Happy in Nature

All that Jazz...

2012-01-26T17:59:00.000-06:00

College is about learning and my father always taught me to make schooling my own. A lesson I will never forget and it is a lesson I hope I have lived out through my college career. From taking an Intro. Theatre class in my junior college days to a jazz dance class today; I am determined to learn what I can while I have the opportunity. Will I ever be an actor? Doubt it. But I now can appreciate what all goes into a Theatre production and what kind of people live their life for the Theatre. It has enhanced my enjoyment in Theatre and I will continue to support that art.

I have no aspirations to become a great jazz dancer...just saying that is almost laughable. BUT...today I finally got it...I stared ahead to the other side of the dance floor and felt the beat of the drums in my body. I felt the rhythm...I felt it! Immediately I was dancing the sequence to the beat...right on cue. No, I will never be a great dancer, but nothing will take away that glimpse I had into what it means to be a dancer. I am so grateful for such an opportunity.

Jazz is such an interesting form of dance and I will explore it more since I will be
presenting on it to my World Dance class and writing a research paper on it. I came to my Jazz class with very little understanding of the dance; just vague images of the 20s Flapper and the musical Chicago. But my appreciation has surely increased ten fold. There is so much emotion in Jazz and I love trying to feel that emotion through the music to my movements and even to my facial expressions. I love that it has some sensuality in it (I don't have a problem with this, but I understand that some do) and how that it is almost like playing a character...you become someone else even if it's just a short time. I've only been at it for 4 weeks and I cannot wait to see how far I will go come this May when all is said and done.

Thinking of London These Days

2012-01-23T18:50:00.002-06:00

It is windy and dreary the last couple of days, but the temperature is not unpleasant. Perhaps that is why my mind drifts back to my days in London just 7 months ago.

Embankment Station

St. Paul's Cathedral across the Thames

I remember walking the narrow brick streets to the River Thames on the days I went exploring. I went alone and I enjoyed just walking and visiting such places as the Borough Market and Millennium Walk Bridge with the St. Paul's Cathedral dome reaching for the sky as you made your way across. I visited the Clink Prison museum which was fascinating and creepy all at the same time. I found out that I loved Costa Coffee far better than Starbucks and a Vanilla Latte and a blueberry muffin on my quiet days off became a routine.

The tube was a new experience all together and I confess that I nearly fell down when the train took off, but thankfully that only happened once. Camden Town market was a bustle of activity and I admit that I was overwhelmed at my first visit. On my second visit I quickly became a shopper and even bargained my way to a good deal....unintentional, buy hey, it worked.

Stonehenge

A Roman Bath

Stonehenge and Bath were the most amazing places. Ancient stones on both counts laid by people now lost to history and yet the stones stand up against the test of time and the movements of civilizations. From the grassy English country side stand stones that look as though they were dropped upon the earth from on high. Foreign they look and yet they have out lasted memory. Bath stands in homage to a once great and ancient empire that is now remembered in books and monuments and museums. Just a memory, but I will never forget those places.

My very first live musical was in London and just happened to be Wicked. Even from my high vantage point I was blown away by the magic that is musical theatre. "Defying Gravity" was nothing short of amazing and the Emerald City was simply fantastic. In the Globe Theatre my sides were splitting in laughter as Shakespeare's "All's Well that End's Well" and I had the full Shakespeare experience by be a measly groundling with hurting legs- but I don't regret one moment.

The Globe Theatre

Sometimes Simple is Best

2012-01-21T18:40:00.001-06:00

I have had this pendant for sometime and just today I decided to make a necklace. I really like this simple medal flower and I waited until I found the right cord to put it on. This green cord was perfect: thick, sturdy, and the green color adds a "springy" touch. I rather like it.

Starting Over

2012-01-20T20:46:00.002-06:00

This semester I had resolved to eat better and to exercise. And at the beginning of this year I had resolved to keep a budget and a close watch over my expenses. Well, I say before you now that I have not lived up to the standards I had set. But I believe my fall came when I tried to change so much in a short period of time, let me explain.

I began keeping a budget which added stress to my daily life with every cup of coffee I bought. At Wal-Mart I bought necessities, but the total cost exceeded the amount of cash I had and subsequently my bank account took a beating when I had to write a check. Set back number one. I then remembered that a sum of many in said account had to go to a designated place and so the amount of money that I could count on became significantly less. Set back number two.

In the realm of health my physical well being took a nose dive. I had an overall sense of not feeling well though I pushed on through my exercises and dance class. Then one day I was hit with fever and chills while being irritable (God bless my roommate!). I ended up skipping class and taking a nap for 3 hours in the middle of the day. A big step back number three. What a great way to start a semester, huh?. I also had a strong desire to eat, not from hunger, but just to eat...anything! The last few days I have indulged for reasons I do not know. Set back number four.

Emotionally I have not been where I want to be (remember me mentioning I was irritable...again, God bless my roommate). Having to handle all the new changes, school stress, and hearing of a death of a Facebook friend has made me start to consider starting over.

This blog was not going to be my shoulder to cry on so I hope it does not come across as such. I'm writing this post for myself most of all (I think better when I write) and maybe to give hope to others who have had as many set backs as I have the past couple of weeks. The only answer I have for over coming set backs is the answer that has proven true in my life and that is prayer. Gives a whole new perspective and the strength you never knew was possible. Here's to being overcomers!

Learning to Dance

2012-01-19T11:15:00.004-06:00

The Chassé, Jazz walk, and Pivot step are some of the moves I am learning in my Beginning Jazz class. There is something truly satisfying about having complete control of your body and knowing it like never before. Making your hand movement flow from your shoulder in one single fluid motion while at the same time your hips are rotating with the fluid movement of your legs and feet. It is difficult to achieve, especially if you're untrained like myself, but when at moments you realize that you finally got it, it is remarkable.

I love to dance. However, the first dance that I have ever participated in was an ECD (English Contry Dance) practice several years ago. I was overwhelmed and I never danced in the actual dance. The following year I overcame my fear and danced at an ECD. I had a wonderful time depite all the roockie mistakes and over all bewilderment. Since that first introduction to dance I have wanted to learn how to move my body to the beat of music and put my whole self into the dance. I have danced Contra and have done decently (if I did it more often I would probably improve). But the opportunity to learn a style like Jazz was something I could not pass up. College has offered me this great opportunity and I can only hope that I can continue to dance after I graduate.

My teacher talks of the "inner tiger" that needs to come out while dancing and at times I have felt mine. Maybe by the end of the semester I'll be roaring...or at least have something beyond purring.

A Simpler Life

2012-01-18T19:23:00.000-06:00

I have decided to consolidate all my blogs into one. It is on this blog where I will showcase my crafts, my pictures, my lessons on writing, and general anything else important going on in my life. I do not want this blog to be my "shoulder to cry on" and so some issues I will not share. However, I am going through many changes in my life at the present time and my "adventures" I will gladly share. :-) So please join my blog and stay tuned.

Thinking of Poe these days...

2012-01-16T16:59:00.002-06:00

(design by me)

Opening Paragraph of My 7 Page Short-Story

2012-01-15T14:31:00.001-06:00

I wrote this story over Fall 2011 semester. This is the first time I have written a complex short story and I have continued to work on it the last few days. I don't want to post the whole thing, but here is the opening paragraph (subject to change) of my story for your enjoyment.

Margret

By Catherine Valentine

A rhythmic soundlike knuckles cracking drifts through the entry way to the kitchen. Margretcracks one green bean and then another. Her over-worked and wrinkled hands knowthe routine all too well. Snap. Shedrops the bean into the over-flowing colander. With boney fingers she washesaway the fertilizer, preparing the beans for canning. The sunlight through theopen window above the sink reveals the many crevices and age spots across theface that must have been beautiful once, but now only the imagination can tell.Like her kitchen with its yellow greasy cabinets, cracked linoleum floor, andthe presence of lingering pipe smoke, she too has fallen into disrepair. Herhair was once the color of the dandelions that she used to tie into a crownwhen she was a girl; now it’s simply piled on top with a clip of a mockingstyle of a tiara. However, something is different about Margret today; hertired feet are less heavy and her unimaginative eyes are brighter. Today is ananniversary of sorts, her 74^th birthday, yes, but she had long sincestopped celebrating for that reason. Today is a celebration of the past, a pastthat no one knows about.

