Archive for December, 2011

I love Saskatchewan it is my home. We may not have epic mountains, or wave filled oceans. Yes, it gets frigidly cold and the summers are short, hot and sweet. I find the beauty of this place is in its simplicities. You can see for miles on ground and in the sky. “Out here it is so open and so free and that’s what beauty is for me.” Here is a poem dedicated to this amazing province that I live and a few pictures.

The melting snow of spring,
Brings the birds back to sing.
Water mixes into mud,
and the trees begin to bud.

The humid nights hot on our skin,
the winter was a loss but summer a win.
Flowers and trees full and lush,
the herendous wind creates waves that crush.

The fall inspires, and makes the air clear,
We all know winter is almost here.
Leaves are raked and stratigectly piled,
We hope and pray that winter will be mild.

Sparkling hoar frost lines the trees,
counting the days till we see the leaves.
Winter is hard and very pain-staking,
but the beauty of it is really breath-taking.

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SUFFERING internally, 
for possible eternity. 

STRUGGLING with constant thoughts, 
fearing an inevitable loss. 

FINDING a way through the maze, 
much of my life spent in a haze. 

LOOKING for a place to leap, 
no rest for the sad and weak. 

CRAWLING my long way out, 
too many real feelings of doubt. 

BEING dragged into the darkest hole, 
now there is nothing, nothing but my soul. 

I wrote this poem after watching a documentary about a boy named Evan Perry who suffered with bipolar disorder and took his life at age 15 because he couldn’t get free of the madness. RIP Evan.

I am not the Lover

I am not the Kind

I am not the Mother

I am not the Blind

I am not the Air

I am not the Sound

I am not the Fair

I am not the Found

I am not the Funny

I am not the Birth

I am not the Money

I am not the Earth

I am not the Tame

I am not the Bad

I am not the Blame

I am not the Sad

I am not the Wild

I am not the Scared

I am not the Child

I am not the Shared

I am not the Safe

I am not the Birds

I am not the Waif

I am not the Words

This is a poem I wrote in middle school about not being defined by the words the world uses to define you. I strive to be undefinable!

Everything is connected, everything came from this strange random place that we call the Universe. Who knows why we are here; Maybe there’s no reason, maybe there’s a grand reason. All I know, is that I don’t know; And I would much rather live in a peaceful place of not knowing than in a world where there is a billion different explanations for one random seemingly unexplainable thing.

I dream of a world where nothing matters. Things like who you are, what you believe, what you do, what you have, who you know do not matter. We are all mothers, fathers, sisters, brothers, friends, children, aunts, uncles, cousins, grandparents, victims, heroes, criminals. We may live in different places, thousands of miles away but our fundamental problems are the same. We all want to be happy, we want love, we want connection we want other people to feel our pain; Relate to us, mourn with us, pray with us, laugh with us. We want to share our lives with others.

The sad truth is that we ache so much for connection that we begin to make up lies and characteristics that we hope will impress other people and help us relate to one another instead of just being who we are fundamentally as human beings. We lock our true, sacred feelings inside, letting them burn into our souls; all the while covering the scars of who we are with ideas and beliefs that are acceptable to everyone but yourself. 

In this world we know very little, however we have the perception that we know everything. We spend all this time worrying about ours things, relationships, aesthetics and frankly our own opinions. If people only realized that an opinion is nothing but a group of your personal perceptions about any one said thing. For instance, “That couch is beautiful,” is only a perception of the object; It is not soft or hard, beautiful nor ugly, the couch is simply a couch. Perception is everything in this world, in a way it’s humanity’s  greatest downfall. 

There once was a girl who lived in a box

She was taught to keep quiet

A voice urged her to talk

Over and over the voice told her to defy

Still keeping silent

She wondered why

“What’s outside this small, confined space?”

The voice posed the question;

The answer her mind wouldn’t chase

“Nothing,” she replied so incredulously

How dare such a query

This voice, how can it be?

Everyday the voice louder, questioning still

“How do you know?”

This was not her own will

“Alas my dear child you can find what is true,”

She wanted the answers

The voice already knew

“Open this box, and outside you will see,”

“Peace, love, bliss,”

“Outside it is free.”

What an idea to accept into the mind

It had never before

She had always been blind

“How do I open this box where I stay,”

The voice had this answer

“You will find a simple way.”

The voice left her body never to return

She mourned the loss

She knew she must learn

One day the answer wildly arrived

The voice had left

It’s wisdom still thrived

The girl stood up and pushed high above

The box slid open

And then a small shove

With pressure behind her she reached up and out

The air was crisp

Then a sudden shout

“I did it, I made it, out here I can fly”

The voice was not dead

“It was always in I”

It didn’t matter that she wasn’t always free

Why would she care

Now she could just be

To the box she went to free all the rest

It was closed so tight

She knew just the test

The girl used her voice and planted a seed

Someone faintly heard

The voice it would free

Over and over she spoke loud and so clear

Until someone listened

And let go of their fear

First one then many came out of the cubed space

The looks they held

Relief on their face

Each time the box shut a new voice would arise

Out of the darkness

Releasing silent cries

There once was a girl who lived in the open

She helped crack the box

Too let hope seep in