Love of the Skim Milk Variety

Okay, so one of the things I love about my students and the school where I work is our poetry club.  I love that every other Thursday, students want to spend at least an hour (usually more like an hour and a half) reading their favorite poems, original poems, and offering constructive feed back.  Poetry is, after all, one of my very most favorite things!  It's also great because it challenges me to share my poetry with people in person (rather than simply via a blog).

So, after all that, let me share the poem I wrote and then read at poetry club today.

Love of the Skim Milk Variety

Love
. . . just ain't love
when it's of the skim milk variety
almost transparent
resembling the taste of love
but lacking the substance
taking love's place on the refrigerator shelf
but somehow leaving it empty and
unsatiated.
the poorest of substitutes
for the whole milk kind of love
an impostor
but worse
because it's so close to the real thing
that people drink it anyway.

Love
. . . just ain't love
when it's of the skim milk variety
But that's all you seem to find these days
unless you know how to wait
and wait patiently
for the good stuff to come alone

Love
. . . just ain't love when its of the skim milk variety
and baby,
I'm done.

I need the real
. . .unhomogonized. . .
. . . unpasturized. . .
. . . unadulterated. . .
kind of love.

Or nothing at all.

Lessons Learned from some of my favorite books:

Now, I have read some really great books lately. I mean some real page turners!  (This is the place where I tell you that if you have not read The Hunger Games , you absolutely must as soon as possible!)  However, it has been a while since I have read anything that moved and inspired me (rather that simply entertaining me!)  Don't get me wrong, I love to be entertained, but I also need to be moved by what I'm reading (at least some of the time).

Reflecting on the current inspiration-less state of my reading has led me to think about the different books I have read over the course of my life from which I have learned an invaluable lesson.  I am talking about books that have changed my life (and if you haven't read them, might possibly change yours.)

Anne of Green Gables:

I read this book as a young child, and it resonated so deeply with me.  You see, I was a bit too imaginative for most of the other kids at my elementary and I spent a lot of time alone and a lot of time being made fun of (until the 4th grade when Becky quickly and steadfastly became my best friend, but that's another blog for another day).  When I read Anne of Green Gables for the first time, I found (to borrow a phrase from the book itself) a kindred spirit.  I felt such a deep connection to the girl who loves nature (that's me) loses herself in a pretend world for hours (me again) and who wants little else in the world than to make it more beautiful for others.  Anne's silly misadventures, frequent miscommunications, and spropensity for mishaps seemed to echo my own.  I learned a lot from the Anne-Girl (as she is often called in the book).  I learned to look for the bright side in every situation; I learned to accept myself for all my quirkiness (and that someday, someone will love me not in spite of but because of these traits).  I also learned to be comfortable in my own skin.

The Little House on the Prairie Series:
I could go on and on and on about these books.  I read them cover to cover, in order, and as soon as I finished the last one, if I had nothing more tempting to read, I would start the series over again.  I learned a lot from these books, too.  The main character, Laura, was kind and considerate (good traits to learn) but those were not her defining characteristics.  She was first and foremost an independent young woman.  She took care of herself, she took care of her family, and (while respectful of authority) she had no problem forging her own way in the world.  I learned the most from her independence.  I am, perhaps, independent to a fault, but it has served me well in my nearly 30 years.  I know how to take care of myself,  I feel confident taking on any adventure life throws at me, and I am rarely daunted into giving up on a dream/goal/pursuit.  At a time when such independence was not valued in a woman, Laura Ingalls Wilder wrote in such a way that encouraged and fostered independence in her young readers.

A Little Princess:
Now, despite popular belief, this book does not act as a proponent of self indulgence or spoiling.  Instead, it offers insight into what life might be like if one lost all that was familiar.  In this classic by Frances Hodgson Burnett, a young woman must first adapt to life in London rather than India, then the loss of her father and all of her fortune.  Sara has every reason to whine, complain, and give up.  However, she takes everything in stride.  She cries, she mourns, but she does not allow it to dampen her spirit entirely.  Sure, she has her momentary pity-parties (honestly, don't we all?) but they do not comprise the majority of her thoughts or actions.  She goes about her work as diligently and cheerfully as possible, she cares deeply for others who suffer as much if not more so than she does, and she never loses hope.  I am so thankful I read this book as a young girl because there were times (even in my young life) that I could have worried only about myself and my problems instead of looking around to see how I might lighten the burden of another.  I often found myself thinking of this book when I was tempted to wallow in my own pain and misery.  This is the kind of princess that more little girls today should try to emulate.

An Old Fashioned Girl:
I realize I am getting quite long winded about these books, so I'm going to make it shorter and sweeter.  This Alcott book changed my life when I was in high school.  It was, of course, well beneath my reading level, but I read it anyway. And then I read it again.  And again.  The main character, Polly Milton, was the most optimistic, kindhearted, selfless young woman.  The lesson I took away from the book is simply this:  When you are miserable, sad, upset, or hurt, the best thing you can do is go out and try to find a way to make the life of someone else better in any way you can.  Helping others and keeping busy are the best ways to overcome the impulse of wallowing in self pity.

