Three-Line Melee

Three-Line Melee

This poem was an experiment one day at work during some blessed quiet time, when I randomly asked different clients and co-workers to name some nouns and animals. The words were “love, flowers, heaven, hell, flowers, nature, shopping, boys, friendship, horse, cat and dog.” From that list came this poem.

The cat picked a fragrant flower
which from heaven fell in a sudden shower
Of nature’s bounteous power.

“But why the dramatic display?”
Asked the horse, “When simple fresh hay
Does a fine job any day.”

“Yeah, well, I like the smell,”
said the feline with a bell. “Besides,”
flowers from heaven surely beat hell.”

The boy who was walking alone
heard their words, then with a moan
called his shopping mom on her cell phone.

“Help me dear mother,” he wisely implored
for she had answers to friendship for one who was bored.

“My girl done left me, looking elsewhere for love.
My dog is as poor company as a plate full of grub.
Momma, please tell me, when’s my help from above?”

Wise mom that she was, she kept her mouth shut.
Knowing full well that her son would learn in his gut
That when he was his best friend, ’twould be the end of his rut.

She had taught him to pick his own flowers or hay as he liked,
be creative and generous when resources were tight
and with simple kindness avoid a big fight.

The friends were there all along, though with lessons unseen
And with a fresh start his heavy heart was made lean
Renewed, this young man eventually found his soul queen.

April Murdock
6 June 2008

Haiku for Goodwill

I thank the ones who
paid retail and used these first
I can buy them thrift

April Murdock
3.12.08

Number Two:
Looking, Seeing, Being

I’m not looking for someone to complete me—
Just to complement me
(That’s complement with an “e”).
Don’t need flattery,
Just sincerity.
I want someone who can stand alone
But prefers to stand with me.
One who can get dirty,
But not because he’s flirty.
Is cool because he isn’t too cool for anyone,
And oh, baby, he’s hot—
Because he exercises his Priesthood,
Not because of what he’s bought.
Impressive without trying to impress;
He enjoys life’s simple joys with me
And for him, I am complementary.
I will be flexible
But not settle.

So I want to be his number two
Because God is our number one.

April Murdock
29 January 2008

Between Chapters

Just closed a chapter of my life
Haven’t started the next one yet
That leaves me
Between Chapters.

Floating in some sort of limbo
Needing to make decisions
Start something new

Making decisions should be easy
When I know that I can do what I want
And others will support me—
Most especially God

What do I want, then?
Help others.
Live well, laugh often, love much.
Be a better person.
Learn as much as possible—
Vague enough to keep action to a minimum and
Interests to a maximum

Pick up a pen and just write.
White out works, if it’s needed
And pressing the backspace button
is easy enough on a computer
But not so simple in Real Life

“Whatever it is, just do it”
Ben Lee sings in my ear while I write.
Fortuitous wise words

I’m doing.
More than doing,
I am becoming.
That’s another poem.

April Murdock
29 November 2007

Callous

Their skin blends with the rich, dark soil
Moist, fertile, broken now because
We’ve labored with our hoes

Backs bent
Bent over
Parallel with the earth to which we give
Our Energy our Sweat our Time

The yield is high
We are blessed
Mounds of cassava, potatoes, tomatoes, maize, yams
Bananas of so many varieties

Yes, the yield is high
The climate favors us
This morning is cool and cloudy
It will rain soon

Backs bent
Digging and breaking that promising ground
Which doesn’t blend with my skin
I stand to straighten
Worried I’ll walk away with a permanent view of the ground
If I don’t

My hoe is used to this work
The handle is worn smooth
Where other dark hands have gripped it
I’m glad they broke it in

I look again at my callous-turned-blister
Blisters turn to callouses
With rawness in between
Only I can break in these hands
There is no shortcut
My hands proudly yield to callouses

The yield is high, yes
Food enough to eat
Yet eaten by hunger for more

How many centuries,
How many societies,
How many people
Have been breaking hard ground?

How many mothers have borne children who needed fed,
Held with calloused hands while they suckled, then
Back to the garden
The field
The plot
Sleeping baby tied on back
Toddlers by their side,
Creating their first callouses
Small backs bent over small hoes
Small hands working small piles
Small mouths to feed

They are many
And keep growing
With their appetites for
Food, yes, but also
School Fees
a little Pocket Money
Smart Clothes
Radio
and even Television

When is it enough?
Other places are worse

The clouds are gathering
We are gathering food
For families
For friends
For futures
For now
Who’ll buy at my price?

