Music & Poetry Mash Up

"I Won't Let Go"

Rascal Flatts

It's like a storm

That cuts a path

It breaks your will

It feels like that

You think you're lost

But you're not lost on your own

you're not alone

I will stand by you

I will help you through

When you've done all you can do

If you can't cope

I will dry your eyes

I will fight your fight

I will hold you tight

And I won't let go

It hurts my heart

To see you cry

I know it's dark

This part of life

Oh it finds us all

And we're too small

To stop the rain

Oh but when it rains

I will stand by you

I will help you through

When you've done all you can do

And you can't cope

I will dry your eyes

I will fight your fight

I will hold you tight

And I won't let you fall

Don't be afraid to fall

I'm right here to catch you

I won't let you down

It won't get you down

you're gonna make it

Yeah I know you can make it

Cause I will stand by you

I will help you through

When you've done all you can do

And you can't cope

And I will dry your eyes

I will fight your fight

I will hold you tight

And I won't let go

Oh I'm gonna hold you

And I won't let go

Won't let you go

No I won't

Stormy Days

Madison McConkie

Stormy days

Nothing seems right.

Rain drops streaming down the window

Like trails of tears.

Feeling alone.

Needing someone to be there.

To dry your eyes,

Hold you up,

Keep you strong.

Time slows down.

Seconds drag out.

It will never end.

There is no light at the end of the tunnel.

But then a hand is there

Supporting through the darkness,

Sharing some of the load,

And somehow you’ve made it through.

Dixie, My Dog

Like a cat she sleeps on the back of the couch,

Watching the 7 year old warily out of the corner of her eye.

In a very doggie way she greets people coming through the door

 Balancing on her hind legs

Front paws on their knees

Trying desperately to lick their hand.

When I take her on a walk,

She is sure to attract small children.

Little boys and girls pulling their mothers behind them for added courage

“Can I pet your dog?” they ask shyly.

Dixie wiggles happily as they pull her ears

Or step on her foot,

Or scratch her nose.

They go stumbling away surprised when they get

A wet lick on their chocolate covered faces.

Like most dogs she loves a good game of fetch,

But no matter what we try she will not play outside.

There are too many distractions; she couldn’t care less about a squeaky toy,

But inside it is a very different ball game.

Jumping off beds, bursting through doorways,

Nails scraping for traction on the hardwood as she slides around a corner.

She doesn’t seem that smart as we watch her run off

Down the middle of the street chasing a man jogging by,

Cars slamming on brakes to avoid

Our dumb little dog.

But somewhere inside that blond senseless head,

She knows. Oh, she knows.

She knows that my dad will come through the back door at six,

That Lizzy will lie limply and love being licked when she first wakes up,

That when I walk in I’m good for a thorough rub up and down her ribs.

She knows better than to lick my mom

So she settles for sniffing her pant legs vigorously.

She knows what it means when my dad looks for the brush

So she scrambles head first to lodge herself deep under the couch.  

Dixie-dog has her quirks,

But she’s still my best friend.

Spring Break

Red rocks
Blue skys
Family fun
College plans
ST. GEORGE!

Harsh Voice

Someday will never be tomorrow.
Your promises are an empty cloud
Destined to leave before bearing any rain,
Deceptive hope disappearing cruelly on the horizon.

Hope is like a spark of life-saving fire,
Flickering in the the charcoal of truth.
Better to die in the darkness of ignorance,
Than to watch every glint of change surely die out.

Oooh how to forget? Oooh how to move on?
Oooh time to learn, oooh time to let go

Experience has a harsh voice
And with it comes pain.
Experience has a harsh voice
But with it comes joy.

O.H.C.

I absentmindedly watched a man playing on the beach with some of the small native children as I received my assignment. “You will be supervised by Adam Miller”, the instructor concluded “he has a PhD in sociology from Arizona State University and he is the founder of Operation: Human Compassion. You are very lucky to be working with him. Here, I’ll have him come over and meet you.” I was still watching the man on the beach, and smiled as I watched him throw a joyously screaming little girl into the waves. “Oy! Adam!” the instructor shouted. I was surprised when I saw the man on the beach look up and start running over. This was Adam Miller? The guy looked like a hobo! As he reached us he ran his hand through long, tangled, reddish-brown hair, then rubbed sand out of his thick unkempt beard before smiling and reaching out to shake my hand.
“Hey! Welcome to paradise! I’m Adam!” he boomed out as he nearly crushed my hand in an iron grip. I noticed him wink at Derek my instructor, when he said the paradise part. “Um..Hi I’m Katie” I stammered in response. Despite the fact that I was slightly overwhelmed by this incredibly friendly stranger, I couldn’t resist returning his broad smile.
When I had signed up for this project I had been looking for something that would look good on my application to graduate school. I was planning on working with a team in an air-conditioned office, crunching numbers and looking for solutions to some of the economic troubles on the island. I had heard about Adam Miller. He was known back in the states as a philanthropic genius, although the details of his projects and his personal life were admittedly something of a mystery. When I arrived at O.H.C. headquarters in Auckland, New Zealand I was shocked to learn that instead of being added to a team in an area where O.H.C. was well established, I was going to be shipped off to a unpronounceable pacific island where Mr. Miller was trying to start a new branch.

