Secret Spies and Algebra 2/Trig

I miss you

or maybe I just miss the memories we made

You’re still there

and I’m still here

Right next door

like we have been for almost thirteen years

I still see you every week

We still talk every week

. . . But seeing you and talking with you

isn’t the same as

being with you

I know you’re always there for me

And I hope you know I’m always there for you

But . . .

I miss you

or maybe I just miss the memories we made

***

Playing with the hose in the summer time

over at Grandma’s

pretending like we were firefighters

or whales

or secret spies with water/laser guns

We could travel the world

and be anyone or anything we wanted to be

with an old garden hose

***

Collecting moss growing on trees

and wood chips

and leaves from shrubs

and mud

we pretended like we were witches

making some magical potion

or we were super secret scientists on the edge of a breakthrough

and all we needed was a moon rock

and we would create a serum for superpowers

or we were secret spies (we really loved secrets, didn’t we?)

trying to stop the villain from collecting all the materials for a nuclear bomb

***

Sledding at your house

then my house

then your house

then my house

on winter snow days

where we would have sledding competitions

against the other super secret spy team

or we would create the biggest, tallest, thickest

snow fort the world had ever seen

of three feet tall

that would melt by the end of the month

or we would make snow angels until they covered the yard

***

On the bus you would show me the dresses you drew

and we would oh and aw at them

and you wanted to be a fashion designer

or we would crawl under the bus seats

from the front to the back

and ruin our clothes

but that was okay

because we were doing it together

or when you told me paper was the healthiest, best tasting thing in the whole wide world

so we ate paper for two weeks straight

***

Playing cards down in Grandma’s basement

where you taught me solitaire

and 52 pick up

or playing Rummy with Grandma in the dinning room

while eating rhubarb pie

and listening to country music

or playing Go Fish at sleep overs

and passing the cards back and forth

between our toes

***

I miss you

or maybe I just miss the memories we made

Now the memories seem to be

doing retakes together in Algebra 2/Trig

or brief chats consisting of “I like your shirt today!”

before class starts

or texts asking for a ride home

I know you are just a short walk away

or a text

or a phone call

but . . .

you might also be a childhood away

maybe the you I’m thinking about

went away

with the dolls and foam balls and other childhood toys

I miss you

or maybe I just miss the memories we made

***

To: Mysterious, 22

From: Nerd, 19

18 – 14, 18, 19, 19, – 2, 12, 21

Still remember the secret code?

88

 

This Morning

Good morning

The sun rose for you this morning

The birds sang for you this morning

The dew faded from the grass for you this morning

The pockets of starlight in the sky was for you this morning

The cool silence of the dawn was for you this morning

The last wisps of the moon in the dawn was for you this morning

The flowers opened their blooms for you this morning

The darkness of night was pushed away for you this morning

The many new possibilities and opportunities are made for you this morning

The failures of yesterday are given more time to be fixed for you this morning

The birth of a new, limitless day is for you this morning

The brand new day is for you this morning

God made the sun rise

for you

God made the birds sing

for you

God made the dew fade

for you

God made the stars shine

for you

God made the silent dawn

for you

God made the morning

for you

All the wonders and dreams of a new day

for you

All the forgiveness and encouragement of a new day

for you

God wrote you a love letter in the sky

Didn’t you see His signature in the sunrise?

Didn’t you see His composition in birds songs?

Didn’t you see His love testament in the dew fading?

Didn’t you see His handwriting in the stars shining?

Didn’t you see His promise in the silent dawn?

Didn’t you see He loves you?

Didn’t you see the empty tomb on Easter morning?

Didn’t you see?

***

God made this morning for you

because He loves you

God gave you life this morning

And what a beautiful life it is

God wrote you a love letter in the sky

So go out and face the day

knowing that He loves you

and has your back.

Go out and live on this beautiful morning

---

This is the day that the Lord has made; let us rejoice and be glad in it.

