INCONCEIVABLY BLONDE....

Temporarily "Untitled"

2012-02-17T11:23:00.000-05:00

Happy Friday--T.G.I.F!

I wrote this trying to capture the sensation of slowing everything down, trying to fall asleep, and the noises, sensations, distractions that eventually blend away......

Originally titled this one "Bedtime" but not too sure--would welcome any suggestions on a title for this poem, feel free to email me or post a comment, Thanks for reading! :) Eliza

In bed.
Restless mind wandering
throughout day passed.
Body first tenses,
sensing, tingling, rebelling
at the cool, crisp passive
of sheets that ease me
into familiar warmth
of bed.

Shreds of conversations
mix with feeling,
colors racing past

closed, fluttering eyelids
in fast forward dim
the sudden swishes splashes
of passing cars and
scratching branches.

Rainfall statics
on outside awnings as
I dig deeper undercover
for peace. And quiet.
My mind slowly softens
noise and image,
giving into floating
and dancing
in the darkening
shadows of room.

Written by Eliza Jane Farley Gomez
2/17/12

In My Hands

2012-02-15T12:52:00.001-05:00

I stand here,
holding
the rest of my life
in my hands,
seeing the glistening
of the bands,
and I smile--
knowing
our promises can be
forever.

And
forever’s
just
beginning
with
the slice of the cake
and the tinkling glass.

Whatever we make of
the rest of our lives
is what matters.
We can last through
the end of our song
on the floor.
Kissing, breathless,
eager for more of
tomorrow
right now.

I stand here,
making
the rest of my life
in my hands,
dragging your lips
down to mine
so I can drown
in the beat
of your heart,
and I smile--
knowing
our love can be
forever.

And
forever’s
just beginning
with
the walk
down the aisle
and the licking of fingers.

Whatever we make of
the rest of our lives
is what matters.
We can last through
the end of the
vacuuming the floor.
Clinging hotly,

Ready for more of

tomorrow
right now.

I stand here,
loving
the rest of my life
in my hands,
feeling the
locking of heat

Inside mine.
So I can burn
in the flow
of your gaze
and taste
the strength
of your arms,
and I smile--
knowing
our lives can be
forever.

And
forever’s
just

beginning,
with
the crush
of flower petals
and the
clamoring cans.

Whatever we make of
the rest of our lives
is what matters.
We can last through
the gathering of gifts
off the floor.
Lying blissful,
hungry for more

Of tomorrow
right now.

Tomorrow’s in our hands.

Written by Eliza Jane Farley Gomez
originally in 1997, reworded/revised 2/15/12.

Anniversary

2012-02-09T11:17:00.000-05:00

41 years ago today
my parents met in a
bustling New York City courtroom.
Slender bride, stylish groom.
Incredibly beautiful. Tall.
Striking beyond measure.

Artfully framed collaged pictures
show a room full of smiling faces,
toasting glasses, cutting cake.
Takes me back
to that day there with them.
There.
In the moment.
Heaven.

10 months ago
Mom lost her battle with the big C.
This anniversary tugged at me,
What to do, what to do,
what do to now....

When I asked
what he'd like to do this day,
Dad sadly huffed, stared,
ran his hand through his
chemo-thinning hair,
then he said,
"It doesn't mean anything now,
so it won't be celebrated anymore,
now that she's gone...."

Well....

I.
Don't.
Think.
So.

Now more than ever
is reason to celebrate--
he's still here,
with us,
pulse, breathing, and all--
defying the odds and predictions,
sharing his life-learned lessons
in laughter, in tears, and
sometimes in pain
gaining wisdom collectively together,
as we've huddled closer,
hugging tighter,
loving harder
and stronger than before.

There's so much more to this day
than to say, "It takes two"
to make it happen.
It's happened.
Oh, it happened alright,
BOY, did it happen!
In such a BIG, BEAUTIFUL way.

Well, we're still here today.
And oh, so, much more
is to come for us all,
so we gather
together
at dinner tonight
and we toast
and cut cake
and hold hands
and remember
with laughter, with tears,
but no pain,
sharing memories
meant to share
and be shared
together forever
for days to come.

Raise your glass.
Lift your heart.
Share good times.
Live your life.
Cheers!

Happy 41st Anniversary, Mom and Dad!
Families are FOREVER....
Written by Eliza Jane Farley Gomez
Thursday, February 9, 2012

Night Fall

2012-02-08T14:48:00.001-05:00

Feel me through my fingers--
let your touch
light the way
by the glow of the candle
in my room.
Trace lazy musings
along my quivering jaw
with nothing but night
to give way
to the gasps
in my head--
nothing but night
to echo the silence instead.

See me through my eyes--
let your stare
pave the way
for the scrunching of sheets
in my room.
Burning quiet embers
along my parted thoughts
with nothing but night
to give way
to the burstings inside--
nothing but night
to blanket what I cannot hide.

Own me through my lips--
let your breath
fill the way
in the lick of the fan
in my room.
Suck unspoken dreams
along hot swell of my heart
with nothing but night
to give way
to the contented smiles--
nothing but night
to fear for awhile….

Written by Eliza Jane Farley Gomez
Originally 7/21/97, rev. 2/8/12

In the Dark

2012-02-08T13:22:00.001-05:00

(OK, folks, this is another realllllllllly oldie that I dusted off and reworked--you can tell I'm dating myself by "rewinding the tape" which of course VCRs are obsolete now, LOL!)

Movie’s over.
I had a great time.
Be sure to rewind the tape
and pick up
what you leave behind.

Don’t flip the switch on just yet—
yawn and stretch in the hazy static
for awhile.

No need to move--
I’m perfectly wonderful
sharing my quiet with you
as I trace lazy circles
in worn spots on the carpet.

Movie’s over.
I had a great time.
Be sure to rewind the tape
and pick up
what you leave behind.

Don’t put your shoes on just yet,
but close your eyes,
feel the soothing, steady rattle
of the A/C echo
through the air
in the room.

No need to rush--
I’m perfectly content
sharing my dark with you
as I prop my head up
with your pillow.

Movie’s over.
I had a great time.
Be sure to rewind the tape
and pick up
what you leave behind.

Don’t worry about
moving the chairs back just yet--
just leave them alone.
I’ll take care of everything
tomorrow.

Make sure you slam the door shut
when you leave….

Movie's over.
I had a great time.
Be sure to return the tape
And remember
what you leave behind.

Written around 1994-ish
by Eliza Jane Farley Gomez

Glow

2012-02-01T10:08:00.001-05:00

Your words
glow thru the static,
boring into my skin,
brand hot raws of pure light
into my eyes,
making me see
how to see you thru darkness,
find my way to your glow
in the night once again--
keeps me warm in the night,
radiates rebirthed pulse of living.
I turn. and.
roll into. the tide that
thunders upon shore--
to be sure of
my total submission.

Your thoughts
glow thru the silence
between sighs-in-the-
sheets in my bed,
fanning embers of pure heat
into my head,
making me feel
how to feel you thru mistings,
find my way to your glow
in the night once again--
makes me smile in the day
softly flickers of laughing.
I turn. and.
run into. the waves that
tower above shore--
to be sure of
my complete devotion.

Your touch
glows thru black velvet
in bedroom,
inciting wet riot
into my mind,
making me know
how to know you thru nightfall,
find my way to your glow
in the night once again--
grips me to stay in my dreams
soaked shudders of loving.
I turn. and.
dive into. the water that
covers the shore--
to be sure of
my unbridled passion.

Your heart
glows thru the glass
of my window,
pouring moonlight
into my soul,
searing smoldering whips
of pure spirit,
making me love
how to love you forever,
find my way to your glow
in the night once again--
hopes me to wait,
coming what's mayed
strokes promises of having.
I turn. and.
stand. in the current that
carves into shore--
to be sure of
my only possession.

Written by Eliza Jane Farley Gomez
To Ben, With Love
11/26/99, rev. 2/1/12

Southbound

2012-01-31T14:30:00.000-05:00

Rapping nails to the beat
on the weathered wheel,
a woman sips her soda
bubbled inside the cool
glass air of her Honda.

Mirrors flashing from
hood-to-windshield
as cars cut across
the steady swish
of monoxide-laced wind.

Protruding from the spine
of the highway, street lights
enjoy the aerial view of
“traffic conditions, weather updates,
sports highlights, and much more
of your favorite music coming up….”

Egrets poke out worms and
discarded junk food,
weaving among propped palms
freshly staked into the ground--
just framing glittering billboards
and accenting those pretty peach walls.

