Patiently Active

Patiently Active

Sometimes the tears come
when I don’t want them
but they wash over me
spilling from red-rimmed eyes
nearly swollen shut from heartache
that somehow found its way
from my belly to my mouth
with my sobs and salty tears

I said I didn’t want to cry
unless it was productive

I promised the Lord I would give Him my heart
I know He wants me to marry
but I’ve been convinced that my fate
is to continue my heartache and crying
so I choose to avoid close relationships
and alone find relative peace—
rather than accept the inevitable pain
with its fairy-tale promise of joy

Thus I’ve been deceived
wrapped in my tight cocoon
avoiding all that I fear
But as any cocoon will someday realize
that into a butterfly it will metamorphize
so too will I branch out into the sky
and to fly I must stretch my wings

I don’t know if my tears built my cocoon
or if now they are melting it down
while patiently active I’m learning to be
even happy in this in-between state

8.21.09

“Spiders Don’t Need Ladders”

(a.k.a. “That’s All I Got, and All I Got Is Good,” “Intuition on High” and “Inner Guide”

This poem came from my Dreamwork class at IPSB, in which I incorporated the titles my classmates gave me upon hearing my dream Aug. 5: “Always Preparing,” “History Repeating Itself,” “Dusting off My Intuition,” and “It’s Okay, Mom”)

Mom’s worried for me,
always preparing
and doing her best
to give me everything

“It’s okay, Mom,” I comfort her
easing her mind
She’s given me much
and been very kind

As great as she is,
Mom can’t do all
The cobwebs are mine
They make me stand tall

When I cannot reach them,
a ladder I climb
to the places concealed
from the sun’s shine

Intuition sits there
high on the shelf
Some dust it has gathered,
covering its wealth

Eagerly I brush
the cobwebs aside
discovering riches
in my inner guide

How the cobwebs arrived
I really don’t know
History repeats itself
when all’s status quo

For a time forgotten?
Or purposely lost?
Whatever the reason,
hiding’s not worth the cost
My wisdom tells me now
how obvious that it is—
Spiders don’t need ladders
But they can use them if they wish

August 7, 2009

Metapoem

Metapoem

Where do I start?
The title came to me and
I thought it was near brilliant
Do I have the words to qualify?

I can’t force a poem
They are their own creations
that somehow find their way into my heart and mind

For some it is a melody
For others it is a color, a pencil, a palette, a canvas
Or a carving, a sculpture, a molding, a mixture
Movement, rhythm and body create dance
Wood, stone, glass and bricks build a home
I hear my heart
I paint my mind
I mold my soul
I dance on a page
with the words that build my poems

Capture a moment I may never experience again
I discover myself in my poems
I create myself in them too
They are not mine only
They are meant to be shared

April Murdock
10.8.06

Letting Dragon Swamp

Letting Dragon Swamp


Old, familiar feeling
you protected me for so long
I’ve nurtured you carefully
Carefully like a loving mother
tenderly nurses her infant
who depends on her for everything

You grew and invaded
Overtook me like a weed infests the soil
You deceived me, saying I need you,
I need more, to feel good
To be happy
To survive
You’re never satisfied
You don’t give up

Turned into a monster
Demanding, selfish and mean
Showing up uninvited, unannounced
then suddenly retreating like a dream
Going back to your warm, throbbing,
pulsing putrid swamp

Subtle and sneaky, your strong tendrils crawl out far
But when unmasked I feel your marred figure,
you storm in powerfully
making your presence known,
and why?

Lest I forget you are there?
Afraid you’ve been neglected,
and are wasting away?

I’ve hated you
Wanted to annihilate you
Suffocate and drown you
Ignore the shadows of myself

But then whom could I blame
for not achieving perfection now?
Who else would have protected me
from maybe, possibly, someday
fully loving myself and therefore another?

Who else would have given me excuse
to avoid so successfully entering the unknown
and risk being hurt?

Carefully I nurtured you all of my life
but I see you now
You’ve been exposed.