The Power of Story

2012-01-14T13:47:00.002-06:00

Recently I was given a gift; something I have been wanting for many years. This gift encapsulates the power of story to me. Upon the first viewing of The Lord of the Rings: Fellowship of the Ring in my living room I became a fan and student of J.R.R. Tolkien's Middle-Earth. What I saw on that television set blew me away and I would continue to be blown away as I read the entire trilogy in a weeks time (something I have never been able to duplicate since). Over the years I remained an ardent fan. It takes a true story teller to steal the hearts of the readers long after the teller has died. Tolkien has remained an extraordinary story teller and Peter Jackson took that ability and told the story on the big screen. Yes, even Jackson is an amazing story teller for he brought Tolkien's vision to life and made this fan want a piece of that Middle-Earth that was shaped on the big screen. This Evenstar that was given to me is part of both Tolkien and Jackson's Middle-Earth and due to the power of story I am pleased to have a token of that world.

My Evenstar.

The Evenstar being worn by Arwen (Liv Tyler) in Fellowship of the Ring.

My "Awarding" Piece of Writing

2011-11-29T14:04:00.001-06:00

Hello all! This piece was written for a Study Abroad Fair at my school, Berea College, and to my great surprise I won first place. Here it is for your enjoyment.

~~~~~~~~~

Souvenirs

by CatherineValentine

“Underground” T-shirt

Simply black. On thefront is a red and white circle with a blue dash and the words Mind the Gap. An odd phrasing here inAmerica and I have received many puzzled looks. With each question or remark Icould not help but smile. I know the meaning. I have knowledge, an experience,which people who were not in the know could only puzzle about. The symbol isfor the underground of London, the world in which trains zoom beneath your feetand connect the vast city. Over the loudspeakers on nearly every tube stop awoman’s voice can be clearly heard over the rumble of the trains, “Mind thegap.” The painted letters of this saying ran across the platform as you steppedoff the train, a warning against getting a foot caught between the platform andthe train.

Christmas Ornaments

Little plump birds with white and red feathers resting ontop of replicas of Big Ben, a British mail box, and a double decker bus. Theweather in London was cool, even in July, and my thoughts often went to whatcooler weather entails back in the States: the holidays. I took many pleasantwalks down to the river Thames and on its banks was the Hay’s Galleria, ashopping center that soon became my favorite place to visit. In one out of theway corner was a little shop devoted entirely to Christmas. Every corner of thestore was full of holiday spirit and I loved to visit it and see the decoratedtrees and the many ornaments for sale. The little ornaments were the perfectgift for my parents…and myself.

Coffee Mugs

Having a great affection for coffee, it was not long beforeI found my favorite coffee place. Starbucks was on every corner, but I foundthat I loved Costa Coffee even more. The atmosphere of Costa provided a quiet escapefrom the noisy streets of London. Vanilla Latte and a Blueberry muffin on myfree days became a routine. Purchasing coffee mugs was an absolute given, formyself and my fellow coffee lovers back home.

Dublin Scarf

I spent two wonderful days in Dublin, Ireland. I walked the streets admiring the peacefulatmosphere and the brightly colored doors of the houses I leisurely passed. Inthe second story of a pub, I had my very first Irish Stew and relished everybite. The lamb was especially good. In one small shop the walls were lined withcable knit sweaters. Scarves and hats to your delight were on every wall andcrowded in the middle. I was in heaven. A cashmere and wool black scarf caughtmy eye; its simple design with a hint of white stripes was just my taste. Ieagerly wait for the day the weather permits me to wear it.

“Hippie” Skirt

Camden Town Market in London was an intimidating place.Crowds of people and narrow alley ways created by the many booths made for astressful two hours. On my very last week in London, however, I found mycourage and discovered how delightful Camden Town Market could be. An eagerseller praised how well a shirt looked on me, hoping I would be his next buyer.A two tiered skirt with autumn colors woven through out with sewn on mirrorsseemed to fit my personal style…the shop owner eagerly agreed while saying thatit was his most popular, an incentive to buy…or so he thought. I simply lovedthe skirt.

“Wicked” Poster

Apollo-Victoria Theatre was beautiful, even from thenose-bleed section that my economical ticket brought me. It was my first livemusical. I knew little about "Wicked", but what I knew was that it was a “mustsee.” From the very first song I was blown away. “The Wizard and I” firstshowed me the skill of voice the performers had and “Defying Gravity” provedhow magical live theatre could be. As I sat in my loft seat I could not believewhere I was; I was in London watching my first live musical on my very last daythere. You can say, I went out with a bang.

Pictures!

2011-11-19T15:11:00.001-06:00

All these photos were taken by me during a writing retreat.

Now some fun with black and white.

Yours truly.

Finding My Genre

2011-11-10T12:06:00.001-06:00

I have a great love for poetry. Painting with words and seeing the final master piece will never stop thrilling me. The mystery woven together by words waiting to be untangled will always arrest my attention and draw me to poetic works again and again. To create such a work is something I am ever reaching to do; to create my own master piece that will reach the soul of others is an innate desire.

But am I truly a poet? Could I create works again and again? I do not know.

Fiction is an adventure. Delving into characters, time periods, far off places, and painting your home is a new light is an exciting trek. Your characters become living beings and at times they seem quite independent from you and you wonder where they came from..... could not be from you, they are themselves.You live through your characters and experience the life you never had or will have. You are given permission to be evil, to be rich, to be a wayward wanderer without having to explain.

However, how do I continue to create? How many characters are living inside me wanting to be given their own life? Will the well run dry?

Creative Non-Fiction has many possibilities and there is a sense of rest when writing. No need to create something new and there is no pressure to create a master piece. Creative Non-Fiction enables to look at your surroundings in a whole new light. There are endless stories to tell and all someone has to do is look around.

Could I be content with, though? Could I continue to create non-fiction?

I am still in search of "my" genre and what kind of writer I am.

An Odd Feeling...

2011-10-22T18:29:00.000-05:00

A couple of weeks ago I spent the weekend with a family and we decided to hit a few yard sales. At one such yard sale there were worth while books for sale, my companions and I eagerly hunted for books we would be interested in and it was then I came across Clay's Quilt by Silas House...a book written by my current Advanced Creative Writing teacher. It was a an odd feeling to see my teacher's book at a yard sale costing no more than a couple of bucks. I don't know what kind of writer he is since I have not read any of his books, but I do know that he is a great teacher and I have and will learn much from him. It was an odd feeling seeing his book and it was like a prophecy foretelling the fate of all written works...to end up as a reject and costing far less than was originally intended. Publication was achieved, but the result was a $2 book at someone's yard sale.

Here some food for thought...

If your (or mine) goal is to write something with the end result of it being published then it will come as a nasty shock if someday you come across your own rejected book at a yard sale and see the end result of publication. However, if you (or I) write for sanity sake, for sake of writing, by some inward push that cannot be ignored then if you came across your book costing no more than dime then you'll be able to smile knowingly and continue to write without feeling much of a pang because something besides pride compels you to write.

This is a lesson I'm trying to learn.

Having what it takes...

2011-10-04T18:44:00.000-05:00

I have been thinking recently about whether I have what it takes to be a writer. How much will I sacrifice for the written word, for the character, for the story? Could I forget about ever writing again tomorrow and go out and pursue any number of things out there? I could pursue photography and work to find the perfect image. I could at last learn to read music and learn an instrument. I could learn to knit and sew and maybe learn to be a better crocheter and even create my own patterns. If I never sat down at the keyboard to write, could I have a fulfilled life? The test has not come yet, but maybe there is an indicator of the outcome in the fact that I found comfort in a 74 year old woman named Margret whom I have given a voice too...

Little Girls and Umbrellas

2011-08-10T18:17:00.004-05:00

The Psalms

2011-08-09T11:41:00.002-05:00

Some of the most beautiful and poetic language is found in the Psalms and the Song of Solomon. Whether you identify yourself as a Christian or not, you must agree that this is true. Words that instantly paint a picture in your mind while invoking strong emotion are the most powerful words and these words are scattered throughout these two books. The words themselves capture you even though the meaning is unclear at first. I came across a string of words while reading the Psalms and they truly struck me...

"Kiss the Son, lest He be angry..." (NKJV Psalm 2:12)