Gulls and herons stepping around
shredded tire strips,
ignoring scraps of metal and
“big gulp” cups swirling and
whipping all around them,
the trees, the cars, the grass.

They’ve adapted to that--
they had to.
After all, it’s home, it’s here,
and it’s what’s left to do….

Written by Eliza Jane Farley Gomez
Originally 1995, rev. January 2012

You Never Know

2012-01-31T11:37:00.000-05:00

I know, I know, it's been WAY too long since my last blog or poem--I got a bit sidetracked. The end of August we took a roadtrip up to Indy to bury Mom, which was very difficult, beautiful, cathartic, and special for all of us, especially Dad. Upon our return, Dad felt sick; after going to the doctor, we had to admit him for tests, fearing it was something to do with his heart condition. Unfortunately, 3 weeks later, it turned out to be terminal small cell lung cancer that had spread to his lymph nodes and bone marrow. Cancer. Again. So, I was a bit tied up with that (still am, but it's not an excuse to keep writing), so my apologies....truly....

I'm BACK, and after going thru unpacking and rediscovering some VERY OLD stuff I wrote a bazillion years ago, here's one I used to like. Wrote this in 1996, so bear with me :)

You Never Know

You never know
what's behind the door
unless you open it--
feel the cool clicking in your hand.
Could be the one
that makes you blush,
stopping in the middle of the street,
for no other reason than
knowing what he really sees
when he stares into your eyes.
Could be the one
that makes you seethe,
stranding on the side of the road,
pushing your car to the station,
for no other reason than
knowing how he really cares
when he drives right on by.

You never know
what the candy tastes like
unless you open it--
feel the sweet soaking in your mouth.
Could be the one
that makes you sigh,
hearing "Our" song in the store,
for no other reason than
knowing what he really touches
when he holds you tight.
Could be the one
that makes you sob,
leaving you cold on the floor
before the end of the song,
for no other reason than
knowing how he really feels
when he walks right on by.

You never know
what a heart can feel
unless you open it--
feel the hot hammering in your chest.
Could be the one
that makes you love,
seeing old couples stroll along the beach
for no other reason than
knowing what he really says
when he whispers low in your ear.
Could be the one
that makes you numb,
lying still in the sheets,
clutching your tears in the pillow,
for no other reason than
knowing how he really is
when he rolls right on by.

You never know
unless you try....

How I Want to Feel

2011-07-20T09:11:00.001-04:00

That Barenaked Ladies song has been going thru my addled mind, "One Week," the catchy one that ALL of us scrambled to memorize its quirky lyrics to catch up with the fun little tune....You know the one, suuuuuurrre ya do. I've been reflecting that it's been just a little over a week since I began the battle to get my life, my health, and my sanity back.

I have been diligently keeping to entering in all the stuff I'm doing--water, food, exercise (or, in my case, somewhat-lack-thereof-but-improving-this-week), into the MyFitnessPal.com app, and I'm even trying to be good about posting at least a weekly entry on the blog portion. You can read it by clicking on the link here:

http://www.myfitnesspal.com/blog/HavaTwizzz/view/settling-in-126842

As I mention in that entry, I'm just settling in. For the long haul. I've really been doing a lot of thinking--scary, I know, because now my hair's growing out all crazy and I can almost start twirling it again!! Makes thinking for me that much more dangerous, because working with my hands and doing something physical always unleashes my inner Twizzz. Ommmmm.....

Well, so, I've been reflecting on how everything in life that's worthwhile, praiseworthy, and good (according to my faith, things we, as Latter-day Saints, seek after) is always a struggle. These things don't come easy, we always have to fight to achieve or obtain them.  Why? Well, I guess it's because we wouldn't appreciate or even know their value without struggling to pay the price to get them. The whole "For it must needs be opposition in all things" concept. Yeah. That.

Now things are clicking into place, and like Debbie Harry's song says, "I can see clearly now/all obstacles in my way." And I understand. I get it. Why struggling with my weight, balancing my inner Twizzz, and my life is such a struggle. Because it's WORTHWHILE. It's GOOD. It's PRAISEWORTHY (well, I don't know about that last part, but hey, sure). That's why it's so hard. :::flashback to my favorite spiritual/inspirational framed picture and quote of the Savior embracing someone in a heavenly setting with the quote, "I never said it would be easy. I only said it would be WORTH IT."::::

But, it's all up to me. My choice. How do I want to FEEL--physically, emotionally, spiritually--once I know THAT, once I make my CHOICE, the struggle is to stick with it.   And, boy, by "struggle" I DO MEAN STRUGGLE. Keep experimenting upon the word, if you will. Keep gaining that sure knowledge, testimony, and then POWER about that said word or principle, and eternally work day-by-day to apply and live it. Become it.

So, what's different about my decision to "I gotta get back/to the place where I come from" THIS time around? I now understand. I now see clearly how my choice and my struggle empower and strengthen me. Combined with the knowledge that "I can do all things through Christ which strengtheneth me" I am also taking this to the Lord to draw strength from HIM.

I can do this. I know this is a daily, sometimes hourly, struggle. It will be. Always. It's SUPPOSED to be, if it's worth it. And IT IS. I FEEL IT. So, there's no other option for me but to DO IT.    Like Yoda says, "Do or do not. There is NO TRY."

Yessss, Grasshoppahhhhh, I am conceding points of wisdom that I'm now ever-so-slowly starting to see and understand at my sagacious age of 38.

Taking Back Me--a New Beginning

2011-07-13T10:16:00.000-04:00

OK, it's been a rough 3 months since Mom passed, and I've been struggling with demons of time-robbing work, stress and frustration and grief, combined with a gradual weight re-gain that somewhat muffled my creative voice. In the past three months I've started (yet not ever finished) about 6 poems, cried buckets of tears, and haven't accomplished a single goal I've set for myself this year--so I'm TAKING BACK ME.

Big shout-out to my longtime pal Pammers for reaching out and clueing me into a free app called MyFitnessPal.com. I joined a few days ago, trying to refocus, redirect, and reclaim my ME again and get those physical, mental, and creative juices flowin again. YAY! So far, I've only lost 7 lbs, but they have a blog aspect in their application that I'm beginning to use. The weight gain is not the only matter here, it's the principle of regaining control and not giving into negativity. Three months is LONG ENOUGH.

I know some parts of me will always grieve, and I've accepted that. I'm just tryin' to move along, folks. One foot in front of the other. Getting unstuck and gettin' my Twizzz moving again.

There's such a huge connection between body and mind, and just the past 3 days I'm feeling just slightly more myself again, and a few lines and thoughts trickle in my head and I feel wont to write them down. YESSS :)

Big hug to Pammers, and I'm copying and pasting the link to my blog entry thing that I wrote today here from MyFitnessPal.com. My theory is that my muse will begin singing to me once again, so I can let it flow, grow, and take flight :) Mom wants that as much as I do. I owe it to myself, my wonderful hubby, my family, and especially to HER to make it happen.

http://www.myfitnesspal.com/blog/HavaTwizzz?month=201107

Let me know whatcha think. Oh, and, if you're on MyFitnessPal.com, feel free to add me as a friend. I'm "HavaTwizzz" and would LOVE to get and give support and encouragement :)
Thanks!

Surreal

2011-05-04T15:35:00.003-04:00

Thirty days...it's been thirty days....
Wow....

I can't believe it, really--
I can't even begin to process
how four weeks of missing her,
of mourning her, of going
through the motions,
making lists of things to do
(yet haven't even begun to get done)
day in, tears out,
fitting the pieces back together
somehow, some way,
but, wow.
A month?!

I can't quite wrap my head
around that. Nope. Sorry.
Not when the pictures seem
so much faker to me than the
memories seared into my brain
dug into my arms, scarring,
dragging me out of my tear-soaked
sleepless reverie,
kicking and screaming.

Tears come, naturally.
That they do.
Come, that is.
Again, and again, and again....
At home, work, in the car,
in the damned store, for Heaven's sake--
with the smells, the laughs,
the speed-dialing to
revel in the great shoes I found on sale,
they have two, do you--
oh, wait, what am I doing?

I can't seem to think straight these days,
let alone write, speak, work, act,or feel--
totally surreal, complete with wilted clocks.
Wilted me, rather
(or at least it seems that way).
Imitating the art I love most.

I stand,
"Hallucenogenic Toreador" that I am,
twirling my tissue for a cape,
tissue stained and twisted by the
persistence of memory--
of her, of us, of everything BEFORE--
head swollen into Big Apple
a-la-Magritte-style
as I tap my "this is not a pipe" life....
I'm not quite right, I'm afraid....