Old familiar feeling,
you are not welcome here
I am pulling up your weeds
as quickly as they grow
I have been digging for years,
and I’m approaching your root

I won’t hate you forever
I know that I nurtured and enabled you
But it is without regret that I say goodbye,
for I know better now

I embrace my shadows without the shame
You are nothing but a fleeting whisper
that has no home and blows in the breeze
May the sun swallow your swamp
and leave you with satisfying beams

April Murdock
5.14.09

If I Were an Insect, I'd Be an Ant

If I Were an Insect, I’d Be an Ant

If I were an insect,
I’d be an ant
Sugar I’d find
Don’t tell me I can’t

You think you hid it well
but I will prevail
through packages,
wrappers, cracks to no fail

Sticky, icky, gooey and sweet
Such is my trap
on the side of the street

Picnics, kitchens, gardens and farms
Magnifying glasses
Pants with alarm
All over the world
my kind may be found
Hot or cold, wet or mold
Way up high, in the ground

We may all look the same
in our little bodies
but if you look closely
you will see we are hotties

Yes, if I were an insect
an ant I would be
Strong and so tough
Don’t be fooled ’cause I’m tiny

Please don’t mind the smell
when one of us is squished
A little bit of soap
and again you’re delish

Some may not like me
but I pay no mind
Searching, adventuring,
with uniqueness I abound

So although I’m unique
and I can go solo
I enjoy good company
with my fabulous fellows

Ants never rest
Did you ever think of that?
Constantly moving
That’s why we’re not fat

Sometimes we bite—
I do apologize.
Never unprovoked
This to realize would be wise

So while you may not like me
Please leave your magnifying glass home
I also love the sun
but torturous play I don’t condone

Don’t hate me because
my love for sugar is a mess
If it means anything to you
I help aerate your grass!

“If I were,” I’ve said
But an insect I am not
Analogies are fun but
truth cannot be bought

(I wanted to rhyme
Nevermind if it made sense
I can experiment freely
with some literary license)

Perseverance, industry
unity and frugality
organization, intelligence
service and consistency

These values I support
through my actions every day
Seek all creatures to respect—
my simple motto is the way

April Murdock
4.22.09

Broccoli

Broccoli

Broccoli is like a
little tree that fits
so nicely
in
my
mouth

April Murdock
4.22.09

Luxury of Trauma

The title for this one came when I was at the Museum of Photographic Art at Balboa Park in San Diego with some friends. We had just viewed an exhibit of colorful photos from India and were discussing the hardships that so many in the world face.

Luxury of Trauma

As the bathtub fills with hot water
My heart fills with gratitude
I’ve lived in countries
that didn’t have such luxuries
But I had the choice to leave

The adventures were fun while they lasted
And I didn’t mind fetching water
To take a cold shower.
Besides, the air was hot
And the cool bucket offered relief
After my long sweaty morning runs

I chose to take the 24-hour flight
to live amongst people so
different than myself.
Circumstances vastly different,
yes—but are we so foreign
to not share a common humanity?

Among these ones, abuse is expected
It’s called “discipline,” and “respect for your elders”
“That’s the African way,” they say
It’s rare to know otherwise

Among these ones, young girls succumb
to promises of a smooth sugar daddy
“I’ll pay your school fees,” and
“I’ll treat you right,” he croons

Among these ones, disease and death
are daily dealings
Everyone gets malaria a few times per year
STDs are widespread
and AIDS funerals occur frequently

Among these ones, it’s normal
to have both parents die of AIDS,
a child raising his younger siblings
going to work like a responsible adult
just to eat some porridge each day
lucky to get into school
drop out by age 12

Among these ones, illiteracy
accompanies an empty belly
and trauma is a luxury reserved
for those who can afford it

There is no paid sick day
No health insurance
No psychotherapist
People just wake up each day
and keep going

Do they carry their mourning
with their water cans?
Do they bury it with their seeds?
Or burn it with their trash?

What I might call trauma,
do these ones call “just another day”?
Never do I want to minimize
or misunderstand
Our ways of dealing with life may differ
But do we not all bleed the same color?
Do we not all hope
for peace, love, and a satisfied belly?

Among these ones,
there is much to celebrate and cherish
the family network is extended and strong
there is no “aunt” or “uncle”
all are “mother” or “father,”
and cousins are siblings
One steps in where the others have fallen out

Their humility and generosity
are hard to find among many others,
hardened by their circumstances

I am honored to have been among these ones
My heart is reminiscent, wondering and pensive,
my time with them was short
How have I been bettered
How have my traumas turned to luxuries?

Such are my thoughts
in my full and hot bathtub

April Murdock
1.30.09

Mirror

Mirror

i caught a
glimpse
of hatred
in the mirror
it scared me
made me
uncomfortable
i looked
away

April Murdock
1.10.09