Old Mossy Steps

“Old mossy steps know lots of secrets.”

-Old Moss Woman's Secret Garden

The old mossy steps know lots of secrets. At their base is where my childhood pals and I met to plot treasure hunts and adventures. The bottom step was the starting point of many secret missions and the tall wall on the left is where I decided to try to fly, resulting in a spectacular fall into the the lower wall on the opposite side of the steps, and a dozen or so stitches in my chin.

Then it was the place of my first kiss. I still remember standing at the top of the steps looking out across the valley below as I held her hand and tried to work up the nerve to kiss her. She gave me a peck on the cheek, then I turned and looked at her a moment before leaning in and kissing her lips.

As a teenager I snuck off to the same mossy old steps to share deep talks with my girlfriend. We'd sit on the third step from the top and I would lean back against the taller wall while my girlfriend rested against me and we shared our most intimate fears and dreams.

But the middle step, staring at a patch of moss on the taller wall is where I told my biggest secrets. With no one listening but the moss and a few trees I would spill out my secrets and talk through my problems. That wall knew when I fought with my parents and what my girlfriend and I disagreed about. It knew when my childhood best friend and I stopped being best friends. It knew when I was depressed, when I was afraid to ask for help, and when I had big dreams I was too scared to hope would come true.

The old mossy steps know many secrets, and I'm sure they know more than just mine...

Photo and prompt found here.

A Last Dance

They were but strangers meeting,
shared a passing glance,
summoned courage to ask for a dance,
their smiles lighted as feet moved,
swinging through familiar tune,
eyes meeting with a longing glance,
only to part with the fading song,
their shared moment gone,
as the last dance ended.



Prompt: Write about a brief encounter.

Lost Words

Middle of the night thoughts,
tumbles of beautiful words,
laced together in a sleepy fog,
lost, gone by morning light.

160 Characters

I text in sentence form,
only trading u for you,
when I reach a character limit,
and some times,
for a challenge,
I write in exactly the max characters allowed.


Prompt: Write a text message poem.

Eternal

There was never only one,
there were always two worlds, collided,
a world of eternal beauty,
a world of eternal hurt,
merged in one place, of beautiful pain.


Prompt from Nean: There was never only one...

Someone's Playing the Piano

Small pudgy fingers carefully press one white key at a time, jumping and skipping from one to the next, but being careful never to land on more than one key at a time. Not always so careful, they've learned not to pound or hit all the keys at once, if they wish to keep playing. The rule of the house is to only hit one key at a time, except when the big kids that take lessons are there and their fingers fly across the keys, mixing notes in a beautiful song.

Prayer for Courage

1 Samuel 17:32 Let no one’s heart fail because of him (Goliath).

Amid giant fears and overwhelming tasks, give us strength of heart to press on. Give us courage to battle the giants that try to obstruct our way. When we feel small in the face of the challenges in our lives, remind us that you are bigger than Goliath and bigger than the obstacles in our lives. When we feel silenced by those in power, give us your voice to stand our ground.

The Earth's Psalm

The earth sings it's praises, slow and deep, but frighteningly powerful, like a determined old man. With a rumble the ground shakes as stones of the earth are clapped together in praise. The birds with their high and near constant songs are momentarily silenced, in awe of the effort this old man earth puts into his shaking song of praise. Then, as if strained by the effort of his singing, the earth falls still and silent again, and only after a silent amen does the rest of creation resume it's cacophony of praise.

Prompt: Write a psalm of praise about the earth or by the earth.

Who am I?

Somehow in the blur of life,
I’ve become a little lost,
forgotten who I am,
let myself get so busy,
trying to pass as something,
that I no longer look like me,
now I’m trying to remember,
to rediscover,
who I am.

You say I need to get to know me,
and I know you’re right,
but my heart tries to fight it,
looking for an easy way out,
or a simple escape,
from the truth.

I look inside and I cry,
broken pieces remain,
of a neglected spirit,
I used to cherish.

An artist,
a writer,
a singer,
a poet,
a creative flower,
in need of water.

Pieces of me cry out for attention,
wanting to be known,
like I used to know me.

A Branch's Prayer

I stand alone, bare and naked against the harsh chill of winter. Waiting. But I'm not really alone. I am just one limb growing from a sturdy trunk. I am just part of the whole connected to roots reaching deep into the unknown of the earth. I reach to the sky as my tree's roots reach downward, lovingly gathering me sustenance from the earth. I give thanks I am not alone and in the spring I will blossom because I have my tree supporting me.


Prompt: John 15:4 Imagine yourself as a branch and write a prayer of thanks for the tree.

Wait for the Lord

It feels like I’m waiting forever just for my life to start. I’m stuck in a unhealthy place, looking for the reset button, and waiting. Waiting and waiting and waiting for healing. Fighting for urgency in a painfully slow process. Take a step and wait, take a step and wait. When will the waiting end? When will I have the strength for more than merely surviving each day? When will I be joyful again? When will I feel whole again? If I can’t be fixed now can you at least give me the patience to get through the process?


