Monday, March 26, 2012

"If only they knew how often I hide my tears with a smile."




Sometimes people will say things that inspire me to write poetry.
These two poems were inspired by this poetic sounding part of a blog comment:

"If they only knew how often I hide my tears with a smile. " -Ena



 Behind the Smile 3/26/12

I hide my tears with a smile-
My face a mask so blank.
If you stopped and talked awhile,
Would you see beyond the fake?

I hide my fears with my shrugging-
Pretending all is fine.
If you looked beyond the hiding,
Would you see the hurt that's mine?

I hide my doubts with the carefree-
As if it's in control.
If you looked at what you don't see,
Would you find my broken goal?

Yet as I hide away my wonderings-
There's one who sees my heart.
Though I cry at tearing heartstrings,
God guides my life from start.



 If They Only Knew 3/26/12

If they only knew
How often I hide my tears with a smile.
If they only knew
How often I sob myself to sleep.
If they only knew
How much my heart aches
Even as I laugh
And pretend all is right-
For now.

If they only knew
How often I wish I could be more.
If they only knew
How often I break down behind closed doors.
If they only knew
How much it's not me
Getting through the day:
It's You
Holding me up with
Your mighty hands.

They don't always see
My silent tears.
They don't always hear
The hidden meaning of my words.
They don't always understand
That I'm not as strong as I seem.
In the face of life
You see
All of my shortcomings
Yet still love.

You always hold
My quiet tears.
You always know
What no one else understands.
You always carry
My insecurities-
So I look
To You
And smile through the tears
Only You see.

~ZA


Copyright © 2012 Ophelia M. Flowers

Three Amazing Poems



      I read these poems, and my first reaction was, "Wow!" So I read them again, and again, and again, and by about the third time through I decided I needed to share them. Here they are, I hope you enjoy them as much as I did.



By Ena: Dancing With You  A little girl with her Daddy- Jesus and His compassionate loving strength: This is a beautifully written comparison that made me smile.


By Andrew Joyce: It is an Ivory Midnight  It was so easy to be swept away in the imagery of this poem.


By BushMaid: Touch This really hit home with me with its well written emotions; it perfectly describes what I've felt before.

~ZA

Picture: LINK

Thursday, March 15, 2012

Learning To Swim


 Learning To Swim  2/23/12

I tell You I'm drowning
And no one can see it.
The waves of the future
Loom up ahead.
The rush of the past
Leaves me spinning.
I feel the tide pulling me away
And I cry out,
“Please don't leave me!”
You stretch out Your hands
And remind me,
I am here in front of you,
I won't let you drown.”

When everyone else thinks
I am going strong,
It is completely You
Keeping me afloat.
When I think I can't fight another current
Or paddle a moment longer
You take me
Over the crest of the wave,
And tell me to look back.
There I see
Places I have been,
Though some of it is hidden in murky shadows.
Then I see
That You've always been there,
Even when I
Lost sight of You
In the waves.

Now the water feels calm
But I know
It's not going to last.
The waves of life will come
Yet now I know
I have nothing to fear.
You are teaching me
How to swim
Next to You.

~ZA




Copyright © 2012 Ophelia M. Flowers

Thursday, March 8, 2012

Sometimes I Write Fantasy. . .

*Points up at the post title*  Today I decided to share some of my fantasy story Rider Of Pure Motion.  Yesterday I started writing it after a couple months of absence, and really enjoyed myself.  I may be dropping out of my "poetry mood" and back into my "book writing mood".  *Happy bounce*

Though I prefer to write poetry, I do love my book. ( It's not that great, but hey, I enjoy it. ) I'm currently working on the second draft.


Prologue

I hate you. I hate the world. I hate the world that couldn't understand me, the world that tried to make me just like them. I hate the world that took from me those I love. I'm drowning in my hatred, but you don't care, do you? Of course you don't.

I'm just one girl.

All I have in this world is me. I look out for myself, keeping my fury submerged. A smile plastered on my face. I can fight. I just usually choose not to.