Bend
Break
Yield
New callous

April Murdock
3 Sept. 2007

The Pencil

I write this with a pencil—
Time-tested technology.
Honoring the common utensil
Is my task of creative ecology.

Yet what currently runs deeper through my blood and out my hand
is an ode for—
Pork.

You see, here in Africa, it’s not so much the head but the belly that rules the fork.
We hear the pigs squeal, we smell them next door.
We watch them slosh in the mud before we buy them at the store.
Walking to market we see those same swine cut up.
Their insides now out, flies flocking for yuck.
No more squeals we hear, but the meat’s mighty fine.

The other white meat?
Baby, it’s mine.

April Murdock
20 May 2007

A Sweltering Afternoon on the Albert Nile

Hey, there, hippo
Please can I sit on your back for a minute?
It’s so hot out and that water looks so good…

April 2007

BETTER THAN ICE CREAM?

It’s nigh unto impossible to choose a favorite food.
But under the right circumstances
(like if my life were threatened
or if I were offered a million dollars
—I’d prefer the latter)
I just might have to choose ice cream.

I’d say I’m addicted.
Seriously.
Send me to ice creamaholics anonymous.

I don’t care what flavor or brand, really.
I just love that creamy, sweet taste
rolling off my spoon
and dissolving in my mouth.

I like it crunchy, fruity, chocolately, mundane,
new flavors, classics, name brands and plain.

I don’t buy 5-Qt. tubs,
but prefer buying a few half-gallons
so I have more variety.

And of course I eat straight from the container.
I scrape the sides where the ice cream is softest.
So hard to resist!

When I go out,
I order a different flavor for each scoop.
My shakes are a conglomeration of mix-ins:
pineapple eggnog,
white chocolate strawberry,
creamy caramel chocolate-ribbon crunchy toffee M&M whipped cream flavor…
Mmmm.

Want a bite?
I’m happy to share.
I’ll take one of yours, too.

So hard to get enough.
The Stones’ song, “Can’t Get No Satisfaction,”
popular well before my birth,
was nevertheless written for me.

Once I start, I don’t want to stop
until I’m sick or I run out.
Oh, I feel gross and vow that next time
I’ll set some limits (and keep them).
I swear it’ll be days before I’ll want ice cream again,
but no—
the next day, or even hours later,
I want more.

Kissing is probably healthier.

I’ve never known anyone to get fat
or high cholesterol from kissing.
I certainly could go for a run after a kiss
and not feel sick
(but then who needs to run when you’re floating?)

I hear kissing is better than ice cream.
If so, I fear I’m doomed.

Once I start, I won’t want to stop.
Then I’ll tell you about desire.
And regret.

Better than ice cream?
I wouldn’t know.
Kissing is probably healthier—
but for now,
ice cream is all I’ve got.

April Murdock
1.4.07

Sunday a.m. at Transition Camp

Written on the trail in the wilderness therapy program I worked for in the Utah desert.

People without issues—
Do they really exist?

I’m so grateful for this sun

Self-imposed limitations
I hold myself back

I just heard the wind under a crow’s flapping wings

Whiosh whiosh whiosh whiosh whiosh whiosh whiosh

Lies I tell myself
Then I believe them

It’s kind of funny how my student

is pacing around the rocks of his personal circle,
stepping carefully
on their

uneven surfaces

I am an uneven surface
I step carefully around my issues

Squawk squawk squawk squawk squawk

Get real.
It’s liberating.

The sun’s behind a cloud

I’m colder

Reality can be cold

My heart?
I'm warming

April Murdock
10.8.06

Exhilaration 2 (What I Thought Was Exhilarating Has A New Flavor)

It is cold out, and my nose is dripping
It’s kind of hot, too, but I’m not sweating
My eyes are both watery and dry—can that be possible?

I’ve got the gear now and I look the part
Bright red jumpsuit with orange and yellow side stripes
(Even puffy fin things lining the sides)
Helmet is on, red goggles too
Sad I forgot my cape,
But what can I do?

