tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-53930042937240588802024-02-18T18:23:11.989-08:00Grace NotesGracehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03470822302618324404noreply@blogger.comBlogger38125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5393004293724058880.post-43527346378931744182012-08-20T12:08:00.000-07:002012-08-20T12:08:48.936-07:00OscarA poem for one of the best dogs ever and an important part of my family that we lost a few months ago.<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiA_1poTwsA1XljKheJxTybVXhyi4m8YUjwMic7aDVWqJzxZNe7daC-Imn2QZuyaPVdfxTP0MLCmeWoLmN3FvvXNoc6tKGmOOcV49u9T3lFZ0YFharsny65rNErLk8ndOT9J9QM3zILHcg/s1600/100_4178.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiA_1poTwsA1XljKheJxTybVXhyi4m8YUjwMic7aDVWqJzxZNe7daC-Imn2QZuyaPVdfxTP0MLCmeWoLmN3FvvXNoc6tKGmOOcV49u9T3lFZ0YFharsny65rNErLk8ndOT9J9QM3zILHcg/s320/100_4178.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
Oscar<br />
<br />
Black as midnight<br />
Brown as caramel<br />
Sweet like it, too<br />
<br />
He ran into our lives<br />
out of a leafy bush<br />
at the bottom of the driveway<br />
<br />
Humility, playfulness<br />
with a deep bark<br />
he protected our family<br />
<br />
<br />
Black as midnight<br />
Brown as caramel<br />
Sweet like it, too<br />
<br />
Always cheerful to greet<br />
his excitement showed<br />
that you were home<br />
<br />
The softest, floppy ears<br />
Full, short legs loved to run<br />
up hills and together<br />
<br />
<br />
Black as midnight<br />
Brown as caramel<br />
Sweet like it, too<br />
<br />
He was a part of us<br />
carrying comfort and peace<br />
We'll always remember<br />
<br />
<br />
Black as midnight<br />
Brown as caramel<br />
Sweet like it, too<br />
<br />
<br />
Gracehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03470822302618324404noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5393004293724058880.post-58314465601513787252012-05-09T09:57:00.000-07:002012-05-09T09:57:38.667-07:00As Weightless As WaterAs a child I feared its depths<br />
wondering what creature might seep in<br />
through the tiny cracks of filters<br />
<br />
And then, with inflatable help,<br />
my daddy taught me to swim<br />
and float on the cooling surface<br />
<br />
I learned to live in the bubbles,<br />
surprise splashes and explore corners<br />
where bright pink goggles took me<br />
<br />
The unnatural blue felt like freedom<br />
like I was a bouncing astronaut<br />
and the water my untouched moon<br />
<br />
And I matured in an over sized rectangle<br />
with every handstand and each dive<br />
I learned to trust weightlessness.<br />
<br />Gracehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03470822302618324404noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5393004293724058880.post-43191246473012803852012-03-15T08:53:00.004-07:002012-03-15T09:00:54.712-07:00The Porch ViewCraving the trees<div>and the crest of leaves</div><div>and the alarms of birds' songs</div><div><br /></div><div>Like the bread and butter </div><div>I need</div><div>to sustain daily life</div><div><br /></div><div>Is it in a southerner's blood</div><div>to feel alive</div><div>rocking on an open porch?</div><div><br /></div><div>Or is it that</div><div>when the open air is gone</div><div>for a long time</div><div>You suffocate without</div><div>breathing it in?</div><div><br /></div><div>Suns set, pines fall,</div><div>and the sky is a daily masterpiece</div><div>no artist can recreate</div><div><br /></div><div>And we find these things</div><div>set before us</div><div>every minute</div><div><br /></div><div>But smog covers our view</div><div>and says "It is like</div><div>any other day.</div><div>You have more important </div><div>things to do."<br /></div><div><br /></div><div>While the heart, </div><div>the artist's soul,</div><div>says, "Oh no.</div><div>I painted these hues</div><div>just for you...</div><div>So you would sit </div><div>and find nothing </div><div>but breathing to do."</div>Gracehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03470822302618324404noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5393004293724058880.post-49289789900929806862012-01-25T22:49:00.001-08:002012-01-25T22:49:53.334-08:00Monsters<p class="MsoNormal">The monsters in my closet</p> <p class="MsoNormal">At eight years old</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Surely have followed me</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Into my twenties</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Bringing with them scarier costumes</p> <p class="MsoNormal">And graver consequences</p> <p class="MsoNormal">For believing their power</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">My fears have followed me</p> <p class="MsoNormal">But so has my spirit</p>Gracehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03470822302618324404noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5393004293724058880.post-31350544878234466892012-01-05T10:54:00.001-08:002012-01-05T10:56:10.280-08:00StrengthStrength should not be measured<br />by weight or appearance<br />nor by how much we withstand<br /><br />Strength is more<br />knowing full well<br />what lies ahead<br />experiencing the disasters<br />of the world<br />listening to the words<br />spoken against you<br />And standing in the midst<br />feet planted<br />into the concrete<br />raising your gaze<br />from the ground<br /><br />To see what is ahead<br />to see what is good<br /><br />That takes strengthGracehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03470822302618324404noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5393004293724058880.post-13349263630200372002011-10-26T12:30:00.000-07:002011-10-26T12:35:15.195-07:00Death of Moammar GadhafiI was so struck and intrigued by the images I saw of people lining up to see Moammar Gadhafi's body in Libya, so I decided to put myself in the line and try to feel what these people might have been feeling.