Fertilizer

The following poetic compilation is an incomplete poem I started a year ago. And no, this is not an example of what I would consider my best writing. It is an attempt I made a year ago to re-acquire my voice, and now it serves as my attempt to fertilize my foray into regularly writing and publishing. Though the words of the following poetic thoughts are not as composed to my expectations– the ideas and thoughts are still worth sharing– and will always be there to come back to and play with and fine tune later. Perhaps, they will even seed some poetic inspiration for my readers. One can hope…

Rot, decay–things observed when life leaves astray.

A process initiated by death or an end.

I have witnessed the devastation wrought by this breaking down-

and the resurrected beginnings birthed from such destruction.

Remnants of what was become the fodder of what will be-

the lines between of what was and is are so entwined becoming non-existent

This awareness is not only mine– its so keenly echoed in the mythical account of the Phoenix’s rising and remembered at a serendipitous timing.

Laws of basic Physics prevail: Energy cannot be created or made.

Its source is only transformed…

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My Life Poetic– Literally

After re-reading some my favorite poems and remembering the experiences of some the great poetic voices that have come before me, I felt compelled to compose a poetic collage of those poetic moments of experience that  have become relevant in my own actual life experience. And it is only fitting that I felt inspired to write this “homage” of sorts during National Poetry Month…

The following poem is very much  a work in progress–and I can honestly say I am looking forward to this revision process and the possibilities it could transform into.

My Life Poetic– Literally

I dove down into the wreck

And from its depths resurfaced

Alive, exhausted.

Headed into the oven, inhaled its fumes-

Yet pulled out in time

A synchronous timing of oxygenated insight:

The legacy left, an unintentional gift, from another mother’s plight.

Prepared with my flashlight gripped tightly in hand,

And clickity-click heels on my feet-

I un-quietly will find my way out of this night.

See, I have beaten my path on the roads less taken.

I travelled to Babylon, employed as a whore.

Acquired a cumbersome weight, and continued on.

Slouching into Bethlehem, I came to bore my fertile sin.

A “beast” they proclaimed when it arrived.

Still it was mine. I wouldn’t let go-

And I cradled my child close to my breast.

Borrowing re-blog worthy parenting advice– a little behavioral management can go a long way

I found this excellent post by fellow mom & blogger Krissy Sherman on her blog  b-inspiredmama.com. Below are my three favorite tips of the 18 she lists.  As a single parent, it is imperative to be consistent with discipline– and this post provides some great general guidelines to help maintain that vigilance. The direct link to her post is: http://www.sverve.com/tip/1361287114996

 

Every Child is Different
“One key to remember is that all children are different. That being said we use positive behavior and reinforcement followed up with logical consequences at our house. I’ll be sharing a lot more about Parenting a Strong Willed Child in March and the tools I’ve used over the years.” Kim of The Educators’ Spin On It

 

Mean What You Say & Say What You Mean”
“One of the best tips for behavior management I learning while teaching was to always ‘mean what you say and say what you.’ This little mantra has helped me as a parent, also, to remember to be clear and consistent with my expectations and consequences and always follow through with what I say.” Krissy of B-Inspired Mama

 

 

Focus on the Cause of Behavior
“Acting badly or in a way that parents don’t like, is a symptom of something deeper. Sometimes when your kid does something naughty it feels like they have done it on purpose to make you angry. But that is not likely to be the case. There are times when Goblin does something that he knows he shouldn’t do and I find myself wondering whether he did it just to get a rise out of me. It would be easy just to apply discipline methods to the symptom, the action that made you angry. But if you look deeper at why they did it you can often treat the cause and that will be more effective at stopping the behaviour for longer.” The Monko ofTaming the Goblin (Find more positive parenting techniques at Taming the Goblin.)

 

 

 

Back on the road and not white-knuckling the steering wheel…

After a much needed rest stop, I’m finally back behind the steering wheel. Even though there may be some challenging parts ahead in my current course, I feel confident my navigational skills will get me where I need to be.

The next phase of my “so-called life” has officially begun…

In October 2011, I could no longer ignore that my marriage was on a destructive course. I had known that the relationship was very strained between my husband and me. However, when my 6-year-old son shared with me the turmoil he was struggling with due to the relationship he had with his dad, I knew a drastic change of course was necessary.

Fortunately, both of my parents were there for me and my children when I actually took the action to leave my husband in November 2011. I had too optimistically hoped back in October that our separation would be temporary– that my husband would leave the house while we all sought out counseling to sort things out and take the time to heal. However, after a month of promising to leave and seek therapy, my husband never followed through. But, I did. Ironically, the moment when I felt most like a grown-up was when at 34, I moved back to my hometown at my parents’ house with two little ones in tow.

From November 2011-June 2012, the pace of our new course really sped up. I secured a a decent full-time position almost immediately after relocating. Despite moving away and starting a new school, my son made great strides in counseling learning how to appropriately manage the emotional turmoil that had been overwhelming him.  Additionally,  my son went from struggling to read at his 1st grade level, to ending the school year reading at a 4th grade level. Yes, this detour proved to be emotionally exhausting–but my son and I became happier people somehow.

