big children, small adults (by Rebecca Chasteen) Tuesday, Sep 29 2009 

Can I just say,

it was unfair

to let me be

such a small adult.

love was not enough

to show me the ropes

A child’s decisions

should be questioned.

Didn’t anyone see

the child in me?

Didn’t anyone

lack enough belief?

It was obligation,

everything I did

It was preservation,

everything I hid

It was fear,

every time I ran

It was grasping

to understand

everything you couldn’t tell me

while you were so consumed

You didn’t see the child in me,

but I saw the one in you.

And I knew if I lost it,

if I let go

there’d be no one to come and get me

no one would know

what to say

and no one would realize

till much too late.

Pretty (by Rebecca Chasteen) Monday, Jun 29 2009 

Don’t be so surprised by pretty mouths full of dirty words-
the dirty is not the part that hurts.

Everyone knows
pretty only gets you so far
and it’ll come down to
what you’ll swallow
and what you’ll spit,
what you’ll reject
and what you’ll stretch or shrink to fit

Pretty mouths
have to learn
“Me first”
and
“Fuck you”
or even
“Fuck me”

Pretty mouths have to be
able to say “No”
and spit it with conviction

Pretty mouths
have to practice non-pretty ways
to secure attention

Pretty mouths
have to be willing
to dirty themselves
with
sex and money and politics,
with opinions and arguments

Pretty mouths
have to put out
exactly
what they’re told to take down
so their voice
makes it’s way around
the teeth and tongue and lips,
all the things that rest on the tips…

I’m not saying pretty mouths
can’t gloss it up,
can’t pout it out,
can’t pour out sweet,
and drink sweet down

I’m not saying pretty mouths
can’t move as they choose-
but a pretty mouth that won’t get dirty
may lose all there is to lose

So don’t you dare lay out
fairytales
for little lips
from the spoons of your mouths

Don’t enchant them
with dreams that someone else must fulfill
(because no one can and no one will)

No-
feed them
honesty and the power of vocabulary
that spans all the things they’ll ever taste or
have to demand or
suck away from someone else
to make sure they have enough for themselves

Feed them love and feed them the gritty,
just don’t feed them
the crutch of pretty.

Storytime at the Library (by Rebecca Chasteen) Sunday, May 3 2009 

Prompt: write an outsider poem. You can be the outsider; someone else can be the outsider; or it can even be an animal or inanimate object that’s the outsider. As usual, get creative with the prompt and don’t be afraid to stretch the limits.

Storytime at the Library

You’re talking about organic grocery stores
but her food stamps would never stretch that far
and about kiddie gymnastics, music classes, your favorite department stores
but in her world, rent comes first and takes it all
so she folds her hands on her yard sale pants
and nods and smiles
she’s just glad you’re here

and the easy free of the library
is the best chance she gets to catch up on life outside
her house on a hill in the middle of the field
it’s lonely
but it’s better than
the rows of income reduced apartments that reek of generations
that she will not be part of
GED complete and first semester of college almost done…

I know you see
her mismatched daughter with the worn red shoes
and see her pants hanging too big on her tiny frame
and you might speculate or judge about how or why she’s in this place
but she’s just relieved
to be somewhere she doesn’t have to run through
all her hardships and heartbreaks
just so someone will give her the time of day,
bargaining for money and food with these words
(only if you’ve had to do this can you know how much this hurts)

And when talk shifts to weekend plans, babysitter, drinks, and dinners,
she turns her head, deflects the whole conversation
with kisses on her baby’s face, she’ll never give way
to envy
it’s too dangerous to entertain

She’s in a cautious place
content without complacency

someone’s thinking
how it’s easy
to not be her
how you would never…
but she hasn’t hid behind excuses or complaints
she’s made her way
from the beginning
it’s not where she came from, it’s where she’s leaving

and you are, along the way
her closest concept
of friendship
because you’re here
on Tuesday mornings, kids in tow
just like her
and that makes her
not so different than you
now does it?

link to the challenge, day 2:   http://blog.writersdigest.com/poeticasides/April+PAD+Challenge+Day+2.aspx

Breathing Room (by Rebecca Chasteen) Monday, Mar 16 2009 

“I need breathing room”
Is what I heard her say.
Not with words,
But with her way.

She wants to be free

She sat reserved,
But I saw her scream.
You can only go so long
Before you have to breathe.

Things I Really Need You To Know (by Rebecca Chasteen) Wednesday, Dec 3 2008 

There’s a difference in free and aimless;
with adventure comes consequence,
so measure this and take the risks
you deem worth it.

Not all who wander are lost, but there’s a difference in exploration and exploitation;
this is not a trial run,
don’t squander opportunities to make life mean.

