Pinch Me. Please.

Do you ever feel a bit unmoored by life? What is it YOU do to get fastened down again? I generally like to vent, often in a poem. An example is this latest poem of mine, where I decided venting in sonnet form might be an interesting move. Hope you have some fun with it. I did.

Pinch Me. Please.

©2016 Susan Noyes Anderson

Perhaps I've slipped the bonds of earth too soon,

or maybe I have simply loosed my grip

and orbited, a rather ghastly trip

that leaves me somewhere underneath the moon.

The dish has run off with my errant spoon.

No cow in sight, and yet a pirate ship

encircles me, my erstwhile dreams to strip,

bursting my bubbles with a mean harpoon.

I am no novice to the fractured dream,

the fairy tale that twists when it should turn.

My storyline's been split at every seam.

Release the purloined keyboard. Press return.

Or better yet, skip to the final scene,

where all is well and nothing left to learn.

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No Go with the Flow

No Go with the Flow

©2016 Susan Noyes Anderson

Sometimes I curl my toes

against the tide.

Immovable, I catch

a swell of pride

and ride it nowhere.

Only I hold sway.

No force of nature 

spirits me away.

A pity that I'm stuck

in shifting sand,

somewhere between
cool water

and
dry land.

This week's motif was acceptance.

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Be Still and Grow

photo by Francesca Woodman

Be Still and Grow

©2016 Susan Noyes Anderson

Sometimes, life's colors spin away and set us spinning, too.

The air about us thickens, and we lose our point of view.

Each breath a gasp, we cling to light, unwont to disappear;

but still we feel our edges fading, blurred by swirling fear.

We call for help in urgent tones, but none can penetrate.

We spin. We spin. Inertia has become an active state.

When balance fails, we land once more in stark reality.

The truth awaits us all. Be still, and grow. Let go. Walk free.

∞§∞

"Be still, and know that I am God."

Psalm 46:10

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Where Is the Pavilion?

Last week I wrote a New Year's poem filled with cheer and optimism, but that doesn't mean I'm not aware of the turmoil surrounding us today. In fact, I am all too aware of it…and I sometimes find myself worrying about the future of my children and grandchildren, who (collectively and individually) secure my warm, fuzzy place in this world. With that in mind, my contribution to Warm Heart Wednesday is this poem, reminding me and anyone else who is looking for hope that it can and does exist, always. 

May we teach our children well that this is true.

Where Is the Pavilion?

©2015 Susan Noyes Anderson

Where grows the tree so firm and strong

that no foul wind can bring it down,

the tree so straight and true and tall

no hunter's axe can make it fall?

Which branch, nourished by rain and sun,

still puts forth buds when spring is done

and when the earth runs dry, digs deep

to sip each drop its roots can keep?

What lily blooms beyond the frost,

once ice assails and hope lies lost?

Whose trembling hand will reach to save

such fragile beauty from the grave?

How can a forest loom so still?

The air feels empty, and the trill

of birdsong goes to silent plea,

a ghost inside a memory.

The beauty fades too fast, too fast.

Peace moves in slowly, rushes past.

Where lies the power to brave the squall,

to seek the blossom under all?

I must believe and always will––

the tree, the branch, the bloom, the trill,

and all the beauty of each soul

reside in Christ, who makes us whole.

The power is in His loving hands

to fit us for this world's demands,

sustain us by His selfless grace,

and ease us in His warm embrace.

What is my part? To plant in me

the branch, the bloom, the stalwart tree.

∞§∞

"O God, where art thou? And where is the pavilion that

covereth thy hiding place?" –D&C 121:1

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Exposure

Self Portrait, Vivian Maier

Exposure

©2014, Susan Noyes Anderson

Just when I think that I can see

all of the angles that are me,

another flashes into view

and makes me question what I knew.

So much depends on light and lens.

Great captures fade to try-agains;

and shutter speed, while in my hands,

falls short of what my heart demands.

I thought I had a good eye. Strange,

to watch the composition change

without my knowledge or intent,

by happenstance or accident.

Despite my heartiest denials,

no matter how I twist the dials,

control eludes me and the frame

finds parts of me I cannot name.

I miss the days when I felt sure

of ISO and aperture.

