tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-62913670910678924432024-03-07T19:12:05.687-08:00The World in PoetryDiane's a poet and didn't even realize it!DiaNehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17096735956435722993noreply@blogger.comBlogger188125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6291367091067892443.post-53255538218595595692009-11-17T11:10:00.001-08:002009-11-17T11:11:12.981-08:00<span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255);">My brain is on fire.</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255);">Thoughts scald me like liquid stars</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255);">And ask me to soar with them.</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255);">But my heavy skin chortles and reclines,</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255);">Refusing the celestial invitation.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255);">So for now, I sit</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255);">In a galaxy of homebound ideas.</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255);">My binding words wrapped around me.</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255);">Concepts haunting my every move:</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255);">Things I should do, start, cry.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255);">I go to the kitchen to invent dinner.</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255);">"One small step for man," I mutter.</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255);">I become my universe that feels and knows.</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255);">Finite, obsolete, dull.</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255);">As dark as the sea of space.</span>DiaNehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17096735956435722993noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6291367091067892443.post-30633632111224304212009-11-16T12:28:00.001-08:002009-11-16T12:29:31.995-08:00How long have you been under there?<br />You snuck away from the garish light<br />Until everyone simply forgot your fate.<br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255);">You have hidden too long behind your carved and painted screens--</span><br />I've been forced to avoid your muffled cries.<br /><br />Come back; join the traffic of human expression.<br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255);">Life is a loaded gun</span>, with fragile triggers.<br />Point it at me, brothers, friends, God.<br />Remember <span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255);">He holds you in His fis</span><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255);">t</span></span>.<br />Let Him carry your baggage into the ignored light.<br /><br />Don't let your fear morph into solitude.<br />Stretch your spine from its huddled prophecy<br />And learn from the grass--<br />Nature's built-in mattress.<br /><br />Just let me see your face.DiaNehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17096735956435722993noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6291367091067892443.post-28308260269400671172009-09-03T21:10:00.001-07:002009-09-03T21:10:57.078-07:00Ode to you, PianoThis song is for you, Piano.<br />You have given me so many through the years<br />I figured it was time to return the favor.<br /><br />I’m sorry I haven’t come to visit.<br />With everything on my plate,<br />I simply haven’t made time for you.<br />For Us.<br /><br />Don’t misunderstand,<br />I loved the fusion of fingertip to the ivories<br />Worn by practice.<br /><br />I asked about you,<br />When you thought I moved on.<br />To see if you were okay<br />In the gray home found for you.<br /><br />I hear you’re coming into town soon.<br />My parents told me.<br />Don’t worry about finding a place to stay—<br />I made some room where the dining table would go.<br />There’s a view, though not grand, of the parking lot<br />Where you can stay up late watching the moon go by.<br /><br /><br />I hope you don’t have to wake up early.<br />There is so much I want to tell you—<br />It really has been so long<br />I don’t know where to start.<br /><br />Do you mind,<br />Would it be alright<br />If we just sat and played a while?<br />It would only be until reality catches up with us.