One Piece of Trash

I saw a piece of trash
on the ground today.
I could have walked right by
and let that litter lay.

I paused a moment, looked around,
as people quickly passed.
Reaching down I wondered,
why do we move so fast?

Maybe folks will notice
when the litter is a heap.
I hope we soon slow down
before it gets too deep.


april 11, 2007
carolwelch

vapor pressure

My stomach gnarls as i read
smooth words drip
one letter at a time
from finger tips
tapping 'cross your key board

You write of wounds
your own and others
yet what of those
you've inflicted
amidst your so-called
justified tone

A hypocrite of hypocrites
one who offers healing
while exacting harms
without remorse
dismissing the inflictions
as inconsequential

Such can cause my blood to boil
perhaps burning away the chaff
of my own self-hatred
to which you at one time
offered solace

Your genius calls
and you are heeding
i'm sure some will profit
i pray it be not at the expense
of another wounded soul


judithpiper
12/16/10

***

When I read certain essays or articles or sharings from people who offer help and healing among those who are in process of recovery and rediscovery after cultic involvement... When I read certain pieces penned by authors with whom I've had personal and intimate experience of their own hypocrisy exacted toward myself and/or others that I know... When I read such, I sometimes find myself feeling rage, leaning toward a feeling of hatred, of their words, and even of them. Their words to me lack authenticity, even though the words may sound compassionate, smoothly laced with honey.

No doubt, the authors have helped some people...maybe many...and perhaps even me. But then The Way helped me too. Other organizations, by whom people have been harmed, have helped other people...and initially maybe helped even those who ended up harmed.

As I've stated elsewhere: In any so-called service/support organization, if people are expendable, therein the org is fraudulent.

We all harm others at some point. It is the denial, the dismissing of those harms, that makes the hypocrite.

At times, I imagine most all humans find themselves as the hypocrite. Hopefully we own up and thus become more Hippocratic than hypocritic.

The catharsis of the keyboard. It doth help me when anger tries to squeeze its grip upon my heart toward vengeance.

~ random thoughts in october ~

I am not quiet inside
There are hints of fear
Emotional bits letting me know

I am not in control

I know the feeling will pass
The hints will quiet
The bits will dissolve

I know the sun will rise

There are boils on my left thumb
They extend down my left wrist
They too will dissolve

Countless memories of hives

I dreamt last night
Of the big house with rooms not used
Of water leaks and mountain views

I dreamt of the auditorium

Five pianos and an organ
Furniture old and dusty
Crowded into every corner

We never did tour the bathrooms

My body ages and carries more weight
Exercise is no longer my lifestyle
Dramatic changes are on the horizon

Sometimes I miss Facebook

carol welch
october 31, 2010

Lessons from Darkness

Winter
cold, windy, dark

Faint reflections of obscure light
struggle to reach the floor
through the forest trees.

Apparel
silk, wool, down

Each weathered traveler
layered with coverings
for protection from the elements.

Insulation
boots, gloves, hood

Each expiration my breath echoes
as I peer beyond my quilted cowl,
relieved by the sight of human forms.

Sheathed with weather proofing
hiding from the crystal-laden steel air,
our contours appear similar.

At least we have these openings
through which to look around,
assuring ourselves that we are not alone.
Survival

A clearing in the timbers.
To the east?
The same landscape.
To the west?
A denser, darker patch.

Some go east.
Others go west.

I need a change,
I choose west.
Besides, I've heard it's always darker
right before the dawn.

We enter the haunted thicket
frostbite in the air,
darkness swallows us.
Our bodies gather closer,
it feels safer that way.
Necessity

Huddling we trudge.
The temperature amongst us rises,
some remove their hoods.
It's nice to see a human face again,
to hear another voice in place
of my echoed breath.

The warmth gives rise to hope.
Survival with grace

We struggle through the thick darkness,
no longer obscure human figures.
Forced to travel more closely,
it is clear our forms are uniquely shaped.
Each contour has its place along our sunless path.
Necessity with grace

Landscape changes,
darkness slowly fades to light,
images become lucid.