Exposure offers ways to see,

but is it friend or enemy?

∞§∞

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Illumination

Illumination

©2014 Susan Noyes Anderson

Moths are drawn to light

and so am I,

wings awave against

the darkened sky.

Free to fly yet 

bound by naked need,

anchored to a source

I can't concede.

Moths delight in light

and so do I,

seeking shining answers

to my Why.

∞§∞

(I fear, sometimes, to meet
their tragic end
and pray the light I choose
is proven friend.)

PS. For those who are interested in family topics, I am guest posting here
today on the subject of how to help our children become friends.

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On Parenting: Walking the line

On Parenting: Walking the Line

©2014 Susan Noyes Anderson

 

Of late, my life is hard at best,

and best is hard to find.

I lay down, but I get no rest

with so much on my mind.

My body's always out of sorts;

my brain is stuck in worry.

I do the things I have to do

but flatly, in a hurry.

I'm eating more than I should eat

and exercising less.

Anxiety and consternation 

crowd my happiness.

The things I fret and fret about

are not in my control.

I know if I would let them go,

then I would feel more whole.

I need to give them to the Lord,

just trust Him and be still;
but it is hard to watch and wait
until I know His will.

That's parenthood: To care so much
yet have so little "juice."

Adult children need struggles. 

Face the facts, and cut them loose.

But don't forget to walk that fine line.

Keep the rope on hand.

Supporting is a parent's role

(at times). You understand?

It's no small feat to be a mom

who gets the balance right,

who listens lovingly by day

and still sleeps well at night...

The one who keeps a boundary, but

knows when to cross it, too.

God's training me again, right now.

(I still have work to do!)

∞§∞

It does help quite a bit to see

the Lord knows what He's doing.

I feel Him with me every hour:

supporting, not rescuing.

{Apparently, He's got this parenting 

of adults thing down pat.}

:)

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The Fix Is In(side)

The Fix is In(side)

©2014 Susan Noyes Anderson

My life is hard; she likes to say.

In fact, she says it every day.

Reliably and without fail,

Poor me has been her holy grail.

She's taken knocks, and that's the truth.

It's gone that way right from her youth.

The girl can't seem to catch a break.

Most days are more than she can take.

Maybe, she says, her luck will change.

She's always thought it's kinda strange

how helpers come and helpers go.

Nobody sticks around, ya know?

They don't show up for me, she cries.

And no one's gonna say she lies.

But how can anybody help

when she's a no-show for herself?

∞§∞

Of course, nobody makes it through hard times alone. We all look for cheerleaders in life––and who doesn't need good people to pass the ball to when we're about to take a dive? With trouble chasing us down, a quick hand-off can keep us a step ahead. But we still have to suit up every day, to get our own hands dirty.

Lasting change comes from within, where the power is...our power. And the precursor to finding life fulfilling? Being willing. 

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Exaltation: A Journey into Light

Image ©2010 Rose Braverman

Exaltation: A Journey into Light

©2014 Susan Noyes Anderson

The road of life is rough and steep

with little ease along the way.

Some rivers cut and plunge so deep

they throw us back to yesterday.

We pick up things along the path

to carry with us as we go.

They weigh us down when times are hard

or lift us up and help us grow.

Quite often, we can see the light

that beckons from beyond the shade,

but other times the view is dark

and progress must be blindly made.

It matters not; the trail is marked

by twists and turns beyond control.

This is the journey all must take

to sanctify the human soul.

To bend, not break is our desire

and by His hand we will succeed.

A sacrifice was made, well made,

and God alone knows what we need.

In His own wisdom, we reside.

I would not thwart His will with mine.

And yet I cannot help but dream

of gentle stream, of soft sunshine.

Why must the storms come crashing through,

the waters roil and rise so high?

The jagged rock looms slick and sharp;

the thunder swallows up the sky.

And we are left to brave the night,

a night that stretches on and on.

The moon goes out; the stars fall down;

hope flickers, wanes, is nearly gone…

And then a spark…a glow: sunrise.

The day is won. The Master’s grace

shall never yield to darkness, yet

He cedes to us our part, our place.

We lift the load, resume the journey.

Faith renewed, we carry on

with burnished hearts, the light in us

refined each time we wait for dawn.

