I am still
But mile markers flee
Nausea chases each counted pole
Through barren brush and dirt
I find you
Nestled in fleeing sage
Full of life, but dead to me
Like yellow asphalt stripes
Counting you just hurts
All roads led to you
I rode them with tight shut sight
Then you shut yours:
Crashing was inevitable
Now watch the road spill,
Fold beneath glazed eyes,
Melt through heightened eyes and lips
Balance tipping sunburned fence posts
You held my heart
Urging return with tender touch
I ignored stomach’s sick pull
Raced into the warmth of Provo rain
I force mind to sleep, heart to numb
Time nods off, drifts to the shoulder
Each excused escape brings life
From you; from motion
Rusty red car halts for you
You’ve moved; making me take stairs.
All I am is a borrowed book --unfinished,
I return it with the plastic bag
I used when motion sick.
~DaLe 6.15.09
Monday, June 15, 2009
Friday, May 29, 2009
Composed a Few Feet from Tintern's Walls
The Sylvan Wye called to me few short years ago
And here I sit in Tintern’s walls,
Watching wind-rippled grass.
She called me here; here I sit, obedient pilgrim of deeper life
For since I first felt soul’s answer to beckoning Welsh breeze,
I could not rest ,urged forward path by path
Those beauteous words
In each stretching silence, have not given to me
As is poetry to a deaf man’s ear:
But frequent in darkening twilight, and in the dark
Of soul and conscience, I have read from them
In days of anguish, spiritual songs,
Heard in the soul, and sung in deeper core,
And sounding even into deepest heart,
In quiet healing.
By the swell of that pure love, this abbey’s carpet
dances daisies into once floors of stone
I had given my soul to the green hues when I heard of her,
The supreme and Godly nature.
Learned slowly the paths she and he in duet make for me
Lead to much brighter fields than natural eye chooses
The only lasting lives within these falling walls are doves
Nesting in forgotten corners, cooing stone into silence,
Outliving even the daisy’s presence there.
~DaLe 5.29.09
And here I sit in Tintern’s walls,
Watching wind-rippled grass.
She called me here; here I sit, obedient pilgrim of deeper life
For since I first felt soul’s answer to beckoning Welsh breeze,
I could not rest ,urged forward path by path
Those beauteous words
In each stretching silence, have not given to me
As is poetry to a deaf man’s ear:
But frequent in darkening twilight, and in the dark
Of soul and conscience, I have read from them
In days of anguish, spiritual songs,
Heard in the soul, and sung in deeper core,
And sounding even into deepest heart,
In quiet healing.
By the swell of that pure love, this abbey’s carpet
dances daisies into once floors of stone
I had given my soul to the green hues when I heard of her,
The supreme and Godly nature.
Learned slowly the paths she and he in duet make for me
Lead to much brighter fields than natural eye chooses
The only lasting lives within these falling walls are doves
Nesting in forgotten corners, cooing stone into silence,
Outliving even the daisy’s presence there.
~DaLe 5.29.09
Thursday, April 9, 2009
Corndogs and Crepes: A Family Memoir
For a project I had to do something related to my family. I decided to create a compilation of poems for each member of my family. We are as crazy and corny as any other family, but we also love a lot, and there are not people I love more in the world. The are my very best friends, and have taught me more about life, and how to live it successfully than any other people. Some of these are ridiculous, some are serious, but each is dedicated to the people who understand and know me better than I know myself.
Apron Knots
For My Mother
The sun begins to set
Time is drawing near
And mother ties her apron strings
She takes her scattered brood
And pulls them closer to her
Tied together with apron strings
There have been adolescent heartaches
And life-defining soul stretches
She closes the wounds with apron strings
Moments of remembered laughter
Stories of ridiculous remembrances
Highlighted with her apron strings
Quiet conversations of faith
Silent scenes of spiritual growth
Each delicately laced with apron strings
As messy faces morph into messy lives
And each child moves messily into independence
They are still held by apron strings
For no simple evening meal
Or pile of dishes cleaned
Can express the love found
In a mother’s apron strings.
Freckled Match Game
For my Father
There lies an unexplainable connection
Between father and little girl
Something about her bouncing pig tails
Softens his hard lines, makes him warm
Searing an eternal bond between the two
My father never was a stern or stiff man
God-given gentleness wrapped in his veins
Yet a special gleam reached his eyes
When, with my matching pair, I perchance
Would gaze into his, seeking, imploring
He gave me his gray-green eyes, freckles
That dash the pupil and spill onto fair cheeks
Framing a mouth full of giant grins and giggle
As he held me, speaking stories to send
those stolen eyes into sleep.
