The Story

There are songs that all of us fall in love with and will enjoy for a lifetime – but sometimes, there’s that ONE song which move us, touches us in a certain way that affects our soul and make us feel as if it were written specifically for us.  That ONE song for me is “The Story” by Brandi Carlile.  I heard it years ago at a time in my life when I needed it most…and was the inspiration for much of my poetry.

Here is the music with the lyrics added – Absolutely beautiful – I hope you enjoy!!!!

Wake Up Call:

Wake Up Call
I finally met me – I woke up –
Electric and different this day, unlike the mundane
Rising at dawn from dreams and sleep routine expected.
Existing merely physically, detached
Every day for nearly half a century –
No…on this day, I woke up grasping
Who I am supposed to be and why.
Tangible…purpose and meaning defined, illuminated with color –
Why have I been absent this long? 
Analytic references unveil scattered playbills of the past –
Connecting dots, searching for missing/mismatched puzzle pieces
Swept under the rug, hidden away…on purpose,
Yet realizing, all was actually left out in plain view, overlooked,
My eyes wide shut – why are my eyes open now?
I finally met me – I fessed up –
Confrontation, truthful realization of self is daunting –
Detachment and donning “people pleaser” costumes is easier –
Takes its toll, paid the price
Every day for nearly half a century.
No more – this day I fessed up –
Admitted lies, ugly truths and un-pleasantries –
Calling a truce between me & myself –
Decisions, circumstances and outcomes –
Actions proved destructive to relationships, mind/body,
Scarring the soul. Why come clean now?
I finally know me – I rose up –
Invigorated, scared, yet courageously driven –
Void of self-pity, self-loathing,
Capable of facing my fears, battles, demons –
I celebrate this re-inventive revival once clouded
Every day for 47 years.
Never again – today I rose up –
To the wake-up call. 

                                                                                                                       
                                               

MPP:  10/18/2013

"Goodbye & Good luck": A Divorce Song

I wrote this a few years ago while going through an awful divorce.  It’s a poem, yet intended to be lyrics for a song I have yet to compose.

GOODBYE AND GOOD LUCK
It’s amazing, it’s incredible
How and why it’s come to this
This blazing, this indelible
            Ink spot I won’t miss……..or will I?
Who are you, who were you?
Why did I turn and close my eyes?
Through my love drunk window I accepted the view
            So, it’s really no surprise
            Goodbye and good luck
            You’ll need it my dear
            I don’t really give a fuck
                        Because my conscience is clear……..or is it?
            Goodbye and good luck
            What comes around goes around
            How does it feel to be abandoned, stuck
                        In solitude, your cowardly head stuck in the ground
                                    Wondering if you’ll ever be found…
It’s amazing, it’s incredible
How and why it’s come to pass
I’ve gained clarity, you’re so readable
This drama will be my last.
Who are you, who were you?
I knew it wouldn’t last
The clues the clues, OH, those obvious clues
I’ll heal, I’ll move on and, I’ll put this in the past
            Goodbye and good luck
            Thank God, it’s truly the end
            Still, each feather you pluck from me
                        Is painful, I cringe, but I won’t bend
                                    Unto you my darling, this message I send…….or will I?
Goodbye and good luck
You’ll need it, you’ll see
Crawling out of this mire, this muck
Out from you and me.

            

Madness – Sunday Afternoon At My Piano

Spent a few hours at my piano today – practicing old pieces and trying out new ones.  So, I thought this would be an appropriate poem to post.  Enjoy!

MADNESS
Beautiful complexity
Attempting to marry the blur of
Black notes on paper in front of me to
The smooth ivory beneath my fingertips
Attempting to fuse notes, keys, and tempo
As it is written
As it is meant to be played
As it is meant to be heard
Chaos, the sublime fusion
Intrinsic force that is madness –
            Mozart
                       
Madness and Mozart – an intriguing partnership
Madness won, took over the man
Ferocious compositions, exquisite music
Led sadly, quickly into a pauper’s grave
Leaving behind collections of art –
            Priceless and eternal
At my piano, my mind wanders, yet
I begin to play, attempting to commune with
The instrument, the music –
            Mozart
Halting, I linger over the notes, unfamiliar parts
Haunting sonata.  Perplexed, I wonder…
What the hell was he thinking when he wrote this?
Why did he write in this manner?
Was he driven by a muse or some unknown ghost?
What inherent madness forced this frenetic pace?
Madness…
                                                            Mozart

                                    

