Drinking Red Bull and Jäger
in a barroom where
broken promises and hearts mingle
with slurred words; distortions
and the beat of glass striking tabletops
instead of tears
an “upper downer” so to speak
that in its own strange way
helps me to take it all in
acceptance that tomorrow
is just another of the very same
day
Month: February 2015
She writes
She scrawls out heartbreak
in black ink
across white space
a solitary blood-letting
rivulets mark the page
in messy loops and turns
until a clot forms
to bottle up her nerves
and she can breathe
one deep sigh
confirms catharsis…
for now
she is ok.
Plunge
Leave it to me
to climb the ladder to the high dive
look calmly at the blue waves rippling below
and jump in with both feet
only to realize once the cool water
envelopes me…
I can’t swim.
haiku: winter
I made you my rain
your halo like the sunshine
your winter left me
New
Fickle
From dust
a breath brought you to life
in me
my heartbeat
my song
Shifting moods
and dark clouds
ushered in the storm
From dust you came
to dust you shall return
Unpacking
I’m Lisa, and this is my blog. While I’d like to say I’ve done a million things and I’ve got a laundry list of things I can say about ME and all I have accomplished so I am here to share, I can’t. No gold star. I’m still trying to figure out who I am. That’s, in large part, why I began this blog and why, if you take a look back at some of my earlier posts you’ll see a bit of an evolution. Me, moving in some small way with each post (in essence, a piece of me that I am with some trepidation sharing with the world) toward an understanding of who I am and what I am “about.” I am a work in progress. I am a poet and a writer.
One of the thoughts pervading my mind as of late is, what will I say about myself when I am 50? Fifty years old. A half a century. Two 25 year spans within a lifetime. How will I have changed? Childhood seems far away when I simply look at the numbers, yet hearing a train horn in the distance as I lay in bed can suddenly take me back as if it were yesterday. Sometimes, it definitely feels so.
So there it is. I have no “about.” I have a journey that’s not over yet. A journey that is in constant evolution and one that I have been blessed with the ability to share through words. When I take the time to tap out a simple string, tied together by an idea, a feeling, an emotion, a memory, I connect more with who I am. Perhaps then, when I am 50 I will know more. Maybe then, I will be able to create and clearly articulate who I am, summed up neatly and succinctly on an About page. Until then I will journey and write in this place, this place of words.