Night Storms: A collection of poems

Rain, Rain

Rain, rain,

Come and play;

Wash all the dirt away.

Rain, rain,

Please don’t go;

I need you more than the mountains need snow.

Rain, rain,

Please just stay;

This little soul’s crumbling like clay.

Rain, rain,

Come and play;

I’ll do whatever you say.

Rain, rain,

Please don’t go;

You fill my life with such a lovely glow.

Rain, rain,

Please just stay;

Keep these ugly thoughts at bay.

Rain, rain,

Come and play;

Please don’t ever stray away.

Rain, rain,

Please don’t go;

I’m begging you with a heart of woe.

Rain, rain,

Please just stay;

Hear these words I pray today.

Storm: A Haiku

Lightning breaks the sky.

Thunder roars through the hazy night.

All is basked in grey.

Night: A Haiku

Tiny little lights

Hang within a vacant sky

As the shadows dance.

Nocturne

Tranquil, pretty, void of light

It’s the path to the dreamer’s sight.

Quite, still, vicious little tide

In the shadows is where demons hide. 

(And another poem, which has absolutely nothing to do with the theme that's been carried through the others.)

Teen Girls: A Haiku

Giggles can be heard,

Drifting through locker lined halls,

As a boy smiles.

Life from a Death

It's Easter morning and I haven't slept a wink all night. My thoughts were too alive and I kept thinking about how wonderful it would be to see the sunrise. There's something magical about watching the sunrise on Easter Sunday. Maybe it's the symbolism...maybe it's the way the early morning rays kiss the earth. Either way, it's something glorious to behold.

When I was little my family would go to sunrise services. We'd get dressed up in pretty dresses and suits, pile into our two cars, and head for the lake where that year's sunrise service was to be held at. I have fond memories of those services.

I can remember that I always got cold. I'd stand there, under some park awning or near the waters, in a circle with all the rest of the congregation. My knees would be shaking and my arms would have goose bumps, and I'd watch the sunrise as the pastor reminded us of the importance of Easter...of what it was that took place on that day so many years before.

It's been too long since I've been to a sunrise service.

Last night I couldn't' sleep, but it wasn't because I was reading an enthralling story or watching movies, but because as I laid there -staring out at the city lights in the darkness of the night -I realized that I longed for a sunrise.

I got to thinking about Easter and about Good Friday, I got to thinking about how it's been so long since I last read the Easter story, and I was overcome with the need to experience a sunrise service. Sadly, I didn't know where one was being held, so I made do. I didn't get to gather with a congregation of humans, but I had my own personal service with nature's congregation.

A bit before seven, I threw on some day clothes, grabbed a hoodie, and left my dorm building. The sun wasn't quite up yet but I couldn't wait any longer. I felt like a kid on Christmas Eve night, eagerly waiting for their gifts. I just had to feel that sunrise.

There's a trail that runs by my university, part of it's blocked off right now but I walked some of it anyway. The world was so still. The air chilly. It had an aroma of fresh rain; of rebirth and renewal.

I was almost lead to an early grave by a pair of ducks on my way to the trail and, after that, birds were everywhere. The world may have been still but nature was buzzing.

I kid you not. Blue-jays, Cardinals, sparrows, ravens, and robins were scattered about the trail and lurking in the blooming branches of the trees. There were squirrels running all around and worms wiggling their way across the black trail top. Even the stream that runs along the trail was bubbling with life. It was as if nature herself was praising God on this Easter Sunday.

Even as I sat atop slightly damp grass after walking the trail -writing in my journal as I took in the world -nature did not stop singing. The birds were everywhere, and they were loud. It was glorious.

So long ago, a man -a god (thee God) -sacrificed Himself so that we could all have eternal life. So that we wouldn't have to spend our eternity in the absence of His presence. Think about that. Not only did Christ die for us, but He died so that He and us wouldn't be separated. He died because He didn't wand to live without us; because He wants us to be able to spend eternity with Him.

Romans 5: 6-8 says:

 "For while we were still helpless, at the right time Christ died for the ungodly. For one will hardly die for a righteous man, though perhaps for a good man someone would dare even to die. But God demonstrates His own love towards us, in that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us." 

Christ died for us. Christ died for us. Christ died for us. Christ died for us. Do you get that? Do you feel that? How humbling is it to think that the Almighty God came to earth, placed himself in the form of a human, and died so that we may know eternal life. God -a deity (Thee all powerful deity. The one who knows it all. The one who spoke and the universe came into existence) -sacrificed himself so that we might live.

I don't know about you, but that makes me rejoice. Because of Him, my soul doesn't have to be condemned. Praise God for what he's done. He is truly a loving and caring God.

Tupperware Party

You’ve been invited to a Tupperware party

A Tupperware party?