His light will turn our hearts to gold
as we, in faith, await the dawn.

"Arise, shine; for thy light is come, and the glory 
of the Lord is risen upon thee." – Isaiah 60:1

Image ©2012 Brian J. Matis

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Time Stops for No One

image by crilleb50

time stops for no one 

but if i

sit down and freeze

blink neither eye

lock up my hands

and curl my toes

into the ground

who really knows

perhaps the rush

of time will end

till i can catch

my second wind

or do i merely

clutch at straws

full knowing time

has teeth and claws

the daisies are

no safety clause

©2013 Susan Noyes Anderson

∞§∞

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Flawed but Fabulous

I attended a class at church recently that was taught by one of the young women in my husband's flock of 18-to-30-year-olds. Her focus was self-improvement.

She opened her lesson by passing out index cards and asking us to jot down a few thoughts on how to make ourselves better people. As the writing began, I was struck by the powerful emotions playing across the faces of my classmates. Sober, strained, pained, restrained...not one smile or even a neutral expression among them. This exercise was not a pleasant one for these young women, and I feared they were being too hard on themselves. I wanted to stand up and speak my mind, but I wasn't the teacher and it wasn't my place. This IS my place, though, so I've saved the unrequested pep talk all for you... ;)

:::apologizing in advance:::

Okay here is the gist of what I wanted to say. I'm a sucker for challenging projects, and improving my distinctly imperfect self qualifies. Don't get me wrong if I sound like my own worst critic; I'm more fan than flogger, and I rarely beat myself up. But I don't view myself through rose-colored glasses either. Knowing and accepting who I am allows me to look inward more comfortably––and more candidly––unafraid of finding faults among the flowers because I fully expect that outcome. I'm even okay with it! (Time is a great teacher.)

The thing is, we are far more than the sum of our faults. Every human being is flawed but fabulous, and owning that notion supports frank assessment while limiting discouragement. This even-handed paradigm is neither conceited nor contemptuous. It allows us to check in on ourselves honestly, without fear or self-protection.

Meeting and addressing our weaknesses can be seen as a great adventure, but we must turn inward with a friendly eye. Doing otherwise places us in defensive mode. We instinctively throw up barriers, muddying the waters to save ourselves from the evil (critical, castigating) eye we are using. Far better to look kindly upon our psyches, putting a sort of arm around ourselves as we dive bravely into that deep new sea of self-discovery.

Closing points I would have made to the girls:

1. Murky waters are indiscriminate, hiding treasures as well as troubles. 
2. Viewing our depths clearly––in all our glory and lack thereof––is a gift, even if it does rock the boat a little. 
3. We are not and never will be black-and-white; everyone is teeming with colors. 
4. Not one person is perfect, least of all you, me, or whomever we admire most. 

Accepting these realities opens the door to the most helpful self-improvement tool of all: becoming your own best friend, including every sharp angle and broken line. Don't be afraid to let down your defenses and look closely. Blow your own cover. Be gentle enough to trust you with yourself.  Hey, if you can't see it, you can't be it...or un-be it either. We have to face it to erase it. And we can't grow what we don't know.

(rose-colored glasses)

It's okay. You don't need 'em.

(safety glasses, etc.)

Better to use these instead.

;)

"The curious paradox is that when I accept myself
just as I am, then I can change." - Carl Rogers

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Violence and Virtue

As I watch developing news about the likely perpetrators of our nation's most recent tragedy in Boston, my mind is flooded with unsettling questions. How does 19-year-old Dzhokhar Tsarnaev, described by an employee of his high school as "a lovely kid" and by a neighbor as having a "heart of gold," decide to kill and injure innocent people at random? His Facebook page proclaims that "Allah loves those who do good," and it's more than disturbing to consider that young Mr. Tsarnaev may have believed he was "doing good" by indiscriminately destroying other human beings.

CNN interviewed one employee of his former high school, a man who took extensive photos of the young wrestler and had come to know him well. The photographer was clearly astonished by these allegations and deeply saddened to think that the athlete he had liked and respected so much could intentionally hurt anyone. In his view, expressed in a voice trembling with emotion, such a thing was not compatible with the exemplary person he had befriended.

