my thoughts on thunder and rain
eccentric waltzing across the sky
prelude to the life-supporting rain
fat drops plunking, streaming, kamikaze
flash across the sky
illuminating for a brief moment, then
pause
BOOM
shake my bones, rattle my brain
oooh, another one!
awestruck and breathless at this beautiful reminder of God’s glory
spellbound, I could watch the performance for hours.
April Murdock
6.21.02
Friday, June 21, 2002
Wednesday, May 22, 2002
Ode to Clark (the Paper Man)
Good-bye, dear friend, who always stood tall even when others around you slumped. You never shirked responsibility. You always listened, never interrupting or speaking harsh words or bullets of sarcasm. You always greeted me with a cheery grin on your face, hand raised in friendship.
A true man for all seasons, you survived the apartment, “Oh, no, the toilet overflowed” water fight and trek in the snow to Frontier Pies.
Those were the days.
Pigtails in our hair, prom dresses with running tights and shoes, we could hardly have asked for a better date. You were willing, inviting, comfortable and safe. You stood for a lot, and while many could not see all of your amazing qualities, they knew you had character and a kind heart. Never mind that you were not quite in proportionyour creator admired you anyway.
The day came that you were rolled away, tucked up and forgotten. I missed you sorely until our joyous reunion. I didn’t want to be selfish, so I let my little sister share you with her senior English class for a creative assignment. Yet you were so underappreciated. Standing in their class, day after day after day, hardly a soul even looking at your friendly visage. Then you were torn down, crumpled to the floor and tossed in a can. Oh, the cruelty and abuse! The horror to imagine that anyone could be so heartless! Did they not know, did they not think that someone cared for you and was anxiously awaiting your safe return? You can’t be replaced. You were one-of-a-kind and the last of your breed. There can never be another Clark.
April Murdock
5.22.02
Good-bye, dear friend, who always stood tall even when others around you slumped. You never shirked responsibility. You always listened, never interrupting or speaking harsh words or bullets of sarcasm. You always greeted me with a cheery grin on your face, hand raised in friendship.
A true man for all seasons, you survived the apartment, “Oh, no, the toilet overflowed” water fight and trek in the snow to Frontier Pies.
Those were the days.
Pigtails in our hair, prom dresses with running tights and shoes, we could hardly have asked for a better date. You were willing, inviting, comfortable and safe. You stood for a lot, and while many could not see all of your amazing qualities, they knew you had character and a kind heart. Never mind that you were not quite in proportionyour creator admired you anyway.
The day came that you were rolled away, tucked up and forgotten. I missed you sorely until our joyous reunion. I didn’t want to be selfish, so I let my little sister share you with her senior English class for a creative assignment. Yet you were so underappreciated. Standing in their class, day after day after day, hardly a soul even looking at your friendly visage. Then you were torn down, crumpled to the floor and tossed in a can. Oh, the cruelty and abuse! The horror to imagine that anyone could be so heartless! Did they not know, did they not think that someone cared for you and was anxiously awaiting your safe return? You can’t be replaced. You were one-of-a-kind and the last of your breed. There can never be another Clark.
April Murdock
5.22.02
Saturday, May 18, 2002
Healing?
You hurt me once.
Not just once, but a long time ago.
I didn’t understand how my heart was scarred,
But things in my life were not right.
I failed to make the connection between my problems and you.
I’m learning now,
and it’s painful
and it hurts.
Now I’m trying to let go.
I’m so angry
I can’t express it.
But part of me doesn’t want to.
I thought I had to protect you.
Mad was not okay.
I thought if I never felt mad,
I had let go.
Boy, was I wrong.
It was about control.
I could control my feelings by stuffing them—
Stuffing them with food.
But then the ugly tyrants Food and Appetite took hold of me—
Quite a paradox.
I hated myself.
I did not deserve love.
How could I love myself
When I ate so disgustingly?
And then I got worse.
I look back on where I once was,
Thinking I was so terrible.
Compared to now,
Back then looked better than my current cow.
I used to fight it vigorously, forcefully.
I was obsessed with controlling my food,
Yet still it controlled me.
Now I’m too tired to battle and numbly concede.
I can’t get satisfaction.
It’s never enough.
My stomach is not a bottomless pit,
But I think it’s not connected to my brain.
I’m stuck in a rut
With a huge butt.
Some days it’s hard to have hope.
I’ve been through this before,
And I don’t seem to be getting better.
I’m just trying to cope.
What do I have to look forward to?
I have many blessings;
I acknowledge that.
But they’re almost impossible to see
Through the thick fog of negativity.
The fog tries to smother me and
When I’m weak, leaves no room for felicity.
I feed off of negative thoughts—
Multiplying, swarming my mind like devil biting flies,
Whispering and snarling at me that they’re true.