He placed within me a deeper set of eyes
One that learned to see what only heart hears
Moments of his kneeling pleas were caught
As he spoke on my little girl behalf
Hoping that his hands could reflect divinity
Years changed faces, giving his wrinkles
Filling mine with adolescent life, yet,
Matching eyes have remained, sustained
Over miled distance, and adulthood’s mountains,
His words becoming sage hues in defining times
Though change may come, and days take me far
Words from Dad never falter, each thought
Solidifies through mutable moments
That some things never change
Like a daddy and his little girl
Life’s Feature Presentation
For My Irish Twin
You came first
Like the chicken, not the egg
I came second
Like a surprisingly good sequel
And, rather like Lucy and Ethel,
We started out on our journey of mishaps.
Every hilarious episode taught us life,
Every happy ending kept us returning,
Begging life to give us more.
Like Eric and Cory that we religiously watched,
Setting aside Friday as our beloved day of TGIF,
High school was years of struggle for us,
The year between us seeming like a wall,
Yet, it’s common knowledge
That the later college seasons
Trumped all the rest with laughter,
But with deeper love as well.
As different as Meg and Jo March we stand,
Each grasping different essentials of life,
Yet the bonds of sisterhood stand rezealiant
Making little women out of both of us,
And life is limitless before us,
As our personal concord grapes
Make life’s juice deep, make it sweet.
Rivaling the ribbon-haired pair
Of Emma Woodhouse and Harriet Smith,
We’ve experienced the ridiculousness of society
While all the while embroidering our love
And laughing at failed matches made.
Our friendship being deeper than
Dances and butterfly catching.
We are the Aubin and Dani twosome,
As original and timeless as the pairs we watch
With our own faults carefully written in
By an all-knowing Father, who sees
Who knows the bigger picture,
And when this scene is over, and the lights dim
You will still be known as my big sister,
My opposite, yet perfect half,
My sister, and friend.
The Height of Brotherhood
For Jonathan
By mere genetics
We are nothing alike
your long legged shadows
stretch farther than mine
I may have more years than you
But you more height
Together we have memories
That etch friendship into smiles
Founded in our family ties.
Through years of struggle
You were there when I cried
You had my embrace
when your head hung down
and suddenly, you’re a man
tall enough to take on the world,
but I’m half a world away
wishing I could help you hurdle adolescence.
Yet, as we both mature,
So does love and laughter,
And the formation of family
Turns into deep canyons of caring
That assure the years will bring more
Of the laughter we have loved.
Jonathan, you are the answer
To my request from God for a brother,
And the request from my heart
For a friend.
Happiness in a Cup
For Samuel
I have a history of liking the bittersweet
Grapefruit juice, and Sour Patch Kids are my favorite
Somehow the tangy juice becomes an addiction
Shuddering my taste buds in pure delight.
By all accounts, I should despise the taste
But instead I love it.
Our love has been of the likings of bittersweet
We have argued, but loved just as deeply.
Our similar care for fantasy making us similar
Our bitter differences pulling as apart.
Yet, like my addiction to the sour,
I am dependant on friendship with you,
Because the sweet had made
Every bitter moment
Nothing compared to the joy
Of having you as a brother
As a protector.
Your hugs are sweetest
Your sincerity tastes the best.
And so, when favorite things are considered
So should you be, Samuel, my dear friend.
Filling Smaller Shoes
For Christan
Heroes stand out in the time of days,
Each changing earth in a particular way,
But earth was not prepared when you entered her
Your clear blue eyes made Heaven stir
Your footsteps of friendship draw others near
And every single soul feels important and dear
For your smile and laughter is genuine, bright
Your flaxen hair reflects your inner light.
It is no question who my role model has become
Like the pink tinted, summer cherry blossom
You sprinkle my world with rosy love
You, my little sister, are an angel from above.
~DaLe 04.09.09
Apron Knots
For My Mother
The sun begins to set
Time is drawing near
And mother ties her apron strings
She takes her scattered brood
And pulls them closer to her
Tied together with apron strings
There have been adolescent heartaches
And life-defining soul stretches
She closes the wounds with apron strings
Moments of remembered laughter
Stories of ridiculous remembrances
Highlighted with her apron strings
Quiet conversations of faith
Silent scenes of spiritual growth
Each delicately laced with apron strings
As messy faces morph into messy lives
And each child moves messily into independence
They are still held by apron strings
For no simple evening meal
Or pile of dishes cleaned
Can express the love found
In a mother’s apron strings.
