noiselessly patient

after a three day weekend (yes, i skipped two classes friday...no, i'm not sorry) and the longest nap i've had in a while, i feel like i'm ready to face the week and share a few thoughts.

while working a lot, going to school a lot, being long distance with my best friend (jen) and my boyfriend/bestfriend (david) a lot has been extremely grueling and time-consuming, i really don't feel the need to express my concerns about it. even on the absolute worst dismal days, i know it will pass.
and that's that.

honestly, my biggest concern right now is answering that daunting question "what the (insert word of choice here) am i doing with myself after i graduate?!"

i think how i feel about it can best be illustrated by this nice poem by none other than the unfocused, passionate, free-versing, american classic: walt whitman.

A NOISELESS, patient spider,
I mark’d, where, on a little promontory, it stood, isolated;
Mark’d how, to explore the vacant, vast surrounding,
It launch’d forth filament, filament, filament, out of itself;
Ever unreeling them—ever tirelessly speeding them.	5
And you, O my Soul, where you stand,
Surrounded, surrounded, in measureless oceans of space,
Ceaselessly musing, venturing, throwing,—seeking the spheres, to connect them;
Till the bridge you will need, be form’d—till the ductile anchor hold;
Till the gossamer thread you fling, catch somewhere, O my Soul.	10

*side note: you need to read this out loud. "filament, filament, filament" and "gossamer" are perhaps the most delicious things to say.

anyway, i'm meeting tomorrow with my sweet, quiet-spirited poetry professor to get some advice on internships etc. i've been thinking about what i'm really wanting to do (post-graduating) all weekend. and well, i just keep coming up empty. i'm like the spider and the soul mentioned. i'm "ceaselessly musing, venturing, throwing." it's interesting that my whole life i thought that i would know what's up by now. but man, i am clueless.

that said, i think it's important to be "noiselessly patient" during this time of transition. i think it's okay to be open to whatever may come. it's also important to realize that every decision is a determiner of my future. not only do the big ones matter, but (this part is really nice) because i have a God that is complex as well as caring, the decisions that seem meaningless are intricately integrated into His plan for me. 

this is why i'm making peace with being a noiseless, patient young woman who is casting her gossamer (man, that word) thread while i "explore the vacant, vast surrounding."

and that's that.

because i do not want to do statistics homework on this friday morning

my focus is split:

(my mind is sizzling sizzling simmering simmering
two halves of grey matter always straining separate ways.)

i am here at this table
typing on my expensive equipment and
drinking average coffee from a non-descript mug.
i am in a ravine filled with gravel and railroad ties,
trying to be still enough
to make sense of what is to come.

the trees blowing in the wind clatter and shatter
the silence i long for
as they beat the tall dirt walls that encompass me.
the voices in the coffeeshop,
the dishes chinking, clinking
the little girl jumping into the squares of linoleum,
all remind me of the chaos of solitude.

my textbooks (sitting in front of me) tried to teach me
everything i needed to know
about this
about being caught and tangled in
the swift current of time and space and psychoanalysis and friendships and lovers and religion and clay caught between my fingers and cuts and abstracts and music and laughter and life and death.

but they didn't know.

they didn't know that within one person is two minds.
they didn't know that i would die to live longer and live to die later.
they didn't know that my heart was dark from the beginning and only made light by what they called "spirituality"

they didn't know.
and yet and yet and yet
i trusted them with my dark heart and my fractured mind.
i waited for them to tell me how to write and what to think
and paid them tremendously for it.
i have sacrificed my rest and my peace to them,
o those gods of academia,
and now knowing when this intellectual purgatory will end

i am lost.

Pisces

your love's like a cool breeze
i'm staring at the fish swimming above me
mud clings to my knees
i'm painted silver by the moon

you laugh at my nonsense
and kiss me on the mouth
light ripples behind Notius
as she swiftly swims south

i'm growing out my gills
so i can join my friends
i sigh as you look up
we watch them glisten

i hear you breathe as i dream
that i'm swimming with the stars
i'd try to reach that ocean
but i know it's much too far

Boreus soars northward
but you stay close to me
there's a cord that binds them
with Kullat Nunu shimmering

you're growing out your gills
so you can join your friends
you sigh as i look up
we watch them glisten

willow springs park

she thought to herself / "we're tremendously young" / as the sun shown bright upon his face / three small children flew their kites / they ran past the hill / panting and laughing simultaneously.


she thought to herself / "is this what love is like?" / as he wrote a note in his textbook / a family threw a football a few yards away / the mother spoke harshly to her children.


she said audibly / "you make me smile" / as he held her head in his hands / the clouds ran away and exposed a rich blue sky / it towered above all the mountains that they could see.


he proclaimed out loud / "oh I just love you!" / as she kissed him softly on the eyes / they were graceful in the sun / they were joyful under the blue and the kites / with the harsh mother and gentle mountains nearby.

