myself emotionally tangled in all the essence of you
To fly above the boundaries to look down on this good earth
The you in me keeps me grounded gives cause for a rebirth
You have taught me to fly without wings
To be in awe with what the future brings
You are my rock my foundation stone
The you in me is what I call home
Last I loved it was love that did not last
Living in love and learning from loves past
Sharing with you, knowing, it's in the giving
Your love moves me on this path of living | |
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| The Sacred Act of Story Tellling Though Womens Eyes. For Women Writers
Posted: 10/8/2005 11:51:38 AM | Feeling strummed out in these heartstrings of reflection
Knowing the right thing to do can be anyone's perception
I'll watch and I'll wait for the most suitable reaction
What will take place in this most unforgiving action
The healing is not in the forgetting between the two
The healing is in the forgiving between me and you
If we can not live with what we have done
The forgiving is over before it's even begun
We have become overwrought and unstrung
We become wiser singing a song left unsung
Testing the waters taking careful considered steps
We live life to the very fullest and deeper in depth
To offer you heart and to take a chance
In return for the adventure of romance
Don't let love grip you like you're puppet on a strings
Let love take flight as though your heart had wings | |
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| The Sacred Act of Story Tellling Though Womens Eyes. For Women Writers
Posted: 10/8/2005 11:52:14 AM | There was a time when I longed to be blind
Not capable of reading the danger signs
Never to rest even in my sleep
Stale promises never to keep
My days were filled with remorse and sorrow
But I had no control over my tomorrow
With a starved heart I met days head on
The sense of self seemed to be gone
Mind overwrought
Lost in thought
The only dreams echoed in my sleep
In dreams with roads rocky and steep
No sweeter memories or of loves of the past
No light I lived in the play of shadows cast
One day I decided to change I started to make a plan
I saw in myself the strength to survive and to understand
Now my days of blindness have come and gone
I am in a good place now right where I belong | |
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| The Sacred Act of Story Tellling Though Womens Eyes. For Women Writers
Posted: 10/8/2005 11:52:52 AM | Must be Law
In the conditional travels of these desperate lives of dreams
We are harsh in the moment and severely dealt with it seems
Transformed in all my acts of the human experience of which I saw
You can not fight it, it comes to rule like gravity, it must be law
In our self serving lives do we know the difference, are we ready to see
That the truth in the meanings are held in the reaction between you and me
To break the law against all life forms and human kind
Is a sin against the earth with no kindness to define
Plucking out the offending eye till we all are blind
To lie with lawlessness to strip Gaia of her mines
In my dreams I beheld a world that loved the law above all else
And we came to realize in loving the law we came to love ourselves | |
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| The Sacred Act of Story Tellling Though Womens Eyes. For Women Writers
Posted: 10/8/2005 11:53:40 AM | Sighs
Soft forward sighs
When I met your eyes
Where our bridges crossed
In time we became lovers lost
Feel the need to cross the line
I look to you for engaging sign
Wanting it all, turning to black
Lesser of want is what I lack
You looking with hackles raised
I am soaked in light upon this stage
This truth won't let me walk away
Absorbed in lies no reason to stay
I never made unfair demands
Never wanted a man
Lesser than | |
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| The Sacred Act of Story Tellling Though Womens Eyes. For Women Writers
Posted: 10/8/2005 11:54:21 AM | The Way She Moves
The way she moves like uncontrollable laughter off my lips
The way she moves like an unchained passion from my hips
The way she moves like the force of water in a predictable stream
The way she moves like the want in the eyes of a hopeless dream
The way she moves like hurricane winds through a sea of tissues
The way she moves like a free mind and spirit bogged down by issues
The way she moves will be anybody's guess
The way she moves will put all doubt to rest | |
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| The Sacred Act of Story Tellling Though Womens Eyes. For Women Writers
Posted: 10/8/2005 11:54:33 AM | She's Learning
Is she getting older yes but she is learning
She is learning to take all of life's burning
All the good with the bad
And knowing what she had
She has all these wants in simple ways
Filling her tomorrows with more todays
Watching carefully looking at her needs
Moving power that wills her to succeed
She will stand for something and not back down
She remains strong though adversity abounds
And in the remaining hours at the end of the day
She will give thanks for all that makes her stay
She lives straight ahead wills all her powers
To make all her todays all her tomorrows | |
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| The Sacred Act of Story Tellling Though Womens Eyes. For Women Writers
Posted: 10/8/2005 11:55:10 AM | Endless Seeking
What in this world are we all looking for
Selling ourselves going door to door
Relying on the purchase to make our lives bright
Cursed by the darkness ignored by the light
Where will endless seeking take us dumped on recovered ground
What will we recover when our real intentions are unwillingly found
What care will we exploit when worked with gnarled hands
Mindless depletion to over used and abused suffering lands
In all this endless seeking our destiny wont be written in stone
In the end the earth wont leave us we wont live but die alone | |
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| The Sacred Act of Story Tellling Though Womens Eyes. For Women Writers
Posted: 10/8/2005 11:55:47 AM | Today God presented a wonderful gift to my eyes
He told me to stop living with my comfortable lies
