fighting

it's cold in the blue truck
on the dark streets
with the hot tears
falling on a sleeve that
isn't yours

and your breath
like smoke
blasting frozen air with silence
while lungs
are screaming
of how they
hate to need my
love. . .

so when our hands
make their
way
through
heavy night,
to rest together
on the leather
seat

and mouths have hushed
the dagger thrusts
at tender trust

it's then we must
remember what
a gift

forgiveness is

coming back to life

crisp, yellow day
high hills
and shoes caked with mud, like peanut-butter on gums

sliding
surfing through old leaves
side stepping
slowly
so as not to fall

rocks
and moss
and trickling water
bubbling nearby

the first days of spring
and promises of life
budding
beneath
grateful feet

Cream of Wheat

grandma kneaded dough
with kites flapping 'neath her arms
and invited curious curls
to
sprinkle spices
and flour
         dabble at a dribble of
imagination,
                 drip
                     drip
                 drop

on Winter visits
lights set fire
to carols
weaved by the warmth of her rocking chair
evergreen arms
were friendly
and tickly
like her saggy skin

spicy hot cocoa,
spilled into
just-right-for children
polka-dot mugs
with pinchable handles,
just like grown ups
and squishy mini-marshmallows
to console
that tiny place that
doesn't want to be big yet,

always served later than necessary
with a crumb of
Ramona Quimby
and
then off to Care Bear-
Winkin-Blinkin-and-Nod
or Rainbow Brite
sleeping bags

warm days
meant rocks skittering across lakes,
painting a ladybug pebble
or crafting manila tag-board
furniture for a
needy family of dolls.
It was
learning to crochet,
pretend play,
Shirley Temple
and animal shapes,
dandelion glasses
               always only halfway full
"you can have more if you drink it all"
and that's just the way it was

she wrote a book on how to be thankful
wrote a novel on how to help those in need
but mostly taught
three girls that Cream of Wheat
(as in all of life)
is better with lumps and love

a Wretch like me

You were so kind it was scary,
always coming to mind
rewind-remind-hands out
and dreams that meant something

running was more fun
than admitting all the wrong I'd done
Rewind-remind-myself of
how awful I'd been
looking around at all the 'perfect'
people. Hating them for looking at me
hating them for scrutinizing
the needles and the ashes and the red letter
That were home to me.

that day I flew through barbed wire
And fire to land on my face
at Your feet
I didn't ask for mercy,
I didn't ask for a thing,
I just collapsed and waited
for lightning to strike my face
for all the waysthat
I had hurt You.

how is it that You scooped me
Up so tightly, burned my red letter
And all the needs that drove me
to make a wreckage of my heart
And hands?

my record of rights
never met your demands
But you still
rescued me

"But when the kindness and love of God our Savior appeared, he saved us, not because of righteous things we had done but because of HIS mercy" Titus 3:4

airplanes 5 7 5

metal wings, made to

rip the sky open, sound like

Godzilla, dragging

boulders down paved streets.

Dreamers have only foes to

make on nights like these

mouth disease

just because you can write
doesn't mean I should listen
just because you can speak
doesn't mean you should be heard

your brothy mouth is where
a fleshy corpse would boil
if it stayed a moment
to hear your toxic words

i don't think the good Lord
intended those lips
to love the sewer so much
and I don't think anyone healthy
would want to hear that nasty black story
that you invented;
       to gain your audience,
       make yourself feel 
       like a broadway singer
but your 'poor me' feather scarf
is made up of
children's broken hearts
and your red dress
is blood
slurped and
syphoned
from the rattling tears of innocence

Go and Hide in shame!
your pretty face won't bring praise.
your tongue has made
nauseous
even the Doctor
with a cure
and found your future dimmer
than ever before

when i think of someone hurting you
of someone
lashing out at the little boy in you
running bases and shouting
insults at you

i am Furious.