The margin of my Bible explains this line as meaning that one should embrace discipline and receive instruction from the Lord. My post here is not about theology, but by the power of words. The definition is lifeless, though it is important, it is not what one remembers. What is remembered is the image of kissing the very Son of God, what an incredible image! The meaning is far more important than the poetic language, but only beautiful words can truly reach our hearts.

William Blake

2011-07-19T13:42:00.003-05:00

I very much love the poems by William Blake and being here in London makes me feel that I understand his poetry even more. While on a shopping ship I came across a small bookstore and I eagerly went inside. It's the type of bookstore I like; small, clean, nice, good selection, and not overcrowded. The poetry section drew my attention and I began looking for Blake, I then came across this small volume and was delighted. A collection of William Blake's poetry in London and at a price I can buy...one of the best souvenirs I could ever find for myself.

I don't want to forget.

London by William Blake

2011-07-17T11:21:00.003-05:00

I am currently spending a month in London, England, and being here has brought to mind William Blake's poem "London". I am grateful that these streets no longer represent the poem, but I've learned that not too long ago they did. Then again, in some dark corner of the city it could very much be the same way.

London
by William Blake

I wander thro' each charter'd street,
Near where the charter'd Thames does flow,
And mark in every face I meet
Marks of weakness, marks of woe.

In every cry of every Man,
In every Infant's cry of fear,
In every voice, in every ban,
The mind-forg'd manacles I hear.

How the Chimney-sweeper's cry
Every black'ning Church appalls;
And the hapless Soldier's sigh
Runs in blood down Palace walls.

But most thro' midnight streets I hear
How the youthful Harlot's curse
Blasts the new born Infant's tear,
And blights with plagues the Marriage hearse.

Embarking on a Writing Adventure...

2011-06-29T16:41:00.004-05:00

I am set and ready to go, in just a few hours time I shall be on my way to London, England, to embark on an adventure of studying abroad for a month in that city. I was born abroad, but haven't been beyond the borders of the U.S.A. since I was 4 years old. I have a mixture of excitement and fear and I cannot wait to get going. Though this trip will be exciting in it's own right I am also on an adventure in writing. You see, I am required by my school to keep a daily journal and I see this as an opportunity to stretch my writing capabilities. I want to make my journal interesting, personal to a degree, and generally a fun to read and something I would love to share with others. I have not done such writing before and I'm eager to see if I have to ability to write a truly great journal. I plan of creating a new blog after I return and update it once a week with my journal entries. It will be fun to relive my memories and to share my adventure with anyone who is interested. I hope you will enjoy it!

Pictures

2011-06-27T16:32:00.003-05:00

Ellianna-4 years.

Javan (and Mammoth)- 8 years

In Sister's Steps

Dance Shoes

A Poem Celebrating My Ancestry

2011-06-21T19:16:00.001-05:00

On Listening to Celtic Music (4th draft)

In the Ozark hills I hear the music of another place
Hammer on drums, bow across strings, and melodious voices
that speak of another time upon the rugged hills of Scotland.
From my quiet hills I hear the squeaking of swings,
wind through the trees and I see fields of hay bales.
But the rugged hills bear my name.
My grandsire walked those green paths, my foremother sang the songs
in the forgotten years of those in the Ozark hills.
To the sound of fiddles she could have danced
with her red hair flying around her shoulders.
He could have hammered the bohran to the pounding of her feet
in some village square. I listen to the same music in the quiet Ozarks
and my feet wish do dance as she once did, to laugh as he must have done.
The music speaks to me of another time among rugged hills.

Little Beauties

2011-06-12T20:04:00.003-05:00

Photos edited at http://www.picnik.com/ .

His Little Girl

The Princess Treatment

The Belle of the Ball

Playing with Words Makes Me Smile

2011-06-11T22:58:00.002-05:00

This poem was a result of a writing exercise in which we took our favorite phrases from one poem and made our own poem out of them. This poem is in the first draft stage and it most likely won't go through much revision. I found this fun to write and fun to read so I truly hope it brings a smile to your face. Here's a hint, read at a fast pace but pay attention to the line breaks.

Word Play
March 22, 2011

I would like to be happy as a clam, but what makes a clam happy?
They’re just a creature of the sea and I’m not sure they even think.
Maybe I’m just mad as a hatter, but that does not make any sense
because I don’t think that all hatters are mad, just the one in Wonderland.
I’m trying to get my point across cleanly, to make it spic and span,
but what is spic? What is span? When together, how do they make it clean?
Loose lips sinks ships, so they say, the only phrase that makes sense
and maybe my poet-ship is sinking; perhaps I’ll consult a sultan on this matter…

Japanese Stroll Garder- Springfield, MO

2011-06-08T16:53:00.007-05:00

Some resent pictures all taken by yours truly and most were edited at http://www.picnik.com/ . The lovely model is one of my very good friends.

(My favorite)

One Poem from Another

2011-06-03T17:05:00.003-05:00

The following poem is a result of a writing exercise which consisted of listing to a poem being read and writing down any words or phrases that stood out to you. You then took these words/phrases and fashion a poem with them. The poem I took my words from was actually written by my teacher and my poem bears little resemblance to hers. This is the third draft of my poem (counting the first raw writing)and I love the simplicity of it-- a small celebration of nature.

Flight

The robin takes off
up and away
leaving the swaying
branch behind.
The wind,
a whisper in her wings
as her body
makes a shadow
on the ground
while the noon sun
makes sparks
on the stones beneath

One Winter Night- a poem

2011-06-01T19:48:00.003-05:00

At long last a poem! I wrote this poem for a poetry class I took this last semester. Although it is out of season I believe it to be one of my better ones and so I thought to share it with you all. There is much in poetry I need to learn and I do not share this poem to give an example of excellent poetry, but mearly to show my work-in-progress. Please enjoy.

One Winter Night

On this clear winter night the air is crisp and thin
and every bench is covered with snow as sound is dulled.
I stand there in the quiet and try to understand
what mesmerizes me on this cold, cold night.
The world is grey shrouded
with lamp posts giving the only light
as the stars hide behind the heavy clouds.
My breath as white smoke before my lips
I take in the poetry of the naked trees
and the sparks of diamonds across the ground.
The elegance of this stark night captures me
I do not need spring and its garish colors
only the coldness of this grey, grey night

Music and Poetry

2011-03-04T09:25:00.002-06:00

I am a great lover of music because music, like poetry, pulls and tugs at your heart and compels you to venture into places you have never been or have not been for some time. I have no skill when it comes to music, or at least I have never leaned that I do, but that does not take away my absolute love for it. Though I appreciate all types of music there are some genres that I love more than others and within those genres there are songs that rise above the rest. These songs have a golden combination: strong/emotion filled vocals, compelling music, and true poetic language. I will share these three songs in the videos below and when you watch/listen to them let yourself be drawn into the world of the song and see the full artistry of it. Now, I understand that this is my personal taste and that you might not appreciated them as I do but put yourself in my shoes and give these songs a chance.

"The Last Rose of Summer"

"Dance With You"

"Oh My God"

Very Short Poems- 36 Words or Less

2011-02-11T12:21:00.003-06:00

Hello all, last night I went to a writing workshop which is one of my favorite things since these events always remind me why I love writing (while the classroom make me ask why). Our leader was Katerina Stoykova-Klemer and the topic was Very Short Poems; who knew that such brilliance could be gained in just a few short words? I decided to have some fun and write a few short poems, the longest being 36 words, and though I'm not as talented as those writers shared at the workshop, I still had a lot of fun. A few things to keep in mind; the title is vastly important because you cannot read these poems without the title, the title is a part of the poem. Also, there are a couple of these that have subtle humor and others that have a point that causes you to reflect, at least I'm attempting to do this, so don't rush through them. So here you go and I hope you enjoy.

Times Have Changed

Dial tone,
waiting.
Pocket rings,
demanding.

Word count= 9

Old Photograph of a Relative

You stare at me.
Strange you seem.
Frozen in time
as I stand in mine.

Word count = 20

Country Life vs. City Life

I prefer hay-bails
as my neighbors.

Word count = 11

Beautiful People

Family man,
breaking his back for bread.
A hero in their eyes.

Size 22,
but to her baby
she is life.

93 years
bent double in a wheelchair.
Her family cries as she dies.

Word count= 36

Seeing the St. Louis Arch

Massive, impressive,
a marvel.
Leaves people asking,
“And why is it here?”

Word count = 16

Sometimes Simplicity in a Poem is Best...

2011-02-10T15:23:00.002-06:00

Putting a Burden Down
by Molly Peacock

Putting a burden down feels so empty
you almost want to hoist it up again,
for t carry nothing means there is no "me"

almost. Then freedom, like air, creeps in
