(the trick to)

the trick to
surviving traffic:
good music

© 2006 Amy E. Hall

Invisible Scab

Like a scab that covers
a wound until the new
skin arrives, silently,
overnight, a protective
covering has appeared
on my wounded heart to
guard it while You heal
the hurt with Your strong,
tender hand. I feel the
invisible shield keeping
me from further injury as
You mend me from within.

© 2006 Amy E. Hall

Snow Garden

Our yard was a garden
of snow and our father
was the gardener. He
made snow forts and
an obstacle course of
sorts for my sisters and
me in the front yard one
winter. It was an exciting
adventure, and a little
bit scary, but I felt safe
knowing that Dad was
guiding the sled and
guarding the fort. I still
remember his laugh
that day as we squealed
with delight, holding tight
to the orange, plastic sled.

© 2006 Amy E. Hall

Acrocats

Cats can contort their
bodies in such curious
configurations. Whether
for bathing, hunting,
napping or recreational
purposes, they can be
seen in the most peculiar
forms. I am convinced
that cats would make
incredible gymnastic
competitors -- curvy,
little acrobats with keen
eyesight, magnificent
agility and nine lives apiece.

© 2006 Amy E. Hall

Thanksgiving Traffic

Three miles in an
hour and a half --
bumper-to-bumper
interstate congestion and
stomach indigestion,
angry drivers with
hungry kids, no
exit in sight, and
no explanation.
Arrivals delayed;
hugs and hand-
shakes on hold;
dinners postponed.
It was easy to get
irritated and impatient,
until we saw
the white sheet
on the ground.
Suddenly, we were
thankful for the
fume-filled air that
we were breathing.

© 2006 Amy E. Hall

From One Keyboard to Another

Sometimes, when I have my
headphones on at work, I
find myself typing in rhythm
to the tunes tapping their
way into my eardrums. Bobbing
my head to the beat and
hitting the keys in syncopation,
I feel almost as if I am a part of
the album orchestration flares,
fills and frills. I wonder if my
co-workers notice as I nod up
and down, rolling my fingers
on the black keys. I smile and
continue punching the keys like
a piano keyboard, in time and tempo.

© 2006 Amy E. Hall

(in the plastic wrapper)

in the plastic wrapper:
half of a fortune cookie;
half of a fortune

© 2006 Amy E. Hall

(traffic)

traffic --
minutes in car: 30
miles traveled: 0

© 2006 Amy E. Hall

(cat in a frenzy)

cat in a frenzy:
from the window --
watching falling leaves

© 2006 Amy E. Hall

Dichotomy

Half of my week
is spent
missing you desperately.
The other half
is spent
remembering that I
can't
trust you.

© 2006 Amy E. Hall

(the leaves mimicking)

the leaves mimicking
the sound of raindrops in the
wooded autumn hills

© 2006 Amy E. Hall

(eyes widen)

eyes widen:
brilliant, cranberry-
orange-colored foliage

© 2006 Amy E. Hall

The Day After Friday

I love waking up on
Saturday morning with
no agenda, no meetings,
no deadlines, no traffic.
I love waking up to a
day of possibility --
drinking my first cup
of tea at my leisure,
spending time with my
thoughts and writing
them down, looking
out my window and
watching nature awaken
to this Saturday, to this
glorious day of possibility.

© 2006 Amy E. Hall

Moments to Smile #1

In the bookstore parking lot,
I sat in my car, unwrapping
the treasure I had just purchased --
inside the car parked next to me, a
woman doing the very same thing.

© 2006 Amy E. Hall

(the cat)

the cat --
my second
alarm clock

© 2006 Amy E. Hall

Sneezes Are Funny Things

Nothing else can cause a
face to contort so severely
or result in such a variety of
sound effects -- from blow-
me-down bellows to tiny,
high-pitched squeaks.

