I’m migrating an old blog at opensalon.com to this one, and wanted to gather some past thoughts in one place.  This is a poem I wrote, called Dragonfly.  I was thinking about how I couldn’t decide whether dragonflies are ugly, or beautiful.  And maybe they’re both.

And I was thinking about other stuff too, the tensions and dualities I felt.  Somehow, as I was putting these thoughts into the words of a poem I felt I grasped the grace of God in a new way – His grace and love in the midst of my confusion and imperfection.

Dragonfly in Parco d'Orleans, Palermo, Italy


I want to show my rebel streak and kick your sorry ass
{I want to find a distant creek and stretch out on the grass}

I want to grab the throat of time with fingers of desire
{I want to have a girl that’s mine and stretch out by the fire}

I want a life that’s dangerous, that shocks you every day
{I want to catch an evening bus to fields of golden hay}

The sunlight’s barely reaching me, the clouds obscure the sky.
The dragonflies that whir above were never taught to fly.
Such ugly things, they’re born in mud and don’t know where they’ll die.
No,  pretty things, they left the mud and taught themselves to fly.

A trace of hope still in my blood,
A gentle voice rings true,
‘You’re ugly and I love you.
So ugly, how I love you’