stuntman goes bi-coastal

Robert Penn Warren

A Way To Love God

Here is the shadow of truth, for only the shadow is true.
And the line where the incoming swell from the sunset Pacific
First leans and staggers to break will tell all you need to know
About submarine geography, and your father's death rattle
Provides all biographical data required for the Who's Who of the dead.

I cannot recall what I started to tell you, but at least
I can say how night-long I have lain under the stars and
Heard mountains moan in their sleep. By daylight,
They remember nothing, and go about their lawful occasions
Of not going anywhere except in slow disintegration. At night
They remember, however, that there is something they cannot remember.
So moan. Theirs is the perfected pain of conscience that
Of forgetting the crime, and I hope you have not suffered it. I have.

I do not recall what had burdened my tongue, but urge you
To think on the slug's white belly, how sick-slick and soft,
On the hairiness of stars, silver, silver, while the silence
Blows like wind by, and on the sea's virgin bosom unveiled
To give suck to the wavering serpent of the moon; and,
In the distance, in plaza, piazza, place, platz, and square,
Boot heels, like history being born, on cobbles bang.

Everything seems an echo of something else.

And when, by the hair, the headsman held up the head
Of Mary of Scots, the lips kept on moving,
But without sound. The lips,
They were trying to say something very important.

But I had forgotten to mention an upland
Of wind-tortured stone white in darkness, and tall, but when
No wind, mist gathers, and once on the Sarré at midnight,
I watched the sheep huddling. Their eyes
Stared into nothingness. In that mist-diffused light their eyes
Were stupid and round like the eyes of fat fish in muddy water,
Or of a scholar who has lost faith in his calling.

Their jaws did not move. Shreds
Of dry grass, gray in the gray mist-light, hung
From the side of a jaw, unmoving.

You would think that nothing would ever again happen.

That may be a way to love God.

heart truths....

All this is rhetoric about loving you.
I never had a selfless thought since I was born.
I am mercenary and self-seeking through and through;
I want God, you, all friends, merely to serve my turn.

Peace, reassurance, pleasure, are the goals I seek,
I cannot crawl one inch outside my proper skin;
I talk of love--a scholar's parrot may talk Greek--
But, self-imprisoned, always end where I begin.
--C.S. Lewis

The problem is not out there; the problem is the needy beast of a thing that lives within my chest.

--Donald Miller
'Blue Like Jazz'

To The River - Edgar Allan Poe

Fair river! in thy bright, clear flow
Of crystal, wandering water,
Thou art an emblem of the glow
Of beauty- the unhidden heart-
The playful maziness of art
In old Alberto's daughter;

But when within thy wave she looks-
Which glistens then, and trembles-
Why, then, the prettiest of brooks
Her worshipper resembles;
For in his heart, as in thy stream,
Her image deeply lies-
His heart which trembles at the beam
Of her soul-searching eyes.

Sting and Jesus

Now I’m suspended between my darkest fears and dearest hope
Yes I’ve been walking, now I’m hanging from a dead man's rope
With hell below me, and heaven in the sky above
I’ve been walking, I’ve been walking away from Jesus' love

Walk away in emptiness, walk away in sorrow,
Walk away from yesterday, walk away tomorrow,
Walk away in anger, walk away in pain
Walk away from life itself, walk into the rain

All this wandering has led me to this place
Inside the well of my memory, sweet rain of forgiveness
I’m just hanging here in space

re:Cory's post
and Jamie's prayer

William Lloyd Garrison

"I have need to be all on fire, for I have mountains
of ice about me to melt."

Oppression! I have seen thee, face to face,
And met thy cruel eye and cloudy brow;
But thy soul-withering glance I fear not now --
For dread to prouder feelings doth give place
Of deep abhorrence! Scorning the disgrace
Of slavish knees that at thy footstool bow,
I also kneel -- but with far other vow
Do hail thee and thy hord of hirelings base: --
I swear, while life-blood warms my throbbing veins,
Still to oppose and thwart, with heart and hand,
Thy brutalising sway -- till Afric's chains
Are burst, and Freedom rules the rescued land, --
Trampling Oppression and his iron rod:
Such is the vow I take -- SO HELP ME GOD!