© 2006 Amy E. Hall

(pink and purple sunrise)

pink and purple sunrise --
a little girl's
dream sky

© 2006 Amy E. Hall

Some Things #2

Some things
silence the
professional speaker.
Some things
stump the
international intellectual.
Some things
paralyze the
confident wordsmith.
Some things
are too wonderful.

© 2006 Amy E. Hall

(First day on the new job)

First day on the new job --
I feel like I'm in the waiting
room at the doctor's office.

© 2006 Amy E. Hall

Some Things #1

Some things
silence the
professional speaker.
Some things
stump the
international intellectual.
Some things
paralyze the
confident wordsmith.
Some things
hurt too much.

© 2006 Amy E. Hall

Dear John

In the bookstore bathroom,
I looked down underneath
the stall divider to peek at
the feet of the woman
on the john next to me.
What would I do if you
happened to be in the stall
next door? Would you
recognize my slip-on sandals
and dark berry colored toenails?
Would I remember your
beautiful feet, a feature you've
prized for years? Would we
debate what to do next while
we flushed our respective
toilets and buttoned our
pants? Would we let our
feet lead the way to a
face-to-face encounter
at the sinks? What do you
say after a year and a half?
What do you say to the one
who caused so much pain,
the one you think about
every day, but never speak
to, as you lather your hands
with soap that can never
wash away the memories?

© 2006 Amy E. Hall

Sanctuary

When I come into
this house, I am at
once greeted by peace
and strength -- the
marks of an everlasting
kingdom -- and reminded
that I belong; why
I am here; why I
live and breathe.
The perfect balance
of rest and might
dwells in such contrast
to the world beyond
Your wings -- a world
void of health,
safety and purity.
It is here that
I find purpose.
It is here that I
feel the clean fire
of life and the
unmistakable love
of the Father,
King of my heart,
King forever.

© 2006 Amy E. Hall

The Past Meets the Present

I attended your wedding with
my new flame. How strange
it was to introduce my new
love to my old love. And
stranger yet to know that
I still wasn't over you.

© 2006 Amy E. Hall

(I've witnessed a feature)

I've witnessed a feature
not often observed --
her teeth.

© 2006 Amy E. Hall

(two writers)

two writers --
one apartment:
movies and music abound

© 2006 Amy E. Hall

Bedtime Ritual

When I'm ready for bed, I
turn off all the lights in the
bedroom and retreat to the
bathroom to read poetry.
I sit on the lid of the
commode and read aloud
as my cat stretches out
on the bedroom couch.
She has already called
it a night. Line by line,
I quiet my heart and
refresh my mind,
purging my brain of
the toxins of the day.
Page by page, I am
reminded that there
is more to life than
industry, rehearsals
and housework. I
shed the obligations
of today and, word
by word, feel sleep's
gentle smile return.

© 2006 Amy E. Hall

(morning tea after)

morning tea after
the morning rain
drop after drop

© 2006 Amy E. Hall

(The tree bark gleamed)

The tree bark gleamed
with fresh raindrops as
the squirrel scurried home.

© 2006 Amy E. Hall

Another Work Poem

I write my best
poems at work on
company stationary
and company time
on rainy Fridays when
all I want to do is
escape to a coffee shop
or bookstore and sip
the day away surrounded
by books, magazines
and literary dreams.

© 2006 Amy E. Hall

Change Purse

I didn't call you from
the gas station pay phone
like I had planned to
last night. The rain and
lack of coins in my purse
---- changed
the agenda for the car
ride home. It's strange that
something that seemed so
important last year on
September 18
quietly melted into my
Monday evening and marked
a ---- change ---- in my priorites.

© 2006 Amy E. Hall

When I Read a Good Poem

I hold
each
word
for a
moment
in my mouth
before
---- moving
on to the next one, like
one
bite
of creme brulee
after
another.

© 2006 Amy E. Hall

My Angel

Every morning, I look
at my baby --
so soft; so sweet.
She catches a catnap
while I dress and
style my hair.
Her cuteness compels
me to stop what I'm
doing several times
during my morning
routine to come by
her side, speak
to her in gentle tones
and touch her tummy.
Her silky, black fur
is softer than any
human baby's skin.

