It’s called a high because there’s a low (by Rebecca Chasteen) Sunday, Dec 28 2008

He was high when he said “I love you”
and you had waited so many years, it was intoxicating
you didn’t catch the smoky words
as they undid your belt
and slid dark denim down your thighs
in the aftermath, you ask yourself
if he’s humoring you and always has been.

It’s the same,
your father sleeping beside a charred sawmill
everyone knows but no one will talk about the substance
that was there,
you know
the sawmill killed his father.

And what about the girl next door,
sipping clandestine bottles
while toddlers fall off of swing sets.

I don’t really think it’s a coincidence.

2 Responses »

 

radiate (by Rebecca Chasteen) Wednesday, Dec 24 2008

I hope I don’t need to say anything
to explain
the way you radiate
within me
and the way that will always be
and everything that means

2 Responses »

 

Afterthoughts (by Rebecca Chasteen) Wednesday, Dec 24 2008

It must be so hard
to see me go out of the way for you
when you are looking everywhere else
it’s never
for a minute
been any different

you’d think
years would take
the bite
out of disappointment
you’d think
I’d just stop

I’m the kind of person
that calls masochism
hope
and never walks away
still wanting things
but instead,
stays

I’m not stupid
I know where it falls
when it all falls down

I just want
the littlest thing from you
and I’ll take it too
I take every scrap
you throw at me
when you’re bored or high
and I don’t call you out
and I don’t ask why

I can’t believe
you can’t see
I don’t want all you’ve got
I just want to be more
than afterthoughts

Leave a Response »

 

Mantra (by Rebecca Chasteen) Wednesday, Dec 24 2008

It is one step, one thought, one try at a time
this is not forever,
and right now, there is no yesterday, there is no tomorrow
just this moment,
this breath
this little step

It is one battle, one conquest, one triumph at a time
if that means maintaining “okay”
for one more day
I will celebrate

It is one tear, one sorrow, one loss at a time
I will grieve, I will mourn, I will accept
the depth to which I can ache
just carves out room for joy I can embrace

It is one seed, one sprout, one bloom at a time
each shimmer, each flutter, each glimpse of
surprising, striking, stunning little life budding from within me, all around me sometimes, even, by my hand
I will water, I will nourish
I will take the browning leaves, pieces that have fallen off, been torn from me
and I will bury them in my soil,  by my roots
put them to use, decomposing into nutrients, coloring my petals

I will not be afraid when things fall into place
or when they don’t
I will not worry that they will,
or won’t

I will sculpt, define, refine
that reflection in the mirror
until I unearth my favorite version

until I recognize the power, the beauty, the strength
I have carried in my core,
the very thing that got me here

And I will drape it across my body, weave it into my hair, paint it onto my skin

One gesture, one twist, one stroke at a time.

Leave a Response »

 

Taps (Service) by Rebecca Chasteen Wednesday, Dec 24 2008

I hear the call for retreat,
They say the battle’s lost,
But I’ll stay until the last one falls

I’m bleeding
I’m scarred
but there’s no redemption,
no going home

Even if there were,
I’d be haunted
till my bones are dust
it’s that deep, it’s that much

I hear the call for retreat
I can’t make myself leave.
Now I’m part of  this thing.

Leave a Response »

 

Coffee, Chess, Cigarettes: afternoon with the Bible circle (by Rebecca Chasteen) Tuesday, Dec 16 2008

sweet rest
here
moves
without us,
it has
no need
it waits-
knowing
(patience
doesn’t
diminish)

power
sits softly
we push
we run
we fall

quiet
absolute
expanses
of truth
lie
beneath,
beyond
our
home
we build
so sure
we can hide

always

simple
belief
twitches

the fear
of found
permeates
the longing
so instead
it is hide and seek
calling out into the darkness
“come find me”
and as soon as steps are heard
-retreat-

scared,
we
bring
to the table
all we own
and we don’t
know
all
we don’t
and we don’t
know
hope
we only know
what we won’t let go
so we don’t
know

at all.

The title may or may not relate to this poem other than being a reminder to me of where I was, who was around, and what was going on the day I wrote it.

One day, when I was having a hard time with writer’s block, but knew I had something to get out (but was probably trying too hard), I started drawing lines across my notebook paper, making what looked like the design for a stained glass window (to me). I started filling in the sections with words and then took the words and made a poem with them. It seems only having to come up with one word at a time, in no order, helped loosen me up. What’s fun about writing like this is that it’s really flexible and can go in so many directions.

I actually started using this exercise with some of the kids I work with who don’t want to journal, or who don’t ever really say anything in their journal (I had a good day. I went to school, etc).  I tell them to fill in the spaces with whatever they want (but stipulate they use 3 feeling words) and then let them color and name it. Sometimes I do it too, it’s kind of fun.

I mean anything could get into it, in simple little chunks: thoughts, experiences, surroundings, feelings, verbs, nouns, adjectives, adverbs…and the random arrangement on the page makes it easy to grab the words and rearrange them, or even connect them to one another in ways you wouldn’t have before (and you could always analyze why some are in the bigger sections or colored a certain way, or beside certain things, but I just like to use them to create and discuss more than to analyze-though often in creation and discussion some analyzing happens)

Anyways, this poem is the result of one of these activities. I was avoiding preparing for a presentation at the time.

