At Stanage Edge

Before the blizzard
sneaky beneath the rim
of the grey and trembly sky,
conditions at Stanage Edge
on Thursday were extremely
changeable and cold.

My heart like the sky
(but ruddy red)
my heart like the sneaky storm
(but only streaked with black)
my heart like the conditions
(but never cold).

I got out of the car.
I could see rain
developing over Mam Tor
to the right
(and a few miles away).
I thought that it was only
just building up
(inside these scintillating
winds of heart and skies).
I thought I would have plenty of time
to get to the millstones,

to get back to my car
before it came
my way.

How wrong was I!

Prelude hailstones heavy,
fine mini-millstones
gristed and ground
the ice cold winds
and soon had me retreating
back to the warmth

and glad for my bare
and unfettered neck
and the leagues between me
and the deep cold black sea.

This is an area I have visited before

I’m pretty sure
I will see it again

To My Judges…

…you who wrote vociferously to deny me becoming, deny me growth…
…you who wrote to deprive me of my innate destiny to have a perspective, walk thru life and the years, and then have a new perspective from a new place…
…you who wrote to deny forgiveness by telling me that I was unforgiveable…
…you who wrote in denial of a Grandfather’s wisdom that a wise person changes their mind and a fool never…

…this post is for you.

I am free of your judgments.  Take them back to the grave you choose to live in, I want nothing to do with them.

Give me a chance to be responsible and to give and take and live and learn and forgive and be forgiven…give me a chance to be the person I allus was and not this fabricated golem you have created to tell yourself what you think you need to be…give me that chance and I will take it.

But to gas-light me, castigate me and condemn me all the while denying me any means or opportunity to walk forward?

No…Charissa will not play that.

Take it all away and best of luck to you…as for me, I will live in forgiveness, give forgiveness, receive forgiveness, love, laugh, and know that I am perfectly imperfect.

I mourn that you deny me the opportunity to walk a life with you…but from the looks of things you are far more the loser.

The Power of Grieving, The Power of Time

I’m pretty sure that all of us have experienced sadness, but I really don’t know if all of us have experienced grief.

I’m talking about that helpless rage that is so great it is calm, so empty that you have never felt so full, and so sticky it seems you can never be expiated.

It comes from the loss of something or someone you were not designed to lose.

You do realise that, don’t you?  Human beings were not designed to experience this sort of relational loss.

Loss is the result of something else that happened to creation due to the way free will was/is decided to be used.

But as with all forms of fracture, God is faithful to bring forth creative answers and counter-creations, in all Their faithful infiniteness…They always have a beauty that will come to you and weld with you and in you, and though the fracture is never “not have happened”, it is somehow made beautiful.


This is the hope, and the glory of God.  They are faithful, each and every time, if you will be patient, hold on, and keep your heart open.

  1. unconditionedconsciousness:

    I’m going to take this from you
    but give this to you instead:
    more space, cleansing tears,
    better questions, compassion,
    pathways to the center,
    maps to deeper wells,
    less distractions,
    blankets of darkness,
    little pools of light under your skin
    where he touched you
    but will never touch you again,
    and holes in your heart
    that nothing but pure love can fill.

    ~ McCall Erickson

Those Webbed Feet

You’ve shown up…well, your true colors have
in wild-thrash-hurled, paint-vile-ent words,
sword-tongue-rash-cut strokes pretend to be brushes,
on this present canvas fouled in yesterday’s deathstyle…
fevers, phantoms, ghosts (the spectacles on your nose)
distorting memory, warping past-tents days
with present-tense poison wounds.

And you!  Pretender!

you sit on that shipwreck with hemlock twig narratives illusory
and call them olive branches, story-straighteners, record-revealers!

You almost had me,
until I noticed those web feet and knew
you were just a garbage scow gull and not
the promised dove of rest, release, redemption.

Your raucous cries rapacious echo wildly,
and you wheel and spin so hungry and flap so furious
over those bones there, that ship run aground at last
and you eager to get at that dead garbage and feed,
you so careful to sing when doves cry (you imagine)
but just managing a greedy gull’s squawk (or parrot).

I am over here…floating…under this graceful sail
full of fresh wind, faint, feathery, but substantial
(at last, transubstantiated and become living flesh),
and I see them…those webbed feet, those clay feet
dirty with aggression, aggrandizement, anguish…

and I wish I could fall at them,
those webbed feet, sobbing, and wash them
with my tears and dry them with my hair.

Who Speaks For You?

…in baseball bat threats,
and shifting blame bloviations?

there is a narrative constructed
and characters are run thru the mill

Procrustean beds wait, rimmed in razor words
and made up in straight jacket axioms

of hero killing Zeus, Medusa slain
but ‘ware the mirrors lest the true face be glimpsed…

…and you, you both have hitched to this?
your bones know, don’t they?

Or do they?  Crawl inside your skin
when you feel the truth dissolve

and lies (half and whole cloth)
kick like something wicked waiting

to slouch towards Bethlehem
in the kingdom of Ozymandias?

Your silent disengagement lets our history
be Big-Brothered in Orwellian style scripts

and becomes tacit agreement with things
that go against your grain like sand paper.

Oh may your grain glow gold and run deep
for ruin holds this day and devours the moon.tumblr_njkyxgsohE1txde3xo1_1280