They try to erase my memories of peace and hope.
They tell me I’m not worthy.
They tell me I’m bad,
I’m defective, unlovable,
And yes, it’s sad,
I’ll never be good enough.
Not long ago I felt, for the first time in my life,
Fully LOVED.
It was a gift from God,
And I didn’t know why it suddenly came.
It filled my heart and I felt my worth.
Yet it slowly waned
And I wondered what was wrong with me
That I couldn’t keep it.
Oh, how my heart ached!
To finally have such a beautiful gift
And for it to quietly slip through the holes in my heart.
My life’s an emotional roller coaster,
From moment to moment fluctuating.
I hit the valleys and rise to the peaks.
I want to puke from the ride.
It’s more than confusing and frustrating.
What do I believe?
Each moment seems to be the new truth,
Erasing what I felt just moments before.
It seems that all I can trust is my logic,
Yet that seems to be failing too.
Like a tulip bulb that lasts through winter,
My hope lies dormant that all the negative thoughts are false
(I avoid claiming them as mine)
And some day I won’t hear them anymore
Or at least not listen to them.
Inside of me there is a beautiful, radiant woman
full of love and joy,
Shining and doing good.
But her treasure remains buried
Deep under the dirt that has been heaped upon her.
Is she lovable with the dirt still there?
Of course, she’s acceptable without the dirt,
But while she’s being excavated and polished,
Is she still worth as much?
I suppose value lies in the esteem of the beholder
Does God still value a recently dug-up treasure
As much as He does an already shining jewel?
The world looks at the dirty treasure as flea-market material.
But it’s my heart, and I guard it carefully.
How does God see me?
He tells me that He loves me
And that He’s pleased with my efforts.
Can it be true?
I have so FAR to go,
So much dirt to dig through,
That I can’t accept that I’m acceptable.
Not until the dirt is gone.
Sometimes instead of digging through the dirt,
I would rather smooth it over and plant a garden.
But if the flowers can’t grow because they’re planted in poor soil,
then I need to change it.
And as much as I wish I had a new garden,
Changing plots is not allowed in this field.
So my task seems to be learning to garden in rocky territory.
The tree that grew in the rocky soil was the strongest.
April Murdock
5.18.02
You hurt me once.
Not just once, but a long time ago.
I didn’t understand how my heart was scarred,
But things in my life were not right.
I failed to make the connection between my problems and you.
I’m learning now,
and it’s painful
and it hurts.
Now I’m trying to let go.
I’m so angry
I can’t express it.
But part of me doesn’t want to.
I thought I had to protect you.
Mad was not okay.
I thought if I never felt mad,
I had let go.
Boy, was I wrong.
It was about control.
I could control my feelings by stuffing them—
Stuffing them with food.
But then the ugly tyrants Food and Appetite took hold of me—
Quite a paradox.
I hated myself.
I did not deserve love.
How could I love myself
When I ate so disgustingly?
And then I got worse.
I look back on where I once was,
Thinking I was so terrible.
Compared to now,
Back then looked better than my current cow.
I used to fight it vigorously, forcefully.
I was obsessed with controlling my food,
Yet still it controlled me.
Now I’m too tired to battle and numbly concede.
I can’t get satisfaction.
It’s never enough.
My stomach is not a bottomless pit,
But I think it’s not connected to my brain.
I’m stuck in a rut
With a huge butt.
Some days it’s hard to have hope.
I’ve been through this before,
And I don’t seem to be getting better.
I’m just trying to cope.
What do I have to look forward to?
I have many blessings;
I acknowledge that.
But they’re almost impossible to see
Through the thick fog of negativity.
The fog tries to smother me and
When I’m weak, leaves no room for felicity.
I feed off of negative thoughts—
Multiplying, swarming my mind like devil biting flies,
Whispering and snarling at me that they’re true.
They try to erase my memories of peace and hope.
They tell me I’m not worthy.
They tell me I’m bad,
I’m defective, unlovable,
And yes, it’s sad,
I’ll never be good enough.
Not long ago I felt, for the first time in my life,
Fully LOVED.
It was a gift from God,
And I didn’t know why it suddenly came.
It filled my heart and I felt my worth.
Yet it slowly waned
And I wondered what was wrong with me
That I couldn’t keep it.
Oh, how my heart ached!
To finally have such a beautiful gift
And for it to quietly slip through the holes in my heart.
My life’s an emotional roller coaster,
From moment to moment fluctuating.
I hit the valleys and rise to the peaks.
I want to puke from the ride.
It’s more than confusing and frustrating.
What do I believe?
Each moment seems to be the new truth,
Erasing what I felt just moments before.
It seems that all I can trust is my logic,
Yet that seems to be failing too.