as into a nearly airtight house, estranging
you and you burden, making a breach to leap in,

changing an airless place into a landscape,
an outdoors so fulll of air it leaves you breathless,
there's so much to breathe. Now you escape

what you didn't even know had held you.
It's so beig, the outside! How will you ever carry it?
No, no, no, you are only meant to live in it.

This wide plain infused with a sunset? Here?
With distant mountains and glittering sea?
With distant burdens and a glittering "me," here.

More on words...

2011-02-05T17:57:00.002-06:00

In day-to-day life I try to be careful with my words because now, more than any other time in my life, do I understand their power. In studying poetry you gain a great appreciation for language because in a poem every word must have a purpose. The more language you learn the more you're able to identify your own personal feelings or thoughts and that, of course, is the meat of poetry. To consider the power of words let's look at the the words "they" and "that" when ones is referring to a person. When one says "they have the ball" it is simply referring to who has the ball, but now consider "that has the ball" and you see a whole new meaning. With just changing two letters in the word "they" into "that" you are able to degrade someone down to garbage, even animals get the distinction of "they." Great poets are masters of language and are able to manipulate words to convey whatever they wish...but verbal abusers also have mastery. More and more I've learned to hold my tongue because once you release the power that is in words you cannot reclaim it. I've let words go to freely in the past and that is not something I wish to do again, whether in poetry or life.

Painting with Words

2011-01-31T15:45:00.005-06:00

Poetry is an art form, but instead of using brushes and paint to create we use words. Everyday I see the power of words and what mastery of those words can accomplish. Just as a painting from John William Waterhouse (a favorite of mine) can continue to speak to people who were born long after he died, so the words of the poet will continue to have power long after those words were written. As every artist will tell you, it takes skill and discipline to create a work that will endure, but it also takes love and talent. That love and talent is what compels me to learn the skill and discipline it takes to write poetry. It isn't easy. I see how enjambment and end-stop work well in a poem and then I turn around and try to emulate it and it comes out halting and choppy. There are many terms that apply only to poetry and those terms are the tools a poet uses to create, just like the brushes for a painter, but learning how to use those tools takes studying and practice and a willingness to fail. I see how many of my poems fall short of the mark, but considering how far I've come I don't count it as much of a loss. For sure my pride takes a hit when one of my poems gets "torn apart", but it is all for the bettering of the art and so I keep going...honing my skills. I love poetry too much to give up my attempts at mastering it, though I will be long time before I see the real fruits of my labor.

Still Writing...but not sharing

2011-01-23T16:18:00.002-06:00

Hello all, this in not a typical post in that I do not have any writings to share at this point, but you should know I haven't stopped writing. In fact, I'm learning more and more about the art in my daily life as well as my studies and I'm adopting a writing life style...or at least trying to (old habits are hard to break). I keep a little note book that is really quite pretty and I write down any phrases that come to me or new insights to be used at some later date...part of the writing life style. I have written much for my classes here at Berea, but I do not wish to share them on the Internet, however, I will not quit sharing all together. My posts may consist of new insights about writing more than writings themselves, or a combination thereof, and I hope that you would read these posts with interests and maybe a few insights yourself. They won't be long posts because if I tried to make them long I'd end up not posting at all, but I will try to make them worth reading.

Therefore, stay tuned and let's hope I can come up with something that is worth reading and maybe, just maybe, warrant a comment.

In Honor of the Professor

2011-01-03T15:19:00.003-06:00

I became enthralled with the works of J.R.R. Tolkien when I first saw the movie "The Fellowship of the Ring", I knew I had to find out more and I delved into the world of Middle-Earth. That was several years ago, but my love for his works have not lessened for he inspired me to write and has opened the door to many other literary works that may or may not be in the genre of fantasy. I owe much to Tokien's works and so on his 119th birthday I decided to post two poems that were inspired by his trilogy "The Lord of the Rings." With this post I tip my hat and raise a glass to the Professor.

Fallen Son (In Memory of Boromir)
April 11, 2009

A silence reigns over the White City
A nameless sorrow walks the streets
Trumpets that would ring, sound no more
Banners that would fly, cease to hail
For the proud son of Gondor
Has fallen to an evil death
And where he lay, none can say
He left his people to find their hope
But in the wild he found their grief
How tall he looked upon his horse
The day be walked through the gates
How keen was his sword, how wide his shield
Can such a death befall such a man?
The strong men silently grieve
Their women weep in the streets
The citadel stands silent and bereaved
And all morn for a son who will not return

Pass Into the West (In Memory of the Elves)
July 3, 2007
Revised August 31, 2008

The Sea Gulls are flying
Softly singing
For those whom it is time
To pass to the west
Out of thought, out of mind
Forever to dwell
In that hallowed land
To leave the mortal shore
Where once they dwelt
And prospered, renewed
For some, the land of their birth
Others, the land of their wealth
Ladies and great lords alike
Stepped off the shore of their homes
To leave their kingdoms to men
In hope they would continue
The great story from ages passed
In hope they would not forget
The ones who were the first
And will be there in the last

R.I.P. John Ronald Reuel Tolkien

An old poem, but I like it

2010-12-23T23:00:00.001-06:00

Child’s Prayer
November 13, 2008

Listen Jesus, to my quiet prayer
Just a simple request
To the One I hold dear
When night’s shadows draw close
And I’m in the dark, so alone
Keep me near Your heart
Keep me from fear; keep me from harm
Love me throughout the night long
And when morning finally dawns
Keep in my memory Your open arms
So I do not fear another night to come

Author's Note and "Wind in Hand"

2010-10-26T14:30:00.003-05:00

Author's Note: Yesterday I had to privilage to attend a writing work shop at the local library with my Creative Writing teacher, a couple of classmates, and 3 children from the community. Though there weren't many of us there, it was great fun. This poem is the result of one of those exercises we did, hope you enjoy.

Wind in the Hand

Wind in motion
Hollows out everything
A cupped hand
Is hollow
Hold to the ear
Wind sings in the hand
As it swirls around
But all stops
Hand is lowered
No name for the action
As the hand and wind
Disperse

Author's Note and "Redemption"

2010-10-10T17:17:00.004-05:00

Author's Note: Forgiveness is radical injustice. That was the message preached by the pastor of the church I'm currently attending. One of his points was that we had to forgive ourselves because God is the one in the judgement seat and if He had forgiven us then we have no right to continue to stand under the banner of guilt. We all deserve punishment because we have all broken the law of God, even as we claim ourselves His followers. Therefore, we must go to Him and ask forgiveness...even if it's for the hundredth time. He is always faithful to forgive and it's up to us to accept that forgiveness. That sermon was the fuel for this poem and I even wrote some of the lines while sitting in church. I hope it touches you even if it may not be the greatest writing.

Redemption

I try to hide my face
I know what I have done
My fingers
Point back at me
And they say
I cannot be
Forgiven

But I am no my judge
I cannot condemn
He alone
Decides my fate

I know the law

I’ve broken
Followed it’s every word
But I threw it down
I have trampled it
Under my willing feet
I say, there is no forgivness

But I am not my judge
I cannot condemn
He alone
Decides my fate

From the judgment seat
He sees me, all of me
I say a weak
“Forgive me”
He’s heard it before
But once again He says
“Forgiven”

And I am not my judge
I cannot condemn
He alone
Decides my fate

I am His child
Have claimed
His inheritance
I should have
Been forsaken
But I stand
Forgiven

And I am not my judge
I cannot condemn
He alone
Decides my fate

Remembering...

2010-09-11T15:12:00.001-05:00

9/11/10- Remembering

Going through the shops
In this little town
Just another
Lovely day
I write a check
No change for my coffee
I ask the date
“9/11” she says
Surprise is in my face
“Is it really?”

9 years ago
Just a kid of 16
But the images have stayed
Forever with me

Bellowing smoke
From a tower of steel
Black impenetrable
Keeping me from seeing
Bodies smoldering inside
Ashen grey, dust, dust
Covers everything
In what is
Ground Zero
Center of tragedy

9 years ago
Just a kid of 16
But the images have stayed
Forever with me

The people run
Fear and anguish
Distort there faces
Women take off their heels
Some can’t run
Standing in the hole, so high up
Better to jump than to burn
I see her falling
My mind giving me her end
I wonder her name?

9 years ago
Just a kid of 16
But the images have stayed
Forever with me

Anchor men with tears
Striving for objectivity
Unable to hide their fear
Jennings with a gasp
As the plane
Was driven though
The tower collapses
Soon, the other
Reporters run
Their breath heavy on the Air