But not anymore.

From now on I will fight to keep everyone away.

I'm hidden now, far from all their taunts and sideways glances. I'm hidden, but I haven't forgotten. I never forget. I never forgive.

I don't plan on starting now.




Chapter 1


Dead. Dead. Dead. The words scream through my mind in blackened horror.

I claw to escape. My hands snatch forward and-

ZHOOOM!

I jerk upright in my sleeping bag, my body cold with sweat, yet warm with energy. The comfortable weight of a dagger is in my clenched fist. My arms tingle and I suddenly realize where I am. Safe in my cave. I also realize what I have done.

With a moan I sheathe the dagger I must have grabbed in my sleep, and kindle the dying fire with a flick of my mind. For a moment I am blinded, but my eyes quickly adjust. I look over to the rough shelves that I just blasted and sigh.

My few belonging are scattered over the uneven cavern floor. The fire creates dancing shadows that seem to laugh at me. Somewhere deeper in the cave water drips and a small animal skitters.

Wiggling out of my sleeping bag, I move to my knees, then my feet. As I shuffle over and begin to pick everything up, I mutter to myself, “It was just a dream, Anza, just a dream.” I push my long curly hair back from my face and try to block out the images that still play with my mind.

It's more than a dream, I know that. It's the fear of being found. It's the knowledge I am alone. It's the taunting reminder that those I care about are dead.

Dead. Dead. Dead. The words- his words- mock unmercifully, just as they did that night. Hatred washes over me.

I need to go out.

Grabbing my sword from where it lies next to my pallet and hastily belting it around my waist, I spin towards the cave entrance. Striding down the short passageway, the shadows are replaced by the moonlit night.

Cool. Calm. Quiet. The night is stark contrast to my emotions.
I almost want to hate the night too but that is immature. There are more important things to hate in this world, and I have a long list.

The dew that covers the ground of early spring touches my bare feet in a cool caress. Above me, the mountains of North Carolina loom as cold shadows. Silently, I turn and stalk off into the night.




*~*~*~*~*~*

The moon is starting to sink beyond the trees and the mist is clearing. I've been walking for a while now, but I don't feel like going back. What's the point? I've got as much here, out in the woods by myself, as I do back in the cave. Nothing.

I stop suddenly as I come to a sheer cliff face with an overhang about twenty feet above me. A strange longing fills my body, and before I can think it through, I am clambering up. My hands grasp handholds easily; this isn't the first time I've climbed like this. The rough rocks dig into my bare feet, but I only grip harder with my toes.

When I have climbed about ten feet the longing grows into a definite pull, and I suddenly recognize it. Though it is considerably stronger than usual, this tug is a familiar thing. I've never followed it before, but now I let it lead me higher.

I scrabble another fifteen feet up, and three to the side, and there it is; another cave nestled in the mountain. After hoisting myself onto the ledge, I stop for a brief moment to rest, ignoring the tug that calls me into the cave. I don't let anything, or anyone, not even a simple tug, take me where I don't want to go.

From this height I can just see the part of the mountain that my cave is in. As I stand looking out over the quiet scene, I notice the ledge curves around and descends. One climb is enough for this night.

I turn and walk into cave. Its entrance is smaller, and I have to duck slightly to miss scraping my head. Dry leaves rustle around my feet, probably blown in by the wind. As I move deeper inside, it quickly turns pitch black.

Turning a corner, I see something glowing up ahead and freeze. A bright beam of light flashes in my face and I instinctively drop to one knee and draw my dagger.

“Oops! Sorry about that!” A young female voice laughs.
I slowly rise and the light follows, resting on my chest. As my eyes adjust, I see a girl about my age with laughing blue eyes and brown hair that reaches slightly past her shoulders. Her dirty pants are big and poofy, and the Darth Vader shirt, the source of the glowing, isn't much cleaner.

Whatever I want is behind her in the shadows.