The Kite Runner:
I skipped a lot of years and books between The Kite Runner and An Old Fashioned Girl.  In a future post, I might go back and fill in the gaps (I might also write about the books I hate(d) and why. . .but that's another post for another day).  As for this novel, I do not think I will ever recover from reading it; nor do I want to.  That book changed my life.  The plot was moving -- the characters real, gritty, and honest.  In one of the pivotal moments, one character tells the protagonist, "There is a way to be good again."  It turned out that the way to be good again required facing fears and throwing aside selfish desires for the sake of another.  I want to be the kind of person who faces her fears and throws aside selfish desire and ambitions.  I am fascinated by stories of redemption, and this is one of the truest redemption stories I have ever read.

I have been working on this post for weeks, but just now had the time to finish it. I hope you enjoy it! Feel free to read/disagree/agree or open a dialogue about these books!
 :)

Wish I could take credit for this one. . .

If you don't read The Burnside Writer's Collective (click here to visit) you should!  They have all kinds of articles on pop culture, literature, movies, social justice, etc. etc. and one of the best parts is the section devoted to poetry and prose. 

I read this poem the other day, and it really resonated with me, so I wanted to share it with you.
It's untitled, and it's by John Pattinson. (Click here to see the original posting.


I do not see your face in the moon
Though once I saw your face in the moonlight, and
I cannot find you in the sunset
Though once we walked
Through an explosion of amber, ruby and topaz
And talked of nothing and all things and sun things.
I look for you in the stars of steel
And space-age plastics that orbit my backyard
Relaying phone calls not from you and television programs
You never approved of.
Once I had you but now I have lost you.
Yet I do not suffer from the delusions of the brokenhearted
Because I do not see you everywhere I go.
I see only that you are not with me.

Making Plans. . .

I don't know how many times I've heard someone say, "If you want to make God laugh, tell him your plans. . ." or something of that ilk.  Sure, the people who say that might follow it with a rather genial chuckle to themselves, but at the heart of their statement, there seems to be an undertone of disappointment, or dare I say, anger, frustration, or pain?  This age-old saying, while seemingly innocuous, almost implies that not only does God laugh at our plans and our our ability to achieve them, but he might be actively involved in squelching/ruining/derailing any sort of plan man makes.  At least, that's what the adage seems to imply, and that's what is has sounded like to  me the last 1.2 million times someone has said it to me, lately.  As well meaning as the speaker might be, when he or she says this, I shut down. . . I rebel. . . I find myself saying, "No!  That most certainly is not true, and how dare you say those trite words to me?!?" I might have been guilty in the past of saying such things, but now I know better.  Now I know that a heartfelt "I'm praying for you" followed by fulfilling that promise is the best thing you can do for someone whose plans have been pummeled to bits by the storms of life.

If you know me, at all, then you know I am a plan maker. That's just how circumstances of my life have taught me to live. My desire/need/compulsion to plan can be one of the most endearing things about me, or it can be one of the most frustrating (it just depends who you ask).  I make plans and I work my absolute hardest to make them happen. I make plans.  Sometimes my plan is to just see what happens, but still, that is a plan.   I just have to have a plan.  And not just one plan either.  I like to have at least a plan b, though often times I have plans c and d waiting in the wings for their chance to shine, should plans a and b fail or become fruitless and/or obsolete. 

In the past couple of years, I realized that my need for "back-up" plans could actually be seen as a lack of faith, or proof of neurotic tendencies, or evidence of someone who needs an escape hatch when life gets tough.  So, for the sake of  being an adult, stepping out on faith, committing to something with my whole heart, I gave up my back-up plans. . . all of them. I gave up on planning for all the contingencies, and found peace when I finally gave up planning for what to do when the other shoe dropped (as it inevitably had for my entire life. . . thus the planning compulsion).  It was one of the hardest things I ever had to do.

These past couple of years, with the exception of losing my grandmother, have been the absolute happiest of my life, so in that sense, giving up my back-up plans was the best decision I could have made.  However, now, without warning or clear reason, I find myself having to scrap the plan I had committed to so wholly.  The one time I could really use a plan b or plan c, or heck, even a plan z, I find myself without one.  Adrift. Directionless.  Lost. I wish I could just buck up, get to my drafting board, and come up with a new plan.