With an Iraqi (he said he’s Turkish)
Strapped to my back
Pushed out of a plane
No time for a heart attack

Falling fast as the rain
Wind blasting my face
The straps choke my neck
Like a paraplegic brace

I need to remember to breathe
The view is so incredible
No time to think
Until air fills the chute full

Faris calls me “honey”
and asks if I’m all right
He fixes my straps
so they aren’t quite so tight

We spin in a circle
“I like that!” I shout
He hardly hears me
I’m not concerned I’ll fall out

“Honey, I don’t want you to throw up”
He explains
But maybe he’s the one who gets dizzy
My stomach is thrilled and I want to keep spinning

Floating ever so gently
Over a vast mountain valley
We descend from 13,000 feet
Until we find ourselves standing

110 mph is so much better than 40
I always loved it on the way up
Until I tasted it falling

April Murdock
9.15.06

Four Years Later I’m Still Testosterone-Deficient but I Don’t Got the Blues
(a.k.a. Patience)

Four years later some things haven’t changed
I’m still that wisely innocent chick who’s almost got it all—
Minus her soulful romantic

I still listen to sappy love songs
Singing loudly all the time
I know all the doo-wops
And I’ve memorized the lines

But I don’t worry I’m defective
I know I’m all right
Pretty amazing, actually—
Just like everyone else

I can be myself with anyone I meet
It’s liberating and free not to worry what they think

I’ve actually learned to talk
I’m more open now
Willing to take a risk
And to tell him he’s “WOW!”

Some say I even flirt, while I think I’m fun and friendly
Not playing a manipulative game where people are fake and get hurt

That’s as far as I’ve got—
Still nothing serious for me,
Which always shocks people who hear
My lips retain their virginity

I like to laugh and tell jokes
Though I’m not super funny
(I’ve had to pray for a sense of humor
And I work hard for my money)

So through all the years I’ve been growing a lot
Collecting many stories of my adventures and thoughts

Love might be slow,
But I’m not behind
It’s a good life I live
As I’m being refined

Yes, this wisely innocent chick
Is still testosterone-deficient
But do I have the blues?
No, I’m just more patient

April Murdock
9.15.06

Exhilaration

It’s not cold out, but my nose is dripping
It’s not hot either, but I’m sweaty
My eyes are streaming with tears, but I’m not sad
Sporting flip-flops and my bandana, I might look tough but not hardcore—
no spandex or helmet for me
Drivers must hate me—I think I’m reckless
But 40 mph downhill on two wheels is exhilaration enough to risk it
And the uphill climb is even more fun

April Murdock
8.24.06

Sparkly Tights

Sparkly Tights 

Two days before I entered the LDS Missionary Training Center in Provo, UT to be a full-time volunteer missionary in the Georgia Macon Mission for 18 months, I was running up the Grove Creek Trail in Pleasant Grove, UT. 

I like the way my sparkly running tights match the snow 

Both glitter and it makes me happy.

So does running 

Even on a dark, sub-zero morning 

When my breath is visible and 

My gloves are frozen where I’ve wiped my clear winter snot. 

I ascend the mountain trail, and pause 

To see the city lights below. 

Their sparkle matches my tights, the stars and the snow. 

I am alone on a steep mountain trail, 

But I don’t feel alone. 

I own this trail. 

It’s so early and cold, no one is crazy enough to be out. 

Except me. 

And I love it. 

Fly down the hill on wings of gravity. 

This is my time. 

Footprints immortalized in the snow 

Make me reflect on my path. 

Who came before me and 

What tracks do I leave? 

 April Murdock 12.13.04

Ask

I’d like an epiphany
Send me one now, please
Answer my questions
I’m down on my knees

April Murdock
7.2004

Another One About Feeling

I want to feel
Want to experience it all
Let it go, let it out
Break down my emotional wall

I don’t know how to reach it
Is it even there?
So in my head
Am I not feeling?

Music makes me feel
I feel for others
Do they feel my feeling for them?
Or am I a rock,
an island?

I think I feel
Think my feelings
Feel my thinkings

What’s what?!

April Murdock
7.6.04

Unfathomable

The fountain is deep.
It’s unfathomable, yet I’m barely even feeling it.
Perhaps that’s why it’s unfathomable—

unable to comprehend or reach.

I feel such intense sorrow, yet writing that doesn’t seem true because I’m not quite feeling it.
I know it’s there, but it’s like I’m

floating

on a very deep pond

and only dipping my toes,
not really experiencing the water.

I want to dive, to jump in, to open the flood gates and let it flow freely.

I’m not frustrated that it seems blocked—
more confused than anything, wondering why it can’t come.
Maybe it needs to build more to break the dam.

Most of the time, though, throughout the day I feel fine, and even wonderful,
but a blippet of a moment may come where I feel the water rippling,
reminding me that I have some swimming to do.

The water doesn’t scare me.
I want to bathe, to soak, to immerse,
But I can’t get in yet.
It’s not time.