Unspeakable Fate

Things were starting to get strange. There were moments when Sean didn't know what was real. Moments when the fear nearly paralyzed him. Is this what his father went through? He thought back to his childhood. His mother raising him and his sister almost as a single parent because his father was always "sick". He had some fond memories of playing in the yard with his father, but for months at a time his father would be hospitalized, and any memories of visiting were of a heavily medicated shell of a man.
Is this how it had started for him? With confusion about reality, persistent destructive voices, and seeing horrible delusions like waking nightmares? Sean had grown up knowing that there was a 70% chance that he would inherit schizophrenia from his father. He had grown up with the dread hanging over him but with each birthday closer to 30 his hope of beating the odds increased. He knew that the disease usually presented itself in the late teens or twenties. He was 34 and had dared to hope. Could this really be happening now? The sweet taste of hope turned bitter in his mouth as it mixed with the unspeakable dispair.
It had been almost three months since he started to notice the symptoms. Three months of suspicion turning to fear then to denial and back to fear.

Love

Love is simple right? An emotion you feel toward "the one". The perfect person for you. Nope! Think again! Love is complicated! Love is being hurt and frustrated and disappointed! Love is confusion and disillusion and pain! Love is forgiving that 101st time when you swore that 100 times were as many as anyone could possibly deserve! Love is trusting that it is ok to be misunderstood sometimes. Loving someone is knowing that their well-being is now more important to you than your own and being alright with that.

Music

There is something about sounds, individual notes in just the right combination, that touches the soul. Flowing notes evoke flowing tears as your heart is transported to a magical place. It is a place of rest and healing, a place of clarity and wholeness. Notes running together bring images of rushing water, or wind over a golden field. Pounding chords stir emotions of patriotism or the awe of witnessing a thundering storm. This is the wonder of music.

Penguins

Black, white abnormalities among their own kind. Clumsy odd, good daddies. Swimmers not fliers, survivors not "snowbirds". Why do we love penguins so much? They live in the harshest conditions on the planet and thrive. They turn their unforgiving world into a playground that every child envies. They speak to the lovable odd-ball, survivors in us all.

Run

Francisco moaned softly as he slowly opened his eyes. For a long instant he was aware of nothing except pain in his eyebrow and a bright, flickering yellow light. He closed his eyes trying to fight through the confusion. Slowly flashes of memory and understanding come back. Fire. Explosion. Glasses being broken against his face. Barcelona. Raul taking him to meet some friends. Fighting confusion. And then a thought that overpowered anything else. Run.

What she has missed

My grandma passed away December 30th 2010. Here are some of the things she would have been sad to miss. Deron Williams getting traded from the jazz, Jimmer Mania culminating in getting the Wooden Award, my signing my letter of intent to play at Dixie State College, Whitney Houston's death, Lizzy losing her two front teeth, Osama Bin Laden's death, Abby getting her driver's license, Jimmer going to the Sacramento Kings, Bry starting Junior High, UConn winning the National Championship, me getting my first job, a silent film winning the Oscars, John Harding getting called as a mission president, Adele sweeping the Grammys.

Critical Moments

She walked alone down the mostly deserted hallway. It was the middle of class 2nd period, but she simply stood up and left the room. She needed to move, she needed space to breathe. In the classroom she had felt both unnoticed and scrutinized. These people judging and condemning her, while at the same time not even acknowledging her existence. As she walked she could feel the tension of the stress in her neck and shoulders. She almost gasped for air under the pressure on her chest. Over the last three days since she had found out about The Secret the anxiety had built until now she felt she would explode. Or maybe a quiet implosion with no one noticing at all.
Just at this moment of critical pressure she looked up to see someone walk around the corner. It was a friend, but not just any friend, the only person she had shared The Secret with. Looking at her friend she could see her expression change as she quickly assessed the situation. "No, please no. Don't let her reject me too." she prayed silently.
Her friend sped up as she approached, her expression intense but hard to read. Fighting the urge to flee the girl stood and waited, summoning any remnants of courage to meet her gaze. Deep inside the girl knew that this moment was a turning point. She was at the end of her rope, how her friend responded could be the last straw. She took a deep breath trying to still her shaking hands and bite back the threatening tears. She prepared for the final condemnation, but it never came. Instead her friend reached out with open arms and heart. As they embraced the power of love and acceptance gave the needed strength. Holding tightly as if supportive arms could hold together a fracturing soul. Compassion flowing from one heart into the other. Sharing peace that only true friendship can offer.

Indescribable

Escape.
Emotion flooding
Threatening life.
Words.
How do you find them?
Words to describe the indescribable.
Fear, hope
Death, life
Loss, love.
The words seem inadequate.
This raging torrent inside my soul
Needs colors.
Flaming crimson against an azure sky.

Observer

To the casual observer you may simply see the beautiful alley in Paris. You along with tourists and locals alike are captivated by the brightly colored balloons rising above the city. As you look closer you may see a bearded old man sitting on the curb, but he is hardly worth noticing so your attention moves on quickly.
If you had looked closer you may have noticed a bit of tape exposed by a slightly crooked mustache. You may have realized that the weary lines creasing his face are in fact drawn on. You may have noticed the slight bulge under his coat suggesting a concealed weapon.
You may feel foolish for not recognizing these things now that I have pointed them out, but no more so than the ignorant guards standing watch outside the hotel room of the most powerful man in Europe.