Yet, in June 2012, life was about to take another sudden detour– the kind you are forced to take because the road you were driving on ends, marked by the jarring parade of  fluorescent orange signs,flags and flashing sirens .  It’s the obvious result of the road meeting with a catastrophic event. And it was such an occurrence that happened to our family in the end of June.

While I worked full-time, I was fortunate to have my mom (my best friend, in fact) take care of my children. With her watching my children, I could work with my mind at ease, knowing that my children would not be lacking in the love and attention a mom could provide. However, my mother was also a Type-1 Diabetic, and had already lost both her legs and suffered many complications as the disease ravaged her body. For the two years prior, she hadn’t had any major health issues. In fact, she was more active and healthy than she had ever been. But on June 25, she had a typical episode of a her blood sugar bottoming out– the kind she would always bounce back from in a day or two at most. It was with that mindset that I took it for granted that this event wasn’t anything my mom couldn’t overcome. I was sorely mistaken. On June 27, while at home she took a sudden turn–and I knew when I dialed 911 that this trip to ER was not going to have the typical outcome. She slipped away right in front of me– we were just loading the car to take my mom to the hospital, when my mom went from conscious and talking to completely unresponsive.

It was 1 pm, when I made that fateful call. It was then I already knew by the wrenching of my gut that I would never get to tell my mom “I love you” or even “good-bye”. At 10:22 pm, I got confirmation of what truth my heart already knew. It was that moment and every one that has come since that has really shown me what as a “grown-up” I was truly capable of doing.

We were not prepared in any way for her sudden death, emotionally and financially. My dad and I were given till the end of March 2013 to find another home–the home that was purchased as a gift for my parents needed to be sold ASAP. I could not afford reliable childcare that could accommodate my awkward work schedule–and my work was not able to offer me a schedule that the one childcare source I had available could offer. During the summer and fall of 2012, I found myself facing unemployment, homelessness, while maintaining some semblance of normalcy for my children.

Today, all of the uncertainty presented courtesy of that detour is finally in my rear-view mirror. I found my voice and my sense of direction. My children and I are enjoying a home we can call our own, free of eggshell carpeting. And I am enjoying the fruits of my resourcefulness, as I free-lance my talents and appreciate this time to truly explore my vocational endeavors.

As I continue to drive away from the wreckage of the past– with its reflection continuing to get smaller and smaller in my rear-view mirror– I know that the reflection will always be there even when my eye can no longer discern it. I know there will be moments when I will want to focus on that image, momentarily losing my focus on the road ahead. The key word here is “momentary”. By always remembering to keep my attention on the drive and how my hands are steering wheel– I will keep what I have already overcome where it belongs, and not coming up on me later to splatter across my windshield.
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I should not be able to pick the man your ex-wife left you for out of a line-up based entirely on our discussion during a 40 minute job interview

I should not be able to pick the man your ex-wife left you for out of a line-up based entirely on our discussion during a 40 minute job interview.

Great practical advice to heed–and I feel compelled to share with my readers who, like me, are in a period of starting over. As I pursue another employment venture this weekend–I’ll remember to keep the drama at my blog and people skills at the job.

The act of loving performed sitting, standing, or dancing…

On this Valentine’s, I choose to see how blessed I am to have so many people in my life to love and be loved by.

A Valentine's message to the single parent.

A Valentine’s message to the single parent.

I also reflect on the great loves I have been honored to witness, such as the one shared between my parents. Even though my mom passed away last June, she was and always will be my dad’s dancing partner.

 

Still dancing...

Still dancing…

Remember your relationship status does not have to determine the love in your life—celebrate the love in your life today, regardless of its source ♥

Wanna go for a ride???

At some point in our life’s journey, we get so off course in that the only road ahead looks like a dead-end. But if you remember to look behind, the road is still going on far into the distance.

Well, directly in front of me, that metaphorical “dead-end” is staring me down. Instead of giving in to its intimidating glare by turning off the ignition and sheepishly handing over my keys, I rev the engine up and turn the car around.

A substantial amount of backtracking lies ahead– and I take it on without resentment. In fact, with this turn-around, I’m going to take in  the scenery I previously missed and avoid all roads I know to be signed with “Dangerous Curves Ahead”.

And I am inviting you to be my passenger as I navigate these back roads towards my intended destination.

To check in on my progress please visit the Navigation Narration page of this blog.

The journey starts effective of this post’s publication…

A precious artifact discovered strolling down memory lane…

While performing some archaeological digging into my online publication presence I uncovered this precious little gem. This particular poem holds a great deal of personal meaning for myself– admittedly, it is not written in the style or tone I typically write. In fact, it is full of overdone cliches and metaphors. Despite its flaws, it ranks as one of my favorites. Unknown to me while I was writing this I was in fact pregnant with my 1st child. My son was an unexpected miracle– from his conception to birth. However, while writing this my mind only knew that conceiving a child without medical intervention was not going to happen– but my soul somehow recognized the life growing inside me and gave birth to the poem below.

Written October 10, 2004

Harvesting Autumn in a Word Basket

Only in Autumn do leaves fade into Brilliance-
Each leaf unique, devoid of being purely green.