I know that giving up my back-up plans was the right thing to do, but right now, I will admit that I'm kicking myself for not tucking away some little, tiny, scrap of a back-up plan, just-in-case I needed it on a rainy day.  But, I didn't.  And so -- *gasp* --  I must get along as best I can without a plan (for now).  As much as I loathe this particular hand life has dealt me, I know God is in it, too.  He is good all the time -- even when I don't understand it, even when I can't see it, even when I'm angry, even when I am heartbroken, even when I don't have a plan anymore and I'm not sure what to do with myself.  So, I'm a mess, but I'm a beautiful mess.  I don't have a plan; I don't know when I will have a new plan; I don't know when I will ever feel like making plans . . . but I trust that one day, I will. 

Poets and Poems that I always seem to turn to . . .

I can't write my own post right now, but I wanted to share with you the poets and their poems whose lines are swirling around in my head right now. . .

Robert Frost:
"Nothing Gold Can Stay"
Nature's first green is gold,
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leaf's a flower;
But only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf.
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day.
Nothing gold can stay. 

Edna St. Vincent Millay:
"Sonnet LXIX"

The heart once broken is a heart no more,
And is absolved of all a heart must be;
All that is signed or chartered heretofore
Is canceled now, the bankrupt heart is free;
So much of duty as you may require
Of shards and dust, this and no more of pain,
This and no more of hope, remorse, desire,
The heart once broken need support again.
How simple 'tis, and what a little sound
It makes in breaking, let the world attest:
It struggles, and it fails; the world goes round,
And the moon follows it. Heart in my breast,
'Tis half a year now since you broke in two;
the world's forgotten well, if the world knew.

Pablo Neruda:
"20"

Puedo escribir los versos más tristes esta noche.
Escribir, por ejemplo: "La noche esta estrellada,
y tiritan, azules, los astros, a lo lejos".
El viento de la noche gira en el cielo y canta.
Puedo escribir los versos más tristes esta noche.
Yo la quise, y a veces ella también me quiso.
En las noches como ésta la tuve entre mis brazos.
La besé tantas veces bajo el cielo infinito.
Ella me quiso, a veces yo también la quería.
Cómo no haber amado sus grandes ojos fijos.
Puedo escribir los versos más tristes esta noche.
Pensar que no la tengo. Sentir que la he perdido.
Oír la noche inmensa, más inmensa sin ella.
Y el verso cae al alma como al pasto el rocío.
Qué importa que mi amor no pudiera guardarla.
La noche está estrellada y ella no está conmigo.
Eso es todo. A lo lejos alguien canta. A lo lejos.
Mi alma no se contenta con haberla perdido.
Como para acercarla mi mirada la busca.
Mi corazón la busca, y ella no está conmigo.
La misma noche que hace blanquear los mismos árboles.
Nosotros, los de entonces, ya no somos los mismos.
Ya no la quiero, es cierto, pero cuánto la quise.
Mi voz buscaba el viento para tocar su oído.
De otro. Será de otro. Como antes de mis besos.
Su voz, su cuerpo claro. Sus ojos infinitos.
Ya no la quiero, es cierto, pero tal vez la quiero.
Es tan corto el amor, y es tan largo el olvido.
Porque en noches como esta la tuve entre mis brazos,
mi alma no se contenta con haberla perdido.
Aunque éste sea el último dolor que ella me causa,
y éstos sean los últimos versos que yo le escribo.

I should be sleeping. . .

. . . instead, I will be writing for a bit.

I need some poetry.
               And no, not the epic
                                with its brash hero and wicked monsters.
               Not the love poem
                                with is sucra-loquacious
                                                              rhapsody over the splenda-or of love
                                   (or the agony of the lack there-of).
               No corrsetted sonnet.
               No elegy rife with tears.
             
Nope.
I need poetry.
But some of the less obvious kind.
Don't bother with the rhythm.
Pay no attention to the rhyme.

A simple subject --
predicated on understanding well
the story held in that old tea cup
or of your footstep as it fell.

Farmer's Market

I've  been going to Brownwood the past couple of weekends to help clean out my grandmother's house.  That has been tough . . . really tough . However, one of the upsides of driving the 3 and 3/4 (one way) hour trip these past two weekends has been getting to spend time with my family (with whom -- while I was in grad. school -- I did not get to spend near enough time). 

The past two Saturdays, my mom and I have gotten up early to go to the little farmer's market.  It's small, but full of really good people, selling really fresh, organic (usually) produce at really great prices.  There's a little bit of everything there -- squash, zucchini, tomatoes, sprouts, honey, eggs, flowers, and cantaloupe.  I love supporting the local folks instead of the corporate grocery types.  In fact, I would rather pay a bit more and know I am supporting someone local.  The market is full of people who care about their gardens, their community, and their customers.  It's so refreshing!

There's even a man who sells trees, and he has the most beautiful magnolia trees.  I wish I had more money and I would buy one for my mom to plant in her yard in honor of my grandmother.  I wish I had my own yard to plant one in, but I do not think it would do well in Lubbock anyway. 

Lots of work to do today, but going to the market was a nice way to start an otherwise tough day.