The sun remained obscured by clouds it was cold and gray
I was feeling self absorbed in my own pity on this day
This funny little man with a shriveled arm and a woolen cap on his head
His aqua coat stained yellow from the broom in his hand his belt said ED
His life was hard but he was able to smile through it all
In my bitter complaining health I began to feel small
As I sat there in my warm dry car in my self proclaimed pain | |
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| The Sacred Act of Story Tellling Though Womens Eyes. For Women Writers
Posted: 10/8/2005 11:55:59 AM | Sing me my love, sing me of you
Be my emerald green and my sky blue
You are my inspiration, my eternal youth
Sing me my love, sing me of you
The most beautiful melody that ever held true
It's the harmony you possess in all that you do
Sing me my love, sing me of you | |
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| The Sacred Act of Story Tellling Though Womens Eyes. For Women Writers
Posted: 10/8/2005 11:56:39 AM | I miss you, Sam, and all your sweet interaction
I miss your wise words and the honest reaction
Ive been so alone but I know I must not forget
To fiil myself with strength, hold back the regret
I close my eyes, I think of you and I know it's real
For you are my center for all that I know and feel
Thoughts of you, they obssess and possess me
I find myself living through you,my ultimate destiny | |
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| The Sacred Act of Story Tellling Though Womens Eyes. For Women Writers
Posted: 10/8/2005 11:57:05 AM | Do not post my poetry to go unnoticed
Do not look at me with no need to focus
I am lost in you
I all that you do
What you write to me
I can clearly see
I am lost in you
I hunger for your words, parelleled by your lines
This gift you've given so freely a new world defined
In your chapter and verse I become so inspired
I am the moist clay forever set in form and fired
I will drink long and deep from your well
I will cast away all doubts living under your spell | |
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| The Sacred Act of Story Tellling Though Womens Eyes. For Women Writers
Posted: 10/8/2005 11:57:28 AM | Explosion of lights in the dance of the fire fly
Evening settles the horizon in an earthly sigh
The heavens infinite in their cosmic gift
The moon seduced by clouds gentle shift
Wood smoke rises up out of sight
Sharpens the sensations of night
Somewhere in the darkness a river rushes by
Grass for a pillow and blanketed by open sky
Crickets harmonize in nocturnal serenade
Nature displays in a sleepy nightly parade
Finally sleep befalls us beneath the stars
Under the watchful eyes of Venus and Mars
We lay on sacred soil and dream of heavenly things
Morning she wakes us in the mist of tomorrows wings | |
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| The Sacred Act of Story Tellling Though Womens Eyes. For Women Writers
Posted: 10/8/2005 11:59:03 AM | Good Points
She has some good points they would all say
But did they know all the hell that she would pay
She tried her hardest but she was lost, looking for her found
With no choices to make, they kept her mind and body bound
She has some good points they would whisper down the hall
But the words fell on immune ears, she would hear nothing at all
She has some good points they would all say
But that was before she found herself ebbing away
With all their rumors and expectation
They formed her with colorless creation
But she does, she has some good points too
But what those good points are, no one knew
Good points seen by all but never spoken
Leave in their path unused hearts broken | |
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| The Sacred Act of Story Tellling Though Womens Eyes. For Women Writers
Posted: 10/8/2005 11:59:27 AM | At the speed of light iron hand rips through clawing at the heart of tender
Catlike
Pounces on emotional prey cast down to dark holes of surrender
Large scale dependency bubbles up in a putrid pond
Seasons of voided change have come and gone
In all this darkness but a pin prick of light
Hope somewhere on the horizon just out of sight
Pictures
Words
Thought
My mind moves me with intention | |
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| The Sacred Act of Story Tellling Though Womens Eyes. For Women Writers
Posted: 10/8/2005 11:59:54 AM | Subdivisions of Conscience
Listen to me listen to what I say
You in a compromised gait
Possessed of jagged fate
Don't you dare walk away
Do not act upon this stage in scenes of disease
Bad little actors like vast sands under the seas
Learn to race towards your victories
Instead of falling back into your defeats | |
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| The Sacred Act of Story Tellling Though Womens Eyes. For Women Writers
Posted: 10/8/2005 12:01:12 PM | Yes I have emotional baggage but at least it’s on wheels
I will expect you to be perfect see how that feels
If I were luggage Id be the carry on kind
Extra weight you drag because you are blind
With all our judging assumptions
We are hostages of presumptions
Yes there are a few that will look and listen
Diamonds in the rough rare gifts glisten
I want to hear what’s never been heard
Be called away from the rest of the herd
To free my mind before it’s ever been caged
Body imprisoned freed by a mind on the stage
I will not ask you to stand for anyone’s cause
I will only ask you to love the law
For I have become your column of air
Driven like prey that has never known fear
I’m beginning to float on these waters of time
Ingesting what is left what I can call mine | |
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| The Sacred Act of Story Tellling Though Womens Eyes. For Women Writers
Posted: 10/8/2005 12:01:42 PM | Let me take your shape
This heart for you to take
Molded in your confident will
Submerged in still waters still
Truth in language loved
Compels me to rise above
The ripened fruits of sorrows tree
Leaving the flesh swallow the seed
I am longing with a no longer need
Than what I am becoming
What I was meant to be | |
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