A Poem for Thought

She who reconciles the ill-matched threads
Of her life, and weaves them gratefully
Into a single cloth – 
It’s she who drives the loudmouths from the hall
And clears it for a different celebration.

Where the one guest is you.
In the softness of evening
It’s you she receives.

You are the partner of her loneliness,
The unspeaking center of her monologues.
With each disclosure you encompass more
And she stretches beyond what limits her,
To hold you.

-Rilke

Long Overdue..

You graduated today. You made it. I loved being there, so proud. You are everything I could have hope for, the best role model. You are perfect and you are mine, sister. Seeing how far you came, the leaps and bounds, the purity of your success, genuine. Breaking free from this monotonous society, a breath of fresh air. Baptized in your own aspirations...look at you now.

Drenched in black gown, you small skeleton holds up your enormous heart and the large smile draped across your face. You are big. So big. Look what you have done, where you are going, limitless.

So don't cry tonight. Don't waste another moment wiping salty tears from your crestfallen lashes. I know it hurts right now. I understand that letting go is hard. But this is a beautiful beginning for you, Kate. This si the next chapter. Step into liquid and swim. You are more ready than you know. Now, everything is for you, about you. Everything you do is for yourself- not to get into college or impress anyone, no this is your life now, your time.

I love you more than anything, sis, more than anything. Go capture the world, go...

Poem for Thought

Do not stand at my grave and weep,

I am not there, I do not sleep.

I am in a thousand winds that blow,

I am the softly falling snow.

I am the gentle showers of rain,

I am the fields of ripening grain.

I am in the morning hush,

I am in the graceful rush

Of beautiful birds in circling flight,

I am the starshine of the night.

I am in the flowers that bloom,

I am in a quiet room.

I am in the birds that sing,

I am in each lovely thing.

Do not stand at my grave bereft

I am not there. I have not left.

---Mary Elizabeth Frye

Make A New Path

You are the maker of your

life, is worth living if you can

step out of the droning sounds of

city nights and gain back what you

lost, but they too have moved on to

greater passions we have in this

world, one must be his own or just

become one of the many and lose sight

of the remembered, become the

forgotten, left at a street corner in

the middle of time I stand overlooking

everything because I am everywhere and

around me has, is always present

stepping into the virgin earth as it

quakes below the pad of my foot

i leave a mark on this land, it is

mine and I the creator, protector

destroyer, of this path I walk on

every step closer to the sun

closer to the light

closer to myself

the maker of my life

-KJ Appenzeller

Watching a Sunrise

I woke up this morning, still tired from the week's rendezvous of racing and training non stop. My legs quiver like Annie's noodles boiling in a pot on a Sunday afternoon. I look up at my ceiling and watch the fingers of the sun play on my ceiling a symphony of morning. I shift my weight to the left and attempt to rediscover darkness under my sheets. I fail as I notice my mind wandering off onto a trail of the day's tasks and thoughts. I reluctantly perch myself up and dangle my limbs over the edge of the bed frame, jump. I go to the window and remove the curtain from the window to the outside world. The fire come roaring into my eyes, burning my senses as I take in the raging light like a dam releasing a winter's snow into a spring. I can feel the warmth from the warm window that is now blowing like it is April on this February morning in Stratton, VT. My eyes take in the white tundra around me, the crystals set ablaze by the ball of fire over head that is burning holes in the white canvas. My gaze is pulled to the left and there you are. Sitting there, alone but happy as ever, just watching. You are watching the trees blow, seeing the leafless limbs flirt with the wind. You are rolling perfect spheres of snow in your hands and then watching them melt in your palms. I can feel your breath from my window, I can feel you looking at me, I feel you so close, I know you are close. I close the blinds. I cannot handle the emotions now overtaking me. I return to the darkness of my room and I get my mind off of you. I am sorry, I should embrace you, embrace the knowledge I now have of your proximity of existence, but I know it is in my head. Because those somber ashes are only dust and back in the peace of my mind I remain; knowing that you are free. I remind myself you are everywhere, in everything, free in the ether above me, able to do whatever, limitless. It is self fish of me to trap your memory here on campus. So once again I am letting you go. I... I love you.

A Poem for You, Beckie

crisp as the newfallen flakes
you glide along your haven of
white ice and there is nothing
that could stop, retain your true

passion to life, this life and every
moment within, you grasped
and made so much for everyone, you
small and softspoken, the biggest

heart that with every beat another
life, touched by your warm
smile, like the golden rays of the
morning sun, you light the earth

and you still do, your light was too
much for the restraints placed
on you, the limits of this earth
could not tame you and they knew
you could bring so much good from

above, for it is you who clears
the darkness from the skies to
bring into our hearts your light, your
love, your efferevecent glow

too big for this world, you were
sweet sixteen, you taught us more than
you know, but from what we have learned
decades of wisdom, we gained

your are the air we breathe
you are in the wind, the voice
in the mountains, the valleys
you are the snow, every flake

you are where we seek, the ethers
beyond this life, weightless, above us you are
free to be everywhere and in everything
and patiently below we wonder and
close our eyes, only
to discover
you

opendrive... gotta love it
https://www.opendrive.com/user_account/account.php

Poem by Victoria Redel

Maybe there is nothing special going on.
We are reading or we are eating supper,

Maybe we are driving a back road. I look over
and see that if I stopped the car and got out,

if I started dancing and singing on the loose dirt,
if I put down the book and held your face in my hands,

or pressed myself to you, it would not matter,
You are too far from me.

Grief—I’ve seen her at night;
the way she dresses up, my god, she sparkles,

she shimmers. I can't blame you. I'd go to her too.
Who wouldn't want her and then want her again

once they'd felt all the ways
she makes a body shake.

The Winner Is - DeVotchKa