William Lloyd Garrison

Recycled Quotes

"Was there no safety? No learning by heart of the ways of the world? No guide, no shelter, but all was miracle and leaping from the pinnacle of a tower into the air? "
-Viginia Woolf
-To The Lighthouse


"If there is one door in the castle you have been told not to go through, you must. Otherwise, you'll just be rearranging furniture in rooms you've already been in. Most human beings are dedicated to keeping that one door shut." --Anne Lamott

Church is to God as zoos are to nature.
--Margaret Atwood

"I do not at all understand the mystery of grace--only that it meets us where we are but does not leave us where it found us." --ANNE LAMOTT

I am something of a recluse by nature. I am that cordless screwdriver that has to charge for twenty hours to earn ten minutes use. --Donald Miller Blue Like Jazz

The Peace of Wild Things --Wendell Berry

When despair for the world grows in me
and I wake in the night at the least sound
in fear of what my life
and my children's lives may be
I go and lie down where the wood drake
rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.

I come into the peace of wild things
who do not tax their lives
with forethought of grief.
I come into the presence
of still water.
And I feel above me the day-blind stars
waiting with their light.

For a time
I rest in the grace of the world,
and am free.

The Bait

The Bait
by John Donne

Come live with me, and be my love,
And we will some new pleasures prove
Of golden sands, and crystal brooks,
With silken lines, and silver hooks.

There will the river whispering run
Warm'd by thy eyes, more than the sun;
And there the 'enamour'd fish will stay,
Begging themselves they may betray.

When thou wilt swim in that live bath,
Each fish, which every channel hath,
Will amorously to thee swim,
Gladder to catch thee, than thou him.

If thou, to be so seen, be'st loth,
By sun or moon, thou dark'nest both,
And if myself have leave to see,
I need not their light having thee.

Let others freeze with angling reeds,
And cut their legs with shells and weeds,
Or treacherously poor fish beset,
With strangling snare, or windowy net.

Let coarse bold hands from slimy nest
The bedded fish in banks out-wrest;
Or curious traitors, sleeve-silk flies,
Bewitch poor fishes' wand'ring eyes.

For thee, thou need'st no such deceit,
For thou thyself art thine own bait:
That fish, that is not catch'd thereby,
Alas, is wiser far than I.

bUSTED sTUFF --dAVE MATTHEWS

The world is blowing up
The world is caving in
The world has lost her way again
But you are here with me
But you are here with me
Makes it ok

I hear you still talk to me
As if you're sitting in that dusty chair
Makes the hours easier to bare
I know despite the years alone
I'll always listen to you sing your sweet song
And if it's all the same to you

I love you oh so well
Like a kid loves candy and fresh snow
I love you oh so well
Enough to fill up heaven overflow and fill hell
Love you oh so well

And it's cold and darkness falls
It's as if you're in the next room so alive
I could swear I hear you singing to me

I love you oh so well
Like a kid loves candy and fresh snow
I love you oh so well
Enough to fill up heaven overflow and fill hell
Love you oh so well

The world is blowing up
The world is caving in
The world has lost her way again
But you are here with me
But you are here with me
Makes it ok
Oh girl you are singing to me still
I love you oh so well
Like a kid loves candy and fresh snow
I love you oh so well
Enough to fill up heaven overflow and fill hell
Love you oh so well

for Renee

Long ago, I was wounded.
I lived to revenge myself
against my father.

Not for what he was—
for what I was:
from the beginning of time.

In childhood, I thought
that pain meant
I was not loved.

It meant I loved.

First Memory
--Louise Glück

Sarah Teasdale

Spray
by Sarah Teasdale

I knew you thought of me all night,
I knew, though you were far away;
I felt your love blow over me
As if a dark wind-riven sea
Drenched me with quivering spray.

There are so many ways to love
And each way has its own delight --
Then be content to come to me
Only as spray the beating sea
Drives inland through the night.