<div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >Death of Moammar Gadhafi</span></div><div><br /></div><div>Standing body to body</div><div>in a line of hundreds</div><div>maybe thousands</div><div>curved and legged like a caterpillar</div><div>slowly stepping</div><div>one limb at a time</div><div>toward a victory, a reward</div><div>to prey upon</div><div><br /></div><div>We are victims and now we victimize him</div><div>to take our place</div><div>to take our scars</div><div>If only we could see his lifeless, bruised body</div><div>then we could feel free</div><div><br /></div><div>In line, we wait anxiously</div><div>for death to turn into life</div>Gracehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03470822302618324404noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5393004293724058880.post-91952813181603348302011-10-05T10:33:00.000-07:002011-10-05T10:38:32.039-07:00Words<div>Here are two poems about the lovely topic of words. Enjoy!</div><div><br /></div><div>1.</div>Words: I love and hate<div>For they hold power over me</div><div>to encourage and to destroy</div><div>to bring greatest joy</div><div>and to give greatest hate</div><div>tugging me onto either podium</div><div>happiness or hatred</div><div>I have given words this value</div><div>by putting them on such a level</div><div>that they define and evaluate</div><div>too much, of what is my value</div><div><br /></div><div>2.</div><div>Words so many days</div><div>are too much</div><div>on our tongue, clinging to minds</div><div>that won't let them free</div><div><br /></div><div>Is it just me or</div><div>do some words lodge into our being</div><div>while others float by</div><div>uninvited and unnoticed</div><div><br /></div><div>Who determines what</div><div>we will remember</div><div>what stabs our ignorance and</div><div>what we say that's never heard</div><div><br /></div><div>Maybe it's clearer</div><div>when we turn off our mouths</div><div>and find the words that fell away</div>Gracehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03470822302618324404noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5393004293724058880.post-31481985659067140972011-09-08T11:45:00.000-07:002011-09-08T11:52:53.977-07:00Seasons<p class="MsoNormal">I looked up and saw what had fallen upon us</p> <p class="MsoNormal">In the changing of trees</p> <p class="MsoNormal">The saturated colors of death</p> <p class="MsoNormal">So many days we carried the heat</p> <p class="MsoNormal">On the sweat beads of our backs</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Waiting for wind’s relief</p> <p class="MsoNormal">And so many steps I wanted to go back</p> <p class="MsoNormal">To where I was before the seasons</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Ran so quickly and left me behind</p> <p class="MsoNormal">But the words of the wise lifted my arms</p> <p class="MsoNormal">And pushed my heart in front</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Leading blindly but forward</p> <p class="MsoNormal">And now my tired eyes awaken</p> <p class="MsoNormal">To how nature works its ways</p> <p class="MsoNormal">And births something more beautiful than pain</p>Gracehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03470822302618324404noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5393004293724058880.post-90725382670707570052011-08-10T11:31:00.000-07:002011-08-10T11:32:41.953-07:00The thing about band boys is...<div>I just found this poem that I wrote quite a few years ago about boys in bands. Enjoy!</div><div>
<br /></div><div>
<br /></div><b>The thing about band boys is...</b><div><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" >They are fun to look at but not to date<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Their music is great, but they’re always late<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Their hair is cool, and they’re style sweet but somehow they<span> </span>manage to hit on every girl they meet<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Sure they’ll write you on myspace but never call<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Their life is going great unless their band takes a fall<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" >You come to see their shows, but they don’t care<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" >You’re a small concern compared to what they’ll wear<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" >They’re poor as dirt and sometimes they smell<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" >And