<br /><br />Just give me a second to remember where middle C is.DiaNehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17096735956435722993noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6291367091067892443.post-89153068510022797272009-08-20T15:24:00.001-07:002009-08-20T15:25:18.833-07:00<h3 class="post-title entry-title"> <a href="http://pinnacleofwisdom.blogspot.com/2009/08/cruise-poetry.html">Cruise Poetry</a> </h3> It only seems natural I would write about it--<br />The waves crashing against the steel beast.<br />I found a pen, a discarded sheet, naturally<br />And searched the deep blue for its words.<br /><br />But they were buried--sunk too deep into yesterday's anthology.<br />Besides, it was humid and no place for a poet's fingers.<br /><br />Maybe I will write about the little girl<br />And the waiter who makes her smile.<br />Or my empty apartment<br />Patiently awaiting my return.<br />The friends on their own adventures<br />I left behind.<br /><br />Are those as grand as the view from my table in the lobby?<br />As captivating as the moonlit ocean?<br /><br />I hope so, because only this came to my mind.DiaNehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17096735956435722993noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6291367091067892443.post-4396103092691388352009-06-21T22:09:00.001-07:002009-06-21T22:20:53.857-07:00STOPI need to stop leaving him messages.<br />I need to stop thinking he will return a favor.<br />I need to stop telling people he's different.<br />I need to stop morphing my scars.<br />I need to stop justifying abuse.<br />I need to stop disguising my tears.<br />I need to stop forming his excuses.<br />I need to stop driving all the way.<br />I need to stop waiting for wounds to heal.<br />I need to stop writing his script.<br />I need to stop imagining the hurt away.<br />I need to stop avoiding the truth.<br />I need to stop keeping score.<br />I need to stop ignoring the signs.<br /><br />I need to<br />want to stop.DiaNehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17096735956435722993noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6291367091067892443.post-72318827341023214162009-06-16T20:11:00.000-07:002009-06-17T21:17:33.716-07:00<div><strong><span style="font-size:180%;color:#3366ff;">I'm a creator!</span></strong></div><br /><div>I was thinking about it today and came to the conclusion that I love creating things. Don't believe me?</div><br /><div>1. I went to Venice Beach and made<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQNeok6PCjdSIpfnkSWqx5MZecUVtyTx-ab39zmX4X2qvhWtk93Fdl4B0xwItxL2NDWdg7xEu1KjfdqzuXUxEXHpjKwflwy4_bKbpOD80okcx5D4-d1OZFLG0JjH-s-zpu8XMJHbYYFIc/s1600-h/turtle.jpeg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5348129699418732082" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 160px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 200px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQNeok6PCjdSIpfnkSWqx5MZecUVtyTx-ab39zmX4X2qvhWtk93Fdl4B0xwItxL2NDWdg7xEu1KjfdqzuXUxEXHpjKwflwy4_bKbpOD80okcx5D4-d1OZFLG0JjH-s-zpu8XMJHbYYFIc/s200/turtle.jpeg" border="0" /></a> a s<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiF3Il84CF5Eo7TALbR611Zr8P402rTt1RDrRldxh-8ubI-Kf6qeKFz4ZIoIlhdwaKR6kGz0N8JPwvUrKtFo99rN8Lg7MmTE553EUkqezqBAE9D6hEPqE-muSw-jlI0yJCo68gzSYG_V9I/s1600-h/pig.jpeg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5348129701299159202" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 160px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 200px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiF3Il84CF5Eo7TALbR611Zr8P402rTt1RDrRldxh-8ubI-Kf6qeKFz4ZIoIlhdwaKR6kGz0N8JPwvUrKtFo99rN8Lg7MmTE553EUkqezqBAE9D6hEPqE-muSw-jlI0yJCo68gzSYG_V9I/s200/pig.jpeg" border="0" /></a>and pig and turtle</div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div>2. I have recently really gotten into making crafts, mostly abstract, modern, decorative stuff.</div><div>3. I have written about 60 pages of a book I am working on. Whenever I start writing, my fingers don't want to stop.</div><div>4. I sat at a piano tonight and created a song I am really proud of. I wrote it down and recorded it on my phone, too.</div><div>5. I love writing poetry.</div><div>6. I took a large shelving unit out of the trash, washed and spraypainted it.</div><div></div><div>I really like to see my creations once I'm done with them. I find myself taking pictures of light fixtures and pieces of art, thinking <em>I could make that!</em> My roommate has come home to find me surrounded in newspaper and paint. All I can say to her is "You'll understand when you see the finished product". </div><div></div><div> </div><div>Have any of you caught the "creative bug"?