The cloud envelopes them

9 years ago
Just a kid of 16
But the images have stayed
Forever with me

Sirens blaring
Firefighters, paramedics
Far too many
Can’t save them all
Striving against the odds
Many, many are lost
The rescuers become the fallen
Heroes are born
Loved ones call home
Never to come there again

9 years ago
Just a kid of 16
But the images have stayed
Forever with me

I remember that day
Every year it comes again
I don’t want to forget
The tragedy
That shook our nation
Shocked the world
Remember this day
My generation
I hope to God
We shall never forget

Author's Note and "The Gift"

2010-08-29T18:14:00.003-05:00

Author's Note: I've been thinking of this theme for some time and have just been able to put it down. It is in free verse form and I like how it stands now, though there is no garantee I'll like it in the future...such is the ways with poetry. I wanted to post this because it has been some time since I have written anything new so I hope you enjoy and can overlook the "novice" aspect of it.

The Gift

I do not ask
For the gift of strength
That I may
Defeat those against me

I do not ask
For the gift of knowledge
That I may
Know the wonders of the world

I do not ask
For the gift of health
That I may
Live many years on the earth

I do not ask
For the gift of love
That it may
Keep me from the cold

What I ask
Is above these
For through this
I obtain all

I only ask
For the gift of laughter
With it I can…

Lay waste my enemies…

Set free my mind…

Life to my bones…

Bring people close…

In this life
It is the greatest gift of all

Just Pix

2010-08-24T21:03:00.003-05:00

Edited with HDR-ish on www.picnik.com

Edited with Infrared Film from www.picnik.com

Edited with Lomo-ish from www.picnik.com

Edited with Cross Process from www.picnik.com

Author's Note and "Beauty Is"

2010-07-20T11:18:00.003-05:00

Author's Note: I have known too many women who have hated pictures of themselves because they look "fat" or have "bad skin" or are having a "bad hair day". They despise any pictures taken of themselves because they are not beautiful. I have fallen into these lies myself and it is sad that in the Christian community, especially, these lies are prevalent. I wrote this poem some time ago as reminder to myself and others what true beauty is.

Beauty Is

May 31, 2007
Revised: November 29, 2008

Beauty is the light of your smile
The laughter of your eyes
The warmth of your embrace

Sing a song of gladness
For you are wonderfully made

Beauty is the loving heart
The earnest giving hands
The swift feet of helpfulness

Sing a song of gladness
For you are wonderfully made

Beauty is esteem for others
The value for oneself
The honor towards God

Sing a song of gladness
For you are wonderfully made

Beauty is who God made you
The life giver of all mankind
The crown of His creation

Sing a song of gladness
For you are wonderfully made

Civil War Era Graveyard

2010-07-19T16:59:00.007-05:00

Note: I love old graveyards with their cracked grave stones and dates reaching back to the Civil War in some cases. The pictures below are from an overgrown graveyard found along a trail in the woods in Ozark, Missouri. I wish it can be cleaned up to show more respect for those who are passed, but I did enjoy taking pictures and I was careful how I stepped so that I wouldn't tread across the graves.

All B/W photos were edited with Holga-ish effect from http://www.picnik.com/

My friend standing in the middle of the graveyard....hard to tell, isn't it?

Looks like a new gravestone

The stone wall surrounding most of the graveyard.

The earliest date I found

To Capture Lightening

2010-07-14T22:14:00.002-05:00

On the 12th my parents and I were driving home from a town that was 45 minutes away and unknown to us we were driving into a mega storm. All the way down the highway we were blinded by flash after flash of lightening and streaks that that spread through out the sky. Growing up in tornado ally I'm used the watching the skies for signs of tornadoes and I watched one particular cloud that sent bells off in my head, but I only became certain that it was a wall cloud later. Due to blinding rain and sirens going off we took shelter in a Wal-Mart and were told to head to the back of the store for safety. Thankfully the storm passed quickly with little damage left behind. In all this I was able to take a video of a lightening bolt, my first ever and something I've been wanting to do for a while. This is not as spectacular as many images and videos I've seen of lightening, but for a simple point and shoot camera I think it turned out pretty well. ^_^

This still frame was edited with Orton-ish from http://www.picnik.com/ to clean up the image.

This is the vidoe of the image above. I cut it and slowed it down so the thunder sounds funcky, I suggest the mute button.

Antebellum Wedding Chapel in Newtonia, MO

2010-07-11T15:27:00.006-05:00

We were unable to get inside so I took several pictures outside. I added contrast to most of these due to very bright sunshine and harsh shadows.

My mother was willing to pose for me.

Bell tower

Author's Note and "The Old Man"

2010-07-07T19:44:00.004-05:00

Author's Note- This is yet another work that I wrote back in 2006 and later revised in 2008, but it has a remained a favorite of mine. The symbolism is powerful, and let's hope you agree, though the actually form could use some work.

The Old Man
September 26, 2006
Revised September 7, 2008

An old man hooded and cloaked
Wanders the deserts of ancient homes
Holding precious, the Book of Days
Bent with toil and with hair of grey

To every town he comes, knocking on every door
“Come see the Book of Days” he cries to the desolate poor
He beckons the maidens in the home, “Come hear my words!”
He has traveled the paths of time, known the wonders of the worlds

But the masses know not his voice, only the beauty of wine
“Leave us, old man!” the crowd cries out. “We want to dance and dine”
His face is streaked with tears, for he has wandered the desolate lands
Where fertile fields did abound, then revelry reigned and wisdom banned

The City of Wine and the Town of Feast now smothered by the Sands of Time
But still he wanders those ancient paths, burdened by his earthly tie.
He carries on, laden with the Book of Days, begging the poor to heed his words
He’s now at the gate, will you grant him entrance? He is knocking on your door.

Author's Note and "Under the Starlit Sky"

2010-07-03T16:20:00.005-05:00

Author's Note- I wrote this short story way back in 2006 after reading a heart wrenching death scene where the family had no care for the dying...I wanted to write something different. This story of fraught with emotion, but that was my intent and I think I reached my goal. Just reading it again after so long brought tears to my eyes, but will have the same effect on those who are not the author?

(Not based on an actual event)

Under the Starlit Sky

Drip, drip, drip

The only sound in the darkened room was the ceaseless drip of the IV, a rhythmic sound of life giving its precious fluid to a silent figure lying on a nearby bed. Her once beautiful golden locks have long since gone and her robust spirit can no longer be seen. A shadow of her former self, Alice lies awake for her pain will not let her sleep. Her family wanders the echoing halls; the pain in their hearts not allowing them to rest for they know that time is short and their hearts brake with that knowledge.

“May I get you anything, Alice” asks one nurse with a look of helplessness in her eyes.

“Some water, please” came the quiet answer from the shadows.

The nurse quickly returns with cup of water and a straw.

“Here you go, dear. Let me help.” The nurse puts a strong arm on the back of her patient, flinching when all she feels is bone through the thin flesh.

“I’m so tired, Susan” Alice said with a trembling voice, a voice close to sobbing.

“I know, dear. I’ll go get—”

“I want to go home!” Alice wailed. The nurse put down the cup and just held her, fighting back her own tears, for she knew what home Alice wanted. It wouldn’t be long now. Alice soon fell silent, overcome with exhaustion she fell into an uneasy sleep. Susan gently laid her back down and quietly shut the door as she left the room. She walked past the sitting room, where sleeping bodies were strewn across the floor. Two blood shot eyes caught her attention so she turned and made her way across the room, being careful not to step on anyone.

“Martha?” She softly called. “May I get you anything?” The woman looked up and slowly shook her head.

“No, Dan is bringing me some coffee and something to eat. Thank you anyway.” Martha tried to give a warm smile, but only a ghost of one appeared. They sat in silence for a moment, giving each other comfort by their presence.

“How’s my daughter?” Martha asked softly.

“She wants to go home.” Fresh tears sprang up in Martha’s eyes.

“There’s a part of me that wants her to go home. But the other part wants to hold her forever.” Sobs started to come in spite of Martha’s efforts to keep them down. Dan came in with the coffee and snacks, but he hastily put them down and held his wife with his own tears pouring from his eyes. Susan left them to each other and went to do her other duties; thankfully it was a quiet night.

A couple of hours later Susan came to check on the family; she was grateful to see that all were finally asleep. It was nearly four in the mourning and none of the family had slept since the night before when the hospital had called telling them that Alice had turned for the worse. Suddenly alarms went off and Susan ran to Alice’s room and found her ripping out her IVs. Susan was mortified and rushed to her bedside.

“What are you doing!?”

“I want to see the stars. I want to go outside. Please let me see the stars.” The doctor came rushing in, alerted by one of the other nurses.

“Tie her down; she doesn’t know what she’s doing.” Susan was about to obey when a strong, commanding voice riddled with sadness told her to stop.

