Monday, May 29, 2006


'The Psalm of DISCONTENT'

Let me be happy....Let me be happy too.
Oh Wrestless soul.
Fold thy quick limbs and rest from care awhile;
Watch the great clouds in fleecy volumes roll;
The lakelet and the Sunshine seems to Smile; _

Would to God my friends were here to share my thought,
Would I could find the rest I have long sought.

Would I could speak the language of the hills....
Would their plush velvet grace I could make known.

Could I translate the talking of the reels that come from
Their crowning dimples…wander down.

I would not sing, and yet I cannot cease. I cannot murmur..
I have no peace.


Wednesday, May 24, 2006

*Laetha Geal M'oige*

Laetha Geal M'óige

(poem I wrote)

OH the hope of youthful mind
Sweet, blissful, purest kind.

Paper white
Smells of love
The night is bright
I see three doves

Visions are whole
In all their scenes
They glow…and grow

Let the wind blow high and wide
Let waves bring in their wistful tides
Let the sky light up these things
Let me hold tight these beautiful dreams

Na Laetha Geal M’oige

Paper worn
Clenched in hands
Years go by
Time unfolds

Delusions of Grandeur
Visions of fools
Heart on a sleeve
Eyes covered in wool

The wind, the waves, the sky, the dreams
All of my beloved things

Oh how they vanish…

Left with thoughts
Empty hands
Fragments of a sacred plan

And yet…
I know…

The youthful mind
It was
It is

The most precious!
The most noble!
The most beautiful thing!

(I wrote this as I reflected on the dreams and visions we hope for when we are young)

Tuesday, May 16, 2006



My mom once told me that "compassion" was my gift and talent. I thought that idea was bull crap! I was young and must of been complaining about why I couldn't sing like Tammy Kelly (my best friend at the time) or have the looks of my neighbor Stacey! (Damn her for her long flowing brown hair!) My mom went on to tell me that I was "Always looking out for the underdog" and apparently *that* was a good thing. Gag. What little kid wants the "gift of compassion" ?? I probably didn't even know what looking out for the underdog meant.

Now that I'm older and hopefully a bit wiser, I do know what that means. I have also found out that "mothers are always right" heh heh ...well mostly:)Compassion is my gift. And I don't take it lightly. But it is not something I find reason to brag about nor is it something that I want to show off. Infact, it can be a curse. In order to explain that further...I must include my friend "Thesaurus"

Compassion: Deep awareness of the suffering of another coupled with the wish to relieve it.

And there you have it! In reading that definition, I found myself sighing. Why? Because its a painful gift. And my mind just flashed through all sorts of memories of why it's painful.

Two examples.

#1- I was in Mexico a few short months ago. I found myself wandering the streets with my best friend...trying to find a place to eat. In our walk I spotted a horse chained up to a small carriage. He looked visibly weak and fraile, and obviously thirsty and hungry. His skin and bone body worn down by the beating sun, and by the hands of his owner, who took on the look of a brash and heavy task master. I have never noticed to this capacity...the sorrow of an animal. I truly felt it in my heart. And my heart ached. I found my eyes filling with tears and my heart pounding with the injustice of his situation. But what could I do? I walked closer...spoke softly to him...and gave him a small pat. And then I had to walk away.

#2 I joined some friends at recent get together of sorts. I didn't know half the people there...and I wasn't in the mood to be social. They had a large table filled to the max with mexican food...and I was starving. As I had just started towards the food, I felt eyes peering into the back of my head. I slowly turned around to find a very tall sort of goofy looking person. It became obvious that he was the "odd ball" in the crowd. And I knew immediately what I needed to do. He needed a friend. And I chose to be that friend. I had the gut feeling that he had already made the rounds...probably being dismissed quickly by the turn of a shoulder. His awkward words and laugh (that came at all the wrong times) could make anyone uncomfortable. But I understood him. I knew what it felt like to be painfully shy, to be the new kid on the block, to be the "odd ball". I think everyone has walked that road at least once. And I think everyone knows that it's NOT fun. I remembered that feeling...and tried to help bring ease to that moment. The mexican food was gone by the time I had come back to it. But I didn't mind. I have often found...that by easing another persons ease your own.

Compassion is not always something big...infact, it usually is the small things. Taking time to SEE with different eyes. To hear what people are NOT saying. Stepping outside of your own world...and becoming aware of the suffering and needs of others. And then...rising to the occasion.

Would I trade compassion for a voice like Annie Lennox or long thick brown hair? hmmm. maybe! hahah No.....I wouldn't.

My mom was right...compassion is a gift. And like I said, I never take gifts lightly. :) My mom is the greatest example of a woman of compassion. She is a Mother Teresa in her own realm.. And I admire her for her quiet acts of love, sacrifice and service to the countless people who have crossed her path. She truly follows the Savior when he gave the counsel to "Succor the weak, lift up the hands which hang down, and strengthen the feeble knees."

Happy Mothers day, mom! I love your guts! :)



Freedom of speech is a wonderful thing. This idea of being able to express your opinion is what broadens minds and opens the heart. But I think there are times when things are taken WAY too far. I'm sure we have all seen and felt the rumble of voices rising around every corner over President Bush and his "hood". :) The hatred, the venom, the spitting the spewing! "President Bush sucks rocks!" Its really come to the point where it is completely comical to me. Are we foolish enough to believe that we are changing society by ranting and raving? Of course I believe there are moments in time when good men and women must stand to their feet, or step up to the plate. They must speak up and help those who can not help themselves. But when you choose to shake your fist into the sky and point the finger, you might want to turn that finger right back at yourself. I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but guess what? Your wasting your time. The world we live in, is not a one man show. It is run by HUMAN beings...with human frailties. They, with their own private burdens, are probably doing the best they can. If not, they certainly don't learn by a culture and society of criticizers. If I had a penny for every mistake or weakness that I had, I would be filthy rich! We ALL would! Because *that* is the world we live in. It is full of turmoil, chaos, and imperfect people.

I try to remind myself that God has not lost control of his universe! And with that in mind...perhaps I might want to think about whats happening in own my mind and heart. I am convinced that by changing your own can change a family. And by changing a can change a community. And yes....when you change a community, you can change a nation or a world! Its like becoming a smooth stone, cast out upon a glass lake. And it skips...and the ripple effects go on and on and on!

Here's a word to those who think they are "wise"...your mouth sounds better when it's closed! Be an example, change yourself, be ACTIVELY engaged in a good cause. But spare the world your spit and spew. Heaven knows...we could truly do without it.

Wednesday, May 10, 2006


(A poem I wrote)


Slanted wall
Prisons square
Bound by depths
of hellish fear

Holy Holy

Angels stand
foot of bed
Twinkling sound?
Homeword bound!?

Could it be
Call is here
To leave
Oh leave
The prisons square!?

But no...

There is no sound
From angels horn
Or loved ones near

No hand is raised
From arm
To square

Breath deep
The poison
Of despair

Your lot
To choke
To curse
To cry
To plead
To mourn
To LIVE...not die

Bound forever
All Alone