The SLOG of Joy

Grumble. Growl. Grunt.

.   Swear. Sweat. Stomp.

. Punch. Pound. Pant.

.  Breathe. Binge. Boss.

.  Shout. Scream, Smear.

.  Fall in a heap, exhausted. Then get up, clean up, and do it all over again.

.  There is joy in this. This “living” we do. No matter how sweaty, or dirty, or ugly, this “living” is a beautiful thing.

.   There is no ‘give up’ here, no ‘quit’ , no ‘over it, no ‘packing it in’.

This is where every. breath. matters.

.    DO YOU HEAR ME?

EVERY BREATH MATTERS.

Right now, in my little trailer in the middle of down, down, way down and out USA, I am deciding to care. I am deciding that my sufferings will amount to something, that all this silence and fear and worry  in my heart will be done away with, that with this breath of life my Creator blessed me with will be used to help someone else live, too.

.  I know I’m a rag-tag mess. I can’t think straight most of the time, and there are days I can’t leave my house. I am oppressed by an illness that tells me I don’t have it, and that feeling like I’m sick is a sin. I’m not exhausted, it tells me, I’m lazy. I’m not in excruciating pain, I’m a dope seeker. I was not abused, assaulted and raped, I was promiscuous.

.  I am here, I am now, and with my God’s help, I will reach out to someone else. And with my God’s help, I will not believe the lies. Instead I believe the Bible, God’s own letter to me, and to all his children. I want to live.

A Psalm of My Own

Written after Fighting With Myself All NightWIN_20200720_06_43_02_Pro_LI (3)

.           Jehovah knows my suffering, hears my pleas each day

.          He knows the pain this madness brings, knows I’m made of clay

.          I thought I’d be forsaken, and all my hope was lost

.          I struggled to awaken, eternal darkness was the cost

.          But my God cares for me, He hears my cries and screams

.          He pulls me out of raging seas, makes pleasant peaceful dreams

.          How can I show my thankfulness, show Him my endless love?

.          I’ll walk with Him in faithfulness, Praise God in Heights above!

.          I will love my God whole-souled, pray, meditate and preach

.          No matter how lame, tired, sick or old, new sheep I will love and teach!

Picture 021
Big Sky.(not my photo)

Full Heart

Will humans today heed the warning? In these times of pain and mourning ?

Strange Days, and Stranger still;

.   Not understanding, but they will

.   They took no note, then came the Flood

.  They should have listened to their God

.  There was warning (plenty of)

.  They were busy faking love,

.  Buying, selling, busy still

.  Too wrapped up to do God’s Will.

.   Will humans today heed the warning,

.   In these times of pain and mourning?

.  Will they care when they see the dead,

.  Or by Satan will they be bled?

.  Wishing, crying reaching out

.  To the God they chose to doubt.

.  His Son will hear righteous decree,

.  The wicked screaming, ‘Woe is me!”

.  Jesus on his reaping ride,

.  the pure White Horse he sits astride,

.  neighs and snorts as good sword falls-

.  More horse and riders hear the call:

.  Here comes Red Horse, red as blood

.  The war machine now chews it’s cud!

.  Rider holding scales on Black,

.  People plead for food they lack.

.  As starvation sweeps the land

.  Death, on Pale Horse, heeds command

.  “Kill with pestilence and plague

. ” Because behind you comes the Grave!”

.   Death is swift-none will be saved

.  Whose works are vile and depraved.

.  They will run, try to hide,

.  But naught stem the global tide,

.   Except for those who have God’s name

.  And to their neighbors His Will proclaim!

.   Who turn away from hate and rage,

.   Believe Christ Ransom-turn the page.

.  They delve deep into Jah’s word,

.  Learn what apostles saw and heard,

.  They shout a public declaration

.  And proclaim their dedication!

.  They trust all their God has said,

.  With loyal love-with bowed head,

.  “Sovereign God of all creation,

.  We will be your holy nation.

.  We will obey our King, your Son!”

.  Now “The Real Life” has begun!

.                                 a poem of sorts and a song of praise and warning.

 

.

 

 

 

I Will Tell the Truth Now

I will make a huge effort to tell the truth. I always fluff things up, until I am not even sure what my truth is. My Dad was a SUPER Exaggerator , and an Embellisher of the highest order, and I hung on his every word. I could see others staring up at him, eyes widened with amazement, intaken breath ready to burst out at the first opportunity… Then the woosh of exhalations and nervous laughter, trying to hide their excitement , pretending to their girlfriends that they already knew what he was going to say. They would kind of nudge each other and tilt their head at Dad, like he was their trick pony. But he had them ALL wrapped around his little finger, they couldn’t wait for his next story to start. And neither could I.

I wanted to have people hanging on MY every word, I wanted to be the hero in MY stories, and I wanted my Dad to love me more than anyone else in my life. It just seemed that part of his over-the-top charism hinged on his elevated status in his own mind too. He never had time for me, for any of us kids, or even Mum. He revolved around his own Sun, and basked in His own glow.

We just floated past like tiny moons.

a rainy day…missing you.

When I finally realized how little truth he told, it was years later. I was a grown woman, and my life had taken a long, arduous detor into hard drugs, hatred and homelessness. I had tried to destroy myself in every way imaginable, and nearly succeeded in some instances. There was a gradual awakening to the fact that I could never run far or fast enough to leave my memories behind, nor could I continue to carry the loathing I felt for myself and keep living.

I loathed my Daddy too. It was all his fault , really. If he had just NOTICED me. Or spoken to me, besides “good morning” and a whack on the back as he passed by. Maybe then I would have turned out different. …No. It took all those years on the outside to teach me how to live. To learn that he was as broken as me. That everyone is broken, and that the act of living is an act of mercy. To allow ourselves to heal, honestly. Peel off the Ugly Sweaters of years of Selfishness and Isolation. Take off the Dirty Overcoats of Lonliness and Shame, Step out of the Heavy Combat Boots of Hatred and Self Harm, Skin off the Sweaty Tee Shirt that holds our Sadness in, and let our Hearts breathe.