rarely do they ever come out of their “I’m a rock star” <span> </span>shell<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" >After the tours have ended and the music stops<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span class="Apple-style-span" >You finally see that band boys don’</span><span class="Apple-style-span" >t really rock</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 22pt; "><o:p></o:p></span></p></div>Gracehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03470822302618324404noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5393004293724058880.post-41572348450527669712011-08-03T09:55:00.000-07:002011-08-03T10:04:27.903-07:00Fruit of the Earth<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiH4617X_IXzBalUP3vEd5wRTy684fpHkFnglrWK_eSez8T3sd5FWF3nPzOtuP95PemF_UVCvDhf3E_dpR479Jwtke7xgrVRhjVsqLCod_XI2a2wmmup7iQk_z1ObNayPA64ugNIOKF7wo/s1600/peaches.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiH4617X_IXzBalUP3vEd5wRTy684fpHkFnglrWK_eSez8T3sd5FWF3nPzOtuP95PemF_UVCvDhf3E_dpR479Jwtke7xgrVRhjVsqLCod_XI2a2wmmup7iQk_z1ObNayPA64ugNIOKF7wo/s320/peaches.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5636676511158800642" /></a><div style="text-align: left;">Taste this sweet red plum</div> <p class="MsoNormal">And let its juice run</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Down your young, fair face</p> <p class="MsoNormal">‘Til you feel joy come.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Peel a peach with teeth</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Like a shark to prey.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Eat ‘til there is bone</p> <p class="MsoNormal">And your skin smells sweet.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Crunch a ripe pear slice</p> <p class="MsoNormal">‘Tween stone-hard white teeth</p> <p class="MsoNormal">And bite through its shell</p> <p class="MsoNormal">To find what is nice.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Take fruit off the tree</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Each day and be free.</p>Gracehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03470822302618324404noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5393004293724058880.post-32880911982390507952011-07-29T09:10:00.000-07:002011-07-29T09:11:34.019-07:00(Un)organizedI hope I'm more than<div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>just your to-do list</div><div>Spouting, spitting and spinning</div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>with appointments</div><div>May you see past the lists</div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>and into my (un)organized heart</div>Gracehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03470822302618324404noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5393004293724058880.post-25129863037910046982011-06-22T15:14:00.000-07:002011-06-22T15:24:53.964-07:00Wishes on Fish Hooks<div>Craving new experience</div><div>like a child hungering</div><div>for the sweet dew of a strawberry</div><div>to tame the salty sting of summer</div><div><br /></div><div>Soon. Soon.</div><div>Soon hangs in the air</div><div>like the balloon I've let go </div><div>floating into the azure abyss of sky</div><div><br /></div><div>and I wonder</div><div>will it ever come?</div><div>Will a new day ever arise</div><div>out of yesterday's crumbling high rise</div><div><br /></div><div>Breath, just breath</div><div>is all I can control now</div><div>while my wishes are on fish hooks</div><div>baiting tomorrows</div>Gracehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03470822302618324404noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5393004293724058880.post-89018813699472403282011-06-07T13:45:00.000-07:002011-06-07T20:30:22.359-07:00Ode to the Midnight BirdHere's a poem I wrote the other night while listening to a bird sing through every call imaginable outside of my apartment at 12:30 a.m. Although I found it odd the first night this happened, I'd like to think he lulls me to sleep and is my little friend who stays up late, too.<div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Ode to the Midnight Bird</div><div><br /></div><div>O midnight bird</div><div>you must be confused</div><div>for you've tried every trill in the book</div><div><br /></div><div>You are much too late</div><div>or hours too early</div><div>for calls so bright and cheery</div><div><br /></div><div>But for now keep swelling</div><div>while us artists are dwelling</div><div>on the night's creativity</div><div><br /></div><div>Sing with vigor</div><div>o midnight bird</div><div>before dawn steals the show</div><div><br /></div><div><img src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_hycVrok6vGY/SmicvLQNkYI/AAAAAAAACFE/QKAZ0ZjRAjM/s640/bird+drawing+1.jpg" /></div><div><br /></div>Gracehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03470822302618324404noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5393004293724058880.post-59401016426826494592011-05-18T13:44:00.001-07:002011-05-18T13:47:48.009-07:00UnleavenedI am one of the Hebrew children, running<div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>out of the chains of Egypt</div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>in too much