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Arkiv for kategorien 'Om fine ord'

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After a while you learn the subtle difference
Between holding a hand and chaining a soul,
And you learn that love doesn’t mean leaning
And company doesn’t mean security,
And you begin to learn that kisses aren’t contracts
And presents aren’t promises,
And you begin to accept your defeats
With your head up and your eyes open
With the grace of a woman, not the grief of a child,
And you learn to build all your roads on today,
Because tomorrow’s ground is too uncertain for plans,
And futures have a way of falling down in mid-flight.
After a while you learn
That even sunshine burns if you get too much.
So you plant your own garden and decorate your own soul,
Instead of waiting for someone to bring you flowers.
And you learn that you really can endure.
That you really are strong,
And you really do have worth.
And you learn and learn.
With every goodbye you learn.

– Veronica A. Shoffstall

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This is for the fat girls.
This is for the little brothers.

This is for the schoolyard wimps and for the childhood bullies that tormented them. For the former prom queen and for the milk crate ballplayers. For the nighttime cereal eaters and for the retired elderly Wal-Mart store front door greeters.

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Shake the dust.

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This is for the benches and the people sitting upon them.
For the bus drivers driving a million broken hymns. For the men who have to hold down three jobs simply to hold up their children for the nighttime schoolers and for the midnight bike riders trying to fly.

Shake the dust.

This is for the 2-year-olds who cannot be understood because they speak half-English and half-God. Shake the dust.
For the boys with the beautiful, beautiful sisters.

Shake the dust.

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For the girls with the brothers who are going crazy.
For those gym class wallflowers, and the 12-year-olds afraid of taking public showers.
For the kid who’s always late to class because he forgets the combination to his locker.
For the girl who loves somebody else.

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Shake the dust.

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This is for the hard men who want love but know that it won’t come. For the ones who are forgotten. The ones the amendments do not stand up for. For the ones who are told to speak only when you are spoken to and then are never spoken to. Speak every time you stand so you do not forget yourself. Do not let one moment go by that doesn’t remind you that your heart beats thousands of times every single day and that there are enough gallons of blood to make every one of you oceans.
Do not settle for letting these waves settle and for the dust to collect in your veins.

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This is for the celibate pedophile who keeps on struggling. For the poetry teachers and for the people who go on vacations alone. For the sweat that drips off of Mick Jagger’s singing lips, and for the shaking skirt on Tina Turner’s shaking hips.
For the heavens and for the hells through which Tina has lived.

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This is for the tired and for the dreamers.
For the families that will never be like the Cleavers with perfectly made dinners and sons like Wally and the Beaver.
This is for the bigots, for the sexists, for the killers, for the big house jail-sentenced cats becoming redeemers, and for the springtime that somehow always seems to know to show up after every one of our winters.

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This is for you.

Make sure that by the time the fisherman returns you are gone. Because just like the days I burn at both ends and every time I write, every time I open my eyes, I am cutting out parts of myself just to give them to you. So shake the dust.
And take me with you when you do. For none of this has ever been for me. All that pushes and pulls it pushes for you.

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So grab this world by its clothespins, and shake it out again and again. And jump on top and take it for a spin.
And when you hop off, shake it again. For this is yours.

Make my words worth it.

Make this not just another poem that I write. Not just another poem like just another night that sits heavy above us all. Walk into it. Breath it in. Let it crash through the halls of your arms like the millions of years of millions of poets coursing like blood, pumping and pushing, making you live, shaking the dust. So when the world knocks at your front door, clutch the knob tightly and open on up. And run forward. Run forward as fast and as far as you must. Run into its widespread greeting arms with your hands outstretched before you, fingertips trembling though they may be.

– Anis Mojgani, Shake the Dust

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«I think I fall in love with people,
a little too much,
just in the way they sound at 4am
or how they look when they smile.
And it’s so addicting,
when their eyes light up,
because you’ve remembered something
they may have said.
I think I grow attached,
to people, who I know,
will leave.
But I can’t help it,
because I see all that you are,
when you don’t really see it yourself.
And sometimes I wonder how someone’s heart,
grows so cold,
and I think, that maybe it’s because
for a while, it was left out in the rain.
You know some days I struggle,
when there’s nothing left to say,
because I still don’t know how to convince you,
that out of everyone,
and all the ones that leave,
I’m always the one still standing there,
with an umbrella,
just big enough,
to cover your heart.»