Let my heart breathe again, let a little sunlight into my greyeyes greyskies. I’m telling you the truth, that I hated my own Daddy, that I LoVe him madly down to this day. I hated myself because I let myself down. I blamed myself for all the badness that found it’s way on top of me. I never told my Daddy that I was Hurt, that I had been raped, that I had been beaten like a dog. How could he know?

It was my burden to carry. You carry your own water…you carry your own water. I wish I could have told him back then. He was my hero. My broken hero. I didn’t know that Daddy’s could be broken too.

I wonder sometimes what will become of me, who can I be a hero to? I think God is telling me something, wait… Oh, yeah, He’s Right! You know what he reminded me? That He is my Father, He is my Hero, and He’s taking care of me right now, and I will be with my Daddy one day soon.

Long Time Gone, a poem…

The wind blows, my mind slips

back into some disturbing dream.

Was it me then, or is it me now?

I can’t believe where I have been.

I yearn for escape, memories come

reminding me what I have done.

 

I chose a new way, on a hopeful day,

changed my methods and my means…

But my old ways from the old days

chase me down and make me scream..

Please hear me, God, and help me heal-

I know and trust your love is real!

Please pick me up, please keep me safe…

no more violence , hate or rape!

 

Jah hears my prayer, He keeps me strong,

He is beside me all along.

I always know just where to turn,

to be near His throne, follow His Word.

There may be times when I will fear,

” The day of reckoning is here!”

Then my faith will come and I will stand,

and see salvation by His hand .    a poem by Susan T. Martin May 18 , 2018

 

The Wind Blows into The Gutter!

Stay tuned, big things to come! I am merging my 2 journal blogs into one, here under THE WIND, and yes, this is Susan T. from Out Of The Gutter Art! If you were enjoying my journey on my sister blog, you may enjoy some of my earlier posts, as this is my FIRST blog ever!

I am moving upward and onward in my artistic life, as in my spiritual life, so to keep my work apart where potential patrons and clients can view it without my personal life intervening, I am revamping “Out of the Gutter Art” . The Artist Portfolio is entitled Susan*T*Martin, The Artfull Mind.

I am glad to have you as a visitor to either site, and I hope I can impart a spot of sunlight into your life!

Thank You for Following!

(See you in the Funny Papers!)

Susan T. Martin

KODAK Digital Still Camera     #outofthegutterart

It Has Been a Long ,Long, Lonely, Lonely,Lonely…..Time!

I didn’t even know if my Blog, The Wind, was still here, clinging to life! I am so glad that it is, even though I have been concentrating on my visually creative outlets, rather than the written word. I need this blog. I really need this blog to help me set my troubled mind free again.

Sure, my physical Art, is taking me in Wild and Wonderful new directions, helping me gain confidence with every stoke of the brush of bit of glue. But the musings, the prose , the beauty of the written word, the NEED to express… this is also a nessessity for me.

On another, totally unrelated note: I just purchased 2 new pairs of glasses and they are giving be a blinding headache, the ear piecs are so tight! It feels like somone is turning the handle on a huge vise attached right behind my ears! AAaaargh!

So, coming back to my Windy Blog, I will be coming back to write again, to share again, to tell you tall tales of wit and ingenuity! And insanity! Joy and Life!! and really uncomfortable new glasses!

Check me out now and then, and visit my “sister” blog “Out of The Gutter Art” here on WordPress!

Sincerely, Me!

How Do I Do? a poem of sorts

I am totally mixed up- headed for a crash

all I have created- right into the trash.

where will I be when the smoke clears?

who will I be when the time nears?

I hear voices all the time now’

can no longer recall which one is mine,

I mean to call or drop a line now,

but I’m tied up all the time.

tied up, mixed up, mixed nuts, fixed up

tied down, home bound, not found

under ground.

is this what happens when the party ends?

the high, high rises,

the good, good friends?

see all the bottles, empty and broken

just like myself, the one i put hope in…

shall i sneak away, slink around?

put all the colors away for a year-

maybe two…

or should I Shout-Carry Out!

Do All I know I can do!!

yes ma’am-that’s me!

the New-How-Do-You-Do-Sue!!

Been Away, a poem by Susan T. Martin

   all the fear, for all those years

spent broken, spent frightened

spent.

awake now, knowing how

feel inside, heal outside

heal.

would you know? how could you know

never told you, afraid to hold you

afraid.

perfect plans laid, got the debt paid

freedom? slavery?

freedom.

traveled long way, got back today

missed home, missed you

you.

welcome my friend-did the pain end?

cutting outside, dying inside

dying.

spent.

heal.

afraid.

freedom.

you.

freedom.

you.

a poem by Susan T. Martin, 7/1/15

Moving Images by S.T. Martin2012


 moving images

out of the swirling mists of time

images flit like scenes on a movie screen.

her dark hair in short cut, smooth and sleek,

lying coyly against perfect curve of cheek.

next image of child with chopped-off bangs

standing forlornly in kitchen doorway,

little striped cotton pants fall low,

eyes peer cautiously into lamplight’s glow.

through fog i see her glance at me:

mother’s gaze, so full of certainty.

daughter will survive harsh world,

grow into a brave, steady girl.

how wrong she was, this mother mine

lost now to cruel winds of time

for tumult wrecked the childhood lost

onto rocky shore fair dream was tossed.

i awaken to alarm clock’s clang

begin another drudgey day to slog,

put memory away till later time

when night’s embrace again lets film unwind.

by S.T. Martin   c. 2012