haste to let my bread leaven</div><div>I'm leading someone, if not just myself,</div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>to a different world</div><div>I heard my Deliverer's voice</div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>and saw Him move winds</div><div>With each sandy step</div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>I know more and more that it is our time</div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>to step out of slavery</div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>and into sonhood</div><div><br /></div><div>Although I can barely see my next step</div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>as my last print blows away</div><div>I am where I'm meant to be</div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>at this moment</div><div>My history becomes my destiny</div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>and my walk, a legend</div><div><br /></div><div>My feet bake in the sun</div><div>My bread is unleavened</div>Gracehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03470822302618324404noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5393004293724058880.post-70901121795829800002011-04-12T13:36:00.000-07:002011-04-12T13:39:24.489-07:00Rainstorm Rebirth<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMsY2sAJDEksutUq2pKDbu4y2OOQfINkDm3osn5dgUe0-xkBhze1062jc8B5WZC0KkSquhzcp_5jX59_cEQZB1x3OT7ysZ7iMxPPZVd1YzHBLSqdwLrQLGn3-LtUFXlgWCiw59xS1EB0E/s1600/DSCN0447.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMsY2sAJDEksutUq2pKDbu4y2OOQfINkDm3osn5dgUe0-xkBhze1062jc8B5WZC0KkSquhzcp_5jX59_cEQZB1x3OT7ysZ7iMxPPZVd1YzHBLSqdwLrQLGn3-LtUFXlgWCiw59xS1EB0E/s320/DSCN0447.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5594799421880610866" /></a><br />I forgot the way the rain smelled<div>like mother nature's dryer sheet</div><div>making it appear as the ground started fresh</div><div>born again with dew</div><div>heavy with weight of washing </div><div>rivers form and coolness melts</div><div>the tendrils underneath the drops</div><div><br /></div><div>Some say the earth cries when it rains</div><div>I say it's coming back to life</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Gracehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03470822302618324404noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5393004293724058880.post-11249790904347823792011-03-14T11:48:00.000-07:002011-03-14T11:54:05.852-07:00Hope knows<div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial; font-size: small; "><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; ">Romans 5:5 "And hope does not put us to shame, because God's love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit who has been given to us."</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "><br /><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEij588ZxdqMP4XPD_TffPpyPByQHxceCg80o72HY29a5QZNjsO1CVqQrisazmpRBpCZ5lr_7Sr0i-1zGQ8FZFl70xFUSyq9ErvEDYf0YkOxqJYsb1HoFFK4W-3LdvhvkTQOJEGMp9RgacQ/s200/DSCN0356.JPG" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5584010587893164946" /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; ">Hope</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; ">knows no shame</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; ">it sees no fault</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; ">it believes in all</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; ">Everything</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; ">is accountable to hope</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; ">with its grandeur of possibilities</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; ">Challenging</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; ">our hearts and heads</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; ">to not feel the ground</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; ">of weighty gravity below</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; ">But</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; ">to lift up toes</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; ">to reach the height of breeze</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; ">We must see you</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; ">Before we feel you</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; ">Hope</p></span>Gracehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03470822302618324404noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5393004293724058880.post-27692879496796384922011-03-01T14:56:00.000-08:002011-03-01T15:12:24.301-08:00Heaven on Earth<div>This poem is based on how we as humans assume that we can create a sort of heaven on earth with all of the best possessions around us at all times. I find it humorous how, especially as Americans, we try to sort of create an eternity based on what we might need, as in stores that never close and have everything that anyone could ever need or want.