This Too Shall Pass: A Query

QUERY
This too shall pass –
I’m beginning to question this common phrase. Slowly…out loud yet, quietly,
repeating each word I attempt to discover and dissect –  
I ask myself, what does this phrase really mean?  What does it mean to you?
Strangely imbedded in my mind, I realize my hopeful mantra has now become
a daily affirmation for strength and acceptance of self.
A query of which I deliberately ask myself, seeking clarity and answers
in my world – attempting to understanding the truthful simplicity of a question residing in the meaning.  But, what does this phrase mean?  More importantly,
what does it mean – to me?
This too shall pass –
I wonder…am I merely giving myself verbal permission to brush little unpleasantries under the carpet, assuming they will certainly work themselves out? Maybe…
Am I self-soothing with this vocal pacifier for a mistake made, a bad decision?  Sometimes.  More often than not, I seem to require coddling from a self inflicted punishment caused purely from poor judgment on my part. Shaming myself is more fitting…I think…it’s my history and what I’m used to.  Or, is it much simpler than all that? Am I kindly reminding, merely re-assuring myself of true realization?  This absolute, finite existence that is Karma?
This too shall pass –
As I repeat these words to myself, the saying begins to lose its impact and actually sounds a bit lazy and somewhat flippant. Hmmmm.
I chuckle, because as usual, it’s quite easy for me to OVER analyze and
deconstruct something that’s merely supposed to be simple, easy, and appropriate no matter what the need or desire may be.
The words are always the same and always said in the same order. However,
the meaning of each word can take on as many forms or tones as I require – or desire in my search to move on and create order in my life!  Yes, the words are always the same… THIS TOO SHALL PASS.  No one ever scrambles them up in attempt to change the intent or the power of the phrase – or to make it sound trendy, more unique.  And so, I’ve decided that the answer to my query is obvious and it is clear…I own it…it’s mine…it works for me any time I need it.

I’m still learning to pay attention to my body’s language and have discovered that I breathe a little deeper when my mantra is uttered. My shoulders drop down and are relaxed. That irritating little furrow, residing between my eyebrows is diminished.  My voice softens, no longer frenetic, and it slows to an easy tempo…and I smile because I feel peaceful…and it’s a strange feeling that is so delicious!   So, allowing myself to use this oh, so common, repetitive phrase for my own private benefit is freeing…when I need to be freed the most. 

MS and Poetry: "Scars" & "Chairs"

Happy weekend to all ~
Forgive me…it’s been awhile since I posted anything here & I intend to play a lot of blogging “catch up” this weekend.  For now, I thought I’d share 2 of my poems relating to MS.

SCARS 
This brain, my brain
Reveals an unwanted, uninvited stain
Stealthy invaders placed an ugly mark
Though visually unseen, it’s there…a permanent scar.
A tattoo, if you will
An indelible marking, perplexing until
Courageous, yet daunting intervention begins
Presenting theoretical ideas, invasive needles and pins.
                       
The monster’s mastery takes hold, you see…
Internally stalking, exploring ways to manipulate me
Wicked, determined to strike and knock me down
A bully in hiding, deploying trickery like a devious clown.
This brain, my brain
With this extraordinary, devastating stain
Brings clarity, unexpected strength, possibility
Now, determined, striving to re-define my disability.
                                   
                                                                                   
                       
 CHAIRS 
Here I sit
in a chair made of wood –
wooden legs, I can sit upon
and rise up from whenever I want to.
Surrounded by others
who also sit
in chairs like mine, made of wood –
with wooden legs.
The others sit in chairs with steel wheels
instead of wooden legs.
With motorized knobs directing where they go.
The one’s who sit in wheels
have legs, and feet of their own – like mine.
Their legs used to be like mine –
functional…sometime ago.
Now, their legs are problematic – useless.
Legs which feel like wood,
wet noodles, fire, painful needles, atrophied and stiff…
yet, here they sit – with me
in chairs of different means, but of similar purpose.
Together, we gather in our chairs and we sit,
talk, smile, nod and understand
for the same reason, sharing this disease
together, members of this exclusive club
no one has applied for.

                        

THE TEST

Tests…
Most of us have been out of school for many, many years, but don’t think that the days of studying, learning and taking tests are over.  They will never be over.

THE TEST
The test is a mirror…
Every test is a curious mirror
Reflecting confidence and truth
Or, lack thereof.
The test is a mirror…
Displaying naked realism of who we are
Exposing vulnerabilities of who we are not
Or, who we wish to be.
The test is a mirror…
Prohibiting facade and masquerade
Enforcing society’s blueprint of conformity
Or, simply guiding our true self.
The test is a mirror…
Unwavering, without grace of grading on a curve
Prodding, quizzes encourage fearful insight
Or,  maybe it is only a ruse.
The test is a mirror…
We are our own professors
Posting grades of pass or fail to ourselves
Yet, we take and re-take the same exam…

                         What have we learned?