Peers admired and respected this classmate, fellow wrestlers praised his work ethic, teachers described him as a good student and a good example. He was never in trouble himself and never made trouble for others. In every way, he appeared to be no different from any other nice kid in any other friendly community.

The questions haunting me today are these: (1) How does the degree of violence allegedly manifested by Dzhokhar at the Boston Marathon co-exist with the degree of virtue others perceived in him? (2) How prevalent is this dichotomy of character in our society? and (3) What, if anything, can we do about it?

I don't pretend to have the answers, but a thread keeps running through my thoughts as I begin to search for some. Our culture is one that increasingly condones violence by the very act of not eschewing it, and every child born today is exposed to culture and media that permeate the consciousness with sights and sounds that previously would not have been countenanced in this country. Desensitization does occur, and it should come as no surprise that aggression is on the rise. Couple that growing aggression with an increasing lack of respect for the religious and political beliefs of others and a decreasing tolerance for their right to differ from our own, and you have a powder keg waiting to explode.

At this point, it is unclear whether this act of terror was inspired by Islamic extremism or not. Time will tell, but one thing is certain. Religion that parts ways with a love for all men ceases to be religion and becomes fanaticism. I repudiate the notion that religion can ever be righteously wielded as a club or brandished as a sword in behalf of God, Allah, or any other entity. My personal example is Christ, who taught what He knew to be truth yet allowed and still allows each person to accept or reject it. His exercise of religion was and is based on service and sacrifice, freedom and forgiveness, respect and redemption.

These are my strongly held beliefs: We are all children of God, no matter what religion we espouse or choose not to espouse. Each and every life matters...to Him and to us. We are brothers and sisters, taking this journey together according to His plan. We will not walk in lock step, nor were we meant to. All are granted the ability and agency to find our way back to the loving Father who created us, and ours is to love and support each other as best we can along the way.

What can we do to brighten the world while we are here? We can endure in faith, believing that goodness is stronger than evil, holding up whatever light we have against the darkness and asking for more. If we are willing, Christ's words in His Sermon on the Mount can be revealed in us, as individuals and as a nation:

"Ye are the light of the world. A city that is set on an hill cannot be hid. Neither do men light a candle, and put it under a bushel, but on a candlestick; and it giveth light unto all that are in the house. Let your light so shine before men, that they may see your good works, and glorify your Father which is in heaven" (Matthew 5:14-16).

Christian, Muslim, Buddhist, Atheist, Jew or "other," you don't have to be a follower of Christ to live like one. Goodness is goodness. Light is light. Darkness is darkness. Which will we choose for ourselves, and how are we willing to live to support that choice?

Shining a light is not and never can be a passive thing. It requires energy, effort and no small amount of valor, especially when shadows loom large and threaten. But there are more light-bearers out there than we might think. And they are far easier to recognize when we are standing among them.

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Unraveling My Blog and Me

It's all about the dialogue.

I've gotten so fond of writing poems from prompts in the past few months that I realize I probably don't write enough about myself to either let new readers get to know me or maintain close ties with old ones. My blog used to (quite literally) be "Sue's News, Views and Muse," but lately it's pretty much Muse.  While nary a one of my followers has complained, I suspect most have noticed...and my readership and comments are down, which is probably not a coincidence. After all, the perusal of poetry isn't everyone's favorite pastime.

The thing is, after writing so many posts about family, friends, spiritual experiences, church activities, politics, music, books, television shows and the like, I began to feel as if I were just recycling the same information over and over again in slightly varying formats. Having blogged since 2008, I was ready for a new slant. It came as a relief not feeling like I had to take pictures of everything my family and I did, record every single interesting/enlightening thing that came to mind, review whatever media mattered to me, or express and defend opinions on the prevailing social and political climate. In short, I got lazy! The relative ease of simply responding to writer's memes appealed to me more and more.

That said, here's the crux of my problem: I now find myself getting bored with this steady diet of memes, too! I've even wondered if it's time to hang up my hat here and revert to doing my writing in "real life" only. After all, I haven't put out a new book since 2004. What's more, my new church assignment is to write articles for our stake public relations committee; I have recurring opportunities to create scripted programs for church; family and friends still request plenty of wedding and birthday poems, and I should get back to journaling anyway––so I would have lots of ways to exercise my writing muscles in the future, with or without blogging. What I wouldn't have, of course, is that inimitable feeling of communicating with bloggers who relate to me and I to them. I would miss all of my longstanding friends and the comments we exchange. I would crave the immediacy of sitting down to express myself and knowing there are people out there who are ready and willing to listen...and equally important, to respond.