-Psalms 118:24

Pixabay/user:clausheupel

No Earthly Power

It is more powerful than Pharoah’s soldiers

It is more powerful than the false god worship of Baal

It is more powerful than the Roman’s aqueducts

It is more powerful than European conquests’ vessels

It is more powerful than the Hover Dam

It is more powerful than anything in or yet to be in the universe

1 Hydrogen

and 2 Oxygen

produces

water and life as we know it.

I learned about elements and the Periodic Table in Chemistry,

but this. . .

This was something new entirely,

this is power unlike anything I have ever seen felt before.

With the raging roar vibrating in my ears and to my very core,

I think know no earthly power could create such a monstrous force,

no matter what the scientists say.

No earthly power,

my God’s power.

He, and he alone,

created the molecules to forge such a force.

But the basic reality of God is plain enough. Open your eyes and there it is! By taking a long and thoughtful look at what God has created, people have always been able to see what their eyes as such can’t see: eternal power, for instance, and the mystery of his divine being.

Romans 1:20 (MSG)

 

Niagara Falls on a recent vacation

 

 

Portals to the Soul

Why is it that I chose you?

What made my eyes shine

and my heart sing

and my mouth smile

when I first saw felt you?

Eyes are portals to the soul

and you touched mine

They say the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach

I guess the way to mine is through my eyes

Why is it that I chose you?

You are just pigments on a canvas

lines on a plane

a two dimensional object representing a three dimensional world

and yet you reached out and grabbed my heart

Not a person

Not a speech

Not a book

Not a landscape

Not a building

Not a sculpture

But a painting

I’ve never been fond of art

writing is more my cup of tea

but you

but you

but you

I figured out that I also like mango smoothies

and not just a cup of tea

***

In an old chest I found you

hidden by years and clothes and holiday dishes

put away because the wall space got cluttered

put away because the room needed to be redecorated

put away so that I could find you

I wasn’t searching for a painting

or any type of art

but I found you

Oh, the treasures we can find unexpectedly

***

Someone crafted you

someone spent time choosing

what scene to paint

what paint to use

what brush to use

someone painted his or herself into the picture

maybe not physically

but the imprint of their soul

the output of their heart

the fingerprint of their hopes

are displayed before me

The Painter’s soul went into the picture

I saw felt the picture

and now I have an imprint of the picture on my soul

Yes, eyes are portals to the soul

***

I guess I shouldn’t be asking

Why is it that I chose you?

I should instead be asking

Why is it that you chose me?

 

http://fav.me/d2r1gf8

Takes You to New Worlds

In third grade, an author visited my elementary school. At the time I hated reading. Our whole school gathered around him and sat criss-cross-applesauce on the cool tile gym floor. He talked about writing his famous book series and his writing process. Then he challenged us to read and write more so that we could become authors like him, if we wanted to.

Now I am expecting that you think this was my big writing epiphany. By all means it was not. Quite the opposite in fact.

The author had said what my mother and father had told me since I started reading, which was the same thing my teachers had said everyday during reading time.

“Reading books takes you to new worlds.”

The first, second, twentieth, and one hundred seventy sixth time I heard that line I believed it was false and to this day do I still believe so. I insist upon it to this day. Reading books does not take you to new worlds.

Now, anyone who knows me at all knows that I love reading. I am always reading a book if not five or six. I will read anything except for horror or heavy romance. I average about forty-five books a summer. Quite the opposite from my younger self.

But still I insist that reading does not take you to new worlds.

I read We Were Liars and yet I could never feel the sand underneath my toes on the Sinclair family beach.

I read Minders and yet I could never feel the cement streets beneath my feet as I ran.

I read The Great Gatsby and yet I could never feel how tight my feet felt in my shoes on the very hot fateful day.

I read the Shatter Me series and yet I could never feel the Persian rugs on the marble floors.

I read Anne of Green Gables and yet I could never feel the grass in the spring time.