Sunlight
limpid, warm, inviting

Sun shines clearly
streaming lightly to the floor
though the scattered trees.
Grace

Layer by layer
we discard our protective garments.
Our outlines now in full array,
beauty to our eyes
deep appreciation
each mortal significant, distinct.

Survival, necessity, grace
Life, significance, purpose

Darkness to light
Unveiled

may 3, 2007
judithpiper

***
Perhaps I'll add the context later.

I think I tire of adding contexts.  Ha!

deja vu

silenced
pen paralyzed
murdered muse

wishing
it were a dream

and I'd awake
tomorrow
to discover it
untrue

Day's End

Today came.  
Today went.

Reading. Writing. Speaking. 

Singing. Hoping. Giving. 

Receiving. Smiling. Laughing.

Working. Typing. Thinking.

Eyes now closing.  

Feet tapping.  

Pause.  Pray.

Give thanks.

 december 18, 2009
jchwelch
~*~*~
I got home from work after midnight.  My mind was swimming with all I need to get done...so many things left undone.  The things on my list that will soon have to get done.

I thought, 'Well, what did I accomplish today?' Just the small list in my little prose makes a worthwhile day.

Most of my days, and I would think most everyone's days, are spent relating.  The only way we can't relate is if we cease to exist.  Some think that we never cease.  I don't concern myself much with that.

My day began laughing with my son and ended laughing with my daughter. In between involved good conversation with others, even the dogs, Maggie and Butter.  What more can one ask for?

~*~*~

poetry, music, art
dances through the air
here's a flick quite smart
with you I'd like to share

Check it out:

Art-O-Mat Promo Video - Lee Fenyves from leefenvisual on Vimeo.

Unfinished

Oil can in aged hand
The Tender slicks the gears
"They rust when they have sat awhile
Moistened by only tears."

"I'll get them working one at a time
Squeak and turn until they're smooth
Time, patience, no rush at all
They'll almost be like new."

We sit and watch his nimble hands
Abe and Nanna at my side
His confidence always near
His quiet way soothes our minds

february 25, 2009
me
***
 It remains unfinished.

But, The Tender has his own blog.  (*wink*)

Untitled & Faction

Untitled
~by mightfall

breathe into me

let your soul seep inside a moment

and we'll be together,

somehow.

gather yourself in the rain

and i'll love you there,

outside in the cold velvet night

where only our arms are warm,

where we need us

and us alone.

i want to be trapped in darkness

with only your eyes the light

and our hunger the only air to breathe.

the rain wouldn't stop

i guess it never will

until our fervent touch

drives away obscuring clouds

breathe into me

we have life, laughter, love,

just breathe

****

This untitled piece is not written by me or for me; but hey, what woman wouldn't love this? Perhaps one reason it touches me deeply is due to it's reference to 'breath.'  Breath, which gives life.

When the author, 'mightfall,' requested comment on it, I simply stated words that came to mind, that which I felt.  ~ melding of souls  ~ distance is no factor ~ bond is deeper than any distance can divide ~ same rain falls upon both, yet...together...depths are unfathomable ~ two as one ~ same breath ~ no hunger ~

I first met 'mightfall' (the author's screen name) in December, 2007, on PoetryPages.com.  'Mightfall' has been another instrumental person in helping me sort through my time with and after The Way. We chat online regularly, have spoken on the phone, and visited via webcam.  He loves  his wife, his dogs, his homeland, fast cars, the beauty of life, and more.

Shortly after we met via cyber waves, 'mightfall'  learned that I'd been involved in an abusive religious group.  He had no idea regarding my involvement with GreaseSpotCafe.com  (GSC), the anti-Way online forum,  and the unpleasant manipulative experiences I'd had at GSC. He'd never even heard of GSC.  With the knowledge of my involvement in an abusive religious group; yet without the knowledge of my involvement with GreaseSpotCafe, he penned a quick prose for me entitled...