“Let her be, Doctor. She doesn’t have much time left and if she wants to see the stars then I will take her to see them.” He strode forward, easily lifting up his 87-pound daughter, and walked toward the nearest elevator with all the family, awakened by the commotion, following quietly behind. When they reached the roof a strong wind came from the east, making Alice shiver in her father’s arms. Her brother took off his coat and draped it over his little sister, letting his tears freely fall.

“Look, honey, the stars are bright and beautiful tonight.” She opened up her tired eyes and looked past her father’s face and beheld the most beautiful sight. To her it was as if heaven itself had opened up to receive her; as if God himself had prepared this night just for her.

“I just wanted to see the stars again.”

Dan looked down at his daughter and saw such peace and love and......beauty, the most beautiful thing he would ever see in this life. He collapsed onto the roof with sobs coming from deep in his chest and with the cries of his family joining his; for his daughter had breathed her last and she was finally home.

"The Informant"- A Very Short Story

2010-06-26T15:57:00.002-05:00

Author's Note- I wrote this back in 2006 and here's the little note I wrote to myself, "I was inspired by watching two stray cats under a streetlight by my house; I only provided the dialogue because their movements are exactly as I wrote here. I only wrote what I think I saw." I hope you have a good chuckle over this.

The Informant
Catherine Valentine
2006

It’s 11:00 pm and there’s a meeting under the lamp as Tiger tentatively steps into the light, his knees are shaking and sweat is pouring from his temples, ‘What was I thinking, getting involved in this war. He takes a deep breath in an attempt to calm his nerves. ‘You have to do this Ti, you are a cat after all and cats look after each other. His musings were cut short when he caught sight of a shadow creeping across the road; the figure stops under the shadow of the nearby tree.

“Ar-are you t-t-t-Tom?”

“What do you want to tell me? DO NOT COME ANY CLOSER!”

Tiger freezes, but he still tries to see Tom’s face.

“I overheard my master’s dog talking to The Pack.”

“I’m listing.”

“They were talking about a ‘cleanup’ of the neighborhood; that they were to many stray cats. They said that the cats were wreaking havoc on the neighborhood and that they had to put a stop to it.”

“When will this ‘cleanup’ take place?”

“A fortnight.”

“Is that all?” Tom asked, keeping his voice even and void of emotion.

“Y-yes sir.”

“Then go.”

Tiger walked away slowly; trying his best to look dignified and unafraid. But as he reached the middle of the street, his nerves got the better of him he started running for home; hoping that ‘Tom’ didn’t see his flight. The mysterious cat noticed nothing; he sat under the tree until just before dawn trying to incorporate this new information into his plan.

‘This will certainly change things.’ He thought as he made his way back to headquarters.

Author's Note and a School Essay

2010-06-25T15:45:00.005-05:00

Author's Note: I believe that men and women are equal in the sight of God, but they do have different roles. I believe that motherhood and childrearing to be one of the highest and most demanding roles a woman can take up. I desire to be a wife and stay at home mother someday, but I also plan to be a writer and a college graduate. In this essay I demonstrait my dislike for the "enlightened" thinkers and their view of women, but let it be understood that I do not put down motherhood or being a wife. What I do put down are the thinkers who thought that such roles were inferior to men and thus could only be preformed by women. I wrote this essay some time ago for school, but I thought it was good enough to keep and it demonstraits my essay writing skills. I will admit, however, that it would be much longer and with more research, but this will do for now.

Concerning Race and Gender in the Enlightenment
By
Catherine Valentine

The Enlightenment was a time of great awakening in Europe, especially in the west, and a time to rehash old ideas. Gone where the days of religious dogma and superstition in place of science, a new day dawned in Europe and thus began a change in western civilization. However, that change was not all encompassing for some of the old ways of thinking, mainly on a woman’s role and the ideas on race, changed little. Though there are a few exceptions, especially in the case of woman, but the consensus at the time of the Enlightenment was for woman to remain subordinate to men and that only white western European men had the intellectual power to discover the secrets of the universe.

The Enlightenment did raise, to a certain extent, the status of women by the formation of solons, a hub of intellectual dialog hosted by women, and there were instances where the philosophes greatly appreciated the intellectual prowess of some woman. Rene Descartes even stated his appreciation for Princess Elizabeth of Bohemia’s intellect by stating, “I attach more weight to her judgment than to those messieurs the Doctors.” Even though this was the case in some instances, women where still considered inferior to men in the matters of science and philosophy. One example being that of Madame du Chatelet, who formed an intellectual bond with the philosophe Voltaire. Madame du Chatelet was known for her excellent French translation of Isaac’s Newton’s Principia, but in spite of the grasp she possessed of the complexities of science, she was denied entrance into the Royal Academy of Sciences because of her sex. She once wrote in a hypothetical sense of being a ruler, “I would reform an abuse which cuts off, so to speak, half the human race. I would make women participate in all the rights of human kind, and above all those of the intellect.” Madame du Chatlelet believed that the only reason there where few contributions to science by women in the past was due to unequal educational opportunity.

During the Enlightenment, women did have a sphere of influence in the form of salons. Aristocratic woman would have gatherings of the social elite and the intellectuals of the time and have uncensored open dialog about all manner of subjects. It was the woman’s role has hostess to steer the conversation to profitable directions, thus her influence was felt in the arguing and philosophizing of the guests. However, this limited freedom of women did not last for into the late Enlightenment period the philosophe Jean-Jacques Rousseau started urging the restoration of the rigid distinctions of gender roles of former years. According to him, a woman’s place was not in a salon or in politics, but in the home. Women should forgo their love for stylish fashion and their desire to steer power, their ambitions should only consist of caring for children and pleasing their husbands. Rousseau believed this distinction of gender roles was a natural law, thus making it impossible to debate, and this view made an impact on French society as well as elsewhere.

Women where not the only ones suffering form unequal treatment for non-western whites where also seen as inferior, in fact, women probably held more prestige than those of a different race. Because of the Scientific Revolution scientist sought to not only discover the varieties and origins of different plants and animals, but also to understand the origin of the human races. When scientist began studying the human race they made up a hierarchical classification system with a belief that all races originated from one race and that the races known today developed their uniqueness from climatic conditions. Two important thinkers of the Enlightenment championed this idea, Emmanuel Kant and David Hume. Both of these men believed in the superiority of the white race, thus the white race’s position at the top of the hierarchy. Hume wrote about the reason for the superiority of whites, “There never was a civilized nation of any other complexion than white, nor even any individual eminent amongst them, no arts, sciences...” Kant believed that the entire human race derived from white brunettes and that all other ensuing races where inferior. These men where a part of the Enlightenment movement, though these new ideas only perpetuated old notions on race.

The Enlightenment movement was primarily a move toward progress, but as evidenced by these ideas on race and gender, progress in these areas really did not happen. The Enlightenment thinkers sought after a new way of looking at the natural world, society, and government and they succeeded in undoing many outdated ideas. However, the great thinkers of the Enlightenment failed to see that their views on race and gender belonged to a former era and had no place in the new enlightened world. These outdated ideas on race and gender contradict the philosophe’s grandiose notions of greatness in progreass and it undermines everything they tried to achieve.

Shalom- A Blessing

2010-06-09T16:20:00.005-05:00

Shalom, shalom
My baby
Close your eyes
And dream
Have no fear and sleep

Shalom, shalom
My child
Play in joy and peace
Delight in all you see
Be free

Shalom, shalom
My little darling
Laugh and sing
Have joy
Fear no evil thing

Naked Trees- A Poem

2010-02-24T18:56:00.002-06:00

In the middle of coldest winter
When grass is brown and sky is grey
When human hearts long for spring
For renewal and new birth
Look to the naked trees
And the frigid forest
See the starkness of their limbs
And the roughness of their bark
Hear the cracking of fallen growth.
But do not despair in your walk
For you’ll see things you hadn’t seen before
Hidden behind the growth in spring
Lay human homes of peace never seen
Notice the fine lines of the naked trees
Their strong branches and intricate design
Able to withstand the mighty storms of spring
They stand there unabashed and in beauty
Their nakedness telling the world how they stand.
I say, look to the naked trees and lessons taught