</div>DiaNehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17096735956435722993noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6291367091067892443.post-8688827164293255682009-06-10T19:37:00.001-07:002009-06-10T19:49:00.889-07:00HowTell me how to do it.<br />How to wait so patiently like a fly on wallpaper<br />with nothing to do but count the faded petals.<br /><br />Tell me how to bear it.<br />How to convince my heart to keep its course<br />when bruises blur the destination.<br /><br />Tell me how to fix it.<br />How to synchronize our clocks to the same emotion<br />ticking incessantly within my halls.<br /><br />Or<br />Tell me how to leave it.<br />How to walk away from the thing most real.<br />How to pick up the mess where I am drowning<br /><br />And dry myself off.DiaNehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17096735956435722993noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6291367091067892443.post-39229051947478253782009-05-30T20:17:00.000-07:002009-05-31T14:29:24.135-07:00He hovered over me and gave the final kiss<br />signifying sleep as imperative for<br />tomorrow's itinerary.<br />My body signified forced understanding.<br />Kissing my forehead with such tenderness,<br />He turned to the wall<br />to greet Slumber's deficit.<br /><br />I was left to my side of the bed,<br />reliving the night's blurry perfection<br />Until Sleep persuaded me to join her.<br />I wanted him to grab me from her drowsy rhetoric<br />and caress me until Morning welcomed both of us<br />into its warmth.<br /><br />Instead, a grey knobby blanket surrounded my exposed flesh<br />the best it could.<br />Rest an unwelcome stranger.<br /><br />Nothing to soothe me<br />until his hot steaming arms<br />again engulfed me into his essence,<br />whispering,<br />"Hey, babydoll".<br /><br />Letting Sleep capture us.DiaNehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17096735956435722993noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6291367091067892443.post-79505691526158170202009-05-26T21:04:00.000-07:002009-05-26T21:06:36.728-07:00I am:<br /><br />upset<br />angry<br />frustrated<br />in love<br />racing the clock<br />dependent on a computer<br />horny<br />emotional<br />clingy<br />powerless<br />out of time<br />thoughtful<br />missing my half<br />needing a hug<br />neglected<br />unassured<br /><br />Only one person.DiaNehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17096735956435722993noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6291367091067892443.post-30619777283020500652009-05-24T01:14:00.000-07:002009-05-24T01:26:04.445-07:00Rain<span style="color:#3333ff;">I open my window<br />Even though the air conditioner is on<br />Just to feel the rain<br />Pelt against the window’s skin.<br />They say that rain drops<br />Falls<br />From angel eyes—<br />At least I think someone said that.<br /></span><br /><span style="color:#3333ff;">Someone must have said that<br />When the first book was written.<br />When life was recorded by<br />Men and women, virgins to the world<br />Knowing only what they felt stirring inside of them.<br /><br />They embraced the rain,<br />Not knowing its reason.<br />Father Adam thanked God for the water,<br />Though it left him cold and forgotten.<br /><br />I dance under the sky of clouds,<br />Letting its heavenly tears penetrate my skin,<br />Pierce my every pore<br />Until I understand<br />That life will remain incomprehensible.</span>DiaNehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17096735956435722993noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6291367091067892443.post-58022328393055971412009-04-27T20:26:00.000-07:002009-04-27T20:42:23.279-07:00SprungUntil the pink dogwood bloomed outside my window<br />I did not see spring.<br />Only the white blanket of a brother<br />smothering her flowing skirt.<br /><br />From frail, timid branches<br />Emerged her budding divinity,<br />often afraid to speak her mind.<br />Peaking from behind the frigid mess of yesterday's midnight.<br /><br />I don't believe her plea of longevity.<br />She has lied to me in the past<br />and I am beyond feeling<br />or forgiveness.<br /><br />I see her now. I try not to smirk<br />when frosted rain pelts her petals<br />to the expectant ground.<br />She and I knew this was the future.