Freckled Match Game
For my Father
There lies an unexplainable connection
Between father and little girl
Something about her bouncing pig tails
Softens his hard lines, makes him warm
Searing an eternal bond between the two
My father never was a stern or stiff man
God-given gentleness wrapped in his veins
Yet a special gleam reached his eyes
When, with my matching pair, I perchance
Would gaze into his, seeking, imploring
He gave me his gray-green eyes, freckles
That dash the pupil and spill onto fair cheeks
Framing a mouth full of giant grins and giggle
As he held me, speaking stories to send
those stolen eyes into sleep.
He placed within me a deeper set of eyes
One that learned to see what only heart hears
Moments of his kneeling pleas were caught
As he spoke on my little girl behalf
Hoping that his hands could reflect divinity
Years changed faces, giving his wrinkles
Filling mine with adolescent life, yet,
Matching eyes have remained, sustained
Over miled distance, and adulthood’s mountains,
His words becoming sage hues in defining times
Though change may come, and days take me far
Words from Dad never falter, each thought
Solidifies through mutable moments
That some things never change
Like a daddy and his little girl
Life’s Feature Presentation
For My Irish Twin
You came first
Like the chicken, not the egg
I came second
Like a surprisingly good sequel
And, rather like Lucy and Ethel,
We started out on our journey of mishaps.
Every hilarious episode taught us life,
Every happy ending kept us returning,
Begging life to give us more.
Like Eric and Cory that we religiously watched,
Setting aside Friday as our beloved day of TGIF,
High school was years of struggle for us,
The year between us seeming like a wall,
Yet, it’s common knowledge
That the later college seasons
Trumped all the rest with laughter,
But with deeper love as well.
As different as Meg and Jo March we stand,
Each grasping different essentials of life,
Yet the bonds of sisterhood stand rezealiant
Making little women out of both of us,
And life is limitless before us,
As our personal concord grapes
Make life’s juice deep, make it sweet.
Rivaling the ribbon-haired pair
Of Emma Woodhouse and Harriet Smith,
We’ve experienced the ridiculousness of society
While all the while embroidering our love
And laughing at failed matches made.
Our friendship being deeper than
Dances and butterfly catching.
We are the Aubin and Dani twosome,
As original and timeless as the pairs we watch
With our own faults carefully written in
By an all-knowing Father, who sees
Who knows the bigger picture,
And when this scene is over, and the lights dim
You will still be known as my big sister,
My opposite, yet perfect half,
My sister, and friend.
The Height of Brotherhood
For Jonathan
By mere genetics
We are nothing alike
your long legged shadows
stretch farther than mine
I may have more years than you
But you more height
Together we have memories
That etch friendship into smiles
Founded in our family ties.
Through years of struggle
You were there when I cried
You had my embrace
when your head hung down
and suddenly, you’re a man
tall enough to take on the world,
but I’m half a world away
wishing I could help you hurdle adolescence.
Yet, as we both mature,
So does love and laughter,
And the formation of family
Turns into deep canyons of caring
That assure the years will bring more
Of the laughter we have loved.
Jonathan, you are the answer
To my request from God for a brother,
And the request from my heart
For a friend.
Happiness in a Cup
For Samuel
I have a history of liking the bittersweet
Grapefruit juice, and Sour Patch Kids are my favorite
Somehow the tangy juice becomes an addiction
Shuddering my taste buds in pure delight.
By all accounts, I should despise the taste
But instead I love it.
Our love has been of the likings of bittersweet
We have argued, but loved just as deeply.
Our similar care for fantasy making us similar
Our bitter differences pulling as apart.
Yet, like my addiction to the sour,
I am dependant on friendship with you,
Because the sweet had made
Every bitter moment
Nothing compared to the joy
Of having you as a brother
As a protector.
Your hugs are sweetest
Your sincerity tastes the best.
And so, when favorite things are considered
So should you be, Samuel, my dear friend.
Filling Smaller Shoes
For Christan
Heroes stand out in the time of days,
Each changing earth in a particular way,
But earth was not prepared when you entered her
Your clear blue eyes made Heaven stir
Your footsteps of friendship draw others near
And every single soul feels important and dear
For your smile and laughter is genuine, bright
Your flaxen hair reflects your inner light.
It is no question who my role model has become
Like the pink tinted, summer cherry blossom
You sprinkle my world with rosy love
You, my little sister, are an angel from above.
~DaLe 04.09.09
Sunday, March 29, 2009
A Necessity of Blankets
You asked me to weave some time with you
And as the days created colors we created conversations
Each of the hues presented my life with something new
And I couldn’t help but wrap up in the quilt made of you.