April Murdock
6.28.04

Testosterone-Deficient Blues

One of my favorites and most-requested. Some day it will be set to music.

Oh man, oh man
Every day’s the same
Not a one to be seen
They don’t even know my name

These are the testosterone blues
(sing it, sistah)
of a wisely innocent chick
who’s almost got it all—
minus her soulful romantic

Listenin’ to sappy love songs,
wistful for the day
when my knight with big strong arms
holds my hand without delay

One just caught my eye who
loves music, to travel and run
True mushroom—you know, a “fun guy”
Sense of humor and charitable bar none

He’s kind and bright
and boy, is he cute
A perfect match, right?
Except that now I’m a mute!

Why do I get this way?
It’s such an irony
that when I have no interest
it’s easiest to be me

Am I defective?
Or are his eyes veiled?
Is this how I have to live?
Have I somehow failed?

I don’t pretend to have any answers.
Well, okay, I’ll pretend.
I could say, “boys are dumb”
And hold “I hate men weeks”
(but never hold men)

These are the testosterone blues
of a wisely innocent chick
who’s almost got it all—
minus her soulful romantic

Mom says I have to flirt—
bat my eyes,
lower my head
act sly and coy
while my cheeks blush red

But it just ain’t natural
Ya know what I mean?
Pretending to be some game-playing queen

Instead I’m tongue-tied
Scared out of my wits
Feeling queasy awkward
and stuttering like a ditz

Some day it will happen
My dreams will come true
I’ll talk to that hunk of mine
And he’ll get a clue

My love won’t be thwarted
It will blossom and grow
We’ll be open and share
till we can’t talk no mo’

When that special day comes
I’ll be having fun still making friends
Much patience I’ll have learned

and I’ll be wearing Depends.

April Murdock
8.13.02 / 11.18.03

Leaving

I feel the sadness welling up inside of me, slowly building and looming in my heart.
Heavy, deep, blue, I don’t know how else to describe it.
I want to feel the sting, endure the ache, to taste the salt.
Waiting for the geyser, still there is no release.
Why isn’t there an emotional button that says PUSH ME and I can just cry?

I’m living in a dream—
Excited for the morning, but not yet ready to face the sun.
Although I’m still here, I miss it already:
The people, though they surround me;
The places, though still I pass by them.
Regrets of friendships not cultivated, gratitude unexpressed,
Lost chances to build more memories and prolong moments that won’t come again.

But it needn’t end now, for with each ending comes a new beginning.
Pieces of my heart I leave behind, but they aren’t forgotten.
Nor is my heart flawed or incomplete with these holes,
But is has grown, expanded, and will be filled as I share more.
I’m filled with sadness, yet surrounded by love.
Grateful for the chance to lose and live, to feel and be filled,
Grateful for paradoxical feelings.

April Murdock
8.2003

True Love

Now this is love—
Security, warmth, comfort, rejuvenation
The utmost in charity,
It takes my time but returns so much more,
With no suggestion of disparity.
Like a toothbrush, it is only mine.
No need to share it, and I feel just fine.

Reliable when I’m sick.
Respite from my trials, escape from all my woes.
It envelops me, wraps its pure white arms around me,
Inspires me to climb higher to an island in the midst of chaos.

Take it at face value, exactly what it seems.
Doesn’t need to impress anyone or put on haughty airs.
Just relax my weary muscles and shelter all my dreams
While I kick off my shoes and drop my heavy cares.

I cry on its shoulder, bury my face in its tender arm.
Sometimes in anger I scream at its face
But undaunted, forgiving, it hears out my case.

Inviting, enticing, so hard to pull away
When the short moment of night ends and thus begins a new day.
Parting is grueling when I leave on a journey.
Anxious for our reunion, for my love I have been yearning.
Nothing has changed, no matter how long the separation
I come home to all that I’ve hoped for, dreamed of and wanted—
Ah, yes, my own, glorious bed!

To some this may be pathetic—
A shameless display of affection for an inanimate object,
Incapable of returning to me in eloquent rhetoric.
But I hold my case as one that will persist through time,
For even when I share it, my bed will be more sublime.

April Murdock
2.9.03

Knowing Christ

Will I know Christ when He comes?
Will I recognize His face—not because I have seen it, but because I see His light?
Will He call me friend, because I have endured to the end?
Who will I be in His sight?
Will I be stuck because my heart is numb?
Or will I be pure white from doing His right?
What will I regret or have left undone?
Will I be ashamed and feel to blame?
Or will Christ and I be one and the same?

April Murdock
9.1.02