i am like a mother bear
I'd like to tear them
to shreds

because no matter what makes them think so
it is not okay
what they are doing

and all you really need
are hugs
and ice cream
and a shoulder to cry on

I don't agree with it
there's always another side.
one might seem grassy
and the other a lie,
but things aren't always what they seem

you are brave for not defending the flesh
when truly it's the spirit at stake
but the spirit will still shine
after all harsh words resign
and you will be left sparkling there
without a doubt
upon your shimmering wings

If I had my child to raise all over again...

iF i hAD mY cHILD tO rAISE aLL oVER aGAIN,
i'D bUILD sELF-eSTEEM fIRST, aND tHE hOUSE lATER.
i'D fINGER-pAINT mORE, aND pOINT tHE fINGER

lESS. 
i wOULD dO lESS cORRECTING aND mORE cONNECTING.
i'D tAKE mY eYES oFF mY wATCH, aND wATCH wITH mY eYES.
i'D tAKE mORE hIKES aND fLY mORE kITES.
i'D sTOP pLAYING sERIOUS, aND sERIOUSLY pLAY.

i wOULD rUN tHROUGH mORE fIELDS aND gAZE aT mORE sTARS.
i'D dO mORE hUGGING aND lESS tUGGING.

~dIANE lOOMANS,

About My mother

I must have believed

at least for a time

that those yellowed teeth

were

sponges pregnant

                      with (some

                      type) of truth

         for,

         although I remember no joy in anticipation,

the lack of delivery

         birthed in me,

a hard and

bitter wisdom.

my sisters,

they were

          knobby-kneed and clumsy,

flocking like seagulls

to the stain

of her

waterless words(

           fuzzy headed baby chicks in the

           swirling cycle of her hand)

Whose sores

sting more?

the  newborn aware for the need of weapons,

who learned to spew poison,

and pushed even milk away?

Or the sparkly eyes

that skipped and

smiled

unexpectantly

                 until the day

their hearts and heads

would come to bleed

in the guillotine

of

reality?

Perhaps

Ignorance is only bliss

If it never  gets unveiled

This Dress by Maria

this dress holds

no meaning

for me anymore

its hem

has touched

the most filthy

of streets

it's color looks flashy

and desperate

love me it screams

wear me out

and i, turn away

reaching for that pale one

in the back of the closest

the one I've been thinking

of for a while

but never quite caught my eye

this dress only looks good

on me

when your holding my hand

I wanna wear it out

my hands

their all trembly

as I fasten the little buttons one by one

                     Im shining like the sun as I

                     twirl and spin

                     and dance with

                     my daddy again

                     your hands are big

                     big enough to hold my life,

                     my world

                     looks small wrapped inside them

                     spin me around

                     daddy

                     faster and faster

                     till the world dissapears

                     and all that's left

                     is you and me,

                    this dress,          and                         

                    your

                    hands

i hate 'Christians'

okay, it's true. i do. and i always have.
hated the people who say "I'm a Christian"
"are you?"

i hate how they act
like it's all nice and neat and fits into a petite
little box
Like being 'a Christian' is a type of cologne you wear
or the way you do your hair
or maybe Spanish club

and when i was a kid i hated them more
i even swore
i'd NEVER be like them
walking around
talking about how
everyone else sins
and
telling their children
"you can't hang out with them"
because they are bad

good thing I later figured out
that most "Christians"
don't have a clue about Christ

because if I know anything at all,
i know that He didn't walk around
hanging out with a perfect crowd,
i know He didn't look to be powerful
or have money
or wear the right shoes
or tell women to wear skirts
or wash away the dirt
that covered them
before He came to them

no, I'm pretty sure most "Christians"
should just be called "clueless" about Christ

because He didn't tell people
to "pray for others" as much as
He told them "come to Me"
He had no interest in those that
considered themselves good
and considered themselves clean

