words fail me

words are usually my medium of choice
I’m told I’m skilled at using words to create art
but often, words fail me

when emotion runs deep
words feel so shallow

when reality is rich
words seem so dry

I write to try to ascribe meaning to emotions
to understand experiences
but often, words fail me

the prose falls flat
when describing fascinating feelings

the poetry seems stale
when attempting to show sentiment

still, words continue to flow out
because without an outlet, they stagnate inside
yet often, words fail me

after the tears {spoken word guest post}

a beautiful spoken word testimony from my dear friend and sister Moriah
many thanks to her for allowing me to share it with my readers
her poetic voice is beautiful and strong and touching
play the video to let her reach out and touch you

mama’s body

mama’s thirtieth birthday was special
but what I remember most isn’t the golden crown, cake, or icecream
what I remember most is mama’s body

mama’s body, great with child
I thought it was beautiful
and I knew it was a miracle

I remembered being three
when mama told me she couldn’t carry babies
her body rebelled against her desires

but God crafted a miracle
through a little girl’s prayer (my prayer)
and gave not just one, but two babies

the first came when mama was twenty-seven
the next, two weeks after mama’s thirtieth birthday
two sisters for the girl who was supposed to be alone

three daughters for a mama whose body
rebelled against her desires
this body that seemed too weak to carry a baby, carried three

and continues to carry them
at first, she carried us in her womb
then in her arms

she still carries us
even though so often our bodies are far from hers
she carries us in her heart

sometimes I hate my body
it’s weak, and that isn’t its only flaw
some of its flaws were inherited from mama

…inherited from mama…
my body came from hers
perhaps mine could be as beautiful as hers

I look at my body again and smile
because my body came from my mama’s
and mama’s body is beautiful

Framing Faith {book review}

In Framing Faith, Matt Knisely puts life in perspective
the metaphor is photography

each part of the book – FOCUS, CAPTURE, DEVELOP – applies not only to photography
but also to life

For me, each photo I take needs to say something very clearly. The message and the meaning cannot be ambiguous. The images shape my half-articulated feelings, casting light into my inner depths and exposing my deepest, truest self.

The way I process my work is a reflection of how I process life.

~Matt Knisely in Framing Faith

I read the book because my sister and my dad are photographers
in fact, I got the book for my sister
but wanted to read and review it before giving it to her
I didn’t think it would be very applicable to me personally
but I was wrong
because the images expressed on the pages of this book
reveal the truth about every art form
photography, writing . . . and simply doing life

[Writers] write with detailed precision in an attempt to make sure every word counts, so that only the backspace key knows the true work that has been put into a sentence.

~Matt Knisely in Framing Faith

I recommend this book to artists of all kinds
that they may gain a deeper understanding of the art of making art
as well as the art of life

And I recommend this book to those who don’t think they are artists
that they may find that they too create art
in their everyday lives

I received this book free from the publisher through BookLook
I was not required to write a positive review
The opinions I have expressed are my own

desire’s deception

the fairest of them all, he said
complexion flawless, nose demure
lips and cheeks a peaceful solace
lashes perfect, tresses pure

I read a romance in his eyes
believing all he said was true
in many ways he said he loved me
words contrived my heart to woo

I faltered then and looked away
saved by wisdom’s coup d’état
betraying what I might become
should beauty fade and youth withdraw

the root of any grace he saw
was deep and buried in my soul
the trouble – I stepped back, now wary –
outward beauty he extolled

I pulled away, a bit afraid
of how I’d almost been seduced
refused his bid to draw me close
naivete was no excuse

his eyes now gray with pseudo pain
discreetly hiding his desire
to acquiesce would be a sin
why did I ever fan this fire?

once more his words came fervidly
my ears refused to hear this guile
yet how to tell him we were through
while dazzled by that Cheshire smile?