more poetry by me
Rollercoaster
Up, down, spinning around
I jerk, lurch, speed up, slow down
I never know from one minute to the next
When I’ll be on top of the world, or in distress.
Quick! Inhale the rush of being alive
Before I take a turn, plunge, and dive.
Downside up, upside right
Day blurring into night
g-forces in control,
I’m at their mercy, body and soul.
Exhilaration, desperation
Anticipation, desolation.
Dizzying sensation, complication, separation
Deflated expectation, defeated exploration
My twisting contemplations lead to no destination
will I ever get off
Untitled
do I have a life left to live?
Do I have a gift left to give?
Will I ever escape the enduring pain?
Will I ever become someone strong and sane?
Can I learn to love, laugh, and be proud?
Can I learn to sing the song of my soul out loud?
I do. I will. I can.
“Our limitation is God’s opportunity. When you get all the way to the end of your rope and there ain’t nothin you can do, that’s when God takes over . . . People think they’re in control, but they ain’t. The truth is, that which must befall thee must befall thee. And that which must pass thee by must pass thee by.” -Denver, homeless man in Same Kind of Different As Me.
Secrets
They begin so slow but steadily grow
Blurring the line between what I feel and know.
They haunt my reality,
I doubt my own sanity.
Truth and lies rage a war inside,
My soul ravaged by guilt and pride.
A quietly-consuming cancer within,
Now I’m taken over by sin.
The war is ended, they have won-
Me, the secrets
Now are one.
Pain
Just when I think you’re gone,
You scream to remind me you were only sleeping.
Just when I think I’m alone,
I turn around and find you never left me.
Just when I think I’ve escaped,
Your grip on me tightens once again.
You’re the lover who won’t let go,
The companion I don’t want to know.
Resistance to you I can never show,
Why does your power grip me so?
rose
rose
I’m supposed to bloom and hide my thorns
always give a sweet fragrance, or be met with scorn
pretend I don’t have barbs that can prick
look pretty and red, nevermind that I’m sick
I’ve been told that what matters is my beautiful petals
no one cares that underneath I’m unsettled
I make a pretty garden, bouquet, or wreath
but what about the tears and fear underneath?
I need healing rain, I’m parched and dry
I’m wilting inside, but I’m afraid to cry
scared to open up and be vulnerable with you
cause I’m easily trampled and thrown askew
I’m beautiful but fragile, I need you to see
my thorns and my bloom, do you want all of me?
Woman
Woman
by Kristina Ross
Afraid, alone, abandoned.
She fears her own beauty.
Its power, she dare not show.
Yet- she aches to be known.
Intimately.
Passionately.
Recklessly.
The desire consumes her.
She ventures into the world
Desperate to be someone,
Anyone.
Always asking, searching,
Do you love me?
Do I shine?
Am I worth something? her heart shouts silently “…anything?”
Surrounded by people who know
Know who they are.
Know their power.
Know they’re desired.
Their eyes condemning
Without seeing her at all.
Their perfect lives transform into voices screaming at her,
You’re not enough.
You’re too much.
You’re an invisible burden.
Collapsing under the weight
Filled with voices relentlessly haunting her thoughts,
She retreats.
Accepts her fate of ugly worthlessness.
Rising, now with bitter resolve
She must prove her worth.
She’s determined to show that she has beauty while fiercely hiding it.
Fighting to become perfect like them.
Now feeling in control
She gets what she wants
Only to find the voices intensify.
Sinking deeper and deeper
Shrinking farther and farther
Sure she has failed
She timidly calls out,
Ashamed at her need to cry.
Finally she lets her Daddy hold her.
He doesn’t say anything.
His embrace softly quiets her soul.
The storm is over.
She looks up as He opens her eyes.
He shows her the ones she so envied.
Staring into their eyes, she’s shocked to find
Herself.
The fear.
The desperate search for beauty,
Grasping for identity.
But looking deeper, she sees
Unfathomably deep, unique beauty.
The condemning voices revealed to be lies, twisted accusations.
It hurts as the Warrior fighting for her soul tears down the walls around her heart she worked so hard to build.
His hands are tender, yet she fears the walls’ collapse.
For then everyone will see.
They do.
But she also sees their walls crumbling.
Led by the One who delights in her,
She dares to be real.
It’s painful. Painful joy.
She shares herself with others and learns to accept herself.
Though this battle is won,
the war is not over.
She still lets go of Daddy’s hand.
She rebuilds her walls.
The voices return.
But every time a battle is won,
She gets more courage from Him.
Courage to resist the voices
And courage to enter into the war for others.
As she fights for herself and others,
She calls them to join her.
Fight the fear.
Fight the envy.
Fight the perfection.
Dare to be real.
Dare to be you.