***

Faction

~by mightfall

They had you in their greasy little palms, didn't they

And they went to squish and mold you like clay

To serve their whims, will, and foul devices

But you are not clay; in their grasp you broke

Like a bird in the too large hands of a too small child

I just wonder, did you keep the pieces in a box,

and if you've a warm and loving home

and some glue?

 He must have been writing via intuitive cyber waves. :-) Ha! His choice of words definitely had my attention, and we've been communicating ever since.

Thanks to mightfall'  for his friendship and wisdom.

bags123

In upstate New York lives a man
Intelligent, witty, and kind
He gardens to harvest his land
While composing rhymes in his mind

That later spill onto the page
Keys clicking to and fro
Sometimes he must rearrange
To perfect the rhythm and flow

He likes tennis, biking, a smoke
Conversing with family and friends
I say he's a mighty fine bloke
With a heart where love never ends

If in your travels you meet him
Present him this rose from me
Thorns removed from the stem
I've gleaned much from his honesty

judithpiper
september 3, 2008

***
bags123. Who or what is that?

It is the forum name of a poet I admire and adore. His name is Gerry Spoor. (Oh that rhymed! Ha!)

In August, 2008, bags (as he is affectionately called) penned a few tribute poems for various members of PoetryPages.com . So I penned one for Gerry. It is from my heart.

In January, 2007, an ex-Way friend with whom I had recently reunioned encouraged me to find an online forum on which to post some of my poetry. This friend sent me pages of online links. I perused four links and picked one that resonated with me. It was a perfect fit. :-)

Poetry Pages was my first step outside of Way/ex-Way contacts on the internet. The forum was like a breath of fresh air - encouraging, humorous, believing in others, not trying to fix one another, and understanding that poetry is art. It is expression. Bags123, Gerry Spoor, was part of that mix, one of the wonderful souls I met on Poetry Pages.

Gerry is open, up front, kind, honest, and funny all in one. He left/leaves an imprint on me many a time to help not take myself too seriously, yet to endeavor to treat life with dignity.

I am going to post some of Gerry's poetry on my blog over the next week or so. How much remains to be seen.

To read more about Gerry, click the links below.

A Poet Learns to Be Unread
Meet bags123
Gerry's Poetry Archive on PoetryPages.com

***

Free Me from this Bitterness

****
Sin of lies revealed
Conscience eye left with choices
Denial - hidden reality
Justification - double standard
Exposure - surface truth
What to believe, what to discard
In this world run by lies

What rests beneath these fabrications?
Labyrinths of circumstance
Crossroads of life's decisions
Heartaches of trying to survive
In this world run by lies

The great judge inquires
Eyes filled with deep compassion
His voice resonant with virtue
"What is the plea?"
In this world run by lies

Heart engaged, I search my soul
Honestly I do not know
Some counts guilty
Some counts innocent
In this world run by lies

Poised with sobered kindness
Timbre rich with mercy
Gently smiling he replies
"I understand, I've walked the path"
In this world run by lies

His tender grace floods the soul
Cleansing streams cascade my cheeks
He carefully atones each stain-filled tear
Absorbing the bitterness in my heart
Boundless bowels of forgiveness
The only exit
In this world run by lies

july 19, 2007
carol welch

****

Within a few months after leaving The Way, I got involved with an ex-Way online forum, Greasespot Cafe (GSC). It was a scary step, to post on that forum. I had never in my life posted anything on the web. (That sure has changed now. Ha! )

GSC was helpful for me. I was able to read about others' experiences, connect with long time friends from decades previous, read about the side of The Way that The Way kept (keeps) hidden from its followers, decompress and share some of my own emotional upheavals, and more. It was the first place I began to have a voice.

As time went on I began to feel that perhaps some of the same black/white thinking, us/them mentality was prevalent at GSC as was in The Way. I would push those kinds of thoughts aside, after all this was an ex-Way forum.

