I'M A POET
This is the poem that will help you reclaim your right to pursue the dream for your life. Reclaim it from the voices that have tried to keep it silent. Remember who your are!
(written by Kara Millerhagen)
I'm a poet and I didn't know it!
Well, that's not true, I did
even though I wasn't labeled so when I was just a kid.
But, I did write, and they did rhyme
some (though not all the time)
I poured my heart upon the page
seven years old
tears, love, rage
but I don't know, what was it?
that made me stop, but I did quit.
I believe I saw another's poem
and I compared it with my own
and found that mine were not enough
of heart of beauty of smart of stuff
not good enough
or would enough
or could or even should enough
of right enough
spite enough
delight enough
Enough! Enough!
I threw those poems away.
And now years later, wouldn't you know it,
I find myself to be a poet.
And I cannot retrieve a single page
of those seven years of tears, love, and rage.
But I do know this:
That little poet that lived and died
she never lied.
And she is the barometer by which
I gauge everything I put upon the page
not that it is enough, dear youth.
Simply that it is the truth.
©copyright 2009 Sister Productions
Be an Elf for Yourself
Elves are tricky. They can give us our hearts desire or they can give us a pie in the face - whatever it takes. They know how to work and they know how to play and it is all the same. To be an elf for yourself means to give yourself whatever you need to stop being crabby about life and start living it. You don't like it? Let the elf in you change it. See "Gudren" perform "Be An Elf For Yourself" live on YouTube.
(Written by Kara Millerhagen)
When the weather turns cold and the snow is a blowin'
and there isn't anywhere you should be a goin'
and you've got some time for yourself
Be an elf.
When the stockings are hung by the chimney with care
don't hope for St. Nickolaus soon to be there
don the red suit and white fur yourself!
Be an elf.
Stuff your own stocking!
Make you some fudge when
the temperature drops and its not even budgin'
don't let it turn you into a curmudgeon
be an elf for yourself!
When the family is busy
and your friends don't call
and you pace till you're dizzy
and climbing the wall
if you know your own number,
call yourself.
Be an elf!
Bake some cookies in the middle of the night!
Wake up like a child with thrills of delight
pile on the frosting and take a big bite.
Be an elf for yourself!
So your bones are achy,
so your fingers are numb
so the bills pile up,
so the money don't come
so this so that and so what
be an elf for yourself.
Throw yourself in a snow bank!
Get out your sled
or make a snow angel inside of your head
but don't walk around like the living dead.
Be an elf for yourself!
So you've got lots of folks depending on you
and you've go a long list of things to do
just think of those elves that made those shoes.
Be an elf for yourself.
But don't get so busy
you can't stop now and then
to look in the mirror
with a wink and a grin
if you can't give it to you,
you can't give it to them.
Be an elf for yourself!
©copyright 2009 Sister Productions
THIS PINE OF MINE
This poem offers up a great illustration for the simple meaning of Christmas. The world will never be able to give us enough bright and shiny things to balance the gnawing reality of this life: No one gets out alive. It is only in embracing death that we can experience the gift of life.
(written by Kara Millerhagen)
Truly a salesman he
his quick wit, his comedy
"as green as green can be"
this pine of mine.
Though the color I found a bit bright
and something not quite right
still I drove out-of-sight
with this pine of mine.
Even while the needles fell
as I hung the star and the Christmas bell
sniffed the air and couldn't smell
this pine of mine.
Still, I denied.
Until you said
"it's painted green and mostly dead"
then the bells went off inside my head
about his pine of mine
how I'd known all along
something was terribly wrong
still I trimmed and sang a song
about this pine of mine
how I knew, I knew,
a green isn't that true
and the anxiety within me grew
about this pine of mine.
Am I so taken in by what I see
and what I wish to be
that I deny reality
like with this pine for mine.
Do I buy what the world has to sell
even though I can usually tell
a spray painted all is well
like with this pine of mine.
Remove the paint.
Scrub the needles bare
so that I can see what is really there.
It is at both life and death I stare
this pine of mine, wise and aware.
For while the tree vendor easily fooled me
he could never, never fool the tree.
The tree knows
about the emperor's clothes
about bitter snows
and waiting for the rose
about a frozen and unyielding earth
and about a baby's birth
and it is not afraid to die.
And now, too, a little less am I.
I no longer wish my tree
as green as green can be
and the tines upon my floor
that are evergreen no more
look like faith to me
shed so confidently.
This is proclamation bold
Be not afraid for behold
tonight a savior is born
and He is Jesus Christ, the Lord
and I too will shed my tines
Just like this pine of mine.
©copyright 2009 Sister Productions