My mom used to get invited to Tupperware parties.

I would always sit there bored, thinking about how stupid they were.

I didn’t understand why dishes could be so fascinating.

I didn’t understand why ladies would throw Tupperware parties;

Why to be a lady one had to sit and look at dishes.

I’m twenty-two now,

And I was just invited to a Tupperware party.

A Tupperware party?

Am I really old enough to be invited to a Tupperware party?

Am I really at that point where I can no longer sit on the side line;

Sit on the side line thinking about how stupid talking about dishes is?

I don’t know what’s worse.

That I was just invited to a Tupperware party,

Or that I actually kind of want to go. 

Perfect Little Lines

Perfect Little Lines

Dedicated to a little sister who's been going through a lot lately. 

Perfect little lines,

As straight as can be,

Decorating her skin

For eternity.

Faded from years,

But their red is still clear.

Her eyes can still see

What her heart use to feel.

Covered by bracelets,

Those lines use to be,

Yet now they are displayed

For all to see.

The battle was fought,

The battle was won,

And her badge of courage

Shows that it’s done.

Marred Innocence and Other Poems

Lately, the dreaded illness of writer's block has prevented me from working on any of my ongoing chapter stories. In an attempt to cure myself, I've been working one some other, smaller projects. My energy has been turned from those larger works to practicing my skills on short stories and poetry. Thus far, I've written two short stories and three poems. Well, three poems that I will be sharing with you. I've written two others, but I am not at all pleased with them. That's how writing goes sometimes. You write, and write, and write, and some times you end up with the most glorious diamond...yet other times you end up with a piece of writing that you just know isn't going to go anywhere. 

What I have for you this fine night are the three poems I've written lately. I may eventually post the short stories as well. But, for the moment, just enjoy these little writings. They aren't the best I've ever written, but they're decent...in my opinion. 

Marred Innocence

Such a beautiful sight,

An empty page.

White, clean, perfect,

It’s all innocence.

Then along comes an artist,

Pen in hand.

With ink and paint,

They steal the innocent land.

Such a dreadful sight,

The marred page.

Lines, letters, curves,

Gone is its essence.  

Yet what remains,

Shows only truth.

With words and sketches,

The artist speaks to the youth.

Black

Tastes like freshly brewed coffee.

Smells like moist earth.

Sounds like vinyl records.

Feels like ground charcoal.

Looks like an endless starry sky.

Yellow

Tastes like Lemonade on a hot afternoon.

Smells like a field of blooming tulips.

Sounds like a choir of canaries.

Feels like the sun’s warm rays.

Looks like summer.

Reminiscing On the Good Ol' Times

Traditions. We all have them. Whether they're personal traditions or family traditions. Traditions that we celebrate together or alone. We all have those things that we love to do and do them ritually. My family has a lot of traditions, some of which are nothing more but memories. As my siblings and I grew up, as family members moved and aged, our traditions warped, shifted, changed into new forms. Some died, others are barley there, and still others remain strong.

Growing up, there was a tradition in my home that took place every Sunday or Monday night. Two sports. Two seasons. And parents that us kids would sit down and watch both with. With my mom, it was football. With my dad, it was NASCAR. Both of which, I wasn't insanely fond of.

As a child, I use to get bored watching football and NASCAR. I didn't understand the thrill of chasing after a ball or driving in circles, but I learned the sports. Learned how to yell out at the TV and how to cheer on my favorites. For not caring much, I did have favorites, and my caring for the two traditions grew more as I aged.

Now, at 22, I can honestly say that I like one more than the other. And I can honestly say that I have my favorite team and racer(s). I now enjoy watching the games and races. But its not because I care so much about who wins them. It's because of the memories I have attached to them.

I watch the Superbowl every year. I couldn't care less about catching any of the other games, but that one is a must for me. Likewise, I try to catch the Daytona 500. Those two events were two of the biggest nights in my house growing up. Friends and family use to be invited over for them, and for the races that followed and games that lead up to them. With those gatherings, came those memories.

Like all children, I never thought about how such events could effect my life. I never thought about the memories I would take away from them.

Now, I do.

Today was the Daytona 500, one of the biggest races in NASCAR. Race cars and drivers hadn't been anywhere in my mind until my dad called and said he was watching the race. The sound of his voice as he talked to me about the race brought the urge to watch it. I couldn't remember the last time I had caught an entire race. I'm normally busy or forget about them. But I had time today and it was the Daytona 500...I had to watch it.

Due to a rain delay I actually got to watch last year's Daytona race as well as this years. Two races, two years, same day...and I enjoyed every second of it. Annoyed my roommate a little too, because I channeled my father. By that I mean that all those times watching him and his friends talk to the TV during races, wore off on me...and I found myself doing the same thing. At the end, I actually said, "Man, I sound like my dad." That's a good thing though.