Dare to be beautiful.
slumdog millionaire
O…Saya
Slumdog Millionaire
They can’t touch me
We break off
Run so fast they can’t even touch me
Been that gypsy
Touch me I’ll show you tricks
with my zig-zag quickly
Pick up that pack on my journey
Dogs run, they start to follow me
Have my luck, some days they suck
When you live for the buck
We get for the family
One day I wanna be a star
So I get to hang in a bar
I’ll go to Vegas with the playas
Just to forget my scars
Sweat shops have made me shifty
Like a ninja with speed I’m nifty
I hope I live ’til I’m fifty
See my city go from gritty to pretty
this movie is such a great social commentary! one part that really struck me was when Jamal as a little boy starts getting beaten by an Indian policeman in the presence of two americans he was showing around the countryside. The Americans beg the policeman to stop, and Jamal snarls, “you wanted to see the real India, well here it is!” to which the American woman replies, “well here’s a bit of the REAL America, son!” she motions to her husband to get out his wallet. the man hands jamal a hundred dollar bill. Yes, throwing money to absolve guilt, solve the world’s problems, and then just walk away- that’s the real America, folks.
This song is the life-cry of so many. Little children becoming shifty because of working in sweat shops. They’re lucky if they make it to 50. Every day trying to erase the scars on their memories of the things they have witnessed. While the fat kid in the train stuffs his mouth with food, Jamal risks his very life to be lowered by rope so he can reach some bread on the rich family’s table. Lord Jesus, have mercy on us.
the haunting
the haunting
wasn’t it 1492 when Columbus sailed the azure ocean?
salty water lapping shores separating neighbors
come into our house- there is no honor in dispelling a neighbor
but unruly neighbors are a curse and bad religion is a plague
came the call from every corner with mangled crosses and dubious preachers
came, you came to our land . . . our lives . . . our homes
“virgin land,” mother earth milk & honey flowing from her breast- you saw fences
“virgin trees,” Sequoia mammoths decorating a vast green park-
you saw timber
“virgin nations,” going . . . gone- left from a greater civilization-
but you did not see me
land . . . trees . . . “ours” you say- and the nations? just a blight on
your conscience
cut the land, cut the trees, cut the nations . . .
this is the clarion Christian call
rape the land, rape the trees, rape the nations . . .
ignore my blood and tears when you pray
I am a red Indian, a raped virgin- you make me a “noble whore”
thrown into a dark corner with the trees, and the land, and the
“lost” civilizations
my spiritual reservations are the places you relegate to me
compartments fit for non-human species-churches made from
acreage and board feet
good Indian- come to church, makum’ god happy
good Indian get job, makum’ government hapy
good Indian keep quiet . . . subdued . . . silent
quietly turn your vile abuse, your bitter loss onto yourself and other
bad Indians
then . . . you makum’ everyone of us Americans very happy
‘cause we got your land
and we got your trees
and never forget . . . never, ever forget- that we got god-
so we got your souls!
where do the souls of dead Indians go?
where does one go after rape and torture, robbery and slavery,
disease and genocide?
perhaps we join the land and the trees
lingering with the spirit of Jesus on earth to curse savage Christian
civilizations
we die early and we die often . . . but we die slow
and, we die knowing a secret that you don’t even care to know
that your land will not rest
and your trees will make only crooked crosses
and your children will breathe their last breaths in despair
. . . groping for an identity that you could not steal for them
. . . grasping for an honor that always alluded them
. . . clinching for a God . . . and land . . . and trees . . . and
nations that were never theirs
and herein is the lesson . . . gifts can’t be stolen
and love takes flight where control makes its nest
and Jesus? O, Jesus . . .
You crucify Him anew with every sacrifice that we make to
accommodate you
wasn’t it 1491 when there was no haunting?
Randy Woodley
ebenezer
this is a story i wrote for RA class…..
I can’t sleep. It’s 4:45AM, and my mind won’t leave me alone. School doesn’t start for another three hours. What am I going to do for another three hours? I can’t stand being in bed anymore. Outside my window, the morning light begins to seep into the darkness of the night, promising peace to my torment. I grab my Bible, lace up my tennis shoes and am out the door in two minutes.
All traces of sleepiness vanish as the crisp morning air makes me suck in my breath. I walk fast to stop my shivering, my steps sure and solid toward the place I’ve gone so many times. It’s still dark, and I can just barely squint and see the bunny rabbits making their early morning social rounds. I smile at their bouncy fluffiness, wondering what about bunnies makes me so happy. Thinking about bunnies takes me back to my Sunday school teacher Mrs. Grimm, donuts, and learning that Jesus takes care of bunnies and birds so he’ll take care of me. I yearn for the simplicity of my childhood faith instead of the churning stress that now seems to permanently reside within me.
I’m now past the gate, the road turning downhill as gravel crunches under my feet. Pain from the past, worries about my future, and fear about the present follow me, skip ahead, and circle me like the birds I hear greeting the morning above me. What should I do about Molly? I don’t know how to handle the burdens she’s placing on me. And that competition….I know I’m going to mess up. And…..no, I can’t think about all this until I get there. Then I’ll somehow be able to make sense of everything. I hurry faster.
