Take Time

As the new year begins, and my school term starts to ramp up again, I wanted to take a little time to share a magnificent piece of poetry that I have recently come across. Life can be hectic, and I think this poem, whether held to religious standards or not, contains some wonderful advice on how to live our lives. My posts may come a little less frequently now, so I hope this one brings you a little joy.

Take Time
Author Unknown


Take time to think...
it is the source of power.

Take time to play...
it is the secret of perpetual youth.

Take time to pray...
it is the greatest power on earth.

Take time to love and be loved...
it is a God-given privilege.

Take time to be friendly...
it is the road to happiness.

Take time to laugh...
it is the music of the soul.

Take time to give...
it is too short a day to be selfish.

Take time to work...
it is the price of success.

Five Sentence Fiction: Vision

What is FSF? Each week, Lillie McFerrin posts a wonderful one word prompt here. I am horribly inconsistent about keeping up with FSF, but now that I am on school vacation, I am trying to stretch my writing muscles once again. Merry Christmas to everyone, and I hope that all is good as we head rapidly towards the new year. I am excited for a fresh year of possibilities and poetry, and hopefully this blog will see some action as the result of a resolution to keep writing. This week's FSF word is vision.

Vision:

When the Bing Crosby version of White Christmas came on the radio, she sang along loudly, her voice heating the car and filling it with a jollity and festive air that she loved. As the little VW Beetle wound its way up through the mountains sugar coated with snow, she flipped on her headlights and wind shield wipers. The snow was coming down fast, making her feel very alone on the dark roads with miles to go before she reached her destination. 

Perhaps it could have been avoided, had her boyfriend decided to come with her to her parents' house for Christmas. 

Perhaps with another set of eyes, she would have sensed the pick up speeding the opposite way, covered by the dark blanket of falling snow.

Confessions of the Wandering Poet: Haikus

Haikus are for (in this case) the 

frightened poet

the (this) restless mind, wandering in search of their soul

unable to set themselves free

slapping down syllables

burrowing ideas deep within

meandering through lines

hiccuping phrases, the quiet one at the breakfast table

thinking into her glass of juice

never a complete thought

there-and gone with a flash

this poet is unsure

a coward

(she's me). 

Snowfall

A few hesitant
Flakes fall from the slate grey sky
Not enough for me

A haiku for this season

On the streets, shared smiles
Each opening their heart to
This season of joy

A Prayer for Newtown

a candle burns in remembrance
sitting in my heart
gusts of thoughts make the candle quiver
the flame burns on

Reflections on Being Swedish

The sky outside was still dark as whispered voices and muffled footsteps echoed throughout the house. In the early hours of the morning, the kettle hummed and a little girl dressed herself all in white. A tray was loaded with tea and lussekatter, saffron buns sprinkled with pearl sugar and shaped into swirls. Three young heads bobbed up the stairs, glowing in the light of candles. As the door to the master bedroom was eased open, quivering voices began to sing. “Santa Lucia, Santa Lucia.”

I was the girl clad in white with a red sash and a crown of candles, followed resolutely each year by my brothers into the room of my parents on that frigid morning in December. In that moment, my face sparkling in the glow of the plastic lights on my head, I was Saint Lucia, reenacting the rescue of the poor peasants in Sweden on a dark night long ago, saved by a glowing presence in white who offered them food and comfort. I grew up with the story of Saint Lucia, and each year on the thirteenth of December, I lived the life of a Swede.

I will always be proud to say that I am one sixteenth Swedish. My household growing up was not of one rich cultural background, I did not come home to a second language, and I do not have one direct country of origin. Instead, out of a melting pot of European countries, there arose a love of my Swedish heritage, and I grew up knowing of my ancestors from Sweden and holding in my heart a country other than the United States. Each year, I lovingly arranged our dala horses, brightly painted in blues and reds, and read the story of the mischievous Tompte, the little spirit man who visits farms at night to bless the inhabitants. I heard news of our distant cousins living in Sweden, and occasionally thumbed through photo albums of the trip to Sweden that was made when I was two years old. Although I do not remember Sweden, it has played a large role in my childhood years and as I begin to understand my heritage.

While it may seem easy for those who are directly descended from a particular ethnic background to celebrate their culture, it is equally important for those of us who are made up of many stories and many nations to learn and to live remembering who we are. Though I may not be able to trace every country my relatives have come from, I am able to rejoice in my Swedish traditions, to proudly show up each year for the annual tree trimming at my family’s Swedish Lodge and to dance around the Christmas tree, butchering the Swedish words to every song.

Five Sentence Fiction: Devotion

What is FSF? Each week, Lillie McFerrin posts a wonderful one word prompt here. I am horribly inconsistent about keeping up with FSF, but now that I am on school vacation, I am trying to stretch my writing muscles once again. This week's word is devotion.

Each day, early in the morning when the mist clung to the tree tops and the family was asleep, Mae tip toed down the stairs and eased open the front door. The grass was cool under her feet, and she felt goose bumps rise on her arms as she scurried towards the pines and the the cool dirt that lay beneath. This was Mae's quiet time, the time when her younger brothers drooled onto their pillow cases and her parents, exhausted, stayed in bed. When Mae reached the roots of one pine tree, she stopped, and crouched down to gaze at a small green shoot peeking above the soil. This was Mae's special time, and to her, this plant was magical. 