<br /><br />I was right. Cold. Bitter. and I am right.DiaNehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17096735956435722993noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6291367091067892443.post-27561750107755126982009-04-05T21:30:00.000-07:002009-04-05T23:15:55.058-07:00I am sorry, Mr Wilder.My Junior English students are reading <em>Our Town, </em>by Thorton Wilder. For those of you unfamiliar with the play, it shines the spotlight on a small town in New Hampshire. No scenery, props, or intriguing plot line. This translates to bored students, constantly informing me that they hate it. This made me think of past writers and how they feel about their classic pieces of literature being put into the hands of immature, and, quite frankly, retarded teenagers. (Also, there is a scene in the play when one of the deceased characters goes back to earth to revisit a memory, but her experience was less than ideal. I thought that allusion fit nicely into this poem)<br /><br /><br />They sit around a pearly table-- poets and authors,<br />passing two cards to the left.<br />The playwrights too tormented and cheap to play this round.<br />Instead, they glance down at their earth<br />while Faulkner steals what is left of Dickinson's red chips.<br /><br />One such playwright peers into the world's classroom<br />where his play is explored,<br />because a dead writer can do that.<br />seeping through the walls and into the desk<br />next to the girl becoming a woman.<br /><br />He sees his work and glory--mass copied and laminated.<br />One such treasure strewn on the carpet,<br />bent to a page far before the climax.<br /><br />He looms over her shoulder to see why she loves his art;<br />what he spent years perfecting.<br />She has etched "This book sucks" at the top of the second act.<br />She is an author now.<br />Ink bleeding through his pages of published progress.<br /><br />He can do nothing except grieve and curse the swine<br />chewing his masterpiece only to spit it out.<br />The ghost of its genius, using his celestial hands,<br />trying,<br />failing<br />to haphazardly pluck every copy from every desk,<br />preserving their unappreciated authenticity.<br /><br />The earth is not what he remembered.DiaNehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17096735956435722993noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6291367091067892443.post-80692180441283441722009-03-30T11:01:00.000-07:002009-03-30T11:36:09.673-07:00Why Diane should attend therapy, Reason 2:<br /><br />Job satisfaction<br /><br />I love my job. I hate my job. I love working with teenagers. I want to strangle every teenager I see, whether or not he is my student. Does everyone go through bipolarity in his job? I have no idea, come Monday morning what type of week I am going to have. The slightest chaos or mutiny (can you have <span style="font-style: italic;">slight</span> mutiny?) used to send me into a spiral of self-doubt. <span style="font-style: italic;"><br /><br />Am I a good teacher? Am I a good person?</span><br /><br />Some days I am waiting eagerly for the final bell to ring, only to lock my door and scream into my jacket; then others I have a huge smile on my face, signifying that I just had real influence on my students. My job is a roller-coaster. Only until recently did I realize that Diane as a teacher and Diane as an individual were (and have to be) different. Or I will go insane.DiaNehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17096735956435722993noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6291367091067892443.post-9455589484911641692009-03-29T22:00:00.000-07:002009-03-29T22:16:49.254-07:00Why Diane should attend therapy, Reason 1:<br /><br />Humor<br /><br />Humor is something that is so important to me. I usually joke around with my friends, saying things like, "Funny is all I have!" They usually respond with laughter, assuring me that I am, in fact, one of the funniest people they know.<br /><br />Phew.<br /><br />I grew up in a family that prided itself in quick and witty banter. If you wanted to fit in my family, you had to be funny and fast. You needed to say the right thing at the right time for the right <em>amount</em> of time. Even the funniest quip could be slaughtered if it went on for too long. I spent the greater amount of my childhood years in a humor trial-and-error phase, trying out jokes and punchlines at the dinner table. Some where accepted with a polite laugh, some were shut down immediately.<br /><br />From early on, I knew that my dad was extremely funny. He became the standard; if he laughed at something, I should laugh too. Consequently, if I said something "funny" and he didn't laugh, it was a failure, even if other people enjoyed it.<br /><br />For better or worse, humor has been a journey for me my entire life. Just recently, my dad responded to an email that I wrote, saying, "You are really funny. I laughed out loud in my office. I hope I had a little something to do with the humor you have developed".