© 2006 Amy E. Hall

(I spent the evening)

I spent the evening
patrolling the kitchen for
gnats to kill by hand.

© 2006 Amy E. Hall

(Monday morning)

Monday morning
orange and purple sunrise
through the trees

© 2006 Amy E. Hall

(morning omen)

morning omen:
the tea bag -- floated
upside
-- down

© 2006 Amy E. Hall

(How to Know If You Love Tea)

How to Know If You Love Tea:
You savor the drip
on the outside of the mug.

© 2006 Amy E. Hall

(fresh tomato slice)

fresh tomato slice
memories from my childhood
a summer garden

© 2006 Amy E. Hall

Hands

When I feel the urge to create,
I look down at my hands,
examine my palms,
inspect my fingertips
and smile in wonderment --
for what is not yet here
is about to arrive.
I can't help but wonder
how the Father must feel
when He sits down to create
and another miracle is born.

© 2006 Amy E. Hall

Keys

When I sit down at the keyboard and punch the keys,
in that moment, I am like Coldplay's Chris Martin --
his fingertips plunking out melodies
and mine plunking out memories.

© 2006 Amy E. Hall

(first love)

first love --
hard to forget
difficult to remember

© 2006 Amy E. Hall

(a tear appeared out)

for Matt

a tear appeared out
of nowhere -- I forgot just
how much I missed him

© 2006 Amy E. Hall

(somehow overnight)

for Joanne

somehow overnight
an acquaintance
became a friend

© 2006 Amy E. Hall

(life has returned to me)

life has returned to me
like blood to the brain of one
who once -- fell -- breathless

© 2006 Amy E. Hall

(He is changing me)

He is changing me
right before
my very eyes

© 2006 Amy E. Hall

(ordered my first drink)

ordered my first drink
our band played a set
dinner with Eric, the vegetarian

© 2006 Amy E. Hall

(lunch: olive burgers)

lunch: olive burgers
ice cream on the boardwalk
pasta at Porto Bello for dinner

© 2006 Amy E. Hall

(minutes from the beach)

minutes from the beach
home of my alma mater
my coming of age

© 2006 Amy E. Hall

Teatime

every sip
every drip
a present
to yourself

watch it steep
inhale deep
stealing moments
for yourself

black, green, white
pure delight
with a friend or
by yourself

© 2006 Amy E. Hall

I Look for You in the Faces of the Strangers that I See at the Club We Use to Frequent

Now that I've had time to heal,
I almost want to see you at
that little bar and grill where
we used to order chicken
fingers and onion rings,
and watch the artists
who played that corner stage.
Ironically, I think I'd smile
if I spotted you at a table
full of friends,
just knowing that you're
okay; that you been able to
move on;
to find laughter again.

© 2006 Amy E. Hall

Shopping

I think of you
when I shop
at the craft store
alone
and remember
all the trips
we took there
together
looking for
beads, Styrofoam
and acrylic paint.
Somehow I feel
a connection to you,
wondering if, perhaps,
you are shopping
at the store
across town
alone,
remembering me.

© 2006 Amy E. Hall

Skin

I
can
feel
myself
outgrowing
my
old
skin.

© 2006 Amy E. Hall

Questions Unanswered

I look for you
in parking lots
with one eye open
and one eye closed,
half hoping to see you
and half hoping I don't.

Would we smile and hug,
no words needed,
a silent understanding,
a quiet relief?
Or, would we
slap each other
with hurtful words,
squeezing out
the pain
that we've housed
these last
six months?

© 2006 Amy E. Hall

I Love Snow

for Julie

I remember
the Christmas
that you and I
mended our friendship.
You wore a
cool, retro
fur coat
and we walked to
the park across
the street from
Debbie's house.
That night we
laughed and sang
about snow
with the Christmas
lights shining
behind us
and the future bright;
ahead of us.