Seems strange to look at her pictures.
Pictures I've stuck all over the place--
on my wall, in my purse,
on my computer screen--
because that's not what I see,
not what I feel
when I close my eyes and
listen with my heart--
her voice in my head warms me better
than any clothes she bought me,
her eyes glow more beautifully
than any Tiffany lamp she ever gave me.
Even the one with dragonflies.

Lost and wandering without my daily dose,
morning conversations on the go,
though I talk to her all the time in my head--
it's just a bit harder to hear her now.
All part of "the human condition" that
paints its way down my face in
such a masterful mess.

Close my eyes, everything's fine.
In here. I can breathe, I can think,
I can hear, I can see, I can remember--
wrap my brain around a coherent thought.
I think....
I feel. I am.
Fine, just fine....

It's when they're open,
everything out there
looks and feels like slow-motion,
underwater,squiggly-wiggly,
prismatic, unfocused, not so clear.
Muddy.
Soaked face slick with dripping,
dragging down business-as-usual into
drifting and floating in these
in-between days, far from normal.
Strange.
Strange indeed.

Breathe in, breathe out, automatic.
I think. I am. Fine. Just fine.

Written by Eliza Jane Farley Gomez
Wednesday, May 4, 2011

Mom's Obituary

2011-04-14T18:24:00.000-04:00

National Book Publicist Edna Farley Loses Battle From Cancer

Edna Carol Farley, 74, of Fort Lauderdale, passed away Monday, April 4, 2011, at a Hospice in Fort Lauderdale following a brief battle against bladder cancer. One of the foremost book publicists in the nation, she and her husband teamed to create book tours for hundreds of authors for various publishing houses for over 30 years from their Fort Lauderdale home. Indeed, she was a pioneer in the now-accepted work-from-home mode of business while she and her husband parented their two children as they grew to adulthood.

Among the authors Mrs. Farley promoted during her long career were Nicholas Sparks, Brad Meltzer, Dr. Wayne W. Dyer, Nelson DeMille, Dominique Lapierre, Dr. Robert Ballard, Flora Rheta Schreiber, Richard Simmons, John Naisbitt, Jean Carper, Sen. Bill Nelson (D-FL), Dr. Earl Mindell, and Hollywood hair stylist Jose Eber to name but a few. She was known by journalists, radio and tv producers and anchors coast to coast, and often was called by them for interview and guest suggestions and tips.

Born Dec. 6, 1936, in Yonkers, NY, the daughter of Carl and Stella Rosky, and christened Edna Carol Pauline Rosky, she attended Yonkers public schools and was a graduate of Westchester Community College in White Plains. She began her newspaper career as a reporter for the former Ossining, NY, Citizen-Register , and then was Women’s Page Editor of the old Yonkers Herald-Statesman, before moving to New York City and a career in publicity and publishing. She joined the staff of the former Warner Bros. book division as a publicist in 1971 and later served as Director of Publicity for the old Warner Books Division before leaving to become a full-time mother in 1975. At the request of her former employer, she began accepting assignments working from home in 1976, and the arrangement continued unbroken until her retirement late in 2010, as Warner Books morphed into Time-Warner, AOL Time Warner, and more recently Grand Central Publishing division of Hachette Book Group USA. Most often described as “strongly independent, tenacious, true professional, and loyal,” Mrs. Farley applied these attributes equally in both her professional career and in her personal and family life.

Mrs. Farley is survived by her loving family including husband, Lowell Farley of Fort Lauderdale; son, Lowell Farley, Jr. of Houston, TX; daughter, Eliza Gomez and her husband, Benjamin, of Pompano Beach, FL; sister, Jean Rosky of Ft. Lauderdale, and a number of nieces, nephews and cousins.

A viewing will be held Friday, April 8, 2011, from 4 to 8 pm at the Baird-Case Jordan-Fannin Funeral Home, 4343 North Federal Highway, Ft. Lauderdale, FL 33308, followed by a memorial service at 11 am Saturday, April 9 at the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, 3201 Lyons Road, Coconut Creek, FL, 33063. Cremation and internment will follow in Greenwood, IN. Donations in Mrs. Farley’s behalf may be made to the American Cancer Society, to Gilda’s Club of South Florida, or to your favorite charity.

Wind Chimes and Wonder Woman

2011-04-05T01:11:00.004-04:00

When I was just a little girl
at the ripe old age of three,
and precocious as can be,
I'd spurned rag dolls and girlie things,
embraced all things curiosity.

I'd sit on the floor
at Mom's feet
while she was so busy working,
talking while typing--
click, click, click!

"Would you like to book
an interview for
So-and-So?
I can mail you a press kit today."
Tap tap tap, ding!
Return.
Return..

Well, I went to work myself,
(both then at her feet and now)
fishing out crumpled carbon paper wads
from her dented little trashcan
from the 1964-65 World's Fair,
smoothing and smearing them
all across the floor,
always looking to decipher
the mysterious type on the page.

Slyly, slowly transfering the
telltale traces off my hands
and onto the walls
while she wasn't looking,
while trying to figure out
with my eager little mind
how to go about
ever so innocently becoming half
as brilliant and amazing as she.

After all,
she'd talk all day long
to all sorts of fascinating folks,
taking furious notes
as she'd snatch up a pen
from the Wonder Woman jar
that was crammed to the brink
with multiple inkiness to prop up
the stacks of steno pads
packed with pure genius of Mom
day in, day out...

Entranced,
I only could sit and stare
watching her work for hours....
Holy COW!
Where did she get that jar?
Can I get one, too?
COOL!

It's not like she knew she's my hero...
Hmmm,
or did she?

That was a brand new show, and
I only told my bestest friend
at school just the other day that
I wanted to be HER when I grew up--
lasso, bullet bracelets, invisible plane....

How she knew,
I'll never quite know,
she always had a knack for
knowing without you ever knowing.
She's like that, you know.
But, then again,
the smart ones always are.

Decades later,
those times,
long gone the way of the
crumpled carbon papers
spilling type-set secrets,
come to a close,
as I sat and stared,
only this morning--

Transfixed once more,
still watching you for hours
this early April 4,
utterly terrified but
unable to steal away
as you drew that last breath
and let all the sick go.
Quiet.
Serene.
Done.

Later tonight,
bone-tired and up all alone,
I stand on my porch,
crying out, pressing my forehead
against the screen,
straining against this veiled physical barrier
almost unseen,
now keeping us apart.

Yet I can still feel the breeze
up here, right now, coolly,
gently lift the tears from me.
Close my eyes,
reaching out with my soul,
I hear your musical voice
tinkling the wind chimes,
calm my heart,
bringing peace.

You're fine now,
all better, no more pain.
And I feel it.
Oh, wow, sure, I get it now!
You're off on your invisible plane....

In loving memory of my most phenomenal mother--
mentor, hero, and dearest friend,
Edna Carol Pauline Rosky Farley
Born December 6, 1936, Died April 4, 2011.
Forever loved, cherished, remembered, and embraced.
I love you, Mom, and God be with you 'til we meet again!
Written by Eliza Jane Farley Gomez
Monday, April 4, 2011

Shave

2011-03-15T14:57:00.001-04:00

I got a shave
cut it all off.
All of it. Done.
So what?
It's just hair....

They call me brave
but I'm not, not really....

The one who is
is the one who lives
each and every day
in pain, in knowing
that she has one less day
to spend with us here.
Now, that's real.
That's brave.
Just so ya know....

The one who raised me
just the way I am
bold, free, unafraid of
what you think or say,
teaching me that
I am more
than the sum of my parts.
I am more
than the sum of these
little stubbles of hair on my head

Why do you look at me like that?

Don't you see
the glow around me
as I channel her strength to me
and become what she already is
and more.
She's seen, done, and made
more than I'll ever be able to--
not that I'd try to duplicate
or copycat her vibe, her style--
not by a mile!

I have a bit of her in me,
in here, inside, sure,
no longer hiding away
underneath it all
it's raw, it's bare, it's out there, alright.

I favor her, you say,
turn my head, just that way
catch that profile--
I look like her even more
than before, peeking out
from under her cap,
from the pools of my eyes
shimmering, shining bright blue
to hers glittering green
looking past the age, or disease,
to the beauty that is she,
purely she.
Like mother, like daugher, like we.
Love, ME.

Written by Eliza Jane Farley Gomez
March 15, 2011

Untitled

2011-03-11T14:36:00.002-05:00

What a difference a day makes.

Earth breaks, buildings shake
people awaken mid-nightmare
by screaming, waves, mudslides,
and fires teeming far, far away
on the other side of the world.