All our existences intersect-
be conscientious,
don’t drunk drive your way through.

Question accepted “truths”.

Live purposefully,
live aware,
thinking for yourself
is not the same as ignoring everyone else.

There’s a difference between apathy and peace.

Be a scientist, an anthropologist, a linguist,
seek to understand.

seek to live expressively.
seek harmony.
seek joy.
Seek.

Gather up things inside you to hold,
these are the only things you’ll ever really own-
guard them, feed them,
this is your wellspring, you’ll need this unremittingly.

Try to minimize pollution in your mind, in your soul,
let your open mind be your open road,
enlightenment can not be found any where
if it’s not already within your self.

You have inside you endless possibility and strength.
You have room for belief and love, you always have room.
And the safest place you’ll ever find is between the two.
Because no amount of any material thing can grant you safety or guarantee.

In your relationships, seek communion, reflection, laughter,
but never seek completion;
we are not designed to co-depend,
but to co-exist.

Expect and accept
anger, hurt, disappointment,
but let these things pass through
and keep in your self a hiding place
and room for grace.

It’s worth it to let go
and it’s worth it to hold on
and only you know how far you can go,
either way.

Take your time
and don’t compare yourself to anyone else’s version
of happy or satisfied.

Sometimes even your best decisions won’t go as you hoped,
but you only perceive a lonely road,
because there’s no place you can go where you are alone.

In our depths, we reach our heights,
don’t be afraid to ache or cry,
you are expanding your capacities;
your breadth and reach.

Don’t believe you should know, believe you should learn.
There are inevitable missteps, unavoidable mis-turns.

You will pick up, along the way, dozens of roles.
Learn enough to know why you indulge them,
and know it’s always a choice, you can always say no.

Speak your petitions,
gaze,
and listen.

Freedom is living a life where your body, spirit, and mind are in tune and entwined

Love is more than they lead you to believe, and in some ways, less

Don’t accept general standards

Learn what you don’t want in your life and develop a filter-
never a wall;
then stand,
open arms, heart, hands, and take the rest,
it is yours to take (and share).

Everything you allow yourself is yours (this is the same for those around you)

Don’t limit your self,
and I’ll try not to.

Before my daughter Natalie was born, I wrote her a poem, “Be Free” and this was the last stanza: “All your life people will tell you what they think you should be, but what I want for you most is just to be free”.

This poem is something of a follow up, or maybe an extension

In “The Prophet” by Kahlil Gibran, it says “Your children are not your children…They come through you but are not from you, and though they are with you yet they belong not to you. You may give them your love but not your thoughts, for they have their own thoughts…You are the bows from which your children as living arrows are sent forth. The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite, and he bends you with His might that His arrows may go swift and far.”

I am an arrow still, and I am a bow. I am a bow made from an arrow. I know I can’t save my daughter grief or sadness or tragedy. Nor will my guidance always be useful or even sought after. But I know it’s not enough just to love her, just to provide for her her basic needs, or her wants, or just to write her a poem if I do not embody the love, the provision, the words, if I am not a present, mindful party in her life, if I am not a living example of my hopes for her. And that is so much harder than writing the poem, or packing her lunchbox…

Forfeit (by Rebecca Chasteen) Wednesday, Dec 3 2008 

I complain
about having not a moment to myself until I am exhausted,
and about the chaos of my car,
my house,
my day-
about crushed goldfish and juice stains,

showers with little hands opening the curtain
to make sure I am there
when all I want to do is breathe in coconut conditioner
as it rolls down my back

and about the shifts I’m pulling:
split shift domestic duty,
full-time-straight-through

professional,
and per requested need social shift.
There is not a me shift anymore, unless you count sleep,
which wouldn’t count for much.

And I complain about soft thighs and late paperwork
(which, to be perfectly honest, have really been a problem all along),
and the whole babysitter fiasco
just for an overpriced lemon chicken and a hangover;

and the coffee addiction that I actually enjoy

But I know in the back of my mind
how all too soon she no longer needed me to carry her,
And how fast 6 months goes
when you look at a box of clothes she’ll never wear again
and you can think of sitting her on your lap
and blowing bubbles at the picnic table while cars passed by
and she was wearing that yellow onesie with the flower…

She already knows the words “go away”

The days of plastic purple play shoes and silly hats
are far shorter than the days I will have time
to paint my nails and go to gallery crawls

and I never really cared about a clean car anyway.

I chose this one for this week because Alisa mentioned a blog I wrote last year on motherhood and I thought she (and my other mom friends, soon-to-be-mom friends, or one-day-want-to-be-mom friends) would appreciate it.