Sue Baiman's Blog, page 6

Baseball Blues

Tonight I’m only posting the first stanza of a work in progress.

 

I need to get out

To a ball game

Some time this summer

I promise myself every year

That I’ll remember

To make the time and go

But it’s never important enough

And gets forgotten

Emotional Buildup

When we’re young
We feel things
So much more acutely
A little slight
By a best friend
Is tragic drama

But when we’re young
We also shake things off
And move on
Faster

Yet even when we’ve moved past
The hurt and disappointment
A tiny piece
Of that hurt
Lingers

As we age
We eventually learn
To not take life
Or anything
That seriously

We learn
That drama is better
When read or watched
And not a satisfying
Participation sport

So we don’t always hurt
Quite as much
As we did when we were younger
And with wisdom
We start looking
For more good things
Because we know
The hurt will find us
On its own

Yet still as we move through life
Each of those moments
Leaves a fragment behind
An emotional buildup
Like plaque on our soul

Some days it feels like
The psychic sludge
Has become so thick
That it’s dimming
The light of my soul
And while I know
This isn’t true
The pain of losing you
Makes me feel like I’m wading
Through a stream of pain

If only the happy moments
Were likewise gathered
But instead I think
They work to wear down the sad
So we need to make
A concerted effort
To search out pleasure
To not just ease but to erase
The pain
Look for reasons to laugh
Doing so erodes the bad
And removes the emotional buildup

Sort of like the soul equivalent
Of getting rid of chemical buildup
On your hair
Now if only it were as easy
I’d bottle it up
And advertise it as
Laughter and love
Make your psyche happy and bouncy again
Restore peace and purpose
To all you do

No more emotional buildup

My Boys

Gumdrops and candy canes

Bottle rockets and lizard brains

Silly things that steal my heart

Even things like burps and farts

You are each so different from the other

It’s sometimes hard to believe you’re all brothers

But you are everything that’s good and true

And I will always love you

Lost and Found

I’ve been in mourning

For things and people

I’ve lost

I miss them

Some days more than others

I particularly miss my mother

But I also miss my marriage

I hate to admit that

But it’s true

I don’t miss where it ended up

But it was nice

When it was new

Some days

I miss a lot of things.

My youth.

My energy.

But the one thing

I used to miss

That I’ve found

Is myself.

Myself as an artist.

As a creative person.

A person willing

To try things

To express myself.

A person who creates things

Rather than just consumes them.

It hurts to miss people.

It hurts to miss a relationship.

It hurts when people you love

Aren’t around

But all the things I miss

Will never stack up against

What I found.

Mint Chocolate Chip

Mint chocolate chip

Is the flavor you would be

If you were ice cream

 

The Mysteries of the Universe

The mysteries of the universe

Are simple

To understand

Compared to

The mysteries of you

Practice

We encourage our kids

To try new things

And when they are not

Immediately gifted or fluent

In whatever they try

We tell them

It takes practice

Everything takes practice

Then we don’t take

Our own advice

When you fall in love

With a person

Or an idea

Or a thing

You immerse yourself

In them

In it

You practice

Without realizing

That you are practicing

And when you practice

You get good at it

You know this person

Or thing

Inside and out

But when that happens

Sometimes we forget

To keep practicing

And we forget

Either what it was

About it that you loved

Or how to do

Whatever it was you did

And as we go

From child to adult

Somewhere along that journey

We stop trying new things

Stop practicing

But as the stresses of life

Push down upon us

And we have less and less

Free time

That is when we need new things

And practice

Even more

You can practice

Meditation

To deal with that stress

Or you can practice

A sport

Or an art form

To spark a new love

Or return to a first love

Like drawing or music

But whatever it is that you do

Remember to keep practicing

Even when it’s something

You do every day

Don’t take it for granted

Practice means opening your eyes

Being present in what you’re doing

Look at it as if you’ve never seen it before

Sometimes practice means

Repeating a very small thing

A piece of the whole

Over and over again

Until it loses all meaning

Yet is perfected

We say practice makes perfect

But practice doesn’t make perfect

It makes peace

Old Friend

It’s a perfect Spring day

Skies a tentative blue

Whispy clouds of meteorological indecision

Float hesitantly by

Like a trembling pouty lip

When a child can’t decide

If it’s the right time to cry

The air is the temperature

Of my favorite sweatshirt

Without the weight

The soft breeze

Like a kiss on the cheek

Newly hatched insects

Buffeted by the air

Too fragile

To try to bite

Taking deep slow breaths

Feeling my lungs expand

Focusing on the air

As I pull it in

Cleansing my blood

Letting it pull the carbon dioxide

Out of my cells

So I can give it back

To the trees

I am so grateful

For this moment

And I want to remember it

Store every nuance away

Not because I don’t think

This will ever be again

But so that

When I next experience

This perfect Spring day

It will be like

Running into

An old friend

And catching up on

Where we’ve both been

In the interim.

My Center

At the end of the day

If it’s been crazier than usual

Or even just a Monday

Or god forbid, both

My brain spins madly

Out of control

Until I’m desperate

To still my thoughts

So that I can focus

And hear the words

In my heart

All I need

Is to remember

You lying next to me

Quietly

Silently

Just breathing

Just being

Rolling over

To face each other

Breathing you in

Somehow, we balance each other

And you center me

You are

All I’ll ever need

To find peace

Passions

I have many passions

Many loves

From the simple company

Of my cat

To being with

And doing things with

My kids

Passions that have been with me

As long as I can remember

Like music

And reading

And art

To newer things

Like editing

And knitting

And spinning

And you

When I was a kid

I doodled and drew

I rode horses

And ran

The fire of those flames

Slowly fizzled out

Due to age

And weight

And truthful criticism

But even as some flames

Slowly died out

New ones

We’re sparked

Into existence

And bravely

Began to burn brightly

I’m not sure it matters

Which passions

I partake of

Only that I do

I think there is

An inherent value

Just in being passionate

But when that love

Includes a form of creation

Of harnessing your creativity

To bring forth

Something new

And unique to you

Then you are truly blessed

And if you are lucky

You will have people in your life

Who share the same joys

The same passions

As you

And if you are not just lucky

But serendipitously blessed

You will get to express

Your creativity

And pursue your passion

With people you love

And who love you

In return

You will laugh together

Be wild and crazy

And gloriously silly together

But most importantly

You will collaborate

Your passions

Will fuel their passions

Ideas begetting other ideas

Your thoughts

And dreams

Will soar

The flames of your passions

Will be the oxygen of theirs

And you will discover

That the only greater joy

Than creating something

On your own

Lies in creating something

With the people you love