She seems as surprised to see me, as I am to see her, but doesn't act flustered. In fact, she acts like this is a completely normal situation. “Hi, I'm Francesca! What's your name?”

Part of me wants to turn and walk out now. However this girl got out here, alone in the night, isn't my problem. . . But the something is still calling, and somehow I don't want to leave without it.

“It's such a beautiful night, isn't it?” Francesca motions with the flashlight, casting the beam haphazardly around. A ragged backpack is illuminated by the light, and peeking out from under it is a polished, oblong stone. Its sapphire gleam reflects the light in a bright flash. I am drawn to its strangeness, though whatever is calling me still lies out of sight.

“What is that?” I finally speak, pointing with my dagger.

An almost protective look crosses her face. “That's nothing.”
“Nothing?” I take a step forward.

She moves in my way, effectively blocking me. Her eyes lock on my dagger, but she winks nonchalantly. “It's only my grubbish backpack.”

“That's not-”

Something grasps my shoulder hard. Acting on instinct, I jab backwards sharply with my elbow. The fingers loosen.

OOMPH!

I roll to the ground, spring back up, and whirl, arms outstretched. Without thinking, I let energy flow from my body and harden into a force.

Francesca's flashlight wavers over my shoulder.

I look with shock into the face of a young police man. His eyes are wide, and I feel him trying to struggle under my force. What have I done?

Hearing a rustle of leaves, I spin around and see Francesca. She has gone completely motionless, as if stilled like the man.

“I-I.” I clamp my mouth shut, immobilized with horror.

She finds her voice and chokes out, "What the hippo?!"

The man's radio squawks, and I hear the sounds of more people approaching.

My heart plummets in my chest. This is going from bad to worse.

Francesca's voice breaks through my frantic thoughts. She looks at me with evident awe, “What the hippo did you do?”

“Freeze,” a deep voice barks. Blinding lights flash on- keeping me from getting a good view of the enemy.

There's no time to plan or think; I dive forward, past Francesca, and grab the stone under her back pack. Momentum carries me into a roll, and I stop directly behind her. The flashlight beams are already swinging towards me as she spins around. The light darts over me and I see them: more strange stones right next to me.

I shift to a kneeling position and curl my body over the stones. I close my eyes, and take a deep breath. The loud shouts and bright lights begin to fade as I carefully gather energy around me. Colors dance in my head, forming and reshaping. At any moment I expect to be dragged to my feet, but I focus all my concentration on the picture forming in my head.
There. Done.

The energy flows outward in a wave, and the colors solidify. Just as I am being pulled away, something lands heavily on top of me. It doesn't matter though, I'm already gone.



( Do you have any comments, advice, or tips? )
~ZA

copyright © 2012 Ophelia M. Flowers

PS, If any you know why the post decided to lighten and darken bits of text at random, please let me know. :P  *Thwacks blog* (I don't know why it does this to me. . . . )

Sunday, March 4, 2012

God's Love Through Me





1 Corinthians 13 NIV


1 If I speak in the tongues[a] of men or of angels, but do not have love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal. 2 If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but do not have love, I am nothing. 3 If I give all I possess to the poor and give over my body to hardship that I may boast,[b] but do not have love, I gain nothing.
4 Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. 5 It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. 6 Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. 7 It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.
8 Love never fails. But where there are prophecies, they will cease; where there are tongues, they will be stilled; where there is knowledge, it will pass away. 9 For we know in part and we prophesy in part, 10 but when completeness comes, what is in part disappears. 11 When I was a child, I talked like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became a man, I put the ways of childhood behind me. 12 For now we see only a reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known.
13 And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love.

A dear friend of mine told me to read this passage and reminded me that I can't love like this. I can not. My love for others is flawed at best. When I try to love others in my own strength, I end up wearing myself down, because no matter how hard I try, I don't have selfless love.

God has that kind of love; without His Holy Spirit inside of me I'm just a "resounding gong or a clanging cymbal". I am a moon with no light of my own, and when I live with that in mind, I can show true love to those around me.