When I think of my dad, I think Pepsi, Sega Genesis (Some of you reading this probably have no idea what that is...look it up, kiddies), Star Trek and Star Wars. I think calloused, grease covered hands, and shirts smelling like tar and anti-freeze. I think summer days in the garage. Nights kicking Sith butt on the Xbox. I think of the man who had to watch The Return of the King before us children in order to make sure it wouldn't scare us, but didn't flip out when I purposely set out to draw a reaction from him with a fake nose ring (By the way, that earned me a reaction from my mother...where I was threatened with being sent to Georgia...I don't blame her though, and actually found her reaction to be amusing. Sorry mom, but it was kind of funny!)

My dad and I have butted heads so many times in the past, but he's one of the most important people in my life. My dad taught me how to ride a bike...an event that lead to me zooming down a slopped sidewalk and fearing that I'd run into something. He taught me how to throw a bunch of random food together in a way that's wonderfully delicious...he taught me how to fix the chain on a bike...how to check the oil in a car...how to deep clean a house (that was a weekly tradition that all of us children dreaded but my mom and dad taught us to do...I still do deep cleaning on Saturdays because of it). And my dad taught me to never give up.

I have so many wonderful memories of my dad. I'm so lucky to have him as my father.

I've been homesick for awhile now. I've been counting the days until Spring break when I can pack a bag and leave this lovely city I'm in for the corn fields of home. Funny how I use to hate those fields -how I use to see them as a barrier -and now sometimes all I want is to see them again. Watching the Daytona tonight was a little piece of home.

For a while during the race, I just sat there thinking. I thought back to this one race I watched back in high school. I think it was in 2008 or 2007. I'm not sure. But I remembered sitting on the green couch that was in the living room of the house that I spent most of my life in, in front of the window. I can see it as perfectly as if it happened yesterday. Light was streaming in from the large picture window behind the couch, the green drapes were pulled to the side in the way that my mom liked them. The light created a glare on the TV, but I liked the golden puddle it left on the floor so I dealt with the glare.

My parents weren't home that day. No one was. I don't remember where they were. But I remember sitting with my math book open, and reasoning to myself that the race was more important than my homework. I remember thinking, "Dad'll want to know who wins." It was the first race that I think I actually completely watched from beginning to end. It was the race that I chose my favorite driver...Jimmie Johnson. I'd tell you why he's my favorite, but I don't think you'd understand. Let's just say I'm a fan of stories and that entire race was a story of him.

That memory is precious to me. Johnson won that race, just so you know, and his niece was born just as he crossed the finish line. I talked to the TV then too, but I don't think I thought about how much like my dad I had sounded at the time. Tonight, though, I did.

While I talked to the TV through this year's Daytona, and cheered on my favorites, I felt like I was at home again. The only thing that could have made it better would have been if my parents and siblings and friends were there. I mean my friends that I use to watch the races with. I do have friends here, in this city, (just to clarify), but I kind of miss the ones I grew up watching the races with. The ones that I use to talk with about how hot Johnson and Gordon were and how we wished they weren't married so we'd have a chance. The friends who I use to talk about how cool it would be to get into Pit row with and meet the drivers with. Those friends that can't really even be called my friends anymore because we're more like family. Like sisters or cousins. We grew up together. Our dads use to tell us how to read the racing stats together.

Then there were our moms. Our moms, just like our dads, are amazing. They instilled in us what I like to call the Pioneer skills. Those skills that all homemakers at one time needed. They taught us to sew, to do crafts, to participate in Church events (that was taught by our dads too. Church was a family thing), and use to tell us stories of the women's retreats they went on. As a little girl, one of the things I looked forward to was reaching the age where I could go to women's retreat with my mom. Sadly, I've only been able to go to one...but it was as amazing as our mothers described.

Like my dad, my mom's taught me so much. She's taught we how mark up my Bible, how to read, how to write, how to sew, how to fix a vacuum, how to properly set a table, how to be a lady. You know how I mentioned all those things that made me think of my dad? Well, when I think of my mom I smell vanilla and  I hear Twila Paris, I see my mom singing along to A Warrior is a Child and driving me to quizzing, and teaching quizzing, and homeschooling me, and giving me my first journal, and reminding me to write in that journal, and going to my Track meets and my cheer leading events (with my dad,), and showing me how a record player worked, and dancing around the living room with my siblings and I to that record player, and telling my sister and I to stop spraying each other with the sink's sprayer. And as I remember sitting on my dad's lap as he read my favorite children's book series to me, Alice in Bibleland, I remember my mom kneeling by my bed and teaching me the Lord's prayer...and singing to me It Only Takes a Spark.

Theses are the memories that last. The memories that are important.