Like a tulip bulb that lasts through winter,
My hope lies dormant that all the negative thoughts are false
(I avoid claiming them as mine)
And some day I won’t hear them anymore
Or at least not listen to them.
Inside of me there is a beautiful, radiant woman
full of love and joy,
Shining and doing good.
But her treasure remains buried
Deep under the dirt that has been heaped upon her.
Is she lovable with the dirt still there?
Of course, she’s acceptable without the dirt,
But while she’s being excavated and polished,
Is she still worth as much?
I suppose value lies in the esteem of the beholder
Does God still value a recently dug-up treasure
As much as He does an already shining jewel?
The world looks at the dirty treasure as flea-market material.
But it’s my heart, and I guard it carefully.
How does God see me?
He tells me that He loves me
And that He’s pleased with my efforts.
Can it be true?
I have so FAR to go,
So much dirt to dig through,
That I can’t accept that I’m acceptable.
Not until the dirt is gone.
Sometimes instead of digging through the dirt,
I would rather smooth it over and plant a garden.
But if the flowers can’t grow because they’re planted in poor soil,
then I need to change it.
And as much as I wish I had a new garden,
Changing plots is not allowed in this field.
So my task seems to be learning to garden in rocky territory.
The tree that grew in the rocky soil was the strongest.
April Murdock
5.18.02
Saturday, December 15, 2001
Friday, December 14, 2001
My Eternal Spirit Weeps
My eternal spirit weeps to be trapped in this weak mortal body.
Constantly they battle, never to be reconciled.
It tears my soul and pains my heart to be at odds with myself.
My spirit’s desire is to conquer sin and carnality, but something blocks it.
I must remove the block
Aaagh, but it’s big
And heavy
And very slow dying.
I can’t do it alone.
The Savior will help me,
If I let Him
How?
I try to open my heart to His healing, but my body fights back and says
It can’t.
Still, my soul yearns to be freed from these chains,
To rise from this dreadful hell to heaven’s refuge where it is destined to rest.
April Murdock
12.14.01
My eternal spirit weeps to be trapped in this weak mortal body.
Constantly they battle, never to be reconciled.
It tears my soul and pains my heart to be at odds with myself.
My spirit’s desire is to conquer sin and carnality, but something blocks it.
I must remove the block
Aaagh, but it’s big
And heavy
And very slow dying.
I can’t do it alone.
The Savior will help me,
If I let Him
How?
I try to open my heart to His healing, but my body fights back and says
It can’t.
Still, my soul yearns to be freed from these chains,
To rise from this dreadful hell to heaven’s refuge where it is destined to rest.
April Murdock
12.14.01
Thursday, March 29, 2001
emotional cliff
on stable ground
atop a threatening cliff,
my toes grip the edge in fear
as i compel myself
to take the deep plunge
jump, i say
jump, jump, jump
just do it—
it’s that simple.
JUMP
but a jump is irreversible
and gravity is not my friend
once i step off, i will
fall,
fall,
for what seems an eternity
until i hit the water
on an impulse
(i don’t know from where it came)
i finally jump
and as i fall,
i’m sure i am going to die
i just left my stomach up there and
i’m still falling and
i
can’t
stop
i slap the water and it stings
i hurriedly cover my wedgie
The water closes over me and thoughts of suffocation enter my mind as i fight my way upward to air
When i surface,
i gasp and think
what a RUSH
I’ll go higher next time.
April Murdock
3.29.01
on stable ground
atop a threatening cliff,
my toes grip the edge in fear
as i compel myself
to take the deep plunge
jump, i say
jump, jump, jump
just do it—
it’s that simple.
JUMP
but a jump is irreversible
and gravity is not my friend
once i step off, i will
fall,
fall,
for what seems an eternity
until i hit the water
on an impulse
(i don’t know from where it came)
i finally jump
and as i fall,
i’m sure i am going to die
i just left my stomach up there and
i’m still falling and
i
can’t
stop
i slap the water and it stings
i hurriedly cover my wedgie
The water closes over me and thoughts of suffocation enter my mind as i fight my way upward to air
When i surface,
i gasp and think
what a RUSH
I’ll go higher next time.
April Murdock
3.29.01
Monday, June 01, 1998
Sunday, June 01, 1997
Curse of the World
Curse of the world
Curse the day
Curse my woes
Curse them away
I never wanted this burden I bear
This burden, this burden, oh, I swear
It’s heavy, pressing, swelling, biting
Kicking, screaming, I’ll keep on fighting
To the end!
Omega!
When will it end?
I’m growing, I know,
but in all the wrong places.
My buttocks ballooning,
Mushrooming my face is.
Where to find my oasis?
Not in the kitchen,
For that’s where all my troubles began
The curse of my world.
