i drink of all the wrong things.
i’m choosing this Lenten season to put myself in a place where i can hear god.
a book of common prayer.  a bible. a church.

dear god, have mercy on me.

To those who read and/or have read the words here on this blog, I want to thank you.  This had been a place of healing for me in so many ways.  But mainly because it has been a place to share the story of my life when I felt alone.  The last two years have been quite difficult for me, but having an outlet has kept me from going over the edge into the places of despair and anguish i feared.

God has loved me patiently and sometimes silently, but ultimately, he’s taught me to love myself through the events of the last few years.  And part of learning to love myself has been taking risks.   So this morning, I decided I’m taking another risk, and I want your help.

Over the last two years, I have composed approximately 170 poems.  Many of those have shown up here on this blog.  And a few individuals have encouraged me to pursue publishing these poems.  So, I’m going for it.  But the thought of culling through 170 poems makes my head spin.  Here’s where you come in.

Would you be willing to send me an email (michael (at) michaelmanes (dot) com), or post a comment and give me a list, long or short, of your favorite poems?  If you explain why you liked a certain poem, I’d like to hear that too.  You can even remain annonymous if you like.  You can click on the Poetry category on the right and skim through all my posted poems if you need help remembering.

Again, regardless if you respond, I want you to know that I am grateful for your willingness to share in my life.  Whatever your motivations.  It is very humbling.

Whoever you are, thank you.

Yesterday was my father’s birthday.
Last Saturday was mine.
We haven’t spoken in 8 months.

Just when I think
I am doing well
the car drifts
ever so slightly
into all that ice that
has collected without
my awareness.
and where the hell did
it come from anyways?
regardless, it’s here
and I’m here
and the car is drifting
towards the wall of this overpass
again
and I think for just a brief
moment in time
that calling you
would be an appropriate
response
but you cannot fly
(though I wish you would)
so I pray
that the wall will hold this time
that my tired old tires will tread this time
that my shaking hands will steer this time
and that I will not
go over the edge

new bright blue
eyes,
will i be able
to hold you?
will i know how
to make a guitar
hold a tune?
your hair. your kicks.
to tuck you in…
to kiss your lips.
to rub your skin.
to use a pen

and will you love yourself? in the end.
i pray, you will know
how to shake
he hand of a diplomat

calm my heart
to you i pray
i must i must
this day
calm my heart

I began going to counseling last month.  This is a good thing.  More and more, pain from my childhood surfaces, and I’m wondering who I am, or rather, who I thought I was for all those years.

Ate dinner at a friend’s house with some co-workers this past Friday, and we ate the hell out of some Kind Ranch Casserole.  After dinner we had a lesson (the 1st of 5) in painting composition.

This week we brainstormed on ideas using a self portrait, then wrote several words down, and finally began sketching with pencil, the initial concept. Below is the self portrait I brought (1st grade: not sure why I chose this), then the words that were evoked when looking, really looking, at the portrait.  Then finally the pencil sketch (btw – first time using a wooden pencil in years. the sound of it on paper was beautiful):

abandoment, family, trees, pain, love, fear, anger, confussion, childhood, acceptance, laughter, ghosts, performance, death, loss.

“Have you ever been in the middle of a journey and just keep looking to the end when you will be done?”  As I heard these words, I leaned back in my chair and began to stare at my lap.  My gut swelled, I felt tears welling up.  Before I could bring myself under control, I started to weep.  At a table full of middle-aged women whom I’d never met before, with my napkin in my face, my shoulders shook.  Had my elbows been on the table, I would have spilled the water.

Oh God, please hear me.  I am tired of this journey.  Amen.