</div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >Heaven on Earth</span></div><div><br /></div>We think we are heaven<div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>with our all-day hours</div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>and extra large portions</div><div>The camp we've built</div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>could never be invaded</div><div>Our fridges are filled</div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>with favorites from above</div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>our manna lies in a drive through</div><div>Planning for forever</div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>we save and worry and save</div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>building on our days</div><div>Must we try</div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>to create a creation</div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>that has already been Created</div>Gracehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03470822302618324404noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5393004293724058880.post-21621836444229785102011-02-16T14:29:00.000-08:002011-02-16T14:33:02.166-08:00Show me some love<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQup_KNUVGFt8sOOAnmEBDtG44PMl0-u9EBiqGdJ2_yzQWkzSkCrS0QEuF08N-UsnGRVwzI5JtEYt84MHbCtXT8bAR9YeH_PUqmhzr71ebxWKpiGN8xwdmc-2SteQspHSBFGnHLVefxjU/s1600/heart.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 191px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQup_KNUVGFt8sOOAnmEBDtG44PMl0-u9EBiqGdJ2_yzQWkzSkCrS0QEuF08N-UsnGRVwzI5JtEYt84MHbCtXT8bAR9YeH_PUqmhzr71ebxWKpiGN8xwdmc-2SteQspHSBFGnHLVefxjU/s200/heart.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5574418920287260098" /></a><br /><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span style="font-family: Georgia; ">Here's a poem to get you out of </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia; ">that post-Vale</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia; ">ntine's rut.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:16.0pt;font-family:Georgia"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:16.0pt;font-family:Georgia">May Love</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: 21px; "> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Georgia; "><span class="Apple-style-span">May love move us<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Georgia; "><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>Into the shoes of the person sitting next to us<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Georgia; "><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>And into the hands of the needy<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Georgia; "><span class="Apple-style-span">May love guide us<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Georgia; "><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>Into the situations that scare us<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Georgia; "><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>And away from people who wound us<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Georgia; "><span class="Apple-style-span">May love seal us<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Georgia; "><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>Into the letters we live out<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Georgia; "><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>And ship us into the wide world to explore and be loved<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Georgia; "><span class="Apple-style-span">May love blend us<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Georgia; "><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>Into many shades of peace<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Georgia; "><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>In the midst of a graying world</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 16pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>Gracehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03470822302618324404noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5393004293724058880.post-72114263811618127842011-02-09T20:08:00.000-08:002011-02-09T20:45:49.090-08:00The Small Things<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsa3vgf2bMnsjq_-xysJUPP2mdrTAxsqOJVYee6svgb4PE7LjkdMrMQyN96_lntSjN-ON4np4UImJMdlIQTp-k4RbVAJMRnHFF8rjIbsUxuA_7t6ZZBVjwViTlohgyiqMutxkQm2Lvy5M/s1600/DSCN0183.JPG"></a><span class="Apple-style-span" >"We cannot do great things on this Earth, </span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre; "> </span>only small things with great love."</span></div><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWZ5BQyBsB4wk7o0LTTrpcSKute7_7K4aTtTgKIN8YVSIJvnl29Xm6X6q2K0kq7ieLgRdcllGaUHt56_bup5BArsId1xNavJSSLCoFG_gpUur2itckzX-JzmSyywFIPG2oEIz-WMTFu9k/s320/DSCN0203.JPG" style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5571916354859189122" /><div>-Mother Teresa</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>One of my dear girlfriends, who I met during my semester at Oxford, sent this quote to me on a cutely creative, homemade Valentine's Day card. It amazed me when this card came less than an hour after discussing the idea of this paradox of the significance of small things with some other women. This concept seems to be playing out all around me this week. Although I'm definitely still learning what it means, I'm finding myself at peace with the idea