I pulled it around me close, embracing the loving warmth,
Convinced myself that the threads would weave into eternity
But the moths of time ate at your heart
And you couldn’t take the effort it took to create
Leaving me here to cling to a holey patchwork unaided
Where I used to cling to you, knowing you held me just as tight
Know I cling to strands, afraid to let go, unwilling
Losing a best friend hurts like loosing a quilts threads
The holes left leave spaces
Void of anything but ache.
~DaLe 3/29/09
And as the days created colors we created conversations
Each of the hues presented my life with something new
And I couldn’t help but wrap up in the quilt made of you.
I pulled it around me close, embracing the loving warmth,
Convinced myself that the threads would weave into eternity
But the moths of time ate at your heart
And you couldn’t take the effort it took to create
Leaving me here to cling to a holey patchwork unaided
Where I used to cling to you, knowing you held me just as tight
Know I cling to strands, afraid to let go, unwilling
Losing a best friend hurts like loosing a quilts threads
The holes left leave spaces
Void of anything but ache.
~DaLe 3/29/09
Sunday, March 22, 2009
For I Will Consider
(An Imitation, and amusing poem) DO NOT TAKE SERIOUSLY!
For I will consider the fantasy nerd.
For he is the pinnacle of all geeks, nerds, or junkies.
For at the first glance of a light saber or winged dragon his heart beats faster than if he actually exercised.
For he has too many languages to learn, magical terms to memorize, and maps of made-up places to absorb.
For is this accomplished by wasting time with social skills and hygiene?
For when he is done with his studies he begins to write an epic of his own.
For he thinks he has skills.
For having way too much time, because of his unemployment, he must do something worthwhile like picking up a medieval sword-shaped pen.
For this Tolkien-like book is written with ten necessities:
For first, there must be elves. No fantastical story ever created was with out them (except Star Wars, which is understandable for the Jedi would have to kill them.)
For secondly, there must be strange names: names such as Samantha or Zachary are not acceptable, but must be Samoneena and Zachortia.
For thirdly there must be stupid non-existent creatures. It is best to take the ones made by Tolkien or Lucas and to alter them slightly—no one will know.
For fourthly battle scenes must splash across the story like the detailed descriptions of beheaded beasts that…
For fifthly must be described in their triumphant goriness: the gluttony of carnage is vital.
For sixthly there must a woman who’s hair blows in the breeze like a thousand changing sunsets, and who’s eyes burn like an ebony sword of dark night. (She may be elfish or human).
For seventhly, a map must be inserted in the front of the story so that the fantasy nerd has endless opportunities to make up stupid-sounding words and place them over a geological feature and thus, sound intelligent.
For eighthly, there must be a break to play World of Warcraft or Halo.
For ninthly nothing must be said in a concise manner. For example, he can not say “ a new day came”, he must say “the dawn of the new day arose with a stillness in the air, and a light casted on the shadows insuring that time had indeed forced the calendar onward.
For tenthly, there must be at least three installments, but in the case of dragons over forty books may be acceptable.
For having finished his work of quill and ink penmenship, he goes up stairs to see what his mother has made for dinner.
For he refuses to get a real job to pay for the love of his life, his Macbook.
For he uses it to discuss his favorite fantasies in chat rooms.
For there is much literary quality to discuss.
For when he puts it down, he memorizes footwork for Jedi battles, and fights with Ring Wraiths.
For every Friday his cyber friends meet him at the park to have these battles.
“For there’s some good in this world, Mr. Frodo, and it’s worth fighting for.”
For he is too scared to go out into the world and see what it really has to offer.
For his imagination is a much safer place.
For his status as nerd has brought him many black eyes and bruised ribs.
For the orcs of 2009 use their fists to destroy.
For no matter the age, evil will exist.
For if he, the fantasy nerd, can not fight this evil in the present day, he will fight it in dungeons.
For he will fight it with dragons.
For someday he will conquer
For he will make millions with his best-selling book.
For then he will get the last laugh.
For nerds rule the world.
~DaLe 3/22/09
For I will consider the fantasy nerd.
For he is the pinnacle of all geeks, nerds, or junkies.
For at the first glance of a light saber or winged dragon his heart beats faster than if he actually exercised.
For he has too many languages to learn, magical terms to memorize, and maps of made-up places to absorb.
For is this accomplished by wasting time with social skills and hygiene?
For when he is done with his studies he begins to write an epic of his own.
For he thinks he has skills.
For having way too much time, because of his unemployment, he must do something worthwhile like picking up a medieval sword-shaped pen.