April Murdock
About 1997
Curse of the world
Curse the day
Curse my woes
Curse them away
I never wanted this burden I bear
This burden, this burden, oh, I swear
It’s heavy, pressing, swelling, biting
Kicking, screaming, I’ll keep on fighting
To the end!
Omega!
When will it end?
I’m growing, I know,
but in all the wrong places.
My buttocks ballooning,
Mushrooming my face is.
Where to find my oasis?
Not in the kitchen,
For that’s where all my troubles began
The curse of my world.
April Murdock
About 1997
My Prayer
Lord, please help me be a better person tomorrow than I was today,
And help me chase all the bad spirits away.
Cast out the ones who argue and fight,
And those who tempt me to not do what’s right.
I’ll follow thy will, Lord;
Please show me the way
To return to thy fold
And be perfect some day.
April Murdock
about 1997
Lord, please help me be a better person tomorrow than I was today,
And help me chase all the bad spirits away.
Cast out the ones who argue and fight,
And those who tempt me to not do what’s right.
I’ll follow thy will, Lord;
Please show me the way
To return to thy fold
And be perfect some day.
April Murdock
about 1997
Saturday, June 01, 1996
The Great Bra Dilemma
What I need is a bra.
When I find one, I’ll shout, “Hoorah!’
I go to the store to look for one
but always I come back with none.
They don’t have my style ’cause I’m really picky
I don’t like them pointy, scratchy or itchy.
I can’t find a bra that I really like.
I think I’ll tell manufacturers to go take a hike
They can’t make a simple bra for someone like me
Who wants a little bit of modesty.
Is it cheap?
If not, it’s not for me.
It’s not worth it to spend a fortune on such a perplexity.
What do I do?
Go make my own?
They always make me look like a cone.
I do not like that.
The fad of pointy, poky boobs
Is one I avoid.
I like ’em flat,
I like ’em zapped
I like ’em inconspicuous
Bras are SO ridiculous!
I give up on the task of finding a bra that I like.
I can’t seem to find one that is right.
Yet, I must continue my search
For I can’t travel hippie-style.
They don’t wear bras
But I think that’s vile.
Oh, bless the day when I find a suitable brassiere!
However,
it may take a full twelve months.
April Murdock
1996
What I need is a bra.
When I find one, I’ll shout, “Hoorah!’
I go to the store to look for one
but always I come back with none.
They don’t have my style ’cause I’m really picky
I don’t like them pointy, scratchy or itchy.
I can’t find a bra that I really like.
I think I’ll tell manufacturers to go take a hike
They can’t make a simple bra for someone like me
Who wants a little bit of modesty.
Is it cheap?
If not, it’s not for me.
It’s not worth it to spend a fortune on such a perplexity.
What do I do?
Go make my own?
They always make me look like a cone.
I do not like that.
The fad of pointy, poky boobs
Is one I avoid.
I like ’em flat,
I like ’em zapped
I like ’em inconspicuous
Bras are SO ridiculous!
I give up on the task of finding a bra that I like.
I can’t seem to find one that is right.
Yet, I must continue my search
For I can’t travel hippie-style.
They don’t wear bras
But I think that’s vile.
Oh, bless the day when I find a suitable brassiere!
However,
it may take a full twelve months.
April Murdock
1996
Thursday, April 01, 1982
April
By Michael Drury
Sometimes in spring it’s winter
On the north side of my house.
Pussy willow and field mouse forage
Out in coats of gray on the south
where day is longer and sunlight stronger.
The crocuses poke up
green fingers to find out if
the warm air lingers long enough
for blooming. A few brave bees
are zooming over soil almost soft
enough to work. But at the front
blue shadows lurk, and even patches
of snow where the rhododendrons grow
and the seasons reluctantly part.
Life too has its reasons and yields
slowly to a new start,
so that in spring sometimes
it’s winter on the north side of my heart.
1982—my mom clipped this poem out of the newspaper sometime soon after I was born…in March. I didn’t start to get it until about 2008.
By Michael Drury
Sometimes in spring it’s winter
On the north side of my house.
Pussy willow and field mouse forage
Out in coats of gray on the south
where day is longer and sunlight stronger.
The crocuses poke up
green fingers to find out if
the warm air lingers long enough
for blooming. A few brave bees
are zooming over soil almost soft
enough to work. But at the front
blue shadows lurk, and even patches
of snow where the rhododendrons grow
and the seasons reluctantly part.
Life too has its reasons and yields
slowly to a new start,
so that in spring sometimes
it’s winter on the north side of my heart.
1982—my mom clipped this poem out of the newspaper sometime soon after I was born…in March. I didn’t start to get it until about 2008.
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Raw Poetry
- April
- Oakland, CA, United States
- Writing my poems has been healing for me, and I find that sharing them has been too. So I hope you enjoy, and please feel free to comment. Did anything resonate with you? Bring up questions? Move you to action?