Spring Rain

I thought I had forgotten, But it all came back again To-night with the first spring thunder In a rush of rain. I remembered a darkened doorway Where we stood while the storm swept by, Thunder gripping the earth And lightning scrawled on the sky. The passing motor busses swayed, For the street was a river of rain, Lashed into little golden waves In the lamp light's stain. With the wild spring rain and thunder My heart was wild and gay; Your eyes said more to me that night Than your lips would ever say. . . . I thought I had forgotten, But it all came back again To-night with the first spring thunder In a rush of rain.

poetry by jamie marie barker

There Is A Question


There is a question

in my mind and it is this

is it possible even feasible

even wise at all

to trust them

We look deep into their eyes

and our heads tip to the side

as we stare into the windows

from the outside of the blinds

and we strain

to see safety there

It must be there

we want it there

we have moved all our things

in there but the floor has fallen

and we’ve dropped

down to our knees

Shall we keep our things up close

and never carry them in outstretched arms

through someone else’s door

and place them next to trembling walls

that still

manage to confine

But oh our backs get weary

and our arms have aches built in so

our feet do find their way onto that path

where the door at first swings open

and good smells

drift out to pull us in

So is it wise at all to trust them

lay back and let our arms fall to the side

or shall we crouch

upon the floor

and wrap our arms

around our things

and keep watch

The Fruit of Her Choices

'God does not punish you'
is what the man said
with his arms reaching out to us
'He gives you over to the fruit of your choices'
And I took it into my heart
and knew it was true

'You were not there for me'
is what she said
and her soft silky hair was the same
as it always has been
and her pretty full lips were swollen
from speaking the hard truth
and her eyes dripping with pain
from all she has seen

'You don’t know how I feel'
and she is right I only know how I feel
heavy with guilt for the damage done
and torn in sorrow for knowing
how she hurts and that I cannot make it stop
Her head on my lap by the warm fire
just like when she was little
and it was all before us and I thought
it would somehow be okay
but it wasn’t

And now she looks up at me
and I see that she is still my little girl
and she still needs me
and I know that I cannot do it over
do it right
but we can love one another
and we can hold each other
and we need to.

He has given me over to the fruit of my choices
I know this is true
I have seen it in my daughter’s eyes
I also know there is hope
He has promised me there is hope
and I believe Him because
He gave His life for my choices

My Love Has Boarded A Ship

My love has boarded a ship
and he is sailing away from me
he stands at the bow and his mouth smiles
but his eyes do not

My heart wants to reach out
and pull him back in
to me
to my breast
but my arms are so tired
so very tired

The ship slowly glides away
taking my love
from me
it is built out of
self-doubt and confusion
and held together with
fear and loss

These very things that make his vessel so strong
have made my limbs weak
so I stand at the shore helpless
and wave to my smiling love
and long for him

There Must Be Words

There must be words
written by other women perhaps
who crave and stew and ponder
but do not know where they come from
these curious churnings that rise and fall
becoming more unsettling with each eruption

Words of men rarely ease or stir
they simply report unknown things
like the stock exchange news on the radio
like the weather report or traffic warnings
they do not still my restive woman’s heart

Perhaps the words suffice for others and it is me
it is I who cannot read their meaning
or perceive the depth of their cry
and make it balm to soothe my rumblings

And in truth long for an utterance from my own deep where the questions
ooze and bubble like sticky mud
they fester and thicken as they boil

There are those times
those walks on cool mornings
or moments on my porch when the lavender scent
drifts up from the clay pots
when there are no questions but a washing
of peace and calm and knowledge

Yet still my eyes stray and my heart seeks
for the words that will hold my wanderings
in framed and precise prose
there must be words like these but perhaps
They simmer in me and shall burble up
and burst forth in earnest clarity
an offering to the bewildered hearts of others
and in that emission be a sweet release

Before issues of body or doubts of suitability
and stooping to gratify
begging to prevent fists
hardening to endure pain
before becoming sly to scramble out

There were homemade raviolis
and watered wine for lunch
rubber boots sucked up in glorious mud
Grams cutting Grampo’s sparse hair
and hearing him say,
“I had a full head of hair till she snatched me bald”
and every time she said, “Oh Daddy”
and every time we laughed

White gloves on small hands folded in my lap
holding the missal,
breathing the perfume of smoke
making my sisters laugh into the cushioned railing
tapping my flat chest in time with the bells
full of hope
full of dreams

Before seething step-children and the bitter dismissed
releasing arrows dipped in ruin and meticulously aimed
before blurry nights and frowning dawns
and a heart that tries to hope
but beats out of rhythm from
grips of fear and pain

