Ivory

I played her until my right wrist hurt
All my soul spread across the musical chess board.
With anything but mathematical logic I cornered cords,
Forcing the triads, and dissonant melodies to converse,
Inaudible language made from audible notes—
The piano full of 88 friends; I passed soul’s loose leaf,
Hoping that no one of consequence could see.

She is my old friend
Fingerprints of friendship painted on her ivory skin:
Originated in sticky little girl fingers, unwashed, wild,
Then in adolescence’s tear-touched thumbs,
That played with her, because all else refused.
She was constant, responding always in love,
Never remembering hasty mistakes,
Adoration coming in practiced companionship.

I had moved on
Leaving her stringed soul for others to love
Yet, she imprinted on me eternally
Giving me her off-white hue as proof:
Her music resides in my soul.
Who could dispute her love?
As I touched her keys, I finally understood
It was she that touched me.

~DaLe 08.26.09

Monsoon Season

You touch my thoughts like a slow rain,
Drizzling into every part of my mind,
Until every moment is laced with you.

I’d like to dance in the downpour
Abandon all weather patterns that keep you distanced.
But clouds demand that I see you in sleep only;
Hear you solely in telephonic thunder
The sound rolling into every drenched limb
But just as quickly silent; still in my eyes
Is the lightning reflection of you.

You help me feel alive, like thirsty farmland,
I soak in you; find that I have grown greener:
Your steady drive into the Heartland
Drives you deeper into the soil of my heart,
Where all roads are a one-way path to you.

So, as the rain clouds start to form,
I stop and smile for awhile.

~DaLe 08.25.09

Especially for Youth: Slam Poem

I sat down next to the man on the airplane.
Thinking me a little insane for sitting next to him,
He turned and gave a cordial smile while relocating his briefcase.
“Where you headed?” he asked, masking his frustration at having to share foot space.
“No place,” I shrugged, “well no place big. Rexburg, Idaho to be exact, in fact I’m going there to be a church camp counselor called Especially For Youth.
Well, in truth he didn’t really care, but rather than stare at the back of a seat for three hours, he carefully caressed his handle-bar mustache as he asked another question.
“For the summer? That’s a bummer,” he said. “With the way that kids are these days, they’re a maze to understand, let alone teach or preach. They’re just beach bums, what a way to waste your time.
I like to think that I’m a nice girl, but the moment was prime as we took off. I coughed once, took a drink, then decided to address his skeptical scoff:

Especially for Youth
Takes a fourteen year old girl who has never seen in the mirror correctly
That every freckle on her face is known
And alone is word that never should describe her
As the world screams of things that she should be
She comes to see that her beauty is something that goes so deep
The only thing deeper is the love of her Elder brother and friend.
She bows at his feet, and takes that leap of faith to make Him her anchor.
And he will save her before she ever drowns in tears of heartache or hurt again.

Especially for Youth
makes young men out of seventeen year old boys
That were concentrated on the noise of video games and other pointless toys
And teaches them why it’s okay to cry when you feel the spirit
That the things with the greatest merit are the ones
That the worldly macho will never get.
They really are soldiers and they leave ready to fight
With their sight fixed on the rock in which they
Carry always like a pebble in their pocket
That is burned in their hearts.

Especially for Youth
Makes disciples out of young adults
Resulting from lack of sleep, keeping constant excitement, and love
Tied together in moments of testifying and trying
To make a difference in just one life.
If they find a wife it’s just a bonus.
You see, for us, helping a teenager realize
Who they are is the royal child of Heavenly King
Who made each star, but knows who they are
Even in his far off home He can touch them
Heal them, and with His finger He makes them light
Like Mahonri’s sixteen stones, and the places them in boats of hope
To carry His light to the world.

So you see, Sir, I did not waste my summer.
It is filled with friends, and emotions that transcend even the words I could tell you.
Hundreds of people will leave Rexburg, Idaho with light to show
And you know that nothing can compare with a summer where
You know like, Elphaba you have been changed for the Good.
So I will be an All-American Reject and move along,
But as I’m placed back into the stream
I might just be another stone, but I am not alone.
So the world can crumble around me, but I will be an example
To those around me, and help them see they are a child of God too.
So thank you, for your concern, but if you came with me Rexburg you would learn
That once you leave, you will never be the same.
~08.16.09

Avon's Swan

The gray-green ripples danced in welcome
I crossed the ancient bridge and sat
I waited for mind and flower to blossom
on personal bladed welcome mat

I craned my neck to see a swan
Wondered if white or gray
Was the sweet swan of the avon
Her feathers a mix of ink and clay

I spied her by the leaning willow
Neck long and planned with grace
Unmoving with places to go
I knew the lines in her face

What are the poetic lines I draw?
Will they linger or fade away?
Like a swan on a running stream
Will only written remnants be conveyed?

She, dressed in robes of secrets
Fanned tablets written upon with quill
Followed by famous blankets
Greatness penned upon by great Will

Who is this swan that swims alone?
Breaths a fresher spray?
Could she write songs by floating in past’s foam
Will frailty be displayed?

Unanswered all questions left behind
In Avon for grayer, dark, day
The wordsmith, the swan, and I are gone
To find a better way.

~DaLe



(This was written while sitting upon the banks of the Avon--William Shakespeare's Birthplace--as the sun set one evening.)

One by Two; Two by One

I wrote this earlier this summer, but last night's rain made me think of it.


I sat and listened to the patterned rain
until it learned my mind,
playing on the solitude, laughing
at my sheltered quiet.

Without thought, I ran from disheveled room,
heedlessly flung open my door.
Without pause, I leaped,
Embracing drizzling pockets of heaven.

I left my sloppy socks like shells
on the pavement, the sound gripping me to swirl
up and down with each gust,
the dance forming in my lungs

I stopped, the movement inward turning.
I lay on the pavement like a mountain
unmovable, but reaching upward
with my palms flat on spiritual gray.

In Noah’s honor, I believed the rain,
allowed myself to drown in its wrath.
Then watched my rainbow past float
in the gutter, disappearing in arced grates.

With closed sight concentration,
I memorized each drop’s bond
inside the creases in my face—
Added my own, then, to The Fall.

April rain fused to my skin,
I returned to the world of dry,
But forever felt, somehow, foreign
I had become rain dancer.

~DaLe 04.15.09

Boat Fishing

You caught my eye

Though I thought it useless to try

I still smiled when you passed my way.

The corner of my eye kept mental notes

That only heightened secrets hopes

That your eye would catch me someday

Then once your eye found mine

I tried hard to read the facial signs

As I floated in that generous river blue

Your words were like fishing twine

Reeling me in line by line

Hooking my heart inside a warm slough

I’d like to laugh down this river with you

See where it takes us to

When we’ve laughed so hard we get sore

That’s what serious conversation will be for

Each meandering in our stream of happiness

I’d like to grow down this river with you

Life can burn me a time or two

‘Cause really those burns are like skipping rocks

Giving depth to backward-twisted clocks

Being with you only brings happiness

I’ll ride this life-boat along your side

And promise come low or high tide

To sit by you and equally row

If you give me your best, I’ll give you mine

And with our efforts combined

Could come more happiness…

If we don’t try,

We’ll ever know

~DaLe 07.21.09

Motion Sickness

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