I always mean more than just what I say.

(Pre-script: For a really cool effect, before reading this post, go down to the playlist, click on the song "Say" by John Mayer, then come back up and read the post. I'll wait...) (...still waiting...)

In this blog's past, I have not explained my poetry. It either speaks to you or it doesn't. Whatever it says to you is awesome, whether it was what I was intending to say or not; art is like that, the artist doesn't always realize what he or she has created until after it is created. Sometimes I realize after I write something that what I said could have a completely different meaning than the one I originally intended, and I think, "wow, that's awesome. That's cool, too." Sometimes a poem means something different to me as time goes by, as well. So of course different people will get different meanings out of reading the exact same words. We all bring out own experiences to the poem; it informs our reading and understanding of it.

I decided that I'm going to give you a glimpse into my heart and mind by explaining why I wrote the previous poem today, "What Once Shimmered Golden Above Us." Maybe by seeing this glimpse, the rest of my poems will make a bit more sense, as well. The main thing I want everyone to understand is that I always intentionally mean more than just what I say. If I write a poem about an orange, you can be sure that I am intending it to be some sort of metaphor for life, or at least some small facet of it.

The poem of today was inspired by the sight of a few different trees recently, trees that are full of fall colored leaves, with leaves showered all around the base of the tree, not yet raked up, as they lay there on the neatly mown grass. I loved the contrast of the beautifully colored tree, so passionate, and the leaves around it looked like this beautiful thing was crying, and just, spreading it's tears and passions all over itself, and it was a beautiful thing...and then contrasting it to the neat, careful green lawn...which seemed to represent rules and guidlines that we live by. The delicate balance we try to maintain, the balance of these two extremes within ourselves; it's enough to cause my heart to ache, and I just wasn't ready to see those leaves raked up and destroyed. I just...loved what they represented, within my heart, at least.

So that is an example of how I see the world on a daily basis. I see the deeper meanings and the metaphors. I can't help it; They seem to jump out at me.

The pictures were taken this afternoon, of a tree in my front yard. I wish I could have cut out all of the background, but I couldn't angle it right; there was always something there.

-XOXO.

P.S. "What once shimmered/shivered golden/green/red orange/ above us?" What do you think that means? What do those descriptions and colors mean to you? I'll give you one hint; it wasn't just about the leaves. It was very nostalgic. Think about it.

Got some 'splainin' to do...

(Pre-script: To get the most out of this post, read it while the song "The Eleventh Hour" by Jars of Clay plays...go down to the playlist, click it on, then come back and continue reading. I'll wait...)

(...still waiting...)

When I was 21 years old, I used to go for regular 7 mile runs along a fast highway, and I was often surprised by butterflies that would stop to rest beside the road. They would lay sideways. The contrast between fast cars on a clear, straight mission with their noise, exhaust, and smog, and the beauty of the butterflies laying still, sideways, with no particular pattern or concerns about time, and me, running fast towards my own personal speed and endurance goals, always the middle man observing, interpreting, and balancing these two extremes. I didn't know how to explain the effect this had on me, so I did what I have done since I was 5 years old; I wrote a poem about it. Here it is:

Butterfly Shoe

Beautiful creatures are napping sideways

along the sidewalks of this

one track fast lane life,

catching their breath each time

another one sails by.
And you would think them vain

as they light upon flowers,

and you would think them proud
as they suck and flutter

like elegant lovers,

but all they are thinking about is nectar.
And the draining drains them,
so they float back down.
And one would land on the toe of
my sturdy black shoe if I
were still enough for long enough.
And seeing it there
would tug hard on all of those precious chords
inside of my memory
until I knew that my body could no longer contain it.
But I am not still enough.
They are sleeping now, and I
have not been watching my step.

(-M.L.B., age 21)

If you are a particularly astute observer, you will notice that the first lines of the poem are now posted on my header. This is because I like them so, so much, and I think they are very fitting in more ways than I can ever explain.

A writer is always at a loss for words; Always.*

-XOXO,

*More so than anyone else.