Close to a year with my involvement on the forum, I had a major disagreement with the administrator. I also began to learn of another side of GSC. A web of toxic relationships, censorship, and even scapegoating began to emerge. At 1-1/2 years of involvement with the forum, I found myself caught in the web. The experience was painful (an understatement) and I realized that the GSC forum was no longer an emotionally safe place for me in which to participate. Was I wrong? Was I right? What were my thoughts? Was I deceived again? Was I a perpetrator? Was I lying? What was true, what wasn't true? I had thought this was supposed to be a place of support for me after exiting The Way.

There were many layers and more than one answer to all my doubts, questions, internal turmoil.

One GSC member in particular caught within a GSC web, I felt was a victim and a perpetrator. I felt anger and at the same time compassion. I felt for the individual trying to put myself in their shoes.

Thus this poem was born.

Maybe someday the relationships I had there can/will be healed. I just don't know how to approach them yet; I still feel unsafe, except perhaps at a distance.

For me the only out is acknowledgment and forgiveness.

Otherwise a bitterness can devour the soul, again murdering the heart.

***

An Eagle Soars

(The sequel to likeaneagle)

**********************
To Carole...
"Death of a Friend" 
by Loren Robert DiGiorgi - Composer, Performer, Producer
(click #3)
Thanks to Loren for sharing his exquisite gift.
********************************

Beauty more splendid than lily of the field
Bubbling like brook that sings
Strength of Appaloosa on the plain
Wisdom of redwood standing tall
Grace of eagle in flight

Your every heartbeat enlivened with hope
Every breath energized with life
Every cell performed its task valiantly
Some tore down
Others rebuilt
They battled the best they could
Served until the last breath

In Autumn light, red and golden hues,
A tree sheds its final leaf
Cloud lets go a snowflake
Icicle prisms dance your song
In Spring, the sweet aroma of new life
Will honor your every breath
The giant mammal will slap her mighty tail
On the ocean waters
Your laughter and awe to recall

Know you are honored
The ship in the harbor awaits
I hope one day we all shall sail
As far as our hearts desire

Thank you for being a friend
Thank you for sweet memories

November 25, 2008
judithpiper


I had written the poem likeaneagle in August, 2008. It was a prayer for Carole, a prayer for strength and tenacity to be able reach beyond the despair of the medical diagnosis of cancer, stage 4. Carole had great hope and much support from family and friends.

Carole and I kept in touch via phone, email, and some US mail.

I received a photograph from Carole via US mail around November 18. Ships were afloat in a harbor. With it was a note; it was one of Carole's favorite spots. She had taken the shot while visiting the harbor in the last few months, September I think.

Around November 23 I received an email from one of Carole's daughters wondering if I could make a trip to see Carole. Of course I felt some guilt, but Carole understood. I wasn't well enough from major surgery I had had in August, a full hip replacement with some complications. I simply couldn't make the trip.

I received an email sometime late on November 25th. Carole had drawn her last breath. My heart broke again....as it does writing this post. Yet it also smiles for the blessings Carole bestowed, her goodness and grace and sweet laughter that still echos.

I revised likeaneagle, in Carole's honor, to An Eagle Soars. Both poems were read at her memorial service which was held in Chicago, her hometown.

I hope one day there is that great ship on which to sail together. And it better serve Carole's favorite wine!! And have some Scrabble boards. :-)

To Carole. May she sweetly rest, until then....

likeaneagle

****
To Carole....
"Stage 4" by
Loren Robert DiGiorgi - Composer, Performer, Producer
Thanks to Loren for sharing his beautiful gift.
****

Beauty more splendid than lily of the field
Bubbling like brook that sings
Strength of Appaloosa on the plain
Wisdom of redwood standing tall
Grace of eagle in flight

May your every heartbeat enliven with hope
Every breath energize with life
Every cell perform its task valiantly
Some that tear down
Others that rebuild
Harmonic choreography
For which they are uniquely designed

The bandit visitor to depart
Knowing this is not
Its time or place....
And never will be

I see you strolling the riverside, camera in hand
Basking in Autumn light, red and golden hues
I hear the crunch of snow beneath your boot
As you delight in prisms of icicles
The sweet aroma of spring with new life
Awakens your senses
Summer finds you on the sea,
Enthralled by her giant mammals
As their mighty tails slap the waters

If I could, I'd be with you now
Know you are in my heart
Day and night

August 30, 2008
judithpiper

(An Eagle Soars is the sequel to likeaneagle.)