Ripples carry worry,
building momentum,
carrying shockwaves that
level everything in their path,
even rice paddies and bullet trains.
Unstoppable.

People making for higher ground,
wise and foolish men both, confounded
by Nature stretching, shifting, and
scratching gashes in the
man-scaped cities and towns

All without social media, wi-fi or wikis--
whirlpooled, swept, flung all around
like toys broken, dropped,
left discarded across the
majestically mountainous countryside--

Not mine, not yours,
not theirs,
but HERS.
All HERS.

Standing so still, so quiet, at the shore.
Faint ripples lapping lightly in the sand,
yet stuck in the calm that's the eye
of the storm on camera or on screen--

So misleading to lure you to
come on out and see the mayhem,
transfixed by the violent carnage
as the rolling wailing wall of muddy bloody
hurls curdling fears, tears, homes, boats,
and planes straight at you, the viewer.

In vain you can't move,
can't breathe, can't hide
from the sick reality
you realize you cannot escape
as you watch it slide around, over, under,
and through you,
sweeping you up into the
trembling, grumbling groans of
ground exhaling, twisting,
releasing its cries to the skies

Orchestral maneuvers
in the land and the sea
caught in real-time streaming HD horror
unbridled, uncensored, uncontrolled,
pure power raging, humbling us
back down into knowing
our natural place

as collective, yet distant tears
streak down our faces everywhere--
so safe, so far away,
falling wave after wave with
each new report.

Makes me tsunamically ill
"Peace, be still"

Written by Eliza Jane Farley Gomez
Friday, March 11, 2011
(upon learning about the earthquake off Japan)

See You Next Summer

2011-03-03T11:56:00.000-05:00

I actually was requested to write something for an end-of-summer/back-to-school Church family (Ward) social several years ago....

A sprinkle on the cheek,
a rumble in the sky.
Pack up all the baskets,
Fall will soon be nigh.

Some sand sweeps past my face,
a gust blows through the trees.
Shake out all the blankets,
Summer's on its knees.

Much shorter days of light,
an empty beach by day.
Tie down all the umbrellas,
Fall is on its way.

The kids will be in school
weathering the storms,
while everyone else works,
and the toursists start to swarm.

So wipe of all the sand,
while the setting sun becomes
a promise to remember
'Til next summer comes.

Written by Eliza Jane Farley (Gomez)
August 1999

So Far

2011-03-03T11:45:00.001-05:00

This is a little something I dug up and resurrected from the deep, back in 1997, actually, LOL....

I am
almost there,
where I can turn
in the sunshine,
wearing a grin, and
stop.
And laugh at the journey
I've taken so far.

The journey--
But how did it start?

From the starting blocks
at swim practice--
Did I warm up enough
for the race of my life?
Did they teach me that
holding my breath, blowing bubbles
while I flip-turn would thrust me
into my journey so far?

The journey--
But when did it start?

From the tape marks
on the lighted stage at rehearsal--
Did I practice enough
for the play of my life?
Did they teach me that
staying in character, singing
while my hat fell off would twirl me
into my journey so far?

The journey--
But where did it start?

From the cutout names
stuck on weathered doors at check-in--
Did I study enough
for the class of my life?
Did they teach me that
sneaking out trays and
sledding down hills
while cutting class would tease me
into my journey so far?

I am
not quite there,
where I can turn
in the moonlight,
pick day's smell from my hair
with my fingers and
Stop.
And recline into the
rest of the world,
smile at the journey
I've taken so far.

Written by Eliza Jane Farley (Gomez)
Spring 1997

Breaking Point

2011-02-25T14:56:00.000-05:00

These lines are observations/reflections of my mom from the perspective of me, an involved bystander, broken-hearted....It's one thing to have to come to terms with a disease that's beating your body, from the inside out, killing you....Then, on top of that, at the same time to have to also experience losing your memory, your control--how mind-blowing and excruciatingly painful--for yourself and your family! I can’t imagine the hell she’s suffering, only support, care, cry, observe, ponder, reflect, and pray--always pray. May God be merciful and grant my mother--my beautiful, brilliant, proud, accomplished, vibrant, giving, selfless, loving mother—peace, love, comfort, and meaningful time left with us and spare her the suffering and the torture of being trapped while feeling her body and mind break down. Lord, please, hold, wrap, and keep her in Thine loving embrace, I'm begging....I pray they find a cure for cancer, and with each passing day my mom lives, I'm praying to keep hope alive and give thanks for the daily miracle and blessing of life. As always, thanks for reading and for letting me vent to understand, to release, and to share my experience with you. --Eliza

Sad but so--
I now know
what caused Edvard Munch's Scream.

What makes
the ice crack,
the nail chip,
the fabric stretch tight,
tighter,
tightest still.
To the breaking point.
All ripped up. To shreds.

I'm there.
SO there.

Reeling.
Teetering.
Hanging on to...

Dear God,
save her, please!
Give her peace.
Give us air and
chance to breathe,
chance to understand.

Helpless to watch as
that terrible tumor trembles,
tracing, digging, metastasizing
all through your bones,
digs out new pits of despair--
all yours to discover with
each passing day.

So unfair!
Forcing you to face fresh pain
again and again.
You feel it; but please know that
we do, too, right there with you.
Just not the same way.

Heaving chests, brimming hearts
spill tears across splitting ropes,
smashing hopes and
incomplete dreams
like plates to the ground.
Waves of love and sadness
crash, wash through
the house, through us all,
knocking us down.

Still around, true.
Still with us,
but not quite,
ever fading sight with
the light that dims the
sum of all parts not the same
in the mindless night
giving fright a voice now,
every noise scares, makes aware of
how much has now gone.

Snap!
Just like that!

Won't come back--
Give it back, damn you,
do what I say right now,
or else!

Or else what?

Listen to me,
I'm still in control of what this is,
(you always say “It is what it is,” right?)
and what it will be,
so, listen to me now....

Fraying skin splitting dried lips
as I slip, slide and
fall by the wayside of
what I wanted to do,
not what I just did,
hidden away, bow my head.
Realizing instead
there's a mess of my body and head.

Hunched over my walker,
clinging to stand,
to remember.
What was it that you said?
I can’t remember!

Step, stagger, step, sway.
Deadly dance underway
with your grim and graceful partner,
who spins, dips you low,
and slow, ever slowly steals,
syphons away strength like a kiss
while you sleep.

I’m so tired, but
I don't want to go to bed.
I didn't sign up for that, or this--
Is this how it is from now on?
Oh, wow, I didn’t know....

Who is this that I am now--
I'm not me, not like this,
not this way, no way!
I pray to God--
Say this isn't happening--

Spare me from this prison of
crumbling body and
memory fading from my mind....
So harsh, so unkind to remind me
and rub my nose in it like that.

Just be done with it already!

I'm ready, now, I think,
I’m ok, really, sign me up....

No, wait, did I just say that out loud?
Everything's all one great big
fuzzy cloud of confusion
hanging over me lately,
all mumbo jumbo noise--

Turn it down!
I can't hear myself think anymore,
or feel myself real anymore.
It's leaking all over the floor again.
I’m sorry I’ve made such a mess.
Is that what I've become, now?
A mess?
Is it? IS IT?!
WELL?!

What do I do now?
Please!
Help me,
No!
Leave me alone,
give me back my rights, my life!
Let me do what I want
when I want, how I want--
if I only knew what that was....

Don’t rush me,
don’t push me!
Wait!
Please!

Just
give
me
a
minute.
Okay? Okay.
Thanks....

Let me sit here and
rest for awhile.
Let me think.
Quietly. Shhh--
Let me remember.

Deep Breath.
Pray.
I’m fine,
and I will be.
You’ll see.
Don’t worry....

Smile, don't cry.
“I love you The Mostest!”
“Kiss, Kiss!”
“Love, Love!”
"Oh, yeah!"
See you....

Written By Eliza Jane Farley Gomez
Friday, February 25, 2011

Rub It In

2011-02-18T15:12:00.000-05:00

Rub your dreams into my back
until they're real--
Until they curl around each synapse--
Until I feel
that you won't fade or disappear
with day.

Kiss your thoughts into my hair
until they're real--
Until they penetrate each strand--
Until I feel
that you won't loosen up and
roll away.

Squeeze your words into my skin
until they're real--
Until it quivers with each whisper--
Until I feel
that you won't leave the sheets cold
but just stay.

Written by Eliza Jane Farley Gomez
February 18, 2011

Make Me

2011-02-18T10:42:00.000-05:00

Let your thoughts dive in my eyes
and let your pulse throb on my tongue,
as your hands sweep back my mind--
Make me feel that I'm the one.