this kind [or how i'm never prepared]

there's not a lot i can tell you now / that you don't already know / no new ideas of faithfulness / all i hope is for us to grow

the sun caressed your face / with a golden grace / and the wind made us shudder / your hands in my hair / assured me that you were there / oh my heart / it wasn't prepared for this kind of weather

the candle-warmed nights in my bedroom / all of my half-completed sculptures / and your lovely laughing lips / oh they are gentle reminders of our youth

the moon caressed your face / with a silver grace / and the wind made us shudder / your hands in my hair / assured me that you were there / oh my heart / it wasn't prepared for this kind of weather

that time we walked together  / hoping to see the stars / i touched your hand twice as i fell / into you so deep and far

the snow caressed your face / with purity and grace / and the wind made us shudder / your hands in my hair / assured me that you were there / oh my heart / it wasn't prepared for this kind of weather

quiet

an expiring flashbulb
in the skies
the bright street lamps
and my blinking eyes
the asphalt shifting below a thousand tires
and the smoke rising from the forest fires
this drought of my heart
now plaintively crying for rain
expected satisfaction
when the thunder came 
your arms held me close
but no showers did pour
instead my heart was left
as parched as before
so fill me with your emptiness
the kind i think i want
while this land becomes drier still
while i tell myself i can't
because in the arms of a near-stranger it suddenly becomes clear

my masochistic tendencies are created by an insatiable fear

a fear of a love that comes
quiet
like the rain

a fear of a love that comes
quiet
like the rain

i can try

i can try to tell you what it means to barely remember:

the film reel in my mind is flawed and blurred and discolored.
your touch. your name. your voice.
all fading.
little pins pricking my heart just to remind me.
the love once.
oh yes.
the love.
ticks and flickers are moving pictures of you.
your face. your lips. your eyes.
oh hello. oh goodbye.

what does it matter?
i barely remember.

fifty one

little filthy children.
screaming.
so loud.
because they know that no one can really here what they really want to say.
the blood in their veins lets them know the music's playing.
lets them know their dirty little hearts are working.
their screams a result of their want for love.
their want for life.
their guaranteed death.

it is their own fatalist mortality that makes them scream.

death and the coming apocalypse is an accepted fact instead of a feared coincidence.
the turning world will come toa halting stop.
the impending death of a finite existence.
coming to a close.

it is their own fatalist mortality that makes them scream.

fifty

the celestial boy that was told by his father to become human to die and wanted to because he loved us so

or

the true meaning of christmas


the little babe
with the songs of angels
ringing in his little ears
they are whispering
"death will bring forth life
and love and
joy and peace"

the little lamb
saving men
with his blood
and selfless love
you will bless and cleanse
our filthy hearts

we love you Jesus
for being born
for being perfect
and suffering greatly
and carrying darkness
to the grave
carrying darkness
to the grave
the grave

ah baby boy
choosing to die
we celebrate you
with silent night
and candlelight
and white snowmen
and chestnuts roasting

now christmas is here
proclaiming joy
caused by the death
of the baby boy
in the mangers
in our living rooms
and law-firm lobbies
and department stores

we love you Jesus
for being born
for being love
for bringing peace
for killing death
and giving life
giving life
life

post script: just a reminder that i am fully aware of two things: 1) i am shamelessly copying sufjan by using really long and depressing titles 2) i know there's more than three weeks left in the year. i swear i don't know how my counting was so off.

forty nine

"what if we were on the moon instead of driving from elizabethton?
                                                  or
that time i looked at the moon and thought about what it would take for me to hold your hand"

the moon was so large we could've driven into it. the mountain highway turning into a moon highway. the trees around us turning into large grey boulders. the road beneath us turning into thick dust.

i would grab your hand, if we found ourselves on the moon. you probably wouldn't mind on the moon. i wouldn't want you to float away from me.
to lose you forever to the black space touching our shoulders.

and now i become glad we're in the mountains and not on the moon that's rising round above the tree line.

electrical apocalypse

i could not stay awake
though the large earth quaked
and your voice came down to meet me

my eyes closed slowly
"hold me if you love me"
were the last words i heard you speak

remember the road east from nashville,
the morning in our eyes?
you wrote me love songs
while i told you lies

we thought "this will be forever
we thought the end would wait
now we're stumbling together
as the
electric
sun
breaks.

forty six

two little lovers

with a rose-wreath around their shoulders
holding them together
so that when they grow older
they won't be able to part
because the little thorns will prick their little arms

and save their two little hearts.