These are just to name a few that even my toes could not tactical touch their worlds. Yet in my own world, I can recall every memory of my toes digging into the sand on summer vacations and of my toes discovering again the grass on my bare feet in the spring time.

I insist that reading does not take you to new worlds, but instead you meet new people.

I read so many books with so many characters and yet they are the ones I can recall swiftly. I can remember exactly when and where I was reading the book. I was grounded in this world, but I was talking and thinking in the manner of the characters in my head.

From the first books that got me hooked on reading A to Z Mysteries and My Side of the Mountain to the novel I just finished two hours ago No Place to Fall, no character is the same just like no person is the same or snowflake.

In books you are able to meet people in so much more of an inmate way than in reality. You know his thoughts, so vulnerable, and his past that is so much more than what is written on his face and clothes. (Pun not intended, of course!) You learn what is his driving passion and weakest downfall through out the two hundred plus pages that a quick five minute conversation could not.

I met a narcoleptic orphan genus boy in The Extraordinary Education of Nicholas Benedict that was my favorite when I was younger not because of world he took part in, but because of who he was. I learned about motivations and how people always have reasons behind their actions that may not even be the most logical ones.

I met an aspiring comicbook (sorry graphic novel) artist and writer in The Astonishing Adventures of Fanboy and Goth Girl that was my favorite a few years ago because of his creativity and passion for superheroes that I formed a connection with. His world was forgettable, but he wasn’t.

I met a talented, tortured, and tormented slave in The Astonishing Life of Octavian Nothing Traitor to the Nation Volume 1: The Pox Party who taught me about the cruelty of humanity, if I did not already know. I learned what freedom truly meant.

I met a super-powered broken fighting girl in the Shatter Me series that is my current favorite. I have never connected so deeply with a character, a person, like her before. I have never experienced a writing style like Mafi’s before because writing is truly an experience.

That is another problem with what the author said, “Reading books takes you to new worlds.” I am not taken anywhere. I meet new people and experience new writing styles.

Reading is a journey, from the first glance at the spine of the book to the last punctuation mark. Along the journey you meet friends and quite possibly enemies, but they are people all the same. That’s what they should have said to my little third grader self.

Pixabay/user:Comfreak

 

What I Learned About God from My Daddy

If you, then, though you are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father in heaven give good gifts to those who ask him!

-Matthew 7:11

---

Daddy,

You taught me about God

not only in Sunday School

or evening devotionals

but also about who you are

What a father should be like

I learned about my Heavenly Father

from you, my earthly father

***

I see and learn patience from you

When you taught me how to read

the kind tone of voice you used

when I was sounding out the words

“A Fly Went By”

I also learn about God’s patience

in shaping His children to grow in their faith

***

I see and learn the value of quality work from you

I see you do your best in all you do

and you expect me to do the same

so I do my best in all I do

One day you asked me to clean the barn

I cleaned it extra well

and I learned the meaning of

“Well done, good and faithful servant!”

Oh, how I wanted to hear something like that from you

Oh, how I want to hear something like that from my Lord

***

I see and learn assertiveness from you

When I wanted something from a teacher or a peer

You said, “Ask, the worst they can say is no”

and that I will never get anything without asking

I learned what the Son of God was talking about in Matthew 7:7

“Ask and it will be given to you; seek and you will find; knock and the door will be opened to you.”

***

I learn what prayer should be like with my Heavenly Father

At family dinners, we talk about our day

and thank each other for what they do for us

and I ask for counsel or help in certain areas

whether that be a math problem or life situation

I know I can come to you

and I know I can come to my Lord in prayer

***

Most of all I see and learn about your love for me

the sacrifice

the joy when I succeed

the grace when I fall

the encouragement in all I do

the pride you have in me

From your love for me

I realize what love God must have for us all

for you and me

for all His children

***

Happy Father’s Day, Super-Daddy!

