Because the birth of Jesus was not
A quiet thing, but rather
To be fully man means to come into the world as men do.
He wasn’t clean and bright and shiny but instead wet and misshapen and hungry.
The world was foreign and terrifying to him; his mother was only just beginning to understand the implications of his birth.
The manger was not fresh straw and clean blanket.
The manger was dirt and animal saliva and cold.
To the relief of the mother, everything went as it should (or so we think).
And when she held him in that first moment
All she could think of
Was how grateful she was for that ordeal to be over
And how beautiful her son was.
Send those thoughts
And send those prayers
If you want to see a change
Then be the one you want to see
I’ve been just like you
Hiding behind friendly walls
That make you feel good inside
They raised me “right”
And they kept me close
They didn’t mean to torment me
But I knew there had to be more
Now they send their thoughts
And they say their prayers
But I’ve been called to action
And I won’t be scared away from it
I don’t care
And I don’t mind
To see you looking down your nose
The one who’s blind
Maybe you’re the canine in sheep’s clothes
I have seen the starry night
Just a blur of bright
Yellow and white
I have danced the naked street
Darkened bare feet
To a silent beat
No matter where I must run
What hills I am from
I will come
When you need a friend to pull along
A moment in time to belong
Or a harmony to your song
i feel limited by the
instruments i try to play
their sounds are not what i wish to hear
my hands do not itch for frets or keys
they wish to be empty, with ease
so that i can dance
i only want to dance
and sing and not worry about
musicians, brothers and friends, make me feel
as though my singing alone accounts for
always making comments about
female musicians – as though it is rare
for a woman to be talented
and so i feel less of a woman for not
desiring to be so
i just want to dance with words
be free in movement, in voice
experiment with falsetto and harmony
explore the reaches of the human instrument
-for this makes me live-
but i do not feel alive
when i am obligated to strive
with wood and metal
such pretty objects
but they hold no fire for me.
When a baby is sick
All he wants to do is stick
More milk inside his stomach
And all throughout the night and day
His tired mother has to wait and pay for
The fever and germs that contaminate
Because the tired child cries often
(Though sometimes he softens
Just enough for a cuddle)
All I can hope for is
A lack of fever
I try to be the best
Smartest, fastest, most well-rounded
Hey, look at me, I smile
Cook, clean, check the details
I am a mom and need to be strong
Perhaps a little too much
Because this wasn’t quite
What I wanted or imagined
But it’s life.
I gave birth to nature baby.
He jabbers as we run outside, taking in the sights and sounds of the trees that we pass.
Sometimes he falls asleep from the rhythm and I can hear him snoring lightly.
I’m sure he dreams of sunshine and birds, because he is always in the best of moods in the outdoors.
When he is big and grown, I hope he’ll be running next to me as we tackle the big miles. His dad will be on his bike, keeping our pace steady, as we jump rocks and dodge branches in the forest.
For now, though, he is a nature baby.