Question Words (The 5 Ws)

Why does acting reckless wind up in a wreck
When all you're trying to do is live your life.
Who controls your destiny, your mood, your needs, your you
When choices made are only half of "that's the way it goes."
What can a simple woman do
When the responsibilities, recreations, requirements, and roles
are too infinite and asunder to choose and to become.
Where is home as sacred rest
When it lies within the temple of your soul?
How to do and live each day
When I keep learning more that's new.

EGHeck
4.29.2018
1:24 a.m.

The Cardboard-Crate Life

The boxes have a pile again.
This time, there's plenty of furniture wrap, bubble wrap, newspaper, and label paper.
This time, I know what to expect.
I know what needs protecting.

I expect the goodbyes to be "I'll see you soon"s.
I expect the moving day will be filled with helping hands and end in a sweaty mess.
I expect tensions will be high as I try to organize each detail
                                            as I try to direct the flow of delicate possessions
                                            as I try to both hold onto the fond memories of this house and grieve for the life I now leave behind.
I expect some excitement and fear as I drive away with a car filled dangerously full.
I expect to have a new iPod playlist to distract me from the work.
I expect these things for that day.

As I look forward, I look back.
What happened last time? What happens this time?

I expect that I will know no one in this new town of new buildings and streets.
I expect that the "I'll see you soon"s will turn into mere imprints on the wind.
I expect that I will only know where the good food is once I am preparing to leave.
I expect the excitement will be dulled as there are no girlfriends to share it with when I get old.
I expect I'll learn a new way to drive with the "worst drivers ever."
I expect that another 15 pounds is waiting for me on the couch.
I expect I will just want to stay cuddled up in my new home on the furniture I know,
with the stuff I know, with the only person I know,
safe in the few things I know
Until I am too sad to try to get out.
Too lazy to build up new hobbies.
Too quiet to make any new friends.
Too "content" (or discontent) to mess up my routine.



I can't let this happen again; I have no patience for the doldrums.
I can't survive in a cardboard-crate life.
I need the touch of grass, the breath of breezes, and the laughter of water.
I need to reconnect with humanity and Earth.
I need a place to settle in that's more than just a house--a home.

"I celebrate & sing myself"

“I celebrate & sing myself”

(a poem inspired by Walt Whitman)

I sing myself in words that fill my life

                Words that share myself with yours

                              that share my heart with yours

                              that share my eyes with your imaginings

But I am ever blind, then see—

                again, again I learn again

                stories

                (and dreams)

                of who I am again.

Somedays I am the scholar, with unquenching thirst for knowledge and numbers

                (blind to feelings or practicality)

Somedays I am the homemaker, with aromas (paprika and pinesol)

                pervasive along with ordered chaos

Yet other days I am the sloth, with chocolate, popcorn, and tactile-glee

                (blind by shutting out the daily pressures on myself)

But most of all, on most of days

                I’m merely just the rolling tide of

                emotion, feeling, empathy, misery

                that I embrace with emerald pools for eyes.

                I share myself with you and take your share of you

                because only in our life together

                (with God & nature and water & things)

                does life mean anything in song

                               

Elizabeth Gay

1.11.2012

910am

"At Three O'Clock in the Morning" edit

"At Three O'Clock in the Morning"
editted 4 Feb 2012 

"At Three O'Clock in the Morning"

"At Three O'Clock in the Morning"




She lay awake in her bed because she couldn't sleep. It was one of those restless nights that are filled with the inescapable dread that another minute has to creep by before you can sleep. And another. And another. And another. And another. And another.


But the moment of sweet ecstasy, as you slip soundlessly into the silos and slaughterhouses of slumber, NEVER comes. 

Vulnerable (First Draft)

Vulnerable


You are the voice in the distance
That wakens me, in the darkness, to smile.
Away from the speed, away from the cars, away from the lights that
Blind and distract and expose and illuminate!
The deep recesses of holes and longing.

“Then he told them many things in parables” [1] (with audio file)

“Listen then to what the parable of the sower means:”

I know a seed is just one man or another. But can the seed also be just one part or another of me?

“A farmer went out to sow his seed.”