that the little things in life make all the difference. </div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"></span> </span>This is a bit difficult to grasp, myself, as someone who has secret dreams of being famous and a constant need to be saving the world in some way. My life, with all of it's pieces and puzzles that I can't figure out right now, has been teaching me to hold on to the insignificant things. One of my favorite parts of my favorite book (The Screwtape Letters by C.S. Lewis) is how the devil in the book pushes his "student" devil to convince the human that all of life is ordinary. He instructs him to show the human that nothing about life is extraordinary, mysterious or meaningful. The worst thing for us as humans is to expect everything to have a clear-cut answer, a recipe and no coincidence. But, thankfully, this is not so. </div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span> </span></div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"></span>I have been learning that living life to the fullest is about finding joy in being stuck inside with snow covering every piece of the ground outside, loving the quirky things that people do at work and baking 2 1/2 dozen chocolate chip cookies for one person. Although I could be spending my time being depressed because crazy weather means I won't get to see my boyfriend any time soon, how annoying my coworker's personality is or how depressing eating chocolate alone is, I am slowly experimenting with embracing these things. </div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span></div><div>Even if we can't change the circumstances around us, we can change how we react to them. </div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span> </span></div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"></span>Many times we can't control what happens to us or where we are in life, but we can find small things to enjoy along the way. Like that Switchfoot song says, "Happy is a yuppy word." If we are looking for the people and things around us to make us happy, it won't happen. But I've found that putting love into the little things that comprise our lives and others can speak louder than our wishes and wines.</div><div><br /></div><div>-Grace</div><div><br /></div>Gracehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03470822302618324404noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5393004293724058880.post-3582643878194305812011-02-01T15:34:00.000-08:002011-02-01T15:53:59.283-08:00One is the loneliest number<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1qTNtMm8mypLPDz6ImbYBzNrjauWj7h4HaubDM0dnKqeIKUfVnFJ3s42ZCNaVIeK_rLZj9xBSdkNjTEUNuAatl__BF5MuML_xzEMlZMxHSEWdGQwqHEF8QMYx46JJRlbjVuAXI-_v3-c/s1600/DSCN0047.JPG"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1qTNtMm8mypLPDz6ImbYBzNrjauWj7h4HaubDM0dnKqeIKUfVnFJ3s42ZCNaVIeK_rLZj9xBSdkNjTEUNuAatl__BF5MuML_xzEMlZMxHSEWdGQwqHEF8QMYx46JJRlbjVuAXI-_v3-c/s320/DSCN0047.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5568873522522156082" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFBVzLNSkql4rvlPUEDV7aJC2TJZ5eqzH1d2RCCdYHXusoj2jl7HtcgRsTjsUuhCG3YqMT3AtiPQQZYY5-RMwjFY1XidIuNZ_fdZYYOWJ0_l0aDSQRc7aNbOu7M2e5dBq2gJJD6QSbPxU/s1600/DSCN0070.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFBVzLNSkql4rvlPUEDV7aJC2TJZ5eqzH1d2RCCdYHXusoj2jl7HtcgRsTjsUuhCG3YqMT3AtiPQQZYY5-RMwjFY1XidIuNZ_fdZYYOWJ0_l0aDSQRc7aNbOu7M2e5dBq2gJJD6QSbPxU/s320/DSCN0070.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5568870936656336802" /></a><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFBVzLNSkql4rvlPUEDV7aJC2TJZ5eqzH1d2RCCdYHXusoj2jl7HtcgRsTjsUuhCG3YqMT3AtiPQQZYY5-RMwjFY1XidIuNZ_fdZYYOWJ0_l0aDSQRc7aNbOu7M2e5dBq2gJJD6QSbPxU/s1600/DSCN0070.JPG"></a>Today it snowed again. It's my day off of work anyway, so I'm spending the day alone entertaining myself. I've totally gotten used to this. With my work schedule I tend to be alone a lot, but it's given me some good time to start new hobbies and spend time with God.<div><br /><div><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjw2dnr2qegvMEYlpia_wNcWV9Sf2cbYhlilEpHulQsyLDsieuwJZr6F5uRQiEK5qoKpBvofivldHADE9k-FWE1YFpFsBHMtw5bQdzvxpjqTy-U8Is42sl895xOCa8QVO7cuLBSXYxs5zQ/s320/DSCN0091.JPG" style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5568871530988900210" /></div><div>So far I have spent today playing Donkey Kong for a few hours, recovering from a stomach</div><div> bug that I got yesterday and watching my DVR-ed tv shows. Although I definitely wish I was partying with my boyfriend and friends, I am content to be here. </div><div><br /></div><div>I just got a new camera (nothing too fancy but works well), so I took it out until my fingers froze to catch some snowy mom</div><div>ents. </div><div><br /></div><div>The rest of the plan for the night will include watching Ugly Betty episodes (my favorite show of all time) and perhaps baking some apple oatmeal scones. I love baking when I'm alone...especially when it's cold outside and cozy inside.</div><div><br /></div><div>Enjoy the photos.