Life’s Breath (by Rebecca Chasteen) Tuesday, Sep 29 2009

I’ve always loved the recklessness

the road warned against

supplies

the breath of life

comes from choosing feeling

the road suggested

comes stealing conviction,

suffocating belief,

handing out grief,

it will work a spirit till it’s weak

and considers falling in line

happens all the time

to even the most headstrong

poison in the heart

making it all seem wrong

making what’s not

look so good

making what is

look like something no one would

hold on to

And the choosers forget why they choose what they choose

and don’t know what is true

or what to do

clarity comes

in so many forms

looks like perseverance pays-

seeking the soul of things

till

the chooser gets back the reigns

and can see

what it feels like

to have been right

from the first step

of recklessness

the gritty sweet

of life’s breath.

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Tamper proof (by Rebecca Chasteen) Thursday, Sep 24 2009

This is
keeping my head above water
keeping my hands off those bottles,
most of the time

this may be a lie
but this is mine

I
do more than survive
with this inside

I own everything-
everything is within my range

as long as there’s room for movement
within this

I wrap myself in it,
it cushions every fall,
it walks with me through every wall…

this
may be a lie,
but this is mine

and this is
keeping my head above water
keeping my hands off those bottles

most of the time

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The Axis (by Rebecca Chasteen) Saturday, Aug 15 2009

The sadness

just

carries-

same as always.

The same ache,

and there’s no one

waiting.

We are worlds apart,

galaxies between.

And somehow

that doesn’t dull the drive,

the curiosity,

the hunger,

the need.

It doesn’t slow the sadness

at my axis-

that which I spin upon-

can’t separate myself from.

Who would I be

without this?

Would I stop moving?

Would I combust?

Would we…

Of course I can’t ask that

we still have lightyears to cross.

We have so much darkness to navigate,

so many rocks and ice and  flames.

I can’t do anything with this

but repeat it.

All these arrangements of letters and words,

to say the same thing.

Of all the things that change

this isn’t one.

This is

strange gravity,

pulling, spinning, ignoring me.

You are

so far,

so much.

I can’t touch anything

without the greatest efforts and manipulations-

just for seconds of hope I squeeze from your stars.

I miss everything we never are.

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Steady Line (by Rebecca Chasteen) Friday, Jul 17 2009

I see the steady line
of you and I
in the folds of time

it’s never been
anything else
no matter
how far
no matter how little
how much

we touch
on that line
so easy,
it’s hard to follow

but we’re free from everything-
you and I
on that steady line

I promise you
I saw it there
all along

I find hope in standing here
looking forward, looking back
all the roads we take
fall to, or from this track
and they all lead here

it’s what I know more than what I feel

because I feel
everything
and I usually fall down
waiting
or move forward, almost
giving up
throwing out crumbs for you to follow
forgetting you know the way

the way’s the same-
some things don’t change

I see the steady line
of you and I
in all the folds of time
Don’t you know
there’s no right or wrong?
Haven’t you known that
all along?

I’ve known
all along
about you

we are both
wind and sun
we are everywhere, there’s no where to run
we are everything, underneath it all
it doesn’t matter-

walls
fall
and there,
behind,

you’ll find
that steady line
of you and I.

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Goodbye is an Evening (by Rebecca Chasteen) Saturday, May 30 2009

For today’s prompt, I want you to write a farewell poem.

Goodbye is an Evening

No goodbye
I ever tried
really did anything
like what it said.

Even funerals were just midpoints,
resting spots,
before everything
spun off.

Every person’s movement,
every person’s light,
attached to the thinnest strand:
unbreakable still.

Each person
going where they go,
where they’ve been,
weaving me in.

So goodbye was just a word to say
temporary things,
to say something changed-
the end of the day.

You can’t put people away,
you can’t put away things
that keep moving,
keep meaning.

Goodbye is only an evening-
a moment when we rest between
the places we’re going
and the places we’ve seen

http://blog.writersdigest.com/poeticasides/2009/04/30/AprilPADChallengeDay30.aspx

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Never Trust Poetry (by Rebecca Chasteen) Friday, May 29 2009

For today’s prompt, I want you to title your poems “Never (blank)” with you filling in the blank with a word or phrase. Then, write a poem based off your title

Never Trust Poetry

Never trust poetry
to say the things you need to say
to the ears you need
to hear them most.