I see it, I see my place, where I have poured out my heart many times to God. The ugly but comforting pond greets me. Departing from the path, I step out onto the boardwalk leading me to my refuge. The trees shield me from the danger of the outside world. The bench is an anchor, my meeting place with God in times when the pain has no words and my prayers are inexpressible groans of the Spirit. I heave a sigh of relief as I sink into the smooth woodwork, the silence ringing in my ears. “God, I’m here again,” I breathe. I am desperate for His presence. I know my whirling storm of emotions can only be calmed by his voice speaking into my life. Somehow it is easier to hear the Lord’s still, quiet whisper among the soft sound of water slipping over rocks as the pinks, purples, and oranges of dawn spread over the canvas of sky. “Be still, and know that I am God.” Yes Lord, my soul will remain in you. I work to push all of the worries and stress out of my mind. I need reassurance that joy comes in the morning, that the dark night of the soul does not endure. Alternating waves of panic and peace engulf me as I sit. The sun breaks through the horizon, the bright rays of hope stinging my eyes with beauty and wonder. The worries of the night melt away as the sun grows more confident, gathering strength for the day and imparting it to me.
Rising from the bench, I stroll along the deck of the pond watching the two ducks dance around each other, reminding me that life is not really all that complicated. I long for simplicity. I envy the ducks’ blissful ignorance of emotional pain. Then God’s voice, seemingly coming from the ducks themselves, gently reminds me that the complexity of human existence is such a gift. I have the capacity to not only experience great pain but also unspeakable joy. My heart overflows with gratitude at the Lord’s faithfulness. I feel at rest in God’s arms in this place. I hear his gentleness in the hushed sounds of creation around me. I see his love in the splendor of the sunrise. His love speaks to me in the simple pleasures of ducks and bunnies. My mind knows his grandeur as I gaze awestruck at the glorious mountains in the distance. I again lower myself onto the bench, inhaling the essence of this place, forever engraving it in my mind as my Ebenezer, my sign of God’s presence in my life. He has led me this far, and I trust that he will continue to guide me. My soul is renewed, at least for the moment. I start to feel anxious at the realization that this peace will not last forever, that new problems will arise. “But those problems will also fade. Trust me,” again calls the voice of the One who created the sunrise and yet cares for the human heart. I feel His urge to face the day, to confront my anxieties with the peace he has poured into my soul just as I watched the light pour into the sky. My courage lifts with my feet as I begin the walk back home.
Choir Tour
God has blown me away. Again. Blessings never stopped pouring out for the entirety of the twelve days of choir tour. I had no idea that we were going to be doing such awesome things. But more than the things we did, I was awestruck by our surroundings. The earth truly does proclaim the glory of God! God’s imagination and the beauty He created surpasses my understanding. Twisted, massive tree trunks covered in damp moss, clouds shrouding the mystery below that suddenly pull back to reveal acidic lakes and craters as sulfuric wind blows in my face. A hummingbird, unusually purple, darting in front of me, the endless canopy of trees I see as I soar along the zipline- it all just takes my breath away.
The density of the forest especially struck me. As I watched mile after mile of thick forest go by, I got a mental picture of what it would be like to be in the woods without a trail there for me to follow- branches hitting my face, not knowing which way is up, hot and sweaty, frustrated at my slow progress. An image of the stressful, frustrating times of life when it feels like I’m going nowhere, getting stuck, and everything’s hitting me in the face. Everything is a tangled mess around me. No beauty, no order- I can only see 10 feet in front of me, and there’s nothing but the same ahead. But God tells me to climb a tree- ok work with me here- and get away from my surroundings, set my mind of something else, but it doesn’t make sense to me why he would want me to do that. I finally get to the top of the tree, and the view is breathtaking. Stunning greens and rolling hills greet my eyes. Now I see….the beauty, the whole picture- it makes sense. A vast forest unfolds before me, no longer the tangled frustrating web. THIS is God’s reality, beauty, majesty, everything flowing together to create a masterpiece. And so it is with my life. I can’t always be at the top of the tree where the tapestry that God is weaving with my life is clear and beautiful. Sometimes I just have to trust that he knows the view from above and will help me through the thick, dense mess below. Thank you for your sovereignty, Lord. You are stunning.
For some reason, I was not expecting to enjoy this trip as much as I did. One of the most unexpected blessings was getting to know the people I was with and realizing what treasures they all are! This year I didn’t bond with choir people very well because I had to leave 20 minutes early for a lot of rehearsals and, quite frankly, just didn’t put in a lot of effort to get to know people! But it was so refreshing to be able to spend quality time with so many wonderful people without worrying about anything and simply having a great time together!
Since we were guided by a tour company, we only saw the face of Costa Rica and Guatemala that tourists see. I feel like we didn’t see the real living, breathing Costa Rica of the common man. Not that I expected to see that, because the purpose of our visit was not the same as other trips to foreign countries I have participated in. But I am curious to know what life is really like for people who live there. I really want to go back and live there for more than a few weeks, and not as a tourist. This trip has inspired me to want to keep up with my Spanish. The desire in me to live somewhere outside the U.S. for a prolonged period of time was further cemented during the past two weeks. Not that I don’t like the U.S., but I want to understand a non-American mindset and be a minority where I live. I think this would be such a great opportunity for me to learn so much from the people I interact with. I love experiencing other cultures, other paradigms, other ways of living life. It’s fascinating to me. I still have more to process from this trip, I’m sure, but for now this will suffice. Tata!
Kristina Ross's Weblog 