There were sing-song summer days
of “What shall we do?”
lolling and scuffling on
the teeter-totter with perilous splinters
and picking grapefruits to heat on the incinerator
to cut on the rose thorns
and warm tart juice running down our chins

And the playhouse with its musty wood smell
and its secrets
kept from her
and meals with dessert
cooked by her
and a small and furry dog with funny habits
she let us keep

And beating him to puns
that no one else thought of
and sometimes Sherman and Peabody
and Indian Maidens in a rowboat
in the mountains I loved where we never went
except a few treasured times
and it was sweet because I was with him

Before mistakes made complete
by the waves they cause
in children wounded by blunder
my heart writhing and weeping
while watching them grapple for their way

Before substance inhaled
to numb out the pain
and manic serving
to cover up fear
and eyes kept closed
except to diversion

There was the tender first kiss
by the neighbor’s back door
and the quickened heart from a brushing knee
that made all things seem new
and everything possible

There was innocence
and the dream of what never was
with the hope it will someday be
and the simple faith that I would be
the first to get it right

--Jamie Marie Barker
Before There Was

Word

Give me a job
teaching rebels
your ways
so the lost
can find
their way home.

-Psalm 51:13

God has given you into the care of His angels;
He has commanded them to protect you
wherever you go.

--Psalm 91:11

He knows the way that I take;
when He has tested me
I will come forth as gold.
My feet have closely followed His steps;
I have kept to His way without turning aside.
--Job 23:10-11

“Don’t be afraid of missing out, little ones. It makes our Father happy to give you His kingdom.” --Jesus

Debbie's Bike Poem

today

i felt like

once again

i am learning to ride a bicycle

that has square wheels

and everyone who is teaching me to ride

only knows how to ride a bicycle

with round wheels

and they are so frustrated

that i am not doing it right

but my bike is different

and the square wheels

will never be round

and the people who have

round-tired bikes

will never ever

ride a bike with square wheels

they all pedal off

round wheels are so much faster you know

and i kick off with my feet

but to balance

on those square wheels

is hard

and if i stop pedaling

i fall off

and the round-wheelers are too far away

to get me out from under my bike

and so i go around and around

in a circle

not sure who can teach me how to

make my square-wheeled bike move forward

but waiting

patiently

because at least i have a bike

--Debbie Fries

my longtime friend dan wrote this

Jamie

Such Italian passion
Red wine and pasta
Bloodless stigmata

All those years
Escaping to nowhere
Lost again one more time

Birthing children
Trying to birth herself
Poems for the midwife

Truth for love
Now on the backside of youth
Slip, slip sliding away
She begins to get it right

--Daniel Barth Peters

poem from baby barker

Dead Still - Andrei Voznesensky

Now, with your palms on the blades of my shoulders, Let us embrace:
Let there be only your lips' breath on my face, Only, behind our backs, the plunge of rollers.

Our backs, which like two shells in moonlight shine, Are shut behind us now; We lie here huddled, listening brow to brow, Like life's twin formula or double sign.

In folly's world-wide wind
Our shoulders shield from the weather
The calm we now beget together,
Like a flame held between hand and hand.

Does each cell have a soul within it?
If so, fling open all your little doors, And all your souls shall flutter like the linnet In the cages of my pores.

Nothing is hidden that shall not be known.
Yet by no storm of scorn shall we
Be pried from this embrace, and left alone Like muted shells forgetful of sea.

Meanwhile, O load of stress and bother,
Lie on the shells of our backs in a great heap:
It will but press us closer, one to the other.

We are asleep.

Gandhi

"Anything that is bought by fear does not last. But anything that is done by love lasts forever."

Anne Lamott Quotes

A big heart is both a clunky and delicate thing; it doesn't protect itself and it doesn't hide. It stands out, like a baby's fontanel, where you can see the soul pulse through.

My Al-Anon friend told me about the frazzled, defeated wife of an alcoholic man who kept passing out on the front lawn in the middle of the night. The wife kept dragging him in before dawn so that the neighbors wouldn't see him, until finally an old black woman from the South came up to her one day and said, "Honey? Leave him lay where Jesus flang him."

Hope begins in the dark, the stubborn hope that if you just show up and try to do the right thing, the dawn will come. You wait and watch and work: You don't give up.