He didn't look for people of prestige
with fancy cars
and diamond rings
at all

May I be bold enough to say for a minute
that maybe even Jesus hates "Christians"?
at least He has to hate
when they get
all puffed
up
like blowfish floating around like
they know
stuff
when they don't know this:
that
the only thing worth knowing is
that we don't know anything at all

if being a "christian" means following Christ than
they better get on the ball

or change their name to something
that better describes
the taste of vomit in a person's mouth

Cancerous Memories

Cancerous memories

and the therapy makes you sick

but you still slip between its sheets

if forgetfulness has promised to befriend you

when you have given every

         aching

ounce

        of you

and your blood flows

        only

when they speak

and your oxygen

         is the heat

of their fingers’ breath

on the

glass

          of your skin

and when the

sleep that you dream

comes awake

in their eyes

sabotage is the only escape

when he takes the fragile fetus

of you

and tears it from its home inside his ribs

when he burns

the cord that ties

sharp scissor snap

and charcoal burns

and casts

it into worlds unknown

the pain can only come with a drowning of the

thing that holds the memory

I had to carve through

nerve and sinews

force frail hands to

pry apart the

cartilage and bone

that had attached

me to you

and then somehow

regenerate
the
leftover scraps
that
had been made
of my heart

your Kindness

i won't forget this, you know?
someday, when our smiles have etched creases around our eyes,
I will remember,
how you've always been
by my side.

We laughed when you had to spoon feed me,
and brush my teeth.
when you wiped the blood off my face
you said
"it was like this at the group home"
and you were happy.

i think you're beautiful.
the way you sleep on the floor to be near me.
the way you smooth my hair
and wake up on the hour to care
for me

Strong enough words could not be written
to tell you
just how grateful I am for you,
just how much faith I have in you.

Tall man, broad shoulders, and so much power,
and yet you are pudding inside,
soft and sweet
enough to stoop beside
and make yourself a
servant to the tiny thought of me.

A Word to Abusers

I’m sorry that you were treated so bad

that you feel you have to act like that

                             in order to feel good?

I’m so incredibly sorry

on behalf

of whoever slammed your face in the dirt

and made you hurt;

       the bloody shirt of Jacob

ripped right off of you

there’s just no way

that you can play

like the hatred inside of you

is something you love

that the venom

you spill

you are

             (in control of

Not me.

i'm Not Your Property)

I am so sorry for

the things that scared you so much

you grew afraid of touch

retracted and got bitter

It was wrong

what was done to you,

sinking in the bathtub

holding you down til you can’t get up

making sure to break your heart

so much

that it can never love again

Yes.

I am deeply sorry for you.

                     

           BUT...

I am not about to take the blame

for the shame that you feel,

for the things that you smash 

when you can’t face what’s real.

No, I didn’t cause that.

and just because 

someone spit 

in your face back then

is no excuse for you to pretend

that’s it’s okay to get revenge 

on Me

not afraid

this feels big
but only when I lose perspective.
There are many rocks
           in
            the
              stream of life
but they all erode
                   over time

and this might feel like Goliath

6'9 and wielding
        sword,               spear             and javelin

but small stones
have a way of lodging themselves
                   right
                   between
                   the
                   eyes

take heart, I remember,
when dark forces overshadow...
when men taunt and
waves capsize all I know

there are no weapons mightier                                                       
than those that are
                                 invisible
  No armor
like the                      gates     of      heaven
wrapped around                your soul

truth Serum

Warning: Extremely sarcastic commentary ahead

Truth is
that truth cannot be found in an ice cream store

which flavor would you like, sweetheart?
candy cane or lemon tart
would you like the kind that goes down easy,
or the one that tastes real gooey?
lucky you, that most are sweet enough
to make you sick