Let your words float in my tears
and let your breath flow through my lungs,
as your mouth sucks back my heart--
Make me see that I'm the one.

Let your deeds swim down my cheeks
and let your sighs sing in my ear,
as your love soaks in my soul--
Make me know that I'm the one.

Written by Eliza Jane Farley Gomez
Friday, February 18, 2011

The Question

2011-02-14T15:25:00.001-05:00

Take a walk with me,
won’t you,
just for awhile,
let your feet take you
wherever they feel like walking.

I’m not talking about miles away
or anything--
or really talking at all--
just take your shoes off,
let your toes breathe and
wriggle in the sand,
take my hand,
stand at the shore,
let the waves wash away the
stored up stress,
feel the mess float away.

I wonder
as you wander
if you smell the smile of the sea
calling on you to free yourself,
to "be still, and know that He is God,"
to open up and to see this place
with new eyes, with new heart,
with new ears, listening to
words no people speak
(but earth, sky, animals do).
Connecting you to
the world all around you.

You can do this,
if you want to--
that’s the real question,
the one with no right or wrong answer,
no first or second or third place--
it’s not a race to the finish,
to be fat or be thin-ish.
Better ask before time vanishes,
conceals, instead of revealing
those precious little seashells
that we find, pat dry, and
pocket.
Collecting.
Little treasures.

After all,
it’s the answer that begs the question,
What do you want?

Look inside, open wide,
muck around,
feel your way into your choice.
Find your voice, your truth,
your course of action—
it’s all there, right there,
in the seaweed,
rich and briny,
salt puckering your mouth,
waiting for you to discover
what it is you really want to do.

Through the uncertain
that is pain,
through unknotting the drama
of fighting and swimming
against the currents,
of do you, or don’t you?
Will you, or won’t you?

I can’t tell you what to do,
can’t make you do anything--
it’s all up to you.
But I’m here for you, and
we’re all in this to the end.
We’re family,
it’s what we do.
Hand in hand,
standing at the sea,
smiling in the breeze,
gathering our seashells.
Together.
Eternally.

Written by Eliza Jane Farley Gomez
Monday, February 14, 2011

Meaning of Me

2011-02-14T11:51:00.000-05:00

Tell me what you want to know
and I’ll show you how I feel.
Curl your hand around my heart
and I will beat it into real.
I’ve got this chance to get it right
when all the rest went wrong.
I don’t know why I can speak--
Soul’s staccato manifests in song.

I wish you could see what I mean,
what I feel when you look at me.
Pull back my eyes and peek inside
at the glow overflowing, seems
oceans of time swim in my mouth.
Words spilling out so wet, so free,
drip down my chin, shimmering true
meaning of me rain into you.

Written by Eliza Jane Farley Gomez
Monday, February 14, 2011

Morning

2011-02-11T12:14:00.000-05:00

Just when the night begins to slip away,

I turn, awaken, begging for it to stay

awhile longer, in the dark with me. Stay.

Please! Stay—just smooth my fears away.

Just when the sun emerges from the sea,

Chasing remnants of the night into
gone. Watch dewy leaves crispen to me,

Reach out, shake off their sleep at my window.

Just when the dawn paints colors of the sky

by number, streaking ribbons, through the clouds

by day, by night, and even in my dreams.

So pretty, so simple, yet nothing’s as it seems.

I have my path, I take it day by day.

I’ll live to make my dreams real, come what may.

Written by Eliza Jane Farley Gomez

Friday, February 11, 2011

Possibilities

2011-02-09T12:11:00.000-05:00

This is my attempt to follow suit with Robert Lee Brewer's "Wednesday Poetry Prompt: #122" on his "Poetic Asides" for today (which link is listed below so you can get a better idea of why I wrote a sonnet today). His theme for the prompt was to write a poem based on using the following theme--"one of these days"....can be found at:

http://blog.writersdigest.com/poeticasides/2011/02/09/WednesdayPoetryPrompts122.aspx

Here's my attempt of using the theme, both as a theme, as actual/literal lines, incorporating them into a Shakespearean Sonnet--enjoy :)

One of these days you’ll read me on the page
one morning, wonder how it is I seem
to share feelings so freely and un-cage
those inner monologues of deferred dream.

One of these days you’ll hear me in your ear
melodizing memories, humming lull-a-byes,
unstick self from "been-there- done-that" career,
exploring nooks, feel crannies with closed eyes.

One of these days you’ll smell me in a room
and wonder if I taste of sunshine through
just after a shower falls mid- afternoon,
soaking up possibilities of "we," too.

How or when those days will actually be
remains all part of the fun--life’s mystery.

Written by Eliza Jane Farley Gomez
Wednesday, February 9, 2011

Burn Baby Burn

2011-02-08T17:44:00.000-05:00

(It's not enough
to burn in silence,
to tell or show no one.)

Burning, burning, burning
spirit's ember glowing through,
sparks igniting blue in my eyes.

How can I see,
when all I feel is the
blinding blaze that consumes me,
enraptures me,
brands into my mind
the swiftly passing time.

Unhealed wounds let the
spiritual lava leek,
ooze, sear them shut.

How can I be glowing?

I feel the molten heat,
creepy- crawl along my spine,
sizzle, flow up
from my toes, out my nose.

The magma waves pounding,
punching through my mortal cave
that's my chest....

Is this some kind of test,
to see how long I can last?

Feel that steam building fast,
rising higher and higher
to a fever pitch that
only my inner cat can hear.
Frenzied locomotive whistles,
wails, and, screaming,
shoots up from the heart
and out into the open,
evaporating upon contact with
the cool, outside.

Away
from this.
This deep organic churning
that's burning me up inside,
I can hide it no longer in this
daily bushel, this whatever
this is.

Mind clears, senses sharpen
into the air all around me....

How can I say
what I long to be able to tell--
when saying doesn't even begin
to cut it--not with a knife, axe, or
for the life of me.

There are no words
to describe this.

This burning rush pressing,
pushing, twisting,
writhing, wriggling meaning
through my beautifully stretchmarked skin,
freckled by the kiss of the sun,
worn and softened by
the love of my life
and the joy
that is being myself.

Cooling off, down,
crusting over the difference
Outter layers of yester-me
crisping, flaking off, gradually
giving way to the red-hot,
newborn inner me-to-be
yet to be revealed.
Not blistered or peeling, but
new.

I wish my lungs could hold
enough air, just long enough,
and not explode,
but give me strength
to let soul truly sing the song
that stirs my blood into
blushing out loud,
glowing bright and bold
for those whom I love,
free, tall, and proud,
lifting the force of pure feeling
off my chest,
letting me rest
panting--catch my breath--

Would you give me a moment.
Ahhh....

Burning alive never felt so great--
consumed by this,
this whatever it is,
even with eyes closed
I cannot sleep,
not a wink, tormented,
wrestled and whipped by
Passion's Truth
even in my dreams.

Awakened mind
dragging my body behind,
buzzing, rekindling,
reminding me
into knowing
that I still
burn, baby, burn

and always will

Written by Eliza Jane Farley Gomez
Tuesday, February 8, 2011

A Simple Lullaby

2011-02-03T22:38:00.000-05:00

Note: I wrote this quite awhile ago, probably about a year or so before Ben and I got married...so that would be probably 12-13 years ago...always loving music, singing all over the place, I've longed for the day to be able to sing my little ones (still waiting, praying, hoping, and dreaming). Both my mom and dad used to sing to us growing up, from Mom singing us "The Apple Juice Song" to Dad bellowing out in his rich bass his favorite hymns to wake us kids up for Seminary. I had a dream one night and woke up humming this soothing little melody--so I had to sit down and put some words to it. A few minutes later I had me a simple little lullaby for babies of my dreams. Sweet dreams!

Sleep, my baby,
sleep, my child.
Mamma's here
for quite a while

In the mornin'
I'll kiss your smile.
Now, sleep, my baby,
sleep, my child...

Sleep, my baby,
sleep, my dear.
Mamma's here,
so don't you fear.

In the night
I'll hold you near.
Now, sleep, my baby,
sleep, my dear.

Sleep, my baby,
sleep, my love.
God is watching
Up Above.

He knows all
you're dreaming of.
Now, sleep, my baby,
sleep, my love.

Marvel and Wonder

2011-02-03T14:28:00.077-05:00

Note:
OK, this is mushy me again, but from a different place...

You see, I began writing this after hearing my hubby talk about his experiences when he served as a full-time missionary for our church down in Argentina in the mid-1990s. Listening to his stories filled with inspirational, transformational experiences, emotional tears, and personal reflections, I caught a slight glimpse into the journey he took--before, during, and after his mission, and the sacrifice, the service, and the extreme joys and sorrows he must have gone through.

