maybe we get stronger

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these grand moments tessellate,

become memories,

weaving latent symmetry.

 

science re-aligns:

brilliant humility;

always questioning,

 

always loving the design:

bright-brain mandala–

mazes lighting up the sky.

 

she sings to the rain;

embryo turned baby girl

turned future woman.

 

the dark day sings through the years:

while making coffee,

choosing her favorite mug;

 

the cat plays D-sharp,

the start of how great thou art,

on the white upright.

 

the glorious axioms

–love, light, shadow, breath–

shine through from the other side.

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a day is worth so much more than fifty cents

i keep finding myself driving down the short, short street

where i lived while you died — past the canary-yellow

pick-up whose bed remains empty; past the arched-flowered

front porch; past the circular stone drive.

 

where we walked to the first school bus stop,

beside the cool morning bench and lavender

bushes and walnut tree growing a stunning yellow

fungus in the shape of a swelling flower;

 

where my girl waited and cheerily tossed rocks,

petals, leaves into the gaping hole where the tree’s limbs

intersect — as if to say, you are beautiful; you are

worthy of receiving love unto your selves.

 

just down the street, the city library — where i can

never seem to stay in good graces; three weeks just fly

by and away and leave me in the breathless red:

a day is worth so much more than fifty cents.

 

 

just dignity

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the days of finding quarters in the

couch cushion corners are long gone.

 

the couch is long gone, along

with the house. have you ever

 

slept in your car? not because

you happened to, but because

 

you had to? well, the car is

long gone now, too. i find

 

the term food insecure

cowardly; it’s just another way

 

for people to not think the words:

     hungrystarving

 

to not look me in the face when

i sit beside them in the library,

 

stand at the corners of their

commute and ask them to

 

see themselves in me, their

past, present, future selves;

 

their children; their long-lost

job, nest egg, golden retriever.

 

listen: i know we’re not going

to solve the problems of

 

the world, or even of the

day — me standing here with

 

my cardboard sign; you driving

around in circles in your prius.

 

i just need something warm to

eat, and yes — to drink;

 

to seek and find a human set of

soul-eyes to look at me — not with pity,

 

or condescension, or even compassion:

just dignity.

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10 months; 100 followers (or, life is ridiculously grand)

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Well, I’ve just reached 100+ followers on this blog and received the token ‘trophy’ notification. So, a big THANK YOU is in order for all of you who are clicking on the links, reading, liking, commenting, and sharing in this adventure with me.

It’s hard to believe it has been almost one year since I started this, my first blog. It was something I had always wanted to do, but for many years I was extremely private with my personal writing. I think it took many years of public (professional) writing for me to realize that a) I have something to say, b) I am pretty good at saying it, and c) It is really inspiring and therapeutic to compile a bundle of thoughts/visions/emotions into a word-package and have people (including my own past/present/future selves) connect with and respond to it.

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I have also been encouraged by some very dear friends and coworkers to ‘put myself out there’ in more ways than one. With their help — and some serious inner urging — I have taken some drastic steps of faith over the past year… I have been unemployed twice, I have submitted several manuscripts to various publishers, I have ventured out into start-up business ideas such as freelancing and e-book publishing, and I am branching out further into blog-world at http://michellewarner.hubpages.com/ if you’d like to follow me down this new rabbit trail.

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Looking back, I am so grateful for all of the gifts — words, love, this blog, these connections, the signs, the seasons, the impressions, the infectious laugh of my teenage girl, the comforting company of my feline, the unrelenting support of my family and friends who reach in with both hands and pull me out of my self-flagellating funk time and time again. I am ultimately grateful to God who has sustained me and my family, who has continually shed a light on my path just in time, who has provided a true peace beyond all understanding — even in the midst of chaos, change, and uncertainty.

Oli and me

I am alive. I am awake. I am moving (locally) for the third time in four years and am panic-excited about where I will go, who I will meet, what I am meant to do, and who I will continue to become. Life is ridiculously grand.

the ever-giving opera

 

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after all the snow — the chilled beauty and heft

continuously served early, middle, and late;

 

after the desolate dark during which I dreamed

my self dead a dozen times and ways —

 

the greening court-yard!

 

and in it,

one lone red star;

 

open-mouthed,

wide-singing:

 

the ever-giving opera of spring.

 

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i walked by the church, stepped toward the stones,

tugged on the big red door; it was heavily locked.

i crossed on the breeze to the open art gallery

and stared at human handiwork. it’s just as well —

god isn’t in a building: god is in us; in our aching;

in our movements toward each other; in our

deep desire to feel, to be, to get lost and then found.

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