"now, now, now
let's be respectful to the many colors here"
"perhaps that one is poison to you
but some do enjoy
black-widow-ice cream with just the right amount of whipped cream"

don't cry now child
it's okay to be confused
you just pick the one that's 'right for you'
and pray
it doesn't kill you

heart puddles

this morning I looked at you
and my heart hoped things for you
that I knew you couldn't hear
and weren't yet ready to hear

but in a moment
that

      hope grabbed my soul
and bound its
tiny wings around it
and
had i not whispered to God about it
it would have fluttered-strong
and
escaped my throat

the thing I whispered was this:

i pray that your heart
melts
into a puddle
and that the finger of God
stirs and swirls it
until it
           never is the same

And I put two creams in my coffee
and thought of how
He did that to me
and how much richer
           life became

sorry, Anne Frank

sorry, Anne Frank,
but I lied yesterday
and a mother just murdered her child
yesterday

and what's worse is how is easily                          
she just walked away
because men like perfume
and a jury is swayed
by the lust in their heart
for the damned dollar bill

(sorry, I don't mean to be profane but strong sentiments are definitely necessary here)

my neighbor has blue suitcases sitting on his curb
because it felt better
to fantasize about what he couldn't have
than man up and

cherish                                                         
what            he  
                                already  
                                            does  did

i watch innocent children
who were not raised to lie
squirm and scream and get fiery eyes
when demanded they apologize
for the gaping wound on brother's knee

no, Anne Frank
those men
surely did
intend to harm you      

and everywhere
a candid
truthful
man does stand
she or he will see that indeed
we all think mostly of ourselves

and that is
not
the
least
bit ...
good

SO
the
best
thing

we can ever do
is ask
the        only One who
        
                actuallyIS

to  

please

forgive our souls
that we Einsatzkommandos, too
may neither
never
find ourselves
so full of blood
that we invent a gas chamber

***  "It is not that we can't do good.We do. It's just that we can't keep from doing bad. ..." Max Lucado

this View

I love how Your love
makes
A shiny sweet temptation
taste        like          sand
Like    something    bland
and undesirable

I love how Your words
make another's scorn
that would normally scar
and tear and burn
feel like tasty bread
that leads us to Your water

I love how
Your
       shelter

makes the waves
And the thunder into
silly           surmountable
things
Things that only usher us
back to that
Breathtaking
P a n o r a m a of Your arms

And I love how Your affection
makes perfection of
a heart that's bro  ken
Strengthens (what the world
calls weak)
   

                                      cheek
and lifts                wounded
                        a

So bring the sting
of disapproval
      Slash this face and
                         break
                       this will
I have a Love that
             Can't
be severed
I have a strength
that suffering builds

into The mirror

peel off that flesh
be brave
look inside
360 degrees show things
men try to hide

easier to dart the eyes
to pierce another,
run,
disguise,
champagne flutes
and poker lies
reveal a coward's game

but when the ticking masquerade
has stopped
 
and the crescent moon
has sliced the jet-black sky

the

silence      of self
                sets in

and threatens to eat you alive

narcissus

you are the reason
that anger comes to life

you give wings to disillusionment
you rip out roots of hope
and you think you hurt no one

you are the anti-dote
to a dream
the bride of deceit,
standing on the edge of the reflection that you see
falling in
to infatuation
with
yourself

and the videogames
keep his bright eyes
busy
so he won't see the
needles in his spine

but Hurry!
quick
you are losing time
before his heart explodes
in the pain of knowing
what you've done

when i cry

I think perhaps you thought me beautiful at first glance

not knowing I was all apple-dropped

and chopped up inside

if you had seen my bruises, well, what then?

But you did not.

And you had already fallen

before those lovely curls unfurled

and you finally detected

the different fragrance of freshly shattered

glass in me

and you were already sinking

perhaps

before my glittery eyes

betrayed

disguises

construed

in the valleys of life

and you could not unclimb me

then

how do you feel inside

when I cry

and I’m fragile (?

And the only lovely part of me

often looks like misery

          

        when I hurt for the world

in a world of hurt

and the ache is what He uses to make

me clean?