There I was--totally speechless (and those of you who know me pretty well know how RARE that I am ever speechless)...I "sat All Amazed" at this man sitting across from me, bearing his soulful experiences and reflections....

One evening after listing to his mission stories, noting especially the hardships he experienced as he tried making the transition back into regular life after his mission ended; I quietly gave thanks to my Heavenly Father (and have been doing so ever since) so much for the unbelievable man I married.

I mean it--I truly hit the jackpot. Yessirree, I suuuurrrrree did!!!
This is a different type of poem than I normally write--I normally don't write such obviously structured/rhyming schemes--but again, in the spirit of love and gratitude for the blessing of my husband in my life, I'm sharing :)

Even to those of you kindred spirits that aren't of the same Mormon faith as I am, I hope that you may find this insightful as I openly share my creative expression from my heart. Happy reading from this grateful heart o'mine :)
Eliza

Served Him so valiantly,
worked day and night,
bringing souls unto Him,
showing them Light.

Used, broken, torn apart,
nothing left to give.
You gave your all
in lands non-native.

Living so humbly
in places so poor,
yet rich in their spirits,
with love flowing pure.

You worked hard among them,
toiled, labored, cried.
Meted out justice
for some who denied

their calling and purpose
and went so astray,
leading lambs with them
far off and away.

But you, with your knowledge,
your power, your strength,
testified boldly,
called them to repent.

You bore witness of things
not of this world.
You pressed ever onward,
"Truth's banner unfurled."

Broken and hungry
to find those choice souls.
You promised to find them--
that tore at your soul.

Heart heavy, feet burning,
you strove to press on.
Ever working, ever faithful
'til the days finally gone.

You sobbed, deep with anguish--
You felt you had failed--
not finding those calling you!
Yet your work revealed

A marvel and wonder
the Lord made of you--
refining and molding
your Spirit into

the strength of a warrior
giving his might
to the cause of his Savior,
Choosing The Right.

You have served, you have tarried;
you have wept and have judged
with the heart of an angel.
You have learned how to love....

So tough to leave all that
behind and move on.
Worn out and weary,
unsure what would come....

Stripped of your mantel,
stricken with grief,
blamed self for failing,
you found no relief

in the daily and weekly,
in the months and the years.
You felt lost, grew bitter,
hiding away tears

in anger and antics
both beneath you, below
the you who you really are--
Satan knocked you down low.

How I ever found you,
I don't fully know.
How I wish I deserved you--
I wish I could show

how grateful I am
you served faithfully,
that you loved, worked, and found souls
down in Buenos Aires.

You are strong, you are chosen.
You are wise, you are bold.
You have much left to do here.
So much to uphold.

At times I sit, marvelling
at how you are mine,
as together we hold hands
throughout all time.

You're that part that completes me.
My balance, my strength.
My protector, my teacher.
Combined, we make sense.

That I deserve you,
I plain fail to see.
But my Savior must love me--
He gave you to me.

Para Mi Benjamin: con todo mi corazon, lleno de amor y agradecimiento para toda la eternidad....

Written by Eliza Jane Farley Gomez
Originally partial draft October 6, 2008; revised February 3, 2011

Just Right

2011-02-03T10:24:00.000-05:00

(For My Midnight Sun....)

Cuddle me close a little longer
into your chest, and hold me tight;
smile against my half-closed eyelids,
kiss my freckles soft and light.

I've never dreamed in all my lifetime
I could feel love deep as this.
I am complete, I am at peace--you
have giv'n me this most priceless gift.

Your rugged hands stroke back the day's tears
and hold mine gentle in the night.
You sing to me 'til I am laughing
and twirl me, dance with me just right.

I thank God each day for you--I found you--
my true soul mate and dearest friend.
I blush and giggle when I realize
our love's forever and will never end....

Written by Eliza Jane Farley Gomez
October 4, 2008; rev. February 3, 2011

Treatment

2011-01-26T22:51:00.006-05:00

Quick note before reading: OK, I wrote this just reflecting on observations and conversations with and about what my mom's going thru with her treatment n stuff...I've never gone thru this, I think I'd be a BIGTIME wimp--my mom is AWESOME and such a COURAGEOUS person to endure this excruciating process--so I'm just venting a little.....this is therapeutic for me to help me process and understand, and I mean no offense, it's an artistic, healing process of creative expression. I'm truly amazed by the juxtaposition and irony of healing through poisoning aspects of a disease and the entire process.
Thanks for reading!

Killing to heal.

That's what they're doing,
That's what it feels like
what it seems like
when it burns thru my veins.
Can't remember such pain!
Close my eyes, all the same
Sick lump of...

Well, well, un-well...
what's this hell that
I'm living night and day,
day after day.

Either way,
puke and pray
that
those last tufts of hair
(and my pride)
stay attached to
this disheveled head--
falling apart, no place
to hide in my unmade bed.

Somehow,
by an act of God,
I manage to
choke down a bite or two
with my meds,
feel like I'm "Better Off Dead"

Such a lovely, laxative feeling
can't relax when I'm screaming--

I've gotta fever from the feeling
(Oh, if only it were the "flavor
of a Pringles!")
from that stuff they pump me with.

My arms bruised, bare, and
more full of tracks
than most junkies
or deejays could handle,
yet I do, somehow.

How? I don't know.

Not a choice, really--
it's do or die--
Lucky me,
I won't lie!

Can you see
how much better
I am getting
by my skin,
by my eyes,
by my bubbling,
sparkly personality at 3am--

So surreal to me!
How did I ever succumb to be
poked, prodded, and guinea-pigged
to the edge of insanity
is simply beyond me.

I never knew existed
until this,
this unmaking,
this undoing
this unwholly, yet
trusted maddening,
this pretty poison
YOU keep insisting
is making me whole,
healthy, all better,
is killing all the bad in me--

Are you kidding me?!

Medically murder that
blatant abomination within--
do you not see the skin
stretched to its breaking
while I sit, druggedly stinking,
and vomit while dreaming
It really works,
radioactive glowing in the dark.

Unexpected perk, that--
I can now read at night
when I ache too much to sleep.

Of no more wires, no more
toxic cocktails that keep me
going down the rabbit hole,
swishing and gurgling those
latest FDA-approved
Flavor-of-the-day.

Clinical trial?
You don't say!
Sign me up today!
Where there's a will,
there's a way....

I just wish
they'd get to try this themselves
at home first
before giving it to me
so they could see
just how it feels
to catch a chill all the time,
while your eyes burn from
the inside out of your skull,
feel exhausted, weak, dull,
and nauseous
at the
mere thought of
eating or catching
hideous flicker of
reflecting back the alien
monster you've become.

A shadow of yourself
slumped, sallow,sucked
thru your trusty-little bendy straw
into a healthy dose of
daily Vitamin D
as you soak up the sun
and rare warmth by the window.

Forgetting the crazy chemo
for a moment,
wonder when you'll muster up
enough strength to go outside
in the sun, feel the breeze
blow thru your hair
all grown back again.

I'm dying to feel
like myself again.
Literally.

One by one,
treatment down,
who knows how many more
"miles to go before I sleep"
before I'm cured or killed?

Honestly, I'm not quite sure....

Written by Eliza Jane Farley Gomez
Wednesday, January 26, 2011

Picture Perfect

2011-01-25T11:46:00.000-05:00

This is my absolutely favorite picture, and it sits on my desk at work. Looking at it brings a smile to my face whenever I am down, it reminds me that I'm not alone, that I am loved, cherished, adored, and it showcases the beauty of where we live, the love we share, and the eternal commitment that binds us together forever.

How did I get such a handsome fella for my dearest friend, lover, husband, and soulmate :)

They say a picture says a thousand words--well, this one says that, and much more--at least to me.

"How do I love thee? Let me count the ways...."

Cup Overflowing

2011-01-25T10:07:00.001-05:00

Here I sit, back at work, another ordinary work week....
However ordinary it may be, I am grateful to have a cup overflowing once more, and I've spent the past couple of days digesting what exactly has filled my cup, my heart, and my soul....

Well, we had Stake Conference in my Stake this past weekend--for the Pompano Beach Florida Stake--and I found myself hardly able to wait to hear the speakers and the messages. I feel like I've been running on empty lately, basically barely making it on the spiritual fumes in my nearly bone-dry tank.