*******************************



Carole had gone to the doctor some time in July, I think. She thought she had a hernia. The nurse practitioner that she saw told her that Carole needed to go for other testing right away. It appeared Carole might have cancer of the liver. That's a far cry from a hernia.

After further testing Carole was diagnosed with cancer (stage 4) in her colon, in her liver, and in her lung(s). It was hard to believe. My heart sank, to put it lightly.

Her family didn't like the 'C' word, though they knew it was the reality with which they were dealing.

Carole's daughters cared for Carole every step of the way. Appointments. Lifestyle changes. Family time. Laughter. Love. The basic necessities of life. Research on cancer and how they could help.

Carole and I first met on an online forum. At the time she lived in NC and we got together a few times. It was always a pleasure. Her screen name on that forum was likeaneagle.

Carole exhibited a love for life, always endeavoring to think the best of others and to give them the benefit of the doubt. One could tell Carole anything; she would keep it confidential and she wouldn't judge another with challenges as weak. She had lived through her own hell; most people were unaware of Carole's story and the heartache she had endured.

Shortly before Carole moved away from North Carolina, my husband and I gave her our van. We had been given a Ford Explorer. Carole needed a better vehicle. One of her daughters drove her to Winston to pick up the van. We went together to get new license plates; one for her van and another for our Explorer. The van and Explorer ended up with the same tag letters and numbers, except for one different number. Hers ended in the number 3, ours ends in 4. (Or is it the other way around?) After that, Carole and I used to sign some of our correspondence with our license plate numbers. *chuckle*

She enjoyed nature and photography. She was enthralled with the change of seasons and the whale of the sea. It wasn't unusual to receive emails from Carole with photos of great whale tails, icicles, autumn leaves, and ships.

I received my last photo from Carole via snail mail, less than a week before she died. That is a blog for another time.

***********************************

Substance

I cannot find words to write
Disorientation in my mind
One side says yes and then says no.
I grasp for truth with substance

How can I believe me
How can I believe you
When the substance seems but vapor?
After so many lies it's hard for the heart to trust

But trust I must
Or else my heart will crater
My life's substance will dissipate.
For without trust, what else can I hold onto

june 11, 2007
judithpiper

June 2007. I had recently experienced triggering relationships/experiences with a certain group of people with whom I had initially turned to for help shortly after exiting The Way. Yet, within those relationships I found myself in the midst of events experiencing similar tactics I thought I had left behind in The Way. In addition to that turmoil, my personal spiritual beliefs were taking me in an unchartered direction; the truth I had clung to for so long had lost its certainty. I was confused, afraid, filled (again) with self-doubt and not sure who or what to trust.

2004- 2005. The year before I exited The Way in October, 2005, my heart was an vast, empty hole. To no avail, I continually tried to fill the void. I wanted to break the religious shackles, but was afraid. By exiting The Way I might divide my family; by deserting I'd fulfill a 3-strikes omen I had carried for decades; by exiting I'd be outside God's hedge of protection; by leaving I'd be alone. I didn't know who to trust. Would anybody be safe? Could I find help without succumbing again to manipulation, without succumbing to bitterness and victimization, without falling prey to some false doctrine, without harming my family? I was afraid and confused.

Trust is a huge issue after being involved in a high control group or relationship. One has so much doubt regarding his/her own internal direction. S/he looks to others for guidance; and when that trust is maligned, it can be devastating, confusing, lonely, gut-wrenching, scary. Perhaps black/white thinking plays into that mindset of trust.

Yet in the end, trust is vital; especially trust in oneself, which comes with time and practice. To trust doesn't mean what/who one trusts is perfect; but hopefully there can be forgiveness, openness, and accountability on all sides.

To trust in one's own heart. 'Tis a good thing!