For this Tolkien-like book is written with ten necessities:
For first, there must be elves. No fantastical story ever created was with out them (except Star Wars, which is understandable for the Jedi would have to kill them.)
For secondly, there must be strange names: names such as Samantha or Zachary are not acceptable, but must be Samoneena and Zachortia.
For thirdly there must be stupid non-existent creatures. It is best to take the ones made by Tolkien or Lucas and to alter them slightly—no one will know.
For fourthly battle scenes must splash across the story like the detailed descriptions of beheaded beasts that…
For fifthly must be described in their triumphant goriness: the gluttony of carnage is vital.
For sixthly there must a woman who’s hair blows in the breeze like a thousand changing sunsets, and who’s eyes burn like an ebony sword of dark night. (She may be elfish or human).
For seventhly, a map must be inserted in the front of the story so that the fantasy nerd has endless opportunities to make up stupid-sounding words and place them over a geological feature and thus, sound intelligent.
For eighthly, there must be a break to play World of Warcraft or Halo.
For ninthly nothing must be said in a concise manner. For example, he can not say “ a new day came”, he must say “the dawn of the new day arose with a stillness in the air, and a light casted on the shadows insuring that time had indeed forced the calendar onward.
For tenthly, there must be at least three installments, but in the case of dragons over forty books may be acceptable.
For having finished his work of quill and ink penmenship, he goes up stairs to see what his mother has made for dinner.
For he refuses to get a real job to pay for the love of his life, his Macbook.
For he uses it to discuss his favorite fantasies in chat rooms.
For there is much literary quality to discuss.
For when he puts it down, he memorizes footwork for Jedi battles, and fights with Ring Wraiths.
For every Friday his cyber friends meet him at the park to have these battles.
“For there’s some good in this world, Mr. Frodo, and it’s worth fighting for.”
For he is too scared to go out into the world and see what it really has to offer.
For his imagination is a much safer place.
For his status as nerd has brought him many black eyes and bruised ribs.
For the orcs of 2009 use their fists to destroy.
For no matter the age, evil will exist.
For if he, the fantasy nerd, can not fight this evil in the present day, he will fight it in dungeons.
For he will fight it with dragons.
For someday he will conquer
For he will make millions with his best-selling book.
For then he will get the last laugh.
For nerds rule the world.
~DaLe 3/22/09
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
The Whiteboard of My Mind
Seize the day or seize the death.
Another day passes,
But this one is different than others,
Like brown sugar molasses
I’m slowing to see breath's colors.
I’ve stopped holding it, hoping
That it would rush on the spring,
Gray air full of feigned coasting
Revives wind: forgotten lines to sing.
I herald in the blazoned golden gates,
Each choppy wave of change they bring
The triumphs and troughs each crest creates
Glinting with great wisdom’s offering
Hours fly, and I sail with them
Towards destination’s uncertain land
Treasure not found in finite goal’s gem
But in today’s bypassed fruitful hand
Another day passes
But this one is sweeter than others
This one is today
~DaLe 3.11.09
Another day passes,
But this one is different than others,
Like brown sugar molasses
I’m slowing to see breath's colors.
I’ve stopped holding it, hoping
That it would rush on the spring,
Gray air full of feigned coasting
Revives wind: forgotten lines to sing.
I herald in the blazoned golden gates,
Each choppy wave of change they bring
The triumphs and troughs each crest creates
Glinting with great wisdom’s offering
Hours fly, and I sail with them
Towards destination’s uncertain land
Treasure not found in finite goal’s gem
But in today’s bypassed fruitful hand
Another day passes
But this one is sweeter than others
This one is today
~DaLe 3.11.09
Thursday, February 19, 2009
Se Réveille et Se Tombe
Une autre fille tombe
Le soleil trouve la lune
Nous, simplement, sommes
Et je ne vois aucune
Mais les moments eux-mêmes
Sont l’or dans les yeux
Tu me manques et je t’aime
Et je ne veux pas demande à Dieu
Pour le ciel ou la terre, mon chère,
Parce que J’ai les deux à la main
Maintenant, tout que j’espère
Est la, dans cette moment, je suis saine.
~DaLe 2.19.09
Le soleil trouve la lune
Nous, simplement, sommes
Et je ne vois aucune
Mais les moments eux-mêmes
Sont l’or dans les yeux
Tu me manques et je t’aime
Et je ne veux pas demande à Dieu
Pour le ciel ou la terre, mon chère,
Parce que J’ai les deux à la main
Maintenant, tout que j’espère
Est la, dans cette moment, je suis saine.
~DaLe 2.19.09
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