Why was my "tank" bone-dry, you might ask?
Part of it circumstantial, part of it my own tendencies to "shrink back" to regroup when faced with stressful, difficult, or unpleasant things, and part of it was simply time. T-I-M-E (or, as one speaker referenced, "how love is spelled in today's world: T-I-M-E.").
We have Stake Conference twice a year, and it was simply that time again to hear from our local leaders and get guidance, direction, and a renewal of Spirit. My soul knew it was time for a new spiritual dose to keep me going for the next few months. Funny, it knew but I didn't. Hmmmm....
I was also very curious to see if there were any new developments about the South Florida Temple.

So, Saturday night I went, sat by myself (my hubby had hurt his knee and was trying to stay off it as long as possible), listening to one of my closest friends' sisters give a lovely talk about faith, listening to a beautifully stirring piano solo of "Be Still My Soul," which brought me to tears (it almost always does), and focused on simply soaking up that spiritual sunshine.

We had a lovely session opened up to Q-and-A by Elder Giddens of the Seventy, which lasted about an hour. WOW--we could ask him ANYTHING and he'd try to answer us the best he could :)
Of particular interest to me was the emphasis and importance placed on using social media and internet tools the Church has created to help get the message of the Gospel of Jesus Christ out to every corner of the earth. He and President Hale (the President of the Fort Lauderdale Florida Mission) discussed Mormon.org, and how members can create profiles and then link to their other sites such as blogs, Twitter accounts or Facebook pages.
YAY!!!
I really liked that, as I have been working to link all my social media sites together and connect them. He then invited us to go home and pray, preparing ourselves to hear the message that would be given to us the following morning.

After getting together with Nancy and praising her sister Diana on her talk, we girls grabbed a bite to eat and giggled, chatted, and had some great gal-pal time. I felt renewed and invigorated. So, driving home, I quietly thanked my Heavenly Father for giving me such a wonderfully uplifting evening.

Sunday morning, I arose, got dressed, and headed to our Stake Center in Coral Springs for another session of Stake Conference. Now, mind you, I'm curious by nature, so I had no idea what to expect at this session; but I was all a-buzz and excited to hear more.
My soul simply craved more (much as I frequently crave chocolate and Twizzlers); and the session did not disappoint in any way whatsoever.
The choir from the Coral Springs Ward sang "Joseph Smith's First Prayer" so beautifully--I couldn't keep the tears from spilling down my cheeks. Oh, I wish Ben or my dad or family were there with me to share in that beautiful music! I felt a little alone, even among over 1,200 members of the Stake. Oh well....

I sat listening to the inspirational messages of hope, repentance, running to save souls, forgiveness, and last, the message of Elder Giddens which emphasized the difference between justification and sanctification of a soul--how, as a person continues to follow down the path of repentance and forgiveness, he/she gradually becomes less and less desireful to sin; but, eventually, still following that path, he/she will grow and long to do good continually--as King Benjamin in the Book of Mosiah taught, and as the Apostle Paul taught in the New Testament. I felt like a spiritual slingshot had smacked me right between the eyes--POW!!!!

I needed to hear that with my spiritual ears, to wake up and smell the hot cocoa, as it were....

This message rippled through me all Sunday, through today. I began pondering ways in how I can work to go from being justified in Christ to strive to become sanctified in Christ. Up til that point, I don't honestly think I paid too much personal attention to the powerful difference between those two concepts.
Amazing....
My heart began to burn with a warmth as I reflect upon how I long to be in the Temple, whether serving others, learning, or simply as a patron--that there's no other place on earth I rather be right now. That desire to be there, the desire to be with my family and serve them, help make them more comfortable in their suffering and pain, and the desire to be the best wife, best daughter, best sister, and best friend I can be--those desires are all the stirrings and startings of wanting "to do good continually." When I embrace that and turn my back away from my complaining, my own personal hurt/sorrow, or selfish or lazy tendencies, I take a step further toward that process of sanctification. I need to personally focus on that and try to minimize and reduce the negative things that hold me back from that spiritual progression.

One of the many, many wonderful quotes Elder Giddens gave towards his closing remarks was an amazing quote given by President Hinckley, modern-day Prophet of God, that I printed out and stuck in my wallet, in my scriptures, on my desk at work:

“It isn’t as bad as you sometimes think it is. It all works out.... If you do your best, it will all work out. Put your trust in God, and move forward with faith and confidence in the future."-- Gordon B. Hinckley.

I am so grateful to have the opportunity to listen to Church leaders give instruction, bear witness, and testify with the Spirit of Gospel principles I so needed to hear.
It renewed in me a sense of hope, of possibility, and of good cheer, that everything will work out.
I just have to put one foot in front of the other, trust in the Lord, and do my best.
Simple, true--but not necessarily easy. Ahh, but there's the rub....
But with the incredible example of President Hinckley, I'm sure gonna try a lot harder.

Driving

2011-01-24T17:10:00.000-05:00

Here's another old poem I dug up--this got posted and published back in 1996. Thought I'd take a moment to put it up here for y'all to see n stuff :) Thanks for reading!!

Driving (originally written in 1996, rev. 1/24/11)

Make me believe you’ll really
hold my hand in silence forever.
Push the tears back with your tongue
as I kick at the bed.
By my eyes
you have heard all the good
in the world and
awaken
that untitled song in my mind
once again--
the one I never
rap my fingers to in the car.
The one with the faceless hand
in the night that kneads me
into choking back air--
it’s too thick.
The one that takes voice
in the last dripping note of the sky.

Make me rely on the touch
and the arm of another.
Prop up my chin with your kiss
as I cry in the crook of your arm.
By my words
you have seen
all the good in the world and
awaken
that untitled song in my mind
once again--
the one I never
hum along with in the car.
The one with the voiceless hand
in the night that lulls me into
dreaming back tears--
it’s too hard.
The one that takes vision
in the last crashing light of the storm.

Make me see you’ll really
hold me in my wrinkled nightshirt forever.
Fold back worries at the crease
of the sheets with your smile.
By my heart
you have felt
all the good in the world and
awaken
that untitled song in my mind
once again--
the one I never
mouth the words to in the car.
The one with the touchless hand
in the night that stirs
me into empty rapture--
it’s too much.
The one that takes form
in the last peaceful drop of your chest
as we sleep.

Written by Eliza Jane Farley Gomez

Disconnected

2011-01-24T16:52:00.000-05:00

Hey there!
In the interest of trying to keep a minimum of at least one posting per week, I'm putting something up that I wrote a little over 2 years ago and never posted or circulated before. Why? Well, it was something very painful and deeply personal to me, and writing about it was healing/cathartic. Also, in looking back, I'm simply amazed at the incredible changes that have happened over the the past two years--funny how things change, even in the face of a personal or family crisis. Needless to say, I don't feel the way now that I did when I wrote this--which is precisely why I now can post this and reflect the change I've experienced in this relationship. Not easy to do, that--but I'm doing it anyhow. I'm blessed to have the honor of having the fine mother I do; but no mother is perfect, like no daughter or person is perfect....so I offer this very up-close-and-painfully-personal glimpse into something I'm still healing from.

I'd encourage you to read this and then go back to my archives and dig up the "Hairbrushing" Post I put in October 2010. You'll see a stark contrast and definite change in this "connection" if you will.
As always, I'd also welcome your comments/feedback :)

Disconnected (originally written 9/2/08, rev 11/2/09, 1/24/11)

That’s it!
What it’s always been….
Intimidated.
By what, exactly?
By ME?
My heart?
My soul?

My unbridled mind
flowing and driving
through unchartered territory,
connecting dots
not normally
meant to be
connected….
Possibilities.
As endless as
the love in my heart,
unconventional.

I’m sick of checking myself at
the professional door of life….

I’m me—isn’t that ok?
Isn’t that safe enough
for you to love,
to accept,
to approve….

Why am I even having
these conversations?

Mysteriously closed—reserved--
off limits—
to me?

How
can I
be like you
without even knowing
who you are, were, and
want to be?

How
is my curiosity, my
thirst for connection,
perspective, understanding
MY OWN MOTHER—
Wrong?

The pain
(and my maturity)
clarify me to poignancy--
grabbing it, holding it,
gotta dig deep
to truly see
how and why
I feel all this--

While I still can….
While I still feel
(and know that this was
never about me….)

No apologies needed anymore--
how can you apologize for
who you are—
what you do?
That’s not fair.
I understand now.
Finally.
At age 35.

But, I’m not the enemy,
never was or will be--
does it matter?

Let me write
how I feel--
let me vent
while it’s
ripe and fresh
to my crying, filled heart

So much to say--
I NEED to say it all
NOW—
unsure where
the start is, or where
it will lead—

But,
I LOVE YOU,
I admire you,
I forgive, thank, and
BELONG to you.