Leave a Response »

 

Resonate (by Rebecca Chasteen) Tuesday, Dec 16 2008

I like when you remind me
strictly by example
that I have potential resting
that I have momentum to gather

I like when you remind me
with appreciative eyes
that I have admirable qualities
and desirable attributes

I like when
with soft words, lilting,
you lift me
from my solitude

I like when you smile
and make me smile in return

and so, so carefully
extract from me
all those things
I’ve been reserving

for someone
who seeks them out

I am now

resonating

in your wake

It’s not a regular occurrence for a poem like this one to come out, it took a lot of time not resonating in anyone’s wake for whatever reasons before I was again.  The difference is probably in and about me more than it is the people around me. Seeking that, being open to it. Regardless now of why it was so long, all that matters is what a wonderful thing it is to have someone navigate the shrouded chambers of my self and dip into the pool of my solitude, or maybe skip a few rocks across it, wade in even past the ankles a little (till I stir up some kind of storm to send them home of course).

Just like violence is a cycle, so is kindness. The kindness of paying attention, the kindness of expression, the kindness of sharing, the kindness of patience, the kindness of waiting, and the kindness of prying (in love and good intent)…it really doesn’t take that much to make a ripple. I think, even the most guarded and quiet pools are waiting for someone to skip a couple stones or dip in a toe…and once someone does, it changes the landscape, and the possibilities.

One Response »

 

Ropes Courses (by Rebecca Chasteen) Thursday, Dec 11 2008

I.
You’re doing a great job
at making me regret every honest word,
every genuine gesture I keep offering
opportunities
it’s all becoming…nothing

I grasped you and hope in the same hand
and probably not the hope you’d guess

let’s just burn these pages
the words hurt me hanging,
never granted a place to rest
as they gather uncomfortably around you
while you act like you don’t know they do

I’ll chalk it up to my imagination –
all that connection, electricity, relief
things I must have conjured up just for me
we can pass one another in the halls again
(the longest hall I know from either end)

I have read your silence as indifference

you grant me allowances
I misinterpret and overspend

it turns out
it was always that afternoon
leaning against that car
signals crossed
I just wanted
and you did too,
I just didn’t want the same thing as you

I am trying to let this go
and unweave these ropes I tied and wove
while you keep on and on

you were never here so you can’t be gone
I should have known that all along.

II.
It just wasn’t ever right
if it was even real
I can’t make that call
when I’m feeling what I feel.

It wasn’t timing; it never was
in facing that, I face the rub.

I’m creative, I created
an intricate story and little safe places.
I waited
and there’s so much still to tell.
I’ll tell it to myself. (That act is unremarkably familiar)

I’m just trying to let go of this rope
I strung through you
and I bet you’ll barely feel a thing (if you even do)
and you’ll move your wings more swiftly
from these little plains I built up like they mean

and what you said about angry-
you have no idea the places I’ve been,
but then
you and I are
you and I

we never turned purple or green
or any combination of things
(though my vision so skewed, made murals from me and you)

we barely…

I took every…

it never…

and that’s really all that’s left
I guess

4 Responses »

 

Peddler (by Rebecca Chasteen) Wednesday, Dec 10 2008

I want to ask for everything back.
I don’t know why I keep giving away things that matter so much.

I laid my favored garments (so well-fitting) down
and stood uncovered and took the ones you fashioned;
corsets taking my breath,  laced and razor-lined bodices
leaving cuts pressed with little toxins across my chest
scars on my heart decorated with diamonds
so all anyone saw
was the shine.
Right when I thought I was completely numb,
you threw daggers,
you ripped apart your own design,
set me free just like that,
knife still in my back.
Blood lost, dizzy, I sat right there beside you, trained- changed.
Undone.

I guess you thought that was enough.

Leave a Response »

 

Kite Running, Worshiping Lilies in the Valley (by Rebecca Chasteen) Saturday, Dec 6 2008

Kite Runner

I wish you knew
the way I walk around
thread spinning as you kite away
thinnest strand
I tied to you that first time…

silly girl
who lays herself out
and expects so much more
knowing full well
the bed you made a long time ago
in hunger and desperation
even so
no one wants a train wreck
weren’t you the one who said that
you don’t want to have to salvage or sift through ashes?

you’re always a child
in need
and hopeful
spinning threads
to keep everyone you ever loved
or ever imagined cared for you
within strand’s reach
so no matter how far
they’re always pulling on your heart.
—————————————————————————————-
Lily of the Valley

I hate grieving the living,
sitting beside that glass
leaving fingerprints,
foggy breath marks
full of words

I’m so tired of telling you goodbye,
of resolutions I can’t keep
passing white flags screaming
“Retreat!” “Retreat!”

no matter what I tell you
or myself
mourning slips from my eyes
all the time
haunted by
conversations we don’t have
and places we don’t go

and every time
I start to feel okay,
I find a way to
open a wound

because there are already times
I start to forget the little things
that made it real
and I can’t go back

I can’t act like I don’t walk around
full to the top in wanting,
like I don’t bear the weight
of what I’m missing.
———————————————————————————-
worship

it’s idol worship, my head bowed on your chest
silent prayers
while I memorize the way it feels
to be the one in your arms

idol worship, kissing the corners of your mouth
while you smile at me
silent prayers,
that my offerings will keep me here

as much as I want to believe…
even I can see
this beggar, kneeling

it’s pathetic

so I swallow
the rest of my words

you are careful, but kind enough, composed
the moment’s gone, as moment’s go
every pore I could open to soak you in
misses you

while silent prayers fall into hands that held you

idle worship
in those places you were;
on watch

4 Responses »