It is in Autumn a bountiful harvest is celebrated—
Hand-woven baskets overflow with tree-ripened apples,
Indian corn ready to have its colorful kernels popped,
and a variety of gourds that amuse in both their shapes and names.

The Day of the Dead is acknowledged by pumpkins carved
with faces, both light-heartedly mocking and menacing,
displayed in warm soft-lit neighborhood windows.
As the lights from these shallow-shelled lanterns glow-
passerbys ponder what constitutes the soul.
Couples are seen walking, along maple and oak tree-lined streets-
snuggly bound in coordinating woolen sweaters, knit hats, and flannel-lined pants,

still seeking out warmth by holding hands.

A crisp breeze tickles and burns only their cheeks,
Because the tips of their noses are already numb.
Their nostrils still functioning, inhale the Essence of Fall,
an arid elixir of decaying leaves and clear star-nighted brightness.
It instantly intertwines with their innermost membranes,
carried through their nasal passageways, down through the throat, finally settling a flaming chill deep within their chests.
Together the walkers’ shuffling feet and dried leaves meet into a rhythmic rustle.
Throughout Autumn—
Leaves continue to fall off of branches, seeming so high they touch the clear-blue in the sky, dancing with the wind even after they settle to their places on the ground.

The amber-hued Earth is undressing herself during this time of withering fruitfulness— Preparing for the penetration of life still two seasons away.

The 32 year old teenager…

Even the recent birth of my second child has not convinced me I am officially an adult. I am a victim of a my apathetic generation– one of those who somehow did not get their feet firmly planted while they entered in adulthood. Still, I remain clueless as to what I want to be when I grown up–  my mind has not grasped the idea that am an adult, at the age where I am expected to have it together– haha. At least, I know I am not the only one of my generation afflicted by this condition. In fact, I know of many older adults, my mom for example, that find themselves in a professional limbo.

Lack of Inspiration…

Life in general has been feeling fairly uninspired lately. As someone who considers herself to be an aspiring writer-not having an interesting topic I feel absolutely driven to compose a discourse about is about as big of an obstacle I can imagine and one I am currently directly facing.

A screaming toddler, grumpy husband, tolerated through the lenses of PMS moodiness, of course, do not help the cause. However, despite these snags, they can be used for some benefit—every time we encounter a snag in our life, we discover just a little bit more about the fabric we are made of. So when you consider all of the snags I’ve encountered, using the my previous logic, I should be more than aware of what fabric I am. Thus, if I know the fabric I am made of, then I should have pretty good idea about what purpose my “fabric” should serve. Well, I can tell you one thing for certain on that point— I’m not quite sure of the “exact” purpose of this fabric, but I know what it will NOT be a part of.

I sincerely apologize to those of you who have stuck with this wordy whine—and I must admit, I have barely even started. Hopefully, at the end of this entry I will come to some epiphany like conclusion and feel closer to having that Ah-hah moment where clarity and revelation are suddenly revealed for the my life course. However, I must warn you that the chance of that occurring is very unlikely and you, my reader & myself, are likely to just be more confused.

Actually, I’m really looking forward to not having to write these pondering entries of self-discovery and frustration with how little I seem to know about myself. Ever since I was nine years-old, I used my journal to battle out my uncertain emotions in—usually I was able to find some consolation in my written and often tear-run pages.

As an adult, I find less time to turn to my journal, in fact, I find less time to even try to process my emotions. Maybe that is why I am so darned tired. I am constantly carrying these feelings all day—with no place to put them. Then to top it off—I consider myself to be an empath—someone sensitive to feeling the emotions felt by others—and I seriously feel overwhelmed by feeling most days.

And now instead of reserving my emotional battles to a notebook—now I am trying this blog format. Leaving all my humanity out there for the world to judge. But hey, I’m a writer and I better get a tougher skin. Besides, none of my “readers” will be able to consider me a coward—or afraid to express the good, bad, and grotesque. In addition to blog entries regarding my thoughts on “my life”, (I know how utterly boring and egotistical to think anyone would even read them) I will also soon be publishing poetry—hoping one day to receive the validation every poet aspires to receive, to become published and paid.

I long for the days when I would get lost in words. When I used to be involved in a writing project—all of my focus was devoted to the searching for the perfect combination of words. That passion that consumed me while I was in a process of creation—was the what was I truly pursuing. It is being so actively involved in the process that there is no other moment existing in time, except for that moment of now. The product, of course was always enjoyable, but now I see that my joy in poetry never came from the poem itself—but rather the poem’s creation. After, giving birth to my son and seeing the miracle of truly creating a another life, I see why my poetry writing was so vital for my soul’s contentment.

October 17, 2004, was the last day I seriously spent devoted to the creation of a poem I was completely invested in. Three days later, I found out that Jonathan was already in place to be the next creative project I would be devoted to perfecting. And now, three and half years later, I have had little time or energy to return to the tunnel-vision focus to create a poem or writing I would consider to be a quality piece of writing.

Perhaps, just perhaps, a quality piece of writing will eek its way out while I compose entries for this blog— we shall see or read…