Always have…
even if my presence
scares, intimidates, or
offends you.

I won’t apologize,
for I have no idea
which part of me
hurts or offends you
the most—
you’ve never confided
in me enough
to let me in….

How can you be
proud
of
ME
when you never share
your heart, soul, and
dreams with me?

Oh, I get it now--
but I have never
wanted to take
anything
from
beautiful, tormented you,
but your love, wisdom,
your lessons.

Your Daughter.
Always.

I’ve never fit in,
even at home
and that
always bothered me--
not now--
Sad, but liberating.
Empowering, yet painful.

Realizing just some of
my potential, my purpose,
my self, my path….

Life doesn’t fit into
neatly organized boxes,
stacked on shelves for display
(mine won't, anyway)--
messy, blended, overflowing,
strewn across time and
twining passions with souls…
forever…
getting fuller, more
colorfully cluttered--
I embrace
and embody that.

Understanding.
Deeper and more intricately
vibrant than any mere words
or labels allow--
Don’t try to define me,
to make me safer
for you….
Don’t You Dare!

Spirit feels,
flutters, impresses,
through the air,
around music,
in tingling of sunlight
and SNAPS
into some sinewy spot
in my being—
ignited by
recollections and awareness
of eternal perspective of
WHO
I
AM.

I inhale my feelings,
catching passionate tastes
piercing the
rich tongue of Me--savoring
exquisite epiphany of
Finally getting it.

Oscillating blades
softly pat my tear-lined face
I exhale now,
slowly…
feeling digested,
newly understood
awareness of
what this is all about….

Written by Eliza Jane Farley Gomez

Tongue-tied

2011-01-11T17:30:00.002-05:00

Sometimes
when words escape you
tongue twists and tangles,
scraping the
mindless, mangled mouth--
yet nothing comes out--
strangling shout--
moving and stammering you,
reducing your daily brilliance
into
blah blah blah blah.

'Scuse me?

You heard me!
Blah! Blah! Blah! Blah!
Say what?!
Ugh!!
What was that?

Sorry,
didn't quite catch that,
sounds just squirming
all over the place,
feeling their way around,
up and down,
noise and sound
bubbling, brewing, bouncing
around inside my mouth,
kickin' at my teeth to get out--
OWW!
Wow!
Hey, now!
Settle down!

Now, where was I....

Ooooh, wait, what was that?
Mmmm...
Kinda tasty....
Not bad, not bad at all....

Don't nibble,
bite, just chomp down.
Like you mean it.
You know you want it.
Open up wide, now--
say, "Ahhhh."

Mouth watering,
dripping goodness
oozing ripe fullness of
being everything
you wanna say or do,
but won't, can't or don't,
right there,
there!On the tip of your tongue
burning, sizzling,
tingling me
outta my mind,
right down to my toes,
'cuz it's my mind-over-body
that knows that
it really only tastes
as good as you are,
as long as you got enough
hot air inside you
to carry whatever
you're gonna say or do
up, up and away, or
out into the day
either way...

I'm just sayin'....

Hmmm,
I dunno....
tastes like it's not done yet,
like something's missing, or
maybe it needs a little more time
to simmer.....

Is that my body
tellin' my mind
to take time to
unwind,
step back,
to think before jumping
head-mouth-or-fist-first
into action?

Think before Speak
or EXPLODE at the mouth
with words so upsurd,
that hurl anger, hurt and pain
down like rain,
can't take 'em back again
those tiny daggers
invisible to the eye,
but all too real for
hearts to feel,
to tear up,
and cry.

My, oh, my...
Don't even try it.

Ready?
Open up,
Nah ah, ahhhh,
Think again--
take a breath,
take a moment.
let it out.
All of it.
S-l-o-w-l-y.
Let that cat
get your tongue
now and then.
Sit.
and
Be Still.
Surrender to silence.
Stretch, linger.
Enjoy.
Try it, you'll like it.

Hmmm, sorry....
What did you say?

Who, me?
Not a dang thing....

Written January 11, 2011
By Eliza Jane Farley Gomez

Song of My Soul

2011-01-04T15:10:00.012-05:00

Wave after waves whip back,
flip over and over, and
crash out on the shore,
battered, beaten, and sore--
unable to take any more.

Gradually, gingerly wash away
the cares of yesterday,
and bathe your feet, your mind, your soul
in the cool possibility of tomorrow.
Lapping away sorrow and pain,
allowing you to being again,
savoring the new--
if only for a few brief moments--
that only YOU get to feel,
get to taste, get to know
the wet wearing down the old,
while soaking up the
yet-to-be.

Can't you see the point of it all
right now?
There!
Out there,
glistening in the shimmering,
off in the distance as the
swirling ripples bubble and foam,
draping your toes
in the ebb and flows
of everyday woes,
drift off with the seaweed.

Roaming the currents,
unhurried, slowed by
bits of broken bottles
tangled, intertwined
amidst frayed rope
swaying to and fro,
calling, begging sweetly
to the soft sand
to splay,frolic and bask
in the warmth that comes
with the rising of the sun.
what's left of the night
done now,
languidly dripping away
into the liquid life of
day.

Don't go.
Stay awhile, let yourself
wake up, stretch out,
and heal,
take a deep, salty breath,
smell that sunshine all around you
splash across your skin
and scoop up a seashell or two--
it's up to you--
as you take a stroll
down the shore with the gulls.

Revel in the tide and its lulls.
Feeling its pull in your lungs,
luring elusive song out
with every beat of your heart.
Your inner you starts to mouth
the words to the song
you never knew you had within.
The song of your soul now begins,
dances on the wind,
flutters down your windpipe,
tickles, gets familiar,
takes a shape,
hums a tune.

What's it sound like?
Do you know it?
Do you like it?
Can you even hear it?
Shhhh...
Listen.
Hear.
Hearken to how you truly sound.
To Him,
to the World,
and, most of all, to YOU.

"He who has ears, let them hear...."

Here, where no one else can hear
or interfere in your reverie.
Standing at the edge of the sea,
feel the ocean echo back in reply.
Softly singing back to me.
Quiet.
Free.
Lift up your face to the sky
with your voice.
And sing.

Written by Eliza Jane Farley Gomez
January 4, 2011

Merry New Yeahhhhh!

2011-01-03T14:15:00.000-05:00

Am I the only one who has absolutely NO IDEA where the year 2010 went??!!!
Seriously, people, it flew by at like MEGA WARP SPEED!!!!!
UGH!
Massively DISLIKE!
Especially since the most beautiful sunset I'd seen in a Looooong time was the VERY LAST ONE of the year! Take a look at this:

Is that GORGEOUS or what??!! Wow.....

Ok, that being said, now, I tried starting off the New Year right--
spent the evening/morning with family and friends--CHECK--errr, well, partially--Mom, Dad, and Brudooski are way over in Houston, while the Hubby and I are over here in SoFLA--so we were kindly enough invited to spend the New Year with Jon and Gilma at their swanky lil' pad down in Midtown, on Biscayne Bay...not bad, not bad at all!!

Dress up all velvety-sparkly-painted pretty--CHECK!
Did the traditional CHEERS thing--CHECK!
Did the traditional KISS the loved one at the stroke of midnight--CHECK--I LOVVVVE this part, gettin to SMOOOCH my man :)

Did the traditional watching the fireworks thing--CHECK!! OK, my crackberry camera didn't do justice to how awesome they were--we saw the fireworks from SoBe, Fisher Island, Bayfront Park/Bayside, Coral Gables, and like 4 other places from my pals' balcony--Like I said, "Not bad, not bad at all"....

Did the traditional clinking (or if you're like us with the plastic flutes, CRACKING) of glasses--CHECK!
Did the traditional take-a-gulp-o'-non-alcoholic-sparkling-cider--CHECK (ha ha, I bet y'all forgot I'm a Mormon n stuff!!!)

Did the traditional eating the dozen grapes thing--CHECK--if you live in S. Florida and don't know about this, ask any of yer Latin-type friends n neighbors--ask yerself first--are ya SURE ya live in S. FLA??!

OK, so I did all that, so now I get a HAPPY NEW YEAR, right???

Here's to a wonderful, healthy, bright, happy, joyous, memory-filled, loving New Year for 2011!!
Make it What You Will....

Caroling, Caroling, thru the SUN--Singing our Hearts Out this Christmas Eve

2010-12-30T13:37:00.001-05:00

Wait, Wha??? Isn't it supposed to be "Caroling, caroling, through the SNOW?!!"
Yeah, well, this is Christmas, "SO FLA STYLE," BAYBEE!!!
Where we have Rudolph the