© 2005 Amy E. Hall

Grade School Glories

for Ashley and Lindsay

We did it to
amuse ourselves
during the ride to
my community
softball games.
My little sisters
and I played producers,
creating makeshift
movie stars out of our
afternoon snacks.
We tore our thinly
sliced lunchmeat
into strips and gave
them each a name,
as we cast our own
mini musicals,
starring Miss Piggy,
Mr. Angus and
Mrs. Gobblet.
Somehow the
dancing pieces of
ham, beef and turkey
kept our attention
until we reached the
ball diamond, where
I would trade my
sandwich meat
for a glove.

© 2005 Amy E. Hall

Passing Gas at Ponderosa

My little sisters and I were
eyeing the bountiful buffet
when it happened.
I tucked my head under the
overhead glass to get
closer to the cantaloupe
and grabbed a slice
with the plastic tongs.
Attempting to back up
and place the fruit
on my plate, I
bonked the back of
my noggin on the glass,
dropped the orange
melon on the floor
and cut the cheese,
all in the same instant.
Humiliated in my
preadolescent state,
I tried to slink back
to the table and
join our grandparents
unnoticed, despite
the unexpected
backside blast, as my
baby sister yelped:
"WAS THAT YOU?"

© 2005 Amy E. Hall

Heredity

My sister caught me
laughing out loud
like our father
at church last
Sunday morning
during the pastor's
sermon on the
workings of the
Holy Spirit.
She jabbed me
in the arm,
just like our mom
elbows our dad
during parties,
movies and
church functions,
telling me to: "Shhh!"
with arched eyebrows
and half a smile.

© 2005 Amy E. Hall

Pig in a Blanket

I wonder if you
still sleep with Hunnydew,
the stuffed, green pig that
I bought at the jewelry store
in the mall down the road, or
if he was sacrificed months ago,
a makeshift bull's-eye for the dart
that you threw in anger
as you muttered my name
under your breath.

© 2005 Amy E. Hall

Glitter Girl

for Lindsay

She has magic
in her fingertips
and glitter
on her lips,
creating communities of
catalog clippings and
magazine men
on canvas and foam board
with rubber cement
and the sparkle
in her eyes.
Paper strangers
become neighbors
with the shape of her hands,
as she carefully selects
her sticky society,
giving the two-dimensional
souls the chance
to connect
with us.
They speak
with their eyes,
causing us to pause,
reflect and wonder,
and remind us
that glue
is thicker
than blood.

© 2005 Amy E. Hall

Folks #3

Exes are friends
who become family
who become strangers.

© 2005 Amy E. Hall

Folks #2

Family members are roommates
who become friends
who are strange.

© 2005 Amy E. Hall

Folks #1

Roommates are strangers
who become friends
who become family.

© 2005 Amy E. Hall

(Untitled)

An empty hand
feels strange
to the one that
has made a routine of
gripping soiled
security blankets
and secrets
wrapped up tightly
in boxes that sparkle
on the outside.
It is only when
those things are
recognized for the
fool's gold
that they are,
and released,
that the hand
is free to reach
forward toward
the Dream
of a lifetime.

© 2005 Amy E. Hall

The Boys

I miss
Spike and Wally,
the fish I named when
we brought them home from
the pet store
after the first seven
died.
I held the bag so
tightly
in the car
on the way home,
guarding it as though
those little fellows were
my own reputation.
I remember
greeting them
several times a week,
tapping my index finger
on the outside
of the tank
in our own secret
Morse code.
Fish are fragile,
like friendships.
They never prepare you for
the end,
but decide to
call it a day
during a walk with the dog or
a lazy Sunday afternoon
nap.

© 2005 Amy E. Hall

Sharing Secrets

What good is a secret if you can't share it; a story if you can't tell it? This blog is the vehicle by which I will share my secrets via the poetry that shows up on the doorstep of my muse; the whispers of the Great Creator in my ear. If you like what you hear, pass it on.