Without pomp and glory, our true selves seen
Stand unabashed in your nakedness
Show the world how you stand
And maybe you’ll see yourself
As you are and always had been
Strip away your cover and mask
And see things you hadn’t seen before.

Author's Note and "Sisters"

2009-09-30T17:17:00.007-05:00

Author's Note: Acts 16:13- "And on the Sabbath day we went out of the city to the riverside, where prayer was customarily made; and we sat down and spoke to the women who met there." This was my insperation for this poem, though I took some liberties.

Sisters

Come my sisters
Down to the riverside
Come with me
Our strength is needed
Brothers are falling
Turmoil is rising
Heed our prayers
As we rend our hearts
To You, Oh God of all!

We kneel on calloused knees
With tears rending our face
We do not carry arms
But we lift our hands
And devils flee
As spirits of deceit
Shield their eyes
We give courage to our men
Fighting on the front lines

The river is rushing
The storm clouds are gathering
War is on the earth
Against those who proclaim
The very name of Jesus
But we kneel at the riverside
Waging a war we are made to fight
Not by swords will we win
But the the strengcth of our knees

Something I wrote for our church's newsletter

2009-09-26T11:34:00.002-05:00

WHY I LOVE FALL
By Catherine Valentine

As the leaves come floating down from the trees and the wind has a bite to it; the coffee is brewing and the tea is hot, tell me, what’s not to love about Fall? The change of season is beautiful to behold, for here, it is the rhythm of life, a song the Creator composed just for His creation. The bushes and trees take one last brilliant bow as gold, red, and orange fill the woods and I ask again, what’s not to love about Fall? As a lover of nature, I have always looked forward to the change of season and I am especially fond of Fall, but the reason for this is not what you may think. As brilliant as God created this season it is not my love for nature that makes me look forward to this time of year, but what the change of season promises, a promise of a season of Thanksgiving and good cheer all around.

In this season of Fall comes a celebration of a bountiful harvest of food, family, and friends. Throughout the year there have been family struggles and friends in need, tears have been shed and feelings hurt, but as we gather together around the Thanksgiving table we delight in our good fortune of having friends to lean on and family standing by our side. This time of year reminds us to look around and remember why each person is in our lives and why they are at our table. How fortunate we are to have a table over flowing with food and not enough chairs for family and friends, not many are as blessed. This is the reason why I love Fall, because I am so privileged to sit at a table which is surrounded by loved ones and to partake in the richness we have as we delight in this change of season.

Draw your own connection between these...

2009-09-15T21:01:00.006-05:00

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Child's Prayer

Listen Jesus, to my quiet prayer
Just a simple request
To the One I hold dear
When night's shadows draw close
And I'm in the dark, so alone
Keep near Your heart
Keep me from fear, keep me from harm
Love me throughout the night long
And when morning finally dawns
Keep in my memory Your open arms
So I do not fear another night to come.

Midnight Horror

Can you hear the child crying?
Through the midnight hours
Weeping for his mother
Lying broken and bruised
Another drink, just one more
Cigarette butts dot the floor
A child is in the recliner
The Thrown of Manhood
His queen is in the bedroom
Trying to quiet her cries
Just another drink, whom could it hurt?
Cigarette butts dot the floor
His child is sobbing
Won't that kid shut up!
His mother deserved it after all.

Author's Note and "Black Bird's Cry"

2009-08-28T22:02:00.019-05:00

Author's Note: Most of us in the west live in prosperity, especially compared to the rest of the world, and often we are blind to other's poverty around the globe. However, above all else, we are blind to the poverty of those in our own back yard. We turn a blind eye to all the different forms of poverty and like the black bird, it tries to wake us from our daydream.

Black Bird's Cry

A gentle walk
In the quiet woods
On the whistling breeze
There's the song of birds
A yellow butterfly
Fluttering its wings
There is solace
Among the trees

Though over head
Black birds are swarming
Darkened shadows
Against the sunrise
They tell a story
Testimony all should abide
"Not all is right in the world"
Can you hear their cry?

A babbling brook
A refreshing spring
The coolness of the air
As I sit in peace
Turtles sleeping on a rock
Flowers turning their faces
To the afternoon sun
All at rest in this happy home

But no! A croak of a black bird
Broken is the quiet repose
No rippling brook
Nor songs of birds
Can out cry the cry
Of the black bird
With each croak and flap of wing
It declares, "Not all is right!"

Venus is shining bright
As the sun turns west in the sky
I see an owl flying by
Its silent wings, but a breeze
The crickets are chirping
And I delight
In the grass between my feet
Such peace under starlit sky!

As the sun goes
Its last rays hits the eye
Of the somber watcher.
The black bird
Bids all a good night
With one final call
Before day turns to night
"It's not right, listen to my cry!"

What If?

2009-08-24T15:02:00.004-05:00

What if
No one saw
You gave back money
Which wasn't
Yours at all

What if
You gave food
To a begger
Who did not
Thank you in return

What if
You stayed
At bedside of an old woman
Who spat your name
In discust

What if
You told the truth
Exposed a lie
And it did not matter
Not to one or all

What if
There was no praise
Your works
Never seen
Would you do them?

What if
You lived to serve
With out an ouce of praise
Or a gasp of awe
Would you have your reward?

Author's Note and "The Grave Digger"

2009-08-08T15:11:00.015-05:00

Author's Note: In many homes across America, in dark allies in the big cities, in church pews, in country fields, there are those digging there own grave. They all came there by the choices they've made, but will we choose to take the shovel from their hands and show them a better way?

The Grave Digger

It hits the ground
The thunder of it echos
And reaches to the highest heavens
The shovel glimmers cold
Under the moonlight
There is weeping that never dies
For they are the cries
Of the grave digger

Who knows how
He found himself here
Under the shadows of night
Digging the grave
Which will bare his name
What choices he made
And continue to make?
How did it end this way?

The hole is big enough now
He lays aside his shovel
And with bitter tears
He sets the stone above the hollow
He lies in wait, wondering when
Others will fill his grave
Who will pick up the shovel
And finish the work he begun?

He laid himself here
With his hands, he dug his grave
He made his choices
Condemned by his tears
The silent crowd watches
Waiting for someone
To pick up the shovel
But will no one bring him up again?

Author's Note and TobyMac inspired writings

2009-08-02T20:19:00.003-05:00

Author's Note: Much of my writings are inspired by music and I often explore new ways to write by looking to some of my favorite artists. Jars of Clay's lyrics, for example, are often very philosophical and offer some new insight each time you hear them. This is contrasted with the lyris TobyMac sings, they have conplex concepts wrapped up in a nice, easy to digest, package of simplistic lyrics. The Newsboys' lyrics, on the other hand, are often very light hearted and filled with God centered praise. Everyone of these have overlaped at some point or another, but this is the general idea. I have resently become a fan of TobyMac and as I was watching a concert DVD of his I became intrigued by his lyrics and music. Since intrigue often spawns creativity, I became inspired and wrote the following poems. I am more fond of the first one, but the other one is worth a look as well.

Beautiful People

Beautiful people
In all their colors and shapes
Master pieces
On a gallery wall
If only I was one of they

She’s size 22 with too white skin
Anything but beautiful to the average eye
But to the baby in her arms
She’s the sun, the moon and stars by night

Beautiful people
In all their colors and shapes
Master pieces
On a gallery wall
If only I was one of they

A factory man breaking his back for bread
Can barely make it home again
His baby girl welcomes him at the door
Her laughter could wake the dead

Beautiful people
In all their colors and shapes
Master pieces
On a gallery wall
If only I was one of they

He doesn’t have title, nor a car that runs
People just pass him by as he goes to work
But at the end of the day he comes home
And to his wife, he’s a shinning knight

Beautiful people
In all their colors and shapes
Master pieces
On a gallery wall
If only I was one of they

They have given all for others
I can hardly say the same
I’m young and more than a few look my way
But tell me, whose more beautiful today?

Beautiful people
In all their colors and shapes
Master pieces
On a gallery wall
If only I was one of they

Your Own Skin

You walk along the streets
Striving to be seen
As the one who has it all
Hoping no one would ask
Why you walk your walk
Hoping no one would see

You’re not comfortable
In your own skin
Your own skin

You smile in politeness
As your inner critic
Tears down the passer-byes
Giving you a reason
To say “I‘m alright!”
But there’s a small voice that cries

You’re not comfortable
In your own skin
Your own skin

The day you know love
The day you find friendship
Is the day when you know
We’re all the same
Unique in our own way
And you’ll only find it when…

You are comfortable
In your own skin
Your own skin

In the Hands of God- A Praise Video

2009-07-23T21:19:00.002-05:00

All photographs were taken by me and this woderful song is by the Newsboys.

Author's Note and "Can You Hear the Children Laughing"

2009-07-19T23:54:00.003-05:00