<br /><br />Understatement.<br /><br />So, my friend recently wrote on his blog about one of his friends. She is 18, he is 19. He wrote, "She is the funniest person I know. No need to worry; she is impossible to compete with". This was like a stab in the back. I know he didn't mean to insult me, I am not that self-absorbed. But it was painful to me to see that one of my closest friends didn't write that about me; instead, giving the title to an 18 year old who makes funny noises and does crazy dances. <em>Funny?!</em> I would like to think that my funny is a bit more refined and styled. Oh, I sound like a pathetic ass.DiaNehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17096735956435722993noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6291367091067892443.post-17007266211236694272009-03-14T20:15:00.000-07:002009-03-14T20:21:03.661-07:00Be warnedIt was unleashed,<br />most likely on accident.<br />But it is spreading through the town<br />like a fire<br />or margarine.<br /><br />Carried in the wind,<br />the moan of influence<br />infiltrating the lungs<br />of school boys and paper girls.<br /><br />Invading homes,<br />cubes of tradition<br />tumbling over<br />Uprooting sturdy fathers and drunken mothers.<br /><br />Floating in the water,<br />Above.<br />Below.<br />Snatching,<br />drowning daring brothers and giggling sisters.<br /><br />The town is changing,<br />crying,<br />voicing<br />the impotent anger.<br />Glancing out the satined window.<br />Viewing futility's reflection.<br /><br />Wishing it would revert.<br />Knowing it will not.DiaNehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17096735956435722993noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6291367091067892443.post-76658583636494314852009-02-26T22:31:00.000-08:002009-02-26T23:20:30.399-08:00Night, FinallyEnough,<br />Enough.<br />Evening has wiped her eyes<br />and shut the sleeping doors.<br />You think you can outlast the moon;<br />Stare down the man perfectly preserved in silent sky.<br />He never falters, never cries for his mother<br />like you do when even your shadow leaves you alone.<br />You persuade the stars to paint you the picture<br />That makes life legible.<br />Instead, they scamper at the thought of a dormant life<br />and create new meaning come next nightfall.<br /><br />Enough,<br />Enough.<br />Kiss softly the crafted petals plucked from your throat.<br />Embrace the option of rest and let it impregnate you.<br />Let it become the reason of you.<br />Accept the reward on Night's behalf<br />and drown in slumber's trance.DiaNehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17096735956435722993noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6291367091067892443.post-3611320205941170232009-02-16T14:10:00.000-08:002009-02-16T14:55:08.257-08:00Worlds CollidingI have such good friends. <em>Such</em> good friends. I truly believe that people come into your life in the right time for a specific reason. I am looking at the friends I have right now. There is a reason why they are all in my life now. Some of them help me through certain problems, some of them need me to help them get over certain people or predicaments. I know this post is deliciously vague, but I hope you all have friends like that. Friends who let you talk <em>at</em> them about something that is bothering you; friends who get really excited when you tell them your news. News that would never make the front page of any newspaper.<br /><br />Two specific people come to mind as I am writing this post. And this afternoon, we all three had lunch together. These two guys had never met before, but I was deeply touched that one of them planned today so that he could meet the other one.<br /><br />What could be better? These two gentleman mean the world to me, and sitting with them both together was an indescribable pleasure. Love you, Gavin and Josh!DiaNehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17096735956435722993noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6291367091067892443.post-3979165292052386562009-02-03T22:03:00.000-08:002009-02-03T22:54:10.397-08:00Twisted, Backward.<div align="justify">Then he argued the ambiguity of </div>"Normal" and begged the world<br />the secret of who defines it.<br />Could it be him?<br /><em>We are normal in our abnormal world</em>,<br />he assures her.<br /><br />He pulls her in and kisses fiercely<br />for only a moment.<br />The version that suits him.<br /><br />Her quivering body replies with compliance<br />shoved under his swimming lips.