Of Leaves, Squirrels, Dogs, and Dances

~gazing out my kitchen window~

~change of seasons landed~

~nature again makes her mark~

She didn't ask my permission

nor scatter her leaves orderly.

She allowed them to fall where they may;

with great purpose she allowed it.

~squirrel~

All that matters to him is the next nut

or the next squirrel to chase around the tree.

~dog~

All that matters to her is

the next meal,

the next intruder,

or the next two-legged creature

that comes along

to caress and talk with her.

The animals do not worry

or engage in much ado.

Aye, I do think the animals

in many ways are wiser than man.

What is their secret?

Simplicity and instinct.

~oh humankind!~

Why have we allowed so much complexity,

strife, unease?

Where have our instincts gone?

Who stole them?

Why did we allow it?

Perhaps if we jump off the Jones' wheel;

perhaps if we smile and touch again;

perhaps if we quiet ourselves

long enough to observe the animals,

even in the cities;

Perhaps we can again arrive at simplicity,

arrive at instinct,

arise each day

with thankfulness in our hearts

and a skip in our step...

Perhaps then life in all its richness

and oneness can be enjoyed

and we can bask in all the goodness

with which we are surrounded.

Will you join me?

Here, take my hand

and dance with me.

Show me your steps

and I'll show you mine.

Together we can make our lives,

our families, our world

A little better place.

december, 2004

carol welch

~*~

I stood at my kitchen window one winter day. I gazed into the unkept woods beyond the backyard, noticing how nature cares for itself. I longed for simplicity. I longed for people to live as one. I longed for the non-sterile life of the wild. I longed for relaxed standards from perfection. I longed to find me.

When I wrote this prose I was still involved with a high-control religious group which believed (and I imagine still does) that the true believers were those who believed as the group taught. To desire oneness with unbelievers was not of God and could result in becoming contaminated or possessed or influenced by the adversary (the devil and devil spirits).

I hid this poem in my journal until after I left the organization. After some of the toxicity was neutralized, I was brave enough to share the poem publicly. But even then I slightly trembled, for fear of being open to inclusiveness. How sad for the family of man to be so divided that to think of peace and tolerance among various beliefs is evil.

I'm glad to be mostly free from that school of thought; though it does try to creep in from time to time and whisper to me that I am wrong to desire harmony among humanity's many tribes. When it whispers I remind myself that I am o.k., that inclusiveness is a good thing; and to remember to dance together with those who wish to dance, to share, and to continue to reach for peace.

I also hope that mankind is the master of progress and that we do not allow progress to master our moments of life.

Sixth Dimension

To stay connected
My quill must dance
Upon the weathered parchment
Fingers embrace the pen

What is this magic
What is this pull
Into dimensions felt, not seen

Magnetism
To time eternal
Memories that tarry

Some past, some future
Mortal, immortal
Concrete, ambiguous

Embrace me
Never let me go
Curves, lines, circles
Magic strokes upon the page


january 20, 2oo8
judithpiper

Poetry is a therapeutic tool for me, allowing me to access and express a part of my soul that otherwise remains dormant. Sometimes when I am in process of composing a prose or poem, I become immersed within another time and space. It is as if time stands still and I feel a connection to myself that goes beyond everyday perception.

I thought that perhaps it is a 6th dimension. As my manner is, I then googled "sixth dimension." Sixth dimension has to do with community. I felt it applied to my inner thoughts, for I think that we do communicate via ways not yet verified in our Western scientific paradigm. As we are more in tune with ourselves, we will be more in tune with others....

• Three Dimensional Space (Eg Proximity of people and groups of people to one another, resulting in interaction) (Consider also the physical shape of a tool used by a blacksmith)
• 4 -- Time (Eg The birth, death and marriage dates that connect people to one another)
• 5 -- Objects (Eg People and their tools, homes and beasts of burden)
• 6 -- Societal Values (Prevalent attitudes in a community that evolve in response to a complex web of human interactions)
• http://www.beamccowan.com/SixthDim.htm