oil or latex

these past few days i have helped paint and thought of some metaphorical similarities between painting and life, especially relationships. as i approached painting, i got things prepped--putting tape along lines, finding a bucket to work out of but not planning. i don’t think <>. my skills are basic, so i don’t really think ahead as far as all the possible taping, cutting, drop cloth placement, types of paint, surface prep, etc. so i think i’m prepared and i jump in. everything is going fine (to my mind) and then i hit a snag. usually this involves spilling paint, getting it on something that shouldn’t be painted, or conferring with an expert who gives me insight into how i did things wrong.

then, of course, there’s clean up. i do my best to get the paint out of the brushes, but many messes that occur during painting are not fixable. i smudge the paint on the rug and call it good, or with my finger attempt to wipe off the smear outside the line. with more practice, i know i could improve, yet i also know i lack both the desire to perfect my skills as well as the inherent talent. often, i then feel dissatisfaction with the finished product because i know it could be better and i see my failure glaring me in the face.

relationships are similar. i apprehend people fairly quickly, and am, i like to think, generally correct. then i jump accordingly. yet, i lack some skills to really relate and people, unlike paint, are not predictable. so when the inevitable happens--a mess--i hastily clean up--apologize, take responsibility--and then, alone, vow to avoid the imbroglio next time (which, of course, is impossible).

unfinished

goodbyes. endings. transition. "oh, we never did..." "next time you visit we'll have to..." so much of life is a work in progress, a journey. a thousand things we meant to say but never did. walking up a trail but never making it to the top of the mountain. promises to return that go unfulfilled.

life is unfinished.

i am unfinished.

in the rippled moments of change, nothing is quite as striking as this, and nothing is quite as difficult to let go of, to accept the fact that you must choose to make things happen if you care, because "someday" never comes. today is all we have, tomorrow is an ellipsis and will always remain so. lay no blame at another's door for your omissions--we equally have this moment.

make of it what you will.

before it's finished.

like an old song

the days turned into years

faces come and go in new places

i've seen so much, found new heights

only to find i still miss you

when the feeling creeps up

i laugh and ignore it most times

you moved on, never looked back

so i shouldn't miss you

but in the middle of a laugh

the memory of your smile

like an old cliche comes

making me miss you

someday i'll find someone new

as the songs all say

he will take your place

and i won't miss you

for now the ache remains

although you'll never know

because you never cared

that i missed you

Advent 2

the house is lit up like a candle

but not a roman one

someone shrugs and sighs

the "e" word is mentioned

evening news comes on

marking time with protests

and then a small flicker

"santas" paying others' bills

when push comes to shove

people often tighten their belts

and turn down the lights

close the doors tight

it makes sense to do so

it is only fair to look out

for number one

everyone else costs too much

yet therein lies irony

when to a poor economy

(one completely bankrupt)

came a gift so costly

with such an example set

how shall we now live?

advent 1

advent is here and i am holding

out for hope in a dreary world

trying to remember why

when all i see is what and how

i know that He came and that

is what i celebrate this season

advent: the arrival

and not just He came but He comes

bears our sorrows yet today

even more He will come

in the grey hours when i cry

all will be well

yet still i remember

the peculiar way He came

and comes

and will come

is not how or what i expect

but why He continually comes

never changes

conundrum

it is beautiful the rain

washing everything new

running down dry streets

like rivers of forgetfulness

but my head gets wet

and i feel the cold pierce

it is beautiful the sea

wave after wave coming

tranquil power perfected

mesmerizing and free

but the angry strength

kills the careless

it is beautiful the One

who came as a babe

wraps me in loving arms

forgives all my sins

but the righteous Judge

is His Father and I tremble

those hidden things

i pause before answering

words unspoken hover

but we know so little

of the things we hide

i like to think myself

consistent in all

but a pointed question

betrays my faults

so i laugh and step

skillfully aside

hoping you won't notice

my misdirection

or perhaps it's you

that slips this time

bringing sarcasm quick

a cut i myself shy from

yet jab at you instead

we part again

content in this charade

the trappings of life

civilized