The upshot of all this deliberation is that I've decided to go on, change things up a bit with my subject matter, and continue the dialogue. That's right, the dialogue. Hey, if I want to carry on a one-sided conversation, I can have it with myself, right? So come out, come out, wherever you are! If you read something you like, comment. When you read something you don't like, speak up. Nothin' but bored? Say so! For me, it's about the interplay...the give and take...the conversation. That's what blogging gives me that other arenas do not. That's what makes me a better and more satisfied writer. And that is what I hope will be happening more often on this blog.

Thanks for hearing me out. I'd like to return the favor.

=)

PS. If you are a long-time reader, I would love to know your thoughts about all of this. Had you noticed I was meme-ing a lot? Are you sick of poetry, poetry, and more poetry? Was my blog beginning to look the way it has been feeling to me...like a big, blue-and-yellow, one-trick pony? 

Let's keep those lines of communication open!

PS. I'm recharging my blogging batteries.

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(More of a blog hop than a meme.)

Catharsis

Meal Beach, Burra Isles, Shetland by Robin Gosnall

Written while visiting our friends' amazing beach house 

in Oceanside California (really worth a look if you have time).

Catharsis 

©Susan Noyes Anderson

What is this thing that draws me to the sea?

 What passion rises with each white-capped swell

 to churn upon a watery carousel

and break in frothy secrets, spilling free?

The foaming, reckless water quiets me

 in darkly hidden places, guarded well,

 probing the inner reaches of a shell

whose blushed walls glow with bright intensity.

 I love this ocean pounding on the shore,

untamed and unashamed in all its might;

 It rolls and crests and dives and rolls some more,

unbound by man and law and grief and fright.

 The sea engulfs me, draws my answering roar,

sends waves of darkness crashing into light.

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Never Say Die: Requiem for the Grandiose

NEVER SAY DIE

Requiem for the Grandiose

©1997 Susan Noyes Anderson

The Comstock Review

The day you killed me, I thought––What a drag––

and started making funeral arrangements.

I'd deal with all the requisite estrangements.

If dying was the task, then I'd die fine.

"A wooden casket?" No, I'd take the steel.

"They rust? All right, then make mine copper, please."

"Impervious," they crowed. That worked for me.

Off-white, of course, with roses at the crown.

Let it be said, "She always stopped to smell them."

The eulogy? (Could this have been poor taste?)

Who better to deliver it than me?

Though dead, I eulogized myself so well,

that people barely noticed I was gone;

though later some were sorry to conclude

that I had failed––sometimes they felt the loss.

And resurrection did exceed my grasp.

I wrote Never Say Die, a Requiem to the Grandiose when I was 45 years old, the year my first book was published. It seems I was treating myself in poetic form to a heavy dose of the martyr, using my "angry" version of humor (translation: sarcasm) to at once validate and honor my experience while working through considerable and not entirely unfounded resentment. (I have always been a fan of writing my way to clarity.) Of course, more than a few of the barbs in this piece were aimed outward...at those who needs I was endeavoring, with an empty cup, to fill. (Codependent much?)

What I remember is that I had stretched myself very thin at the time. I felt as if people were pulling at me from all directions, expecting more from me than was reasonable, especially in light of health issues that had become chronic. I was hurt and, yes, angry that no one seemed to notice how overextended I was, and I felt the weight of their continuing expectations. Conversely, I was in the beginning stages of realizing that much of my angst was self-inflicted. (Presenting as superwoman was not a particularly effective way of helping people tune in to my needs!)

Happily, I have grown more adept over the years at finding and maintaining balance in my life...and of owning the fallout when I fail to do so. How reassuring it is to look at things I have written in the past and see tangible proof that growth actually does occur. And I am often surprised at the degree of affection I feel toward my younger, struggling self. I even find myself wanting to take that earlier me under my wing. I guess you could say I am healing (and befriending) my inner chick, and ya know what? It feels good!

;)

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