<br />Nothing making sense, though<br />There is little to understand just yet.<br /><div align="center"></div><p>Uncertainty spends the night,<br />Chasing logic away from her thoughts<br />Until swirling words overflow her mind<br />And clarity becomes an illusion.<br /><br /><em>We are the ambiguity</em>, she mutters<br />as frustration coats her worn pillow. </p>DiaNehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17096735956435722993noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6291367091067892443.post-67814262789809960122009-01-26T20:27:00.000-08:002009-01-26T20:39:21.829-08:00Know Your AudienceI went to see Revolutionary Road with a good friend this weekend. I highly recommend it to anyone in the mood for a tragic but beautiful story of feeling trapped in your own life.<br /><br />However, I would not recommend watching it with the audience I watched it with. It was in Salt Lake City so I figured the audience would be appreciative but I was in for an unfortunate surprise. The movie was far from funny, but the audience seemed to explode in laughter about every 25 minutes. At <em>really </em>inappropriate times! Finally, Josh turned to me and mouthed, "Is this a funny movie?". I responded with "Not at all!" We were shocked.<br /><br />We enjoyed it despite our surroundings, which must mean it was a stand-up film. Our favorite part is when Leonardo DiCaprio's character yells, "FUCK YOU!" and throws a chair at Kate Winslet.<br /><br />Hilarious.DiaNehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17096735956435722993noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6291367091067892443.post-33276023090023231962009-01-22T21:08:00.000-08:002009-01-22T22:45:51.930-08:00Home, in other wordsThis poem is not about sex, I assure you.<br /><br /><br />He lets me in to the hollow sphere<br />where love is required like a key<br />to the door.<br /><br />I nuzzle into the couch's skin<br />Buried in what's real,<br />Embracing what I've yet to reach.<br /><br />He holds me, arms full of care and muscle.<br />Reading my aching thoughts and body with his hands.<br />The unorthodox answer to my prayer.<br /><br />He envelopes me in his trust<br />and allows me into the spot in his shoulder<br />where I am safe.<br /><br />The night trods on and begs me to notice<br />But his strength overtakes me<br />And I laugh in Tomorrow's face.<br /><br />Whatever happens then, it cannot, will not be as providencial as<br />Tonight.DiaNehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17096735956435722993noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6291367091067892443.post-53333017046197292222009-01-17T22:04:00.001-08:002009-01-17T22:08:33.905-08:00Devil's AdvocateA colleague of mine recently said to me,<br /><br />"If I am talking with you, I can expect that you will never agree with me right away. You will always bring up the opposite side and eventually offer me a solution to my problem."<br /><br />Is this a good thing? Is it good to never automatically agree, but to chew on all the possibilities and try to figure out a solution? At first I thought this was a character flaw, but I now am thinking that it's wise.<br /><br />Thoughts?DiaNehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17096735956435722993noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6291367091067892443.post-788531126340006982009-01-12T21:47:00.000-08:002009-01-12T21:50:40.842-08:00Memory LanePast versions laugh at you<br />As you walk by their once moist faces<br />Riddled with cracked tears and heartache.<br />You pray to No one that things will be better;<br />And push your plea toward Heaven.<br /><br />They sneak their doubt upon you<br />As you avoid stepping on their spent fingers<br />Soaked with defeat.<br />You grasp a branch in the name of Hope;<br />It alone keeping you from seeping down to their bitterness.<br /><br />They whisper history under you,<br />The telling corpses better left buried;<br />dead, yet haunting.<br />You search for his glance and uncover a new sheet of earth,<br />Imploring you for possibility.<br /><br />They watch you crawl into his advances<br />Like so many times before.<br />Waiting for your smile to fade to the grey reality<br />They all have accepted.<br />You reach for his honest hand and fall into love.<br /><br />Fall.DiaNehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17096735956435722993noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6291367091067892443.post-31820453280494814182009-01-09T15:16:00.001-08:002009-01-09T15:16:23.878-08:00Because 2 blogs isn't enough.New Blog!