Prompt: Isaiah 8:17 "I will wait for the LORD, who is hiding his face from the house of Jacob, and I will hope in God." In your prayer-writing, tell God about your waiting ... about your (im)patience ... about your hope.

Prayer

"Do not be afraid for God is with you."

I feel small and alone. Scared not at an awesome presence like the shepherds saw but at the nothing, at the feeling of being all alone in a tornado of life. Where are you when I feel alone? I know you're there somewhere, I know you're always present, but sometimes it's easy to forget, easy to feel alone. Help me remember your presence even when I feel lost and alone.

Praying Through the Fog

God,
I know this fog won't last forever, but right now it feels endless. I feel stuck and weighed down and lost in a near endless fog. Help me remember I'm loved through the fog. Guide me out of this darkness and give me strength to find life, to live again and to be your love for myself and others.

Why I Like Old Cemeteries

If anybody else is there they can't really blame you for it or get upset if you're crying for no apparent reason - they'll just assume it's cause somebody died and you miss them.

Little to no traffic/car exhaust to gag on.

Fresh air and open, but not too open space.

Feeling connected - it's a place to rub up against history and imagine what peoples lives where like and how this and that person with the same name were related.

Reading gravestones is like people watching, only less chance of being caught.

It's a peaceful place to walk.

Feeling like a natural part of the cycle of life.

Being reminded life is finite and to make the most of it.

The Kiss That Wasn't

I should have known

when he tried to kiss me,

before a first date,

when I didn't even want it.

I never should have gone,

on that awful date.

I never liked the guy,

with his flattery,

he only hurt me.

He only hurt me

with his flattery.

I never liked the guy,

on that awful date.

I never should have gone,

when I didn't even want it.

Before a first date,

when he tried to kiss me -

I should have known.

Flash Fiction Friday prompt: A Kiss to Remember

The Moon

A distant friend,
who never laughs,
or sheds a tear.
Who never cries,
or truly smiles.
Her's is a lonely life,
but so simple,
without a care.

Church of the Unbelievers

They kept telling us the rapture was coming. They said we needed to be saved, to join their church, to evangelize to all our non-believer friends. They called us non-believers and never took the time to listen to what we do believe, after all everybody believes something.

Then they had their “last chance” worship service. They said everyone was invited but fifteen minutes after the service started a dozen or more non-church members came back out of the church. They reported that the church members had told them if they weren't ready to join the church and testify their belief in the imminent rapture they were beyond saving and no longer needed to be there.

Perhaps it was morbid curiosity, or just an excuse to party, but while the church members prayed their way to rapture the rest of us ate, drank, talked and laughed. It was ironic the way the tension of disagreement and arguing about beliefs dispelled that night. Everyone who knew they were going to be raptured was in church busy praying, and the rest of us were willing to accept each other as we were.

Some of us kept looking over at the door to the church to see if and when they were going to come out thumping their Bibles, but they never did. In fact some of us were out all night and nobody ever left the church. And nobody went in looking for them. They might have been right but it was much more peaceful without them.

This post was written for Flash Fiction Friday.

This is Not About...

This is not about you. It's about me. It's about me and where I'm going, where I'm stuck, what I need, and what I want. It's about trying to find what fits into my life and what I want to do. It's about being me without catering to preconceived ideas about who I am and what I'm supposed to be like.

I'm not who you think I am. It's all a lie, except more like I've just outgrown who you see me as and haven't yet had the courage to tell you who I am now. I've changed and grown, and I feel good about who I am and what I believe, yet it feels like a lie to keep my thoughts to myself.

I wonder sometimes if I should be more blunt to come out and say what I believe and feel. Often it's not really anybody else's business - what I believe, what I feel, how I meet God, my thoughts on this or that, who I happen to think is cute, or what I see as meaningless ritual is all a matter of who I am and really have nothing to do with you. Yet I can't help wonder... Would you see me differently if you knew the truth about me? Would you be bothered that I'm no longer the kid you think I am? Or would you still accept me, grown up and changed as I may be?

Untitled Prayer (righteousness and justice)

Let us live in righteousness,

not in belief we are right

and the other is wrong,

but in your grace,

doing what each of us is meant to do,

as best as we are able.

Let us seek justice,

not revenge.

Let us work towards wholeness,

fairness,

and authentically valuing

everyone's worth,

rather than fighting for recognition

of our own over-inflated "goodness."

Let you grace shine down and guide us,

when we fail to see the difference,

between righteousness and selfishness,

between justice and punishment,

between creating wholeness and creating division.

Holy Ground

I walk a path unknown,

but really more familiar,

bare foot in the grass,

cold beneath my feet,

sneakers crunching over gravel,

in the heat of summer,

weathered paths,

pulling me,

away from the world,

and closer to God,

to holiness and wholeness.