God's Love Through Me 2/29/12

I write the word “Love”.
Do I know what it means?
I strive to show love
But I have none within me.
I can't love like You,
For I'm too empty.
My love is human,
I need Your love
Guiding me.

I go through motions,
Trying to love like You.
I pour my words out
But they shatter lifeless.
There's no way I'll conquer;
When I try it breaks me.
I need to give up;
There's no love
Inside me.

I can't love like You,
For no love is in me.
I don't have the power,
Here I am shaking.
I finally see
That any love in me is from You.
When I keep trying
To love on my own
I fall helpess.

I've given up on love,
The kind that drips from me.
I need Your kind of love
The kind that floods as a tide.
On my own I've got nothing,
With You as the center
Love is inside me again.
I can reach with open arms
With love from You.



 I Am A Moon 3/4/2012


My light went
Dim again.
I don't know where it went.
When did it
Start to fade?
I feel so tired within.

I reach my
Words and try to be
A light for You
Today.
Yet I don't feel a love
Inside
Just a brokenness
And pride tightening.

The more I try
To reach
The darker seems my
View.
Why do I feel
Empty,
If I'm trying to show Your love?

Then You remind, I'm just
A moon
Without light of my
Own.
I have pushed Your glory
Aside
While trying to love in my strength.

My love
Is nothing
If You aren't within me.
My flawed efforts,
Desires,
Feelings and
Frustrations
Must be surrendered
So I can
Truly love.


Giving up my will
Is hard
But You have asked it
Of me.
So here is my love:
Please wrap it in Yours
So I can shine
With a hope and
Love
That defies
All human reason,
To bring You praise.

~ZA


video
This is how I wrote most of the first poem: I sang, rambled, went flat, and had "someone" talking in the backround. 



Heart Shaped Tree Stump: LINK
Copyright © 2012 Ophelia M. Flowers

Friday, March 2, 2012

The Picture Of Love



I watched The Passion for the first time last Sunday. Have any of you seen it?  It was not an easy movie to watch.

 The Picture of Love

I thought I knew
What Your love
Looked like,
As I stared at the beautiful picture
Of a perfect cross,
Highlighted by glowing sunset colors.
I knew the story and
Foolishly thought I had seen
The extent of that power,
The beauty of the cost,
The wonder of that sacrifice. . .
But I was
Wrong,
So very wrong.

Sometimes
The beautiful picture of love
You chose to paint
Gets lost from my view.
It does not tear my heart
Or cause me to weep
Or remind me to praise.
Sometimes
I look at the pretty sunset picture
That only pricks my heart,
Instead of the
Beaten
Bloodied
Broken
Dying form
Of the One
Who took my place.

The horror of Your agony
Should drive me
To my knees.
The pain of what You endured
For me
Should break my heart every time
I hear it.
The picture of Your death
Isn't a perfect cross with a colored sunset sky.
The picture of Your death is
You stumbling
Under the weight of the cross
As blood stained the sand.
The picture of Your death is
The crowds jeering
As You hung there,
Hearing Your mother cry.
The picture of Your death is
Your blood pouring down
And your anguished cries as You
Died.
For me.
Me,
A broken, retched sinner:
Undeserving
Unworthy,
Your enemy.

The beauty of that love
Should fill me
With gratitude.
The wonder of such a love
Should shake me to my very core.
You love me
With a love I can not
Ever comprehend
Or fully express.
That love kept You
Hanging there,
When You could have called
And been released.
That love painted a picture
That fairly screams,
“I love You this much!
Enough to be
Betrayed,
Mocked
Whipped,
Beaten and
Crucified;
That is My love for you.”

Please Lord,
Don't let me look away
From what You did
For me.
Break my heart
And make me ache
When I think of You.
Oh please
Remind me of the
True picture
Of Your love
Painted in
Your innocent
Blood.


~ZA







Copyright © 2012 Ophelia M. Flowers

Picture from: http://oldschool.davidwesterfield.net/index.php?m=01&y=08&entry=entry080131-112640