<br /><br />Well, my faithful blog followers, I have made a new blog in accordance with one of my New Year's resolutions.<br /><br />It's twothumbswhere.blogspot.com<br /><br />It's going to house my movie reviews on the AFI top 100 movies list. Please check it out and enjoy!DiaNehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17096735956435722993noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6291367091067892443.post-34629103265583243482009-01-05T22:48:00.001-08:002009-01-05T23:03:17.856-08:00I was invited to attend a fireside tonight by a good friend. The fireside was about homosexuality and same gender attraction amongst members of the LDS church. I went to support and to learn more because (for those of you who know me at all) I have a lot friends who practice this lifestyle. The speaker was Ty Mansfield, a Deseret Book-published author on the topic.<br /><br />The presentation left me wanting. I felt like he dodged the greater issue and focused entirely on the premortal life and what we were like there. It was packed with this deep doctrine and, I felt, left the greater portion of the audience behind in the dust.<br /><br />But I am so glad I went. So glad. For a plethera of reasons:<br /><br />1) I got to spend time with this friend, who I honestly love and cherish.<br />2) I saw another one of my friends and it was so renewing to hug him, laugh, and catch up.<br />3) I got to see how much love filled up this little room. And I'm not just talking about the couples there. People were so kind and friendly. If someone needed to scoot behind you, he/she would wrap their arms around you and humbly apologize for the inconvenience while making a path.<br />4) I saw parents with their son, who I am assuming is struggling with these issues. It just warmed my heart to see parent support or interest; no judging.<br />5) Good refreshments.<br />6) It always makes me happy to see two people who have found each other. Always.<br />7) It reminded me that everyone has trials and struggles. It makes my heart sing to see people united in a cause; tonight in the search of hope and strength.<br />8) Mingling afterward. No, it was not a place for homosexuals to meet and hook up; the people there were talking, eating, discussing real issues, looking for advice, encouragement, and understanding.<br />9) I saw an old student of mine from Orem High. At first, I was mortified at the awkwardness. Do I say hi? Will he think I'm gay? Will he feel embarrassed? ALL of those feelings went away when my friend (number 1) encouraged me to talk to him. He was so glad to see me! He gave me a hug and said, "I can't believe you still remember me!" and we talked genuinely for longer than we ever had in the 6 months I was his teacher.<br />10) Number 1 sneaking me away from the group to a secluded little room, just so we could sing together one time before I drove home.<br /><br />Tonight was really really wonderful. It's interesting that the overall lecture was not motivating or satisfying for me; it's what happened all around the speaker that enriched me.DiaNehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17096735956435722993noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6291367091067892443.post-5344256538947182742009-01-02T00:11:00.000-08:002009-01-02T00:14:19.604-08:00Airport RomanceThis poem needs a bit of an intro. I have pictures I want to post as well to clarify this poem's purpose, but I need to figure out how do upload pictures from my phone onto this blog. I was sitting in the airport and this man caught my eye, dumping out a bunch of Scrabble tiles on the floor as we were waiting for our plane to arrive.<br /><br /><br />Carpet the canvas<br />For his overdue confession.<br />He is bursting with determination<br />As his container of word possibility empties over the naked floor.<br />Endless options persuade his crusader fingertips<br />To write what he failed to proclaim<br />When the moment was asking.<br /><br />He searched for the letters staring him in the eye.<br />He had the message clear in mind.<br />Exchanging this tile for that one,<br />Ignoring the spelling rules he was breaking.<br />(No purpose in that.)<br />And sent her the cellular picture<br />With the phone that had participated in so many of their conversations.<br /><br />An invitation for me to soak up romance’s simplicity.<br />There were no roses.<br />No stamped envelopes.<br />No regurgitated dinners.<br /><br />Just the unscrambled letters,<br />“I dremed about you evere night”DiaNehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17096735956435722993noreply@blogger.com3