~~~~~~

Author's Note: This poem brings to mind the many war torn countries around the globe and the children who suffer there. Some conflicts have gone on for generations and in many lands hope has been forgotten. However, the future isn't written down yet and with each generation there is hope for renewal and for each child born there is a hope for a brighter day.

Can You Hear the Children Laughing?
Catherine Valentine
March 16, 2007
Revised: July 19, 2009

Can you hear the children laughing?
Down in the forests of the world
Can you hear that happy sound?
Among the thistles and the thorns

Their laughter will not be silenced
In the war torn land below
Though the art of killing was perfected
By the children of long ago

The children of former years are gone
The mature are now in place
Forgetting the laughter they knew
As heartache stole their smiles away

Among the bramble and in thickets
The children’s laughter can be heard
While turmoil and pain destroy
Their laughter is joy unearthed

Fires of war have burned the forests
But it will bloom once more
By the laughter of children
The land will heal and hope will be born

Beautiful Faces and A Lullaby

2009-07-12T18:49:00.022-05:00

(To the tune of "Hush Little Baby, Don't Say a Word")

Hush little baby, still your cry
Mama’s singing you a lullaby
Calm your cries and nestle close
Your mama will never let you go

In howling winds and stormy skies
May all your fears be sent a flight
With Mama’s voice and gentle hands
Safe in your home so be at rest

Now hush little baby, go to sleep
Mama has you in her keep
Fear no nightly noise and rest
Mama’s here and she knows best
Listen to her beating heart

And know her love will never part.

Why I am Happy in Nature

2009-07-09T12:29:00.003-05:00

Sometime we just need to praise...

The Creator
September 27, 2007

You’re the voice I hear
In the whistling wind
You’re the face I see
In a smiling child
Your power I feel
In a raging storm
Your face I touch
In a delicate flower

I see Your wonder
All of my days
I feel Your presence
In all of creation

I smell Your fragrance
In the gentle showers of spring
I hear Your rhythm
In a hummingbird’s wings
I’ve seen Your majesty
In a meateor shower
I see Your antiquity
In the towering trees

I see Your wonder
All of my days
I feel Your presence
In all of creation

I see Your provision
In the harvester’s crop
I see Your beauty
At dawn and sunset
I see Your wisdom
In the march of the ants
I see Your love
In all of creation

I see Your wonder
All of my days
I feel Your presence
In all of creation

The Song of Creation

2009-07-01T18:00:00.009-05:00

If you listen closely, you can hear the melody

The sweet notes on the shoulders of the wind

The rhythm of the percussion between the mountains

And the cymbals amongst the clouds

The symphony of creation has begun its song

With the first signs of spring, it struck the first cord

But the beauty of the song in not complete

For the choir has not yet begun to sing

And as the day grow warmer, all wait with bated breath

Then at last the first flower blooms, the singer begins to sing

And with a burst of color, the choir takes the stage

The deep reds blend with the soft whites

As their angelic voices ring from the earth to the sky

The song of creation is at its hight, can you hear it?

It's bing sung for you, for me, for all of mankind.

Where I find my freedom

2009-06-29T15:17:00.003-05:00

The Forest Child
Catherine Valentine
September 17, 2007

In the deep woods
In the darkest times
I saw a child running by
He could scarcely be seen
A child of a forgotten soul
His footsteps scarcely heard
Upon the downy growth
As quiet as the creatures within
He was a forest child of old
Only in the darkest hours
When hope has been forgotten
Could he been seen in the twilight
Free as the wind in the meadow
I saw him once long ago
A phantom in the wind
Despair began to lift
When I beheld him then
This forest child
The emblem of the free
And desire was kindled
Within my soul
To throw away the bondage
And be free once more
But then he passed
And the magic within him flew
And once more I was alone
So I returned to daily life
But to this day
I will not forget this phantom
This forest child
The emblem of the free

Of Clouds, Flowers, and Bugs

2009-06-28T21:48:00.001-05:00

"The earth is the Lord's, and all its fullness, the world and those who dwell therein" ~ Psalm 24:1