Shutterbug Poetry		The Interview
Precipice		Paradiddle
Flowers		Supplication
A Thought on Veteran's Day		Bookworm
Untitled 12-6-99		Christmastime

Mindy Phillips Lawrence © Copyright, 1999; All Rights Reserved

He sits with hands folded, His head empty As last night�s beer glass, Wanting, he says, a Three-hour-a-week-40 thousand-a-year Job. He sits sloppily in his chair, Smelling of some drink present and Some shower long ago. He has come to apply for his dream, Fingernails blackened with soil. He neither writes nor can learn Its mysteries.

The woman calls him. He stands, slumping toward a Desk, Slowly as first, Then a little faster. He looks at her as if she were The wall between his vision And reality. She tries to communicate with him, Entering his essence into a Data base. He has no concept of binary function. She smiles and does what she can.

She is bound to a computerized world, Talking to a man who has not mastered the Abacus.

Mindy Phillips Lawrence © Copyright, 1999; All Rights Reserved

I see so clearly, I see, I see so clearly the interlocking thoughts Of my craft and the stirring of those emotions in my soul. They tug at me and tug and tug, Until they force me to walk near the edge. Plath fell off, And so did Papa Hemingway. So many could not keep their balance So close to the edge.

It is the power of poetry And the power of the written word That opens up our deep places And causes us to look inside. Some pour out the feelings of a whole people With their words. Some open the privacy of personal emotions That spill out into syllables. Who knows if I write to share my Catharsis with others, Or if I write to pull myself back from the precipice.

Mindy Phillips Lawrence © Copyright, 1999; All Rights Reserved

Heartbeat out loud, Rhythm in the night With the haunting rat-tat-tat Going on and on and on. Like the constant outward soul, Different pitches, different parts, As the ear picks up the rhythm And the heart begins to beat With the same metered message As the sound that's in the ear To the deep down soul and sinew, As the drums go on and on.

Mindy Phillips Lawrence © Copyright, 1999; All Rights Reserved

We sat around all afternoon, Discussing the time when, As we surmised, The ground would be our covering. We chose the flowers to grace our former selves, Choosing not the lily but the rose, Or daisy, or some bright hope To cover our feet and Drape our caskets. Even in the darkness of the grave, We chose brilliance. No dead flowers, But bushes blooming wildly Celebrating what we were.

Mindy Phillips Lawrence © Copyright, 1999; All Rights Reserved

Huddled in the solitude of morning, We voice our prayers inside our little cells. The day begins. All the fiery chariots come, Chasing towards us with wheels of destruction. In that moment, Bladed spokes approaching, We cry, "Abba, Father."

Mindy Phillips Lawrence © Copyright, 1999; All Rights Reserved

While I slept in my bed, A soldier somewhere kept his vigil. While I laughed and played, A soldier somewhere fought for my freedom. I have the right to curse him, Reject him, forget him. Because he didn't forget me.

Mindy Phillips Lawrence © Copyright, 1999; All Rights Reserved

"AH!" She said.

"I had a thought that grabbed me in the night. It holds me even now that sun has come." She bent down gently picking up the book, Its secrets in her mind, under her thumb.

"I must devour these words," She said out loud, While laundry waited and the children cried. She said, "I am addicted to these books, Like bound up paper poppies deep inside."

As evening came and radiant sun did set, Still in her chair, she filled her eager mind. The words poured in until the light was gone And no release of purpose could she find.

"There's nothing left of me," so she proclaimed. So she reads on inside her quiet nook. "I've traded my reality for words. My life had turned into an open book."

Mindy Phillips Lawrence © Copyright, 1999; All Rights Reserved

Here I am, standing alone With my head filled with so many things. I lost it, found it, lost it all again But still I go on, I go on. There is no stopping Unless I hitch myself to that final train And buy my own ticket out. I have seen that, and felt that And no doubt, I will keep going on, going on.

Never thought I�d be alone Facing the gray time. Thought I would have someone To share my rocking chair. But, now, I see that I was wrong Time has flown, Gone somewhere I can�t define. Mostly just away. I see those leaves that flutter by And leave me with a deep and Empty sigh.

I remember words, Those words that spoke Of caring, holding, doing more. But they were false ones Leaving me to care alone. But now I see them all for what they were. A call to set me apart, Apart to do my own living. Without a silken touch. And I can do it. Whether or not I like it much.

I have come to the conclusion As my thoughts ramble on To keep my sensibilities, I have to leave it all behind Or find my mind is gone.

Mindy Phillips Lawrence © Copyright, 1999; All Rights Reserved

Glowing lights and Christmas trees, Santa's trying hard to please The little children with their dreams. All make this season bright, it seems.

Snow that covers passageways, Bells that ring and words that say, All the joy that Christmas brings, In the words the caroler sings.

The churches all in festive trim, Choirs singing praise to HIM Who, being born, should be the reason We celebrate this joyous season.

Hands uplifted in the dark, Seeing there the Savior's spark, Bringing light in darkest gloom, As HE comes into the room.

Mix of all these things beget, The miracles, a grand vignette. A holy and a happy time, The Christmas feeling, so sublime.

All the world was growing dim, Till GOD gave us Bethlehem With its star still burning bright, Lighting up the darkest night.

In HIS arms the children rest, GOD of all creation blessed, Sending us HIS son to earth, Now we praise HIS holy birth..

Terry Lee Foley and Mindy Phillips Lawrence
Copyright, 1999; © All Rights Reserved

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