Book Recommendation

Recommendation: Les Miserables

Well, I am officially a slacker in regards to this blog, and I am so sorry for not staying in touch with this blog. My life this term has been incredibly busy, my schoolwork demanding but exciting. Now that it is vacation, I have been getting back in touch with my vacation self, reading, knitting, writing, and taking pictures. Coming into vacation I knew that I wanted to read the classic French novel Les Miserables before the release of the new movie on Christmas day. I am a huge fan of the musical, and I love to read classics, so I sat down contented with reading the 1200 page chunk of literature.

This book is a masterfully crafted book of a different era, so be prepared for a level of detail similar to Charles Dickens. Victor Hugo writes about many, many characteristics of the human spirit, and it is impossible not to be touched by the struggles of the people you encounter. Set in the early 1800's in France, Les Mis is a story of epic proportions, a story of love and betrayal, hatred, justice, and resolutions. While it can be difficult to follow at some points due to the volume of characters and information, every sentence is beautiful, and Victor Hugo knows how to make a reader laugh and cry. I recommend it to anyone willing to read the whole book, anyone who is looking for a read that captures a time period and a group of people perfectly.

Missing

it's a nagging pain, like a splinter
a throb every once in awhile
to make me remember

then those thoughts flood in
leisurely lunches spent laughing
cold days trudging along together
our misty breath mingling in the chilled air

memories send tiny pin pricks up and down my spine
sometimes i cannot bare them
but never can i spend a day without them

when we meet again
whisper dreams into my ear
and i will listen

Boston Skies

i stare out the window
it's funny, my face is reflected
into a sea of stars
we are together, the stars and i
in the deep blue of early night
swimming through the sky
there is no horizon
from this high up, just
a smudged charcoal line between blue and deeper blue
the wing tip nods in the wind gently
hard to believe how fast we are going
there are no clouds, or they are
the same color as the sky
just the pinpricks and the reflection of
my tired eyes
we begin to lower
i see the lights of a city
my city, i feel protective
but mostly just exhausted
we glide over the bay, and suddenly i see
the moon, gleaming off the wings and
sitting in the sky
the water shimmers as we rush
past, falling down towards it
i am not scared because i am not alone
i have the stars
the city is illuminated with a thousand
tiny lights
so is the runway
they look like christmas lights
and we are down
bumping along
staring out the window
for our last glimpse of the sky

Five Sentence Fiction: Perseverance

I am so happy to have found my way back to FSF! After a bit of a blogging vacation, I am thrilled to start writing again (I have been writing a lot, just not for anyone else to see.) This week's theme is Perseverance, and I hope not to embarrass myself. For anyone who is seeing this for the first time on my blog, you can join at www.lilliemcferrin.com.

Claire

Perseverance:

I guess it makes sense that the more you work, the harder you work, the easier it will become, but it hasn't happened for me yet. That's for sure. Every day, I put on my T-shirt and shorts, my socks, and my soccer cleats, my watch for timing myself. Every day, I go to the field behind my house and run until tiny rivers of sweat spill down my face and I can taste the salt on my tongue. I guess it makes sense for me to persevere, but right now I'm just hoping it gets easier soon. 

Rosebud After Rain

Workout=Repitition

I

Commit

Breathe

Sweat 

Ready

Now

Sprint

Jog

II

Now

Ready

Breathe

Commit

Sprint

Sweat

Jog

III

Sprint

Ready

Commit

Now 

Sweat

Jog

Breathe

Running, running, running

From one vacation to the next I go
The hot summer sun makes me wish for snow
I have just one day
To pack-then away!
Oh, how I wish to go slow!

Serendipity

patches of sunlight slide across

the room; bars of gold drifting

toward my face

**

a laugh a smile a nod

in a second, the friendship is secure

serendipity

Moments of Majesty

there are moments
shifting, like the patches of shade in a forest
where you feel a spark
a time of peace in a world of endless hustle and bustle
disconnecting yourself
watching the sun set over the water
finding the tips of the misty mountains at dawn
afterwards, there is a hush of understanding inside of you
then a rush to share the peace
with others just like you

Outdoor Concert

hands stroke the piano keys
the sound resonates
up through the wood and the lines of chairs
up to the green mountains
that stand above, casting sunset shadows down
to the listeners
sitting in the grass
ears pricked like dogs
hearing the notes
a symphony hidden in each shining key

Mountains

These mountains take my breath away

In each moment, I feel defined, something small that takes up

Little space

Solidly, my feet stand on the ground

The same ground that these giants have sprouted from

Did they curl up like the leaves of

An emerald fern?

Or in a second

Just begin to be

Vast and silent, standing above

Us all?

These mountains are the rainbow

In a day

From the pink tips of sunlight just rising into the bowl of the sky

Down to the fiery orange of midday. The green of the trees

That cling to the ridge line, stubbornly in their place

When the light grows tired, these mountains are purple

Dyed brightly against the haze of the sky

They fade against the background as the bowl grows dark

Until the only thing that separates these mountains and the sky

Is the stars. 

Brother

brother
in your new clothes and
sure smile
you are ready to take the leap. move forward and
leave a part of you behind
brother
growing fast and not looking back
you will appreciate these moments later
khaki pants
maybe for the first time in your life
listen to the speakers and hear what they say
maybe not remember beyond today, but they have good advice
a segment of your life is over
tune in next week for another installment
for now
just laugh with friends
store your memories somewhere safe
for another rainy day