Never trust poetry
to tell the truth
without it’s own twist,
making pretty to the ears
even the sad and ugly.

Never trust poetry
to navigate for you,
to do your dirty work,
to make your mark.

Never trust poetry
to settle it all.

Poetry is options,
variety of choice.
Poetry’s the vessel,
the Poet, at the helm,
must bear the rain,
take the salt in the wounds,
the wind, the sun…

elements can’t be written off,
but are written out
until they’re
something else.

Never trust poetry.
It’s
barely anything
but imagination.

http://blog.writersdigest.com/poeticasides/2009/04/29/AprilPADChallengeDay29.aspx

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Collection Calls (by Rebecca Chasteen) Tuesday, May 26 2009

“All I’ve got is what’s in my head
Please don’t go,
I’ve been trying to reach you through this phone” – Harvard

Collection Calls

I hope you
burned those letters
and poems.
I hope the words filled the air
from ink to smoke
from solid pen-on-paper honesty
to vapors of things
not free
just changed
just mistaken
for the kind of thing
that a good night’s sleep and a shower
can wash away.

I hope you burned them
and I hope it hurt you
to know you turned it all into ash
to know what you had,
could still have
if you’d just been able to hold on…

I tried to write the words
on your skin
on your lips
your cheek
your forehead
your neck

I guess they never took
I guess you never let them sit
I guess the ones
I pressed to your chest
were the first ones dismissed

and yes
I’m angry
and I will be
until I’m done
grieving this
and I’ll grieve it
as long as it hurts
and everytime you
half ass
an attempt
to normalize this
you magnify it

You can ignore this
as much as you want,
it doesn’t make it disappear.
I hope you burned
all the paper evidence
and still twinge
when you remember.

How long are you going to pretend
nothing happened
nothing mattered?

It’s the dumbest carousel we’re on right now
but I’m not leaving
till you finally make the jump
and say something
one way or the other
I don’t care anymore
what comes out of your mouth

just that
you pick the words you know you mean the most
and stick to them,
place them
on my head,
rain them down

I’m so thirsty for anything you offer,
I’ll drink whatever you’ve got
and if you finally pour out the real stuff
I promise
I’ll stop.

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Here’s To The Rest (by Rebecca Chasteen) Tuesday, May 26 2009

Maybe I should say
I could never find your shoes to walk in
where do you keep them?

No matter what I try,
you’re silent
and I’m left guessing
your side.

So I’ve tried,
and fell upon
a lot of anger,
believing
it was all
the nothing
of an easy high.

So I’m gonna go at it
from this side-
here’s to the rest:
on the chance that
you’ve always cared,
you’ve always meant the things you said,
I walk around
heavy in your head.

Here’s to the thought that
you never used me,
everything was real,
you’re just scared of what you feel.

And if there were choices to choose
you’d ask me to stay
you’d tell me “don’t go away”
and in your silence
you’re trying to do the right thing,

what you think is best for me,
and you find my words
and can’t stand to see
such hurt
because that’s not what you meant.

And you don’t really want me to let you go
and in your heart of hearts everything means so
much
too much
to ever open all that up.

Here’s to all that;
here’s to me saying
it doesn’t really help
and I’d rather you roll it out
than blow it away,
smoky words
that change their form
and don’t cling to anything.

I need
something here
to adjust to.
I’m just
putting words in your mouth
and I know
you have enough of your own,
we could hammer this out.

Here’s to
another series of letters
arranged to make you think,
vainly assuming
you look for them,
and the hope that
I’ll get the chance
to throw them in your face-

that we’ll one day
be in the same place.

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Debtor (by Rebecca Chasteen) Sunday, May 24 2009

(1/31 to 5/25 2001)

O My God,
You overwhelm me.
This is more that I’ll ever deserve.
What a heavenly gift!
I could never earn such joy.

You are consistently
the sunlight that
warms and fills me
after savage storms destroy me
and leave me
ransacked,
cold
and incomplete.

