Guest Post-Jasmin Banachowski

I Run
July 26, 2010

I run
I am a runner, in more forms than one.

I run for fun, to race, to win, for challenge,
Up high hills, down country roads, in moist heat, through chilled rain,
To build strength, both body and mind...
So, in the long run, I will have
Structure, work ethic, determination, and self worth.

I run for elections and leadership positions,
To be involved,
And to keep things running smoothly.

Sometimes, I feel like I'm always on the run,
And there's always something or someone running through my mind.

This can cause me to run into things,
Whether it be a low branch
Or
A frustrated mother telling me to "put my clothes away..."
At times, I run out of fuel, because I overwork, and because
I forget to look at my fuel gauge.

I tend to run from reality and problems, because
I hate being wrong...
...facing the truth when I'm in a fantasy.

I run from my
Anger and frustrations, and
Pretend they are not there, only to find that
I lost my loved ones, my support for my race, on the way.

I become lonely, and decide it's time to
catch
up
with
them,
So,
We can run this race together,
Making our journeys
Safer, smarter, more enjoyable.

No matter what I run for, to, on, through, into, out of, or from...
...I always run to my God

This run is not what you would call an "easy run", but a constant, hilly battle.

-Sometimes, I i feel like this race is never-ending. I get run down, and my pace may slow.

-Sometimes, I take a wrong turn, or run after the wrong thing.

-Many times, I stumble and fall, get scrapes and "broken bones".

But instead of giving up, turning around, or going down the easier path,
I work toward the
Straight path...
...Right to my Father.

Though it's tough,
I feel strong.

I can run over obstacles and
Get up when I fall.

I will run, and run,
Until my race is done.

Why?
Because, it's a race I will
Never
Lose,

And, because I wouldn't want anyone else to run my life.

-Jasmin Elyse Clarey Banachowski
July 2010
Edited by Call the Sound

And perhaps reach out for Him

I asked my eyes if they'd take time
To rest on the sky today.
They complied, focusing on clouds
Almost too high to rain.

White, unblemished fingers,
Reached out from crumpled bodies
Gripped the sapphire ceiling.

Swaying ever-very-slightly,
Inviting shadows of platinum,
Ivory,
Light gray.

I thought to myself, "we're not so different..."
...Refuse release in our own way...

We grip the skies we paint ourselves,
As if Heaven means "more! tightly".

My own livid greens and angry reds
Exist unhinged,
Not lively.

These blues,
Light hues...
...This moment wherein I, again, choose...

Thanks be to He!
Another May-summer muse
Has cleaned my pride
In spite of me.

Acts 17:24-27

h@/^/D$

Help me not judge based on pretty, prettier
Taunt me with love rimming a lake of forgiveness
Dip me in Your honor, help me understand
I want to hold Your hand
I want to stand
Woman, Man
Hand in hand
“It’s not the hand that cuts, it’s the hatred deep inside”
All forever changed, silver steps for sand

Who art in heaven
Who hath made art
You gave me a brand new start
Help me not judge based on hungry, hungrier
Nudge me with grace brimming over another cracked cup
Drag me in Your peace
Please
Mercifully redeem
Interlace these raised, bruised hands

In Awe

I can feel plunged at the darkest of demons
Lose my gifted breath to tumultuous waves

I can stop going because I need water
Burn with martyrs
Drown a lonely drowning death

None can fathom, oh the glory
So I’ll praise, So I’ll praise

ben laden laid to rest?

I have the urge to celebrate
The passing of a fool
Who toppled towers
With his hate
Met ignorant in schools

Hours before
Amidst congregation
Singing with, as one
"Draw me gently to my knees and I am..."
Sweetly broken?
American token?
...As if this war is done...

My country is alive with wealth
Abounds in battle cries
Yet will the death
Of this louse
Unpurely prophesize?

Another April Sunday

I freed my vases for wilting dogwood
Stooping at the absence
Of smiling sunlit shelter

Replaced my shoes with ten toes and skin
Felt the grass talk underneath again

“So many things for granted!”
Too old to care that it was out loud
Too young for wind-song whistling, hours on end

Intimate means tickled by bee wings
Fragrant budding green things
Seeing the earth all dressed up
Scissors trimming wooden branches, as gentle as murder can be

I freed my eyes from waning darkness
Stared at Her Highness, the pastel queen
Replaced the cold with fulfilled promise
Nodded with the murmur
Of resurgent encouragement

Scars

We think we’re so smart and wise

We use the lines that real artists pen, those whose tongues have truly struggled on, singing without water, to somehow justify the twirling of our feet to ground

Our tongues have barely met the salty nub of life, rough with crystal, slicing sweet flesh raw

We don’t know about life outside of institution

Of a world without observation

Of a day without evaluation

We’ve yet to hold against our chest a real piece of life still warm from the oven

We are still spoon fed sponges

Connected by a single thread of truth so vivid in color

So strong in fiber

That it doesn’t matter how false our own artistry is

How unoriginal the burn scars

We’ve all got scars

And we’re all standing at the feet

Of the same certain scars

That save despite ourselves

We think we’re so smart and wise