The Things She Carried

She carried a pocket knife and a smile, a pointless pencil, a pretty white lie

Half of a page from the King James Bible—reading commandments 6 through 10

She carried guilt, relief, she carried the Buddha’s zen

A hint of shame, an ounce of pleasure that she had gain

Hate for love, love for pain

A crooked smile, a heart with a frown

A Barble dove, an inner queen without a crown

A lighter with no gas, a secret for the pope,

A box of cigarettes that she uses to cope

A pensive sigh, passion for notes on a staff

She carried love, The Alchemist, life and a counterfeit laugh.

The Feel

It’s just the feel:

We’ve been carrying each other around, for as long as memory chooses to reveal.

Looking out at all of life, from behind wandering eyes,

Longing to run away in the sky.

Singing and writing

Is what sets my spirit free,

To discover all that I am, and was meant to be.

It is my home, where I’m free to roam,

An empty canvas, for me to paint.

A never ending rabbit hole,

I just keep finding myself along the way.

A place of work, worship and play,

We’ve been carrying each other about the day.

There’s always creative influences,

For there is much to be felt and seen.

Being present in the now & open to what lies ahead of me.

It is not all that I am, instead it shows me all that I can be,

And even more empowering when I share it with those who share the world with me.

It really is about the feel.

And all the truth that it reveals.

I no longer look-on-out with wandering eyes,

But I am still, and ready to go inside.

A world where words wrestle to explain.

There’s nothing there,

But there’s everything to be gained.

I will keep singing and writing

After all, it is an extension of me.

I am an extension of life,

I am anything I imagine myself to be.

I am creature of creation

I will keep on creating, as I feel.

I will keep on sharing it with the world,

That is looking in at me.