I love you

My Super-Daddy and his twin daughters

Scream

Writing Prompt #47: Why shes doesn’t scream

---

She wanted to scream

and cry

and yell

and howl

and wail

She wanted to scream

But yelling

is for fighting

and threats

and wars

and break ups

She wanted to scream

but didn’t want the fight

She wanted to scream

but screaming is for fighting

So she let her heart scream

and cry

and yell

and howl

and wail

louder and louder

So she let her writing scream

and cry

and yell

and howl

and wail

louder and louder

So she let her silence scream

and cry

and yell

and howl

and wail

louder and louder

Soon her heart, writing, and silence yelled louder than she could

She wanted to scream

And so she did

But without the fighting

and threats

and wars

and break ups

She wanted to scream

but didn’t want the fight

So she screamed with her heart, writing, and silence

Louder and louder

 

bionicteaching via Foter.com / CC BY-NC

Poetry To Me

Why do I like to write poetry so much?

Because I think in fragments

and poetry allows me

to write that way.

Poetry is continuous thought,

one continuous breath

one continuous life

and sometimes

“- , ; : )’.?” Punctuation gets in the way

Poetry flows

like a river

taking turns and

bending bends

but always continuing on

to flow.

Poetry is like a shattered mirror

fragmented and

confusing at times

because of the ability to be

ambiguous;

but all the same time

when a reader reads

the words can be reflected back onto him

showing him his faults and failures

and forming words of affirmation and affection

that dialog or epistles cannot.

Poetry can be shallow as

a bird bath in a drought

or as deep as

a mother’s love

But to the poet

To the poet

everything has meaning

every jot and tittle

word choice

line breaks

Chosen with careful thought

to express an emotion

or moment

so striking it had to be caught.

Poetry is not just about love

(yes this I once did think)

but expressing every emotion

emojis can

and cannot

(hard to believe, I know)

Poetry can be written about

gum wrappers and school hallways

(’tis I who ascribed the words)

or can be penned about

the love of God.

So I have to ask

what is poetry

to you?

 

Weather Forecast

I’ve built the world

pages ago.

I wrote the dark and dreary forests

and foraged the happy and hopeful meadows.

I created the trees and carved my name in their trunks.

I scrawled the birds and now I watch them fly.

I’ve built the world,

but that was pages ago.

But now,

Now

I make the world dance!

I get to decide whether it will rain on the forest and meadow,

whether my characters will cry and fight

or

will it be a sunny bright day without a cloud in sight

where my characters will laugh and smile.

That’s the magic,

I decide.

I create

and now I get to control the weather forecast.

My characters are written in pages

and live in my heart.

They are so close to me,

I know them so well.

I devise people who I love

but someone who I would be scared to meet also.

I know their fears and loves

their mother’s first name and their children’s best friend.

I fabricated this world,

all the plants, animals, and stone walls.

But then I start to wonder,

if I feel this way about a world only typed,

not alive.

How does God feel about us?

Pixabay/user:geralt

Drop by Drop: A Rondeau Poem

“We cannot tell the precise moment when friendship is formed. As in filling a vessel drop by drop, there is at last a drop which makes it run over; so in a series of kindnesses there is at least one which makes the heart  run over”
– James Bowell in The Life of Samuel Johnson

 

Drop by drop we become

best friends, and I don’t believe that was random.

You, just being yourself, makes me so happy!

Together we are so giggle-y

Understanding each other’s humor we can say anything with freedom

 

With your friends, house, life you always make me feel welcome

Your great personality and smarts all packed in that lovely cranium

You are considerate, smart, a little scattered a times, and spunky!

Drop by drop, drop by drop

 

You trust me by sharing your thoughts, which is awesome

You are constantly trying to fix a real or a puzzle problem

You live in and have love for Our Lord Almighty

I am able to call you my friend, joyfully!

What an amazing twosome!

Drop by drop, drop by drop

 

Pixabay/user:Mary_L