– C.P

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«You are still here

and I will remind
you of this
now
and again
and always
as long as you need
to remember.

You are still here.

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You are still here
because of the echoing of heart
pounding blood
through veins made thin
by the force of want
and hurt
and need.

You are still here
because of breath
and lungs forced open
by icy cold
and air rattling
through chest
gasping from
the effort of moving
through this life.

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You are still here
because of muscle
and sinew and bone
because of running for miles
because of wet clothes
and hot showers
and weary body holding safe
your gentle spirit.

You are still here
because of truth
flickering beyond the curtains
long drawn over your eyes.
Because of secrets kept and pain witnessed
and stories nestled deep.

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You are still here
because of encroaching
darkness
and the exhaustion
as deep and brittle
and ancient as bones
returned to earth.

You are still here
because of letting the pieces fall
and gathering them up again
because of the collapse to the earth
and the return to your center.
Because of the silence inside of the primal and keening
moan that begins in the pit of  your stomach
and fills the universe with it’s lack of sound.
Because of the endless need
and the eventual satisfaction.

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And yes, you are still here
because of shame
because of the parts that are
broken and patched
and the deep ache
that drives you to your knees.
Because even these things
require presence.

Yes, you are still here
because the pain reminds you
that you are
but this is not the sum of all
that I will help you remember.

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You are still here
because of childish laughter
and pillow fights during snow storms
and fortune cookie wisdom
and the flutter of eyelashes against cheek.

You are still here
because of kisses
with strangers on street corners
and windblown hair
and the perfect
chocolate croissant
not yet tasted.

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You are still here
because of skyscrapers
and down duvets
and pounding surf
and burning fevers
and books with delicate pages
that smell like a reminder of faith.

You are still here
because of the collision
of souls
and the way toothpaste makes
your mouth feel alive
and pennies tucked in pockets
on the luckiest of days
and the way your soul pounds
when the beat finds your hips.

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You are still here
because of anticipation
and longing
and trust and truth
and mystery
because of what burns deep within you
and what you sense just beyond the veil

You are still here
you are always here
you will always be here

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And one day you will know all this
and more
but until then
just remember that
I am here

to remind

you.

You are still here.»

– Jeanette LeBlanc

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«You know that place between sleep and awake where you’re still dreaming but it’s slowly slipping? I wish we could feel like that more often. I also wish I could click my fingers three times and be transported to anywhere I like. I wish that people didn’t always say ‘just wondering’ when you both know there was a real reason behind them asking. And I wish I could get lost in the stars.

Listen, there’s a hell of a good universe next door, let’s go.» – E.E. Cummings

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«Life can be fucking hard. Month after slogging month. It’s relentless really. You are weary and worn down and exhausted. You wonder sometimes, will it ever ease up?

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And then it does. Just like that. The exact thing you had been longing for, wrapped with a bow and delivered to your doorstep. Right when you least expected it. Right when you needed it most.

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The sky clears. Burdens lift. Old, limiting stories are wiped out. Boom. Long dwelled upon fears rendered entirely obsolete. The universe smiles and says;

«Here, take this. It’s for you. You’ve been so brave and so patient. I’ve been waiting for just the right time to give it.»

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Game change moment. Things are possible today that were impossible yesterday. Anything could happen.

Perfection? Little chance.
A free ride? Certainly not.
Smooth sailing from here on out? Un-freaking-likely.

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But still, in that moment, when the news is delivered. In that moment the sun is shining like possibility incarnate. You’re driving down the freeway with the windows down and your hair blowing crazy in the wind.

The song on the stereo is Hollywood soundtrack perfect for the moment. Like the universe dialed in the most utterly perfect setting just for this occasion. And then that one piece of news shifts your trajectory in an utterly essential way and you feel yourself settle into space just a little bit differently.

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In that moment your eyes shine and your mouth curves in a smile. In that moment you let out a powerful exhale and speak some divine gratitude. In that moment, it is perfectly clear.

Anything could happen.  It can. And it will. And it does.

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And there is nothing to say but thank you.»

Jeanette LeBlanc.