If you can't tell, I've been missing home a lot lately. I can't wait to get back to good ol' Nebraska. Even if it's only for a week. I think what I'm missing more, though is the past. I mean, yesterday I caught myself staring out my dorm window at an empty soccer field...but I wasn't seeing the soccer field. I was seeing a worn wooden eagle's nest, a chain link fence with morning glories growing up it, and an old burn barrel sitting by the garden gate that my dad had made for my mom's garden.

Maybe it's not home. Maybe it's not the past. Maybe what I'm really missing is familiarity. Someplace, sometime, that knew me as well as I knew it. Or maybe it's all three. I don't know. I just know, that this Daytona was needed for me. I needed the memories it brought up. The tears that sprang to my eyes when I thought of them. I needed that happiness, because -honestly -lately I haven't been very happy. I'm at a point in my life where I don't know where I should go from where I'm at. It's not a point of depression or sorrow...it's just a point where I'm trying to juggle all the stuff life throws at me so that I can make it past this step (schooling) and onto the next (graduation).

I don't know where to go from here in this post. Honestly, I didn't plan on making this post as personal as it's turned out. I try to keep the personal stuff in the pages of my journals. I suppose it happens though, and a personal one every once in a while isn't a bad thing. I guess, if any of you were trying to figure out if I was a human or not, now you have you're answer. I'm most definitely human, and I most definitely have memories. And I absolutely, positively, wouldn't trade those memories for the world.

There's a book I like, City of Lost Souls by Cassandra Clare, where some of the characters are forced to trade in a memory in which they were truly happy in, in order to save the world. If confronted with that decision, I don't think I could make it as quickly as the characters did. There's not a single memory that I can imagine giving up. Both good and bad. Theses memories are what keep me going when I get into ruts. They're what remind me that there are people out there that care for me and want to see me succeed. I couldn't part with a single one of them.

If any of you who are reading this, are the people in the memories that I mentioned today, I want to say thank you. Thank you for caring. Thank you for giving me such wonderful memories. Thank you for everything. Because, when the darkness threatens to consume me, it's memories like that which save me...which bring smiles to my face. So, thank you. And I love you. Each one of you.

Late Night Ramble

It's eleven at night where I'm at, and I don't really have much to talk about, but I told myself that I would try to update more regularly. So, I apologize in advance if I ramble or this post makes little to no sense.. 

Have you ever had a day that felt like it took ages to end? That's been today for me. It's a Wednesday, and it absolutely felt like a Wednesday. I told myself last night that I would be productive today, that I would get everything on my immediate to-do-list done. I started by going to bed early and making myself get out of bad long before I really needed to. 

I have to admit, I did get everything on my to-do list done, but that was the problem. I had a whole bunch of stuff to do, some of which I had been putting off for awhile, and it got done in a fraction of the time it should have. Both my roommate and I experienced this. 

Time was going by so slowly that, by noon, we had almost everything done. So, we took an hour and went out for lunch and Starbucks. Then I wasted an hour waiting for work and ended up having to waste time at work because I finished everything on my list there before my clock-out time (it didn't help that one of the things I had to do couldn't be done until the very end of my shift...so I had to literally waste and hour and a half between finishing everything else and that thing). 

Then, after work and classes, and lunch, and all that good stuff...I realized that I had nothing else to do. So my roommate and I cleaned our dorm room. And I'm talking about deep cleaned. The only thing we didn't do is vacuum and that's because I have to get a new belt for the faulty contraption. 

So, yeah, that's how my day's been; super productive, but still insanely long. Now it's a bit past eleven and I've completely ran out of things to do. Any normal person would think, "Bed, sleep sounds nice," but I swear I'm nocturnal. By the time it hits ten at night I'm wide awake. Can't sleep. Sometimes I have to write until I'm mentally exhausted in order to sleep, because -no shocker here, most likely -my brain won't shut off at night. It seems to think the dark hours are the perfect time to think about every little thing. Which is kind of why I'm writing to you now instead of laying in bed, staring up at the boring ceiling of my dorm room. This post may have no real point to it, but it keeps me occupied. 

Anywho, this day's been long and I hope tomorrow goes by quicker. I just want the weekend. Got something fun planned. Going to go shopping with a couple friends, and to get some iHop. Really looking forward to that. I need it too. All three of us need it. Some girl time. Sometime to push aside the worries of school, work, love, and life. Sometime to just be us and buy ourselves something (because we're awesome and we deserve it). That's what I keep reminding myself is ahead of me. That's what's getting me through this week. 

Before I go, let me leave you with my favorite quite of the day. My College Algebra professor said this today in class. "That's why you go to college, kids. To learn that zero doesn't equal thirty-six." On a side note, it is slightly humorous that he called us kids, because he's only like two/three/four years older than me.