I’ve allowed so many
clouds
to devour
your complete essence;
I began to believe in darkness
as reality.
Then there is no happiness,
there is no free-
only chains of pain and yesterdays,
bad dreams and restlessness that won’t go away.

But the darkness lies.
And it’s hidden the truth from these bloodshot eyes.

I’ve come to understand this:
You are my only peace,
true motivation,
chance at beauty,
and inspiration.

And even as I flounder and fall,
vainly cry out and call,
run everywhere but home,
and wonder why I’m so alone,
You never move from me.

Even as I move from myself,
even after I’ve ignored You,
You never refuse to help.

I’m constantly
rediscovering
Your Divinity.
And I’ll gladly be
forever
a debtor.
For I’m full to the top,
And my cup runneth over.

“You prepare a table for me in the presence of my enemies. You anoint my head with oil; my cup overflows.” Psalm 23:5

This is probably my favorite of the older poems from this time period. It was the completion of a section of a journey; it was the mountain I’d been climbing for so long with so many tears and words and months.

The beginning stanza always makes me uncomfortable, it’s so unabashedly praise-full. It’s no small feat to be in that place. I’m not really a “Praise Jesus!” with her hands in the hair kind of girl. That’s just not my style. But there are times that I am a face toward the sky, palms facing up or resting on my heart, silent tears down my face kind of “O My God” and that’s what this is.

This is resting at the top of that mountain, love and peace and purpose shaking my soul. This is the understanding of “us”, God and me. The love, the relationship. God is still the “sunlight that warms and fills me after savage storms destroy me”. God is still my freedom. God is still my beauty, motivation, inspiration. God is still my perfect parent- covering me, understanding me, guiding, waiting, pulling, forgiving. I say nothing of love here specifically, but this is love: grace, warmth, presence, patience, light; arms that never close. That is my God, as God has always been, and always will be.

It is this love, the acceptance of this love that changes people. Nothing will change you like accepting this kind of love. From there, anything is truly possible. Full to the top with this kind of thing makes a person brave with belief. Makes a person willing to take part in daily miracles because they can now see how many opportunities there are.

And the misconception here, the reason I think so many times we aren’t accepting this love, is because we feel we can’t earn it. But the reason we can’t earn it is not because we don’t deserve it, it’s because it’s not up for the earning. It is there, always, from the beginning. It is there for the taking, as soon as we allow ourselves to take it. The idea that we are not worthy is not of love. It’s not of God. Nothing about God supports that line of thinking. Don’t believe that. Don’t believe anyone, any thing that makes you think you need to be anything other than what you are to have love. Those are lies. And we all know the master of lies. Don’t buy his crap. He’ll sell you anything that will keep you down. Satan is a loser. His darkness is an already defeated lie. Don’t waste time on it. Just take love. Open, free, encompassing, love. Take it. Break and break and break until there’s room for it. And keep breaking if you have to. I know I do.

Everything else will come. Just take love.

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Dirty Blonde (by Rebecca Chasteen) Saturday, May 16 2009

For today’s prompt, I want you to pick a color, make that the title of your poem, and write a poem that is inspired by that color.

Dirty Blonde

Dirty blonde,
she’s squeaky clean
(unless you ask the right people
if you know what I mean)

it’s just always
the way she…
the way the
dirty blonde locks
fall right in place
natural highlights
the sun on her face
the way she laughs
as you imagine her taste

there’s just that
natural pull-
the gravity
of pretty
(she’s stuck in it too
and just can’t get free)

dirty blonde
but sugar sweet
blue jeaned thighs
and flip flopped feet

She’s easy
to be near
easy to believe
easy to look at
easy to need

it’s not so easy
to see
the dirty part
when she’s throwing you her heart (and whatever else you ask for)

even if it’s
right in front of you
even if she
thought she tried
to let you know

she’ll never come out and say it,
it’ll never just show
but it’s
everywhere…

and you’re too happy with
dirty blonde hair
falling around your shoulders,
on your chest

you can
ignore,
forgive,
overlook
the rest.

http://blog.writersdigest.com/poeticasides/2009/04/16/AprilPADChallengeDay16.aspx

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