</div><div>-Grace</div><div><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJ1-cwqp3mOCtxN5j74ct2jpmrlkOs8VDNYO2WBiBqW_QOtY2maJf2hcHQNJVhSQvpTB_GdAP3OmbD5dixlOaiZHHMrzYxgQsaJi5XkgLxu0khrp7gq6CFcOnES960G8cK1i7XVKGyNjU/s320/DSCN0112.JPG" style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5568872516661913538" /></div><div><br /></div></div></div>Gracehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03470822302618324404noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5393004293724058880.post-7924726460986793892011-01-20T13:20:00.000-08:002011-01-20T13:25:37.128-08:00Snow DayI woke up to lots of snow this morning and was thinking about how amazing it is that snow is so unexpected. We never expect when we go to bed that when we wake up the world will change and be more beautiful. Here's a poem with my thoughts.<div><br /></div><div>Snow Day</div><div><br /></div><div>I don't know why</div><div>we are so surprised</div><div>when we wake up to find</div><div>the ground covered in pillow flecks of white</div><div><br /></div><div>We just assume</div><div>that our world will resume</div><div>without a new bloom</div><div>or any change, anything greater than doom</div><div><br /></div><div>When God makes each day</div><div>in His own special way</div><div>giving us time to play</div><div>outside of the boundaries we set with what we say</div>Gracehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03470822302618324404noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5393004293724058880.post-85162123738413675262011-01-03T10:35:00.000-08:002011-01-03T10:38:46.807-08:00Made in _____Walking china dolls,<div>stitched from unknown hands</div><div>with unknown wrinkly imperfections</div><div>wearing a burden</div><div>someone stitches for us</div><div>for a few dollars </div><div>or cents in a foreign currency</div><div>our tags tell</div><div>of a distant land</div><div>filled with the billows</div><div>of hard work</div><div>not ours</div><div>as we claim as our own</div><div><br /></div><div>The world spins</div><div>as the weaver winds</div><div>and dear China sends</div><div>us the fruit of its labor</div>Gracehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03470822302618324404noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5393004293724058880.post-19258567183733765982010-12-09T09:13:00.000-08:002010-12-09T09:17:21.143-08:00AgingHere she lies<div>a girl of twenty years</div><div>old with wishes and worries</div><div>that weigh upon her skeleton</div><div>hunched and crumpled down</div><div>like a regretful, bumbling humpback</div><div>knowing what she has done</div><div>and where in the world she has been</div><div>she finds this current place dull</div><div>her skinny, fine fingers beg to write</div><div>a passionate word to be published</div><div>and her dreams even smell like fresh laundry</div><div>sitting in heat, wanting to be folded</div><div>and put away</div><div>in the place</div><div>where they belong</div>Gracehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03470822302618324404noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5393004293724058880.post-16890723284127184782010-09-22T21:52:00.000-07:002010-09-22T21:56:28.080-07:00Restless Life Syndrome<div>This poem is inspired by my recent restlessness.</div><div><br /></div><div>Restless Life Syndrome</div><div><br /></div>I would like to be everywhere<div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> <span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span></span>doing absolutely everything</div><div>until the base of my shoes</div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span> </span>wears down to the ground</div><div>and my weathered weariness</div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span> </span>shows my breath in the wind</div><div>and I have seen</div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> <span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span></span>more open fields </div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> <span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span></span>than my dead dreams</div><div>Until I must make myself</div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> <span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span></span>fall asleep again</div>Gracehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03470822302618324404noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5393004293724058880.post-18254111205171015332010-08-26T13:46:00.001-07:002010-08-26T13:49:02.664-07:00WindWind<div><br /></div><div>Thank you God</div><div>for the wind</div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>you put inside of us</div><div>and the wind</div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>you push out of us</div><div>the wind</div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>that follows us</div><div>and the wind</div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>that guides us</div><div>the wind</div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>that billows our hopes</div><div>and the wind </div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>that sends them away</div><div>the wind</div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>in our mouths</div><div>and the wind</div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>brushing our hands</div><div>We feel you.</div>Gracehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03470822302618324404noreply@blogger.com0