forty five

mountain fog fills your lungs
ice creeps into your heart
winter is entering intravenously

the trees have shed their skin
the sun has grown thin
November strips the mountain naked

climb to the top
and cast off
the things that you never needed
your eyes have grown old
and your fingers cold
hold onto
the thoughts you've never spoken

white snow is falling fast
it fills your small mouth
and freezes the ends of your eyelashes

the yellow grass on the balds
is beaten by the wind
as she pulls you toward the frigid cliffside

climb to the top
and cast off
the things that you never needed
your eyes have grown old
and your fingers cold
let go

forty four

my sister saw your face buried in the leaves

but i don’t believe her

one day she cried
she saw me walking by your side

but i don’t believe her



it’s been three long years
that you’ve been gone
and three long years
that i’ve been sorry

my sister hold my cold hand
through the wood
and i love her for it
her dark eyes say that she knows
all that i don’t

and i love her for it



the fiery trees
tell me it’s autumn again
and i wish your head
was here on my shoulder

my sister rarely laughs
since you’ve passed
she loved you more than i could
i hold her close
and tell her to let you go
but she loved you more than i could

together we run through the snow
to your little grave
together we say hello
we blow a kiss to your wintery face



it’s been three long years
that you’ve been gone
and three long years 

that i’ve been sorry

it was three quick years
that she loved you
it was three quick years
that you loved me
i’m sorry sister
that i didn’t know
i’m sorry lover
that i said no
we have no time
no time you know

so let’s wait three months

and she’ll be older
and i’ll be wiser
you won't be forgotten
but after the winter
is when all things blossom

but now they live with me

i used to know
where the night terrors go
after the sun wakes up

forty three

while staring out the large window this afternoon:


the raindrops on the window
are making the world look wrong

there’s a crumpled leaf in my filthy hand
faded words are written on it
words I don’t understand

there was dirt on the carpeted ground today
and old black tea in the new brown pot

the autumn mountains exhaled its smoke

as I ran to meet the evening

as I ran to the arms of a dying oak


you once told me that everyone’s alone

that we think we have love but we don’t

that the seed of solitude was once and forever sown

that there’s no good man that can atone

for everything

for everything we’ve done.


the sky turned yellow before it went dark

my feet were cold from the aging dew

your thin face appeared in the thinning clouds

with my eyes shut tight and my heart wide open

you were wrong you were wrong I began to shout



there’s a stone where you sleep

it says that you lived but that’s not true

you were dead the day you were born

I untied the black ribbon from around my neck

and laid it amongst the lady fern



you once told me that everyone’s alone

that we think we have love but we don’t

that the seed of solitude was once and forever sown

that there’s no good man that can atone

for everything

for everything we’ve done



with my eyes shut tight and my heart wide open


you were wrong you were wrong



now I know that no one is alone

that we are loved wildly by a force unknown

that flowers of hope have already been grown

that there was a good man that did atone

for everything

for everything we’ve done

no good heart

i've found myself in a constant state of need lately.

something written recently:

your coat hanger is empty

your worn hat is gone

your steps are slow and heavy

and your face is calm

you walk amongst the trees
into a clearing in the wood
you drop down to your knees

and cry “my heart is no good.”

i won’t pretend to call you stranger

when i see your face

i won’t pretend to call you friend

when i accept your embrace

i won’t pretend to call you nothin’ 

‘cause in my mind

your photograph is fadin’ 

in the harsh daylight

thick salty water 

washes over your thin mouth

remember when you left your father

for the promise of riches in the south

news has come
that you’re headin‘ home

you know you’ve got no one

you’ve got no more earth left to roam

i won’t pretend to call you stranger

when i see your face

i won’t pretend to call you friend

when i accept your embrace

i won’t pretend to call you nothin’ 

‘cause in my mind

your photograph is fadin’ 

in the harsh daylight

and i won’t pretend to call you lover

‘cause i’m through with bidin’ my time

my heart hasn’t found another

but these mountains are all mine

see the sun gives me grace

and the wind she speaks
and i’ve erased your face

from the cliffs and the creeks

i won’t pretend to call you stranger

when i see your face

i won’t pretend to call you friend

when i accept your embrace

i won’t pretend to call you nothin’ 

three little things.

a newer idea:


the rain it fell from the silver sky
you grabbed my hand and the thunder sounded
we ran down the trail towards and old oak tree
slipping on the stones and the shining leaves


a newer photograph:

a newer favorite song

thirty eight

"iamjusttiredofmissingyou."
the words echo inside my mind
crashing against the walls of my brain
causing my vision to blur and my eyes to smart

iamjusttiredofmissingyoutoo.
tired of having dreams where i feel you with me
i wake up to the sun shining cruelly on me
she reminds me that i am here and you are not

"iamjusttiredofmissingyou."
the words sound as far away from me as you are.

thirty seven

lazy monday morning
the sky is grey and white
you'll look out your window
and watch the birds take flight

their blurring bodies
their solemn song
their perpetual panic
their thriving throng

breath and blood escape you
as you prick your snowy finger
the satisfaction is painful
and the pleasure never lingers

your blurring body
your solemn song
your perpetual panic
your writhing wrong

a single leaf is tossed
to the ground by the cruel wind
all alone she travels
no companion can she find

her blurring body
her solemn song
her perpetual panic
her lamenting long