Tag Archives: Recreation

the butterfly

jar_butterflyThe tears do tumble down my face,
the one who doesn’t cry.
You wonder why I’ve lost my grace
who watch the poet die.

There is a place ‘yond time and space,
it’s here alone I fly.
And yet it’s here you’d me encase,
my wings apart you’d pry.

And so it is when you embrace
this poet from the sky,
be not surprised, in keeping pace,
if all I do is sigh. Continue reading

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thank you . . . and you and you and you and . . .

Microsoft Word - matt.docx

Sketch by Matthew Curry

Something I didn’t expect when I started blogging was a) that anyone would actually read what I wrote, and b) that I would make true friends through my blog. Some of you have been following me for a while now, and I too have been following you. I value all of you sooooo much, and for those of you that are new, I’m sorry if I haven’t had time to stop by your blogs yet! When I first started blogging (this blog really took off last October, though technically I started it much earlier), I tried to stop by every person’s site who either “liked” or left a comment on one of my posts. These days, as my readership is growing, it is getting more and more difficult to do so. There is only so much time in a day!

Recently, a friend and fellow blogger was a dear and sketched a picture based on one of the images in “i love . . . me?” Matt is a very talented writer and artist, so I thought I’d try to bring his work to your attention today. (Thanks, Matt!) Please check out more of his work at The Chia Pet Circus. Continue reading

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why “shift”?

4shiftToday is a bit rushed. I have several posts in draft, but recently have been working on updating Shift. In particular, I’ve made quite a few changes to my menu. If interested, check out my “about” section where there are now three sub-items, including one that explains in greater detail why I chose the name Shift. I’ve also dedicated a page to my rock climbing story beneath “top posts,” and well . . . Just check it all out. I promise you won’t be disappointed. (Well . . . Maybe I shouldn’t make such boasts. But I can at least say I’m happy with the way my blog is slowly coming together!)

Much love to you all,

Jessica

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on and on you go (take two)

Please don’t hate me! I was not content with my first version of this poem. Something about the third stanza (and a few other things) just didn’t fit. So I revised it, and here it is. Most of you know by now: This poem is dedicated to “wind.”

dress3From here to there and everywhere,
on and on you go.
I hear you there, or is it there?
Your face, you’ll never show.

O’er sea and over mountain,
continent and plain,
from Asia to the Balkan:
the world is your domain.

At times I’ve seen you angry,
you howl and wreak havoc.
It’s then I shiver meekly,
and stand in awe, dumbstruck.

But when you’re sweet, you’re lovely;
you caress my soul.
Your whispers soft and balmy,
you can take me whole.

And though I cannot touch you,
on wings you fly me high,
to places where I knew you,
under another sky.

Which version do you prefer?

Image: Pinterest

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on and on you go

dress3From here to there and everywhere,
on and on you go.
I hear you there, or is it there?
Your face, you’ll never show.

O’er sea and over mountain,
continent and plain,
in Africa and Asia . . .
The world is your domain.

Sometimes you get angry,
you howl and growl a lot.
You know it is quite silly—
I’ll not move from my spot.

But when you’re sweet, you’re lovely;
you caress my soul.
Your fingers full upon me,
you can take me whole.

And though I cannot touch you,
on wings you fly me high,
to places where I knew you,
under another sky.

Tip: Read aloud. ;)

Image: Pinterest

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carry on

stormAlone I sit and contemplate
this thing that we call life:
Desires we cannot satiate,
the struggles and the strife.

I wonder why we do it now,
I wonder why we try.
I wonder why we carry on,
why not lay down and die?

I guess there’s hope—
the future, see?
Our dreams, they are
a mystery . . .

But, no.

It’s been all these years:
He’ll not return to me.

(He’s God’s, can’t you see?)

I wonder why I do it now,
I wonder why I cry.
I wonder why I can’t let go,
for him, alone, I’ll die.

Unworthy . . .

(God judge me.)

He doesn’t mourn for me.

Image: Pinterest

Note: I feel badly. This poem is not about death (at least not in the traditional sense), though it could easily be read that way. Please, dear readers, do not mourn for me. I did not mean to mislead you or look for sympathy.

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finding a balance

poboxI fell in love for the first time in the sixth grade. He was an “older man.” A whopping fourteen. Two years later, he noticed me. The awkward middle schooler was growing up. We wrote letters over a summer while he was in Arkansas—real, hand-written letters. We didn’t have facebook. We didn’t talk on the phone.

I used to go on walks. I’d put my cocker spaniel on a leash, and we’d go. And I’d think. I’d think about him. I was scared. No boy had ever noticed me before.

I also thought about emotions. Why did we have to have them? I had air to breathe and food to eat. Why, then, did I have to feel this way?

It’s a question I still haven’t answered.

B.B. King has had it all. He’s had success and fame, and, at 87, he’s still doing what he loves. But there’s a quote I didn’t mention in my first post. Continue reading

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walls

castle-walls04

In sadness I fly
on what could be,
what should be.

In madness I try
to find vic’try,
make his’try.

In gladness I cry
I’m empty,
can’t touch me.

And then I break down.

*image credit: spokenwizdom.wordpress.com

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the last piece (or, i lied)

street

There are things you learn to live with. Things that never cross your mind—until “that time.”

That time when you’re ordering at Starbucks and the barista says: “What was that?” “I’m sorry, can you repeat that?” “Are you sick?”

That time when you’re chatting with a friend, and your voice cuts out and cracks, then dies.

That time when you’re calling across a street, and no one hears.

That time when you’re in a noisy restaurant, and you might as well just look into each other’s eyes. Continue reading

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tgif

painting_med2

me

Friday.
Yay!
Bars.
Cigars.

Beer?
“Here!”
Wine.
Dine.

Me.
(See?)
Home.
Roam.

Alone.

And I prefer it that way.

*Enough with the bad poetry, already! Back to my “usual” stuff soon.

*image: theeventpainter.com

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how to not die: the fall

Ten years ago today (January 25, 2003), I fell 80 feet (24 meters) while rock climbing at T-Wall, a popular climbing site in Tennessee. The doctors said I might not live; when I did, they said I’d never be the same again. Today, not only am I “normal,” most people don’t even know this incident ever happened. This is my story.

T-Wall (image: flickr.com)

THE FALL

The sun was falling from the sky. Once it dropped below the hills, all light and warmth would disappear. The clouds were chameleons: yellow and pink and purple. Somewhere a bird twittered.

An icy wind crept into my jacket. I shivered. Beyond the edge of the mountain, a silhouette was standing far below. “Just remember what I said,” it called.

Just remember what he said.

I took a deep breath and leaned back. My harness cut into my jeans. I couldn’t feel my fingers.

Grab the rope. Loosen the rope. Hop, hop; braaake.

I looked at the complicated system of ropes and carabiners before me, then at the small tree the ropes were attached to up above. Here we go. All I wanted was to go home and go to bed. Continue reading

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on new year’s resolutions

no new years resolutions

image credit: newyorker.com

I have a confession: I’m terrible at new year’s resolutions.

Seriously. Terrible.

See, I like to swear that I’m going to do impossible things. Things like rid myself of debt, run ten miles every day, end world hunger, never be late, write a post on my blog every day . . . (It’s January 3. This is my first post. Whoops!)

But it’s more than that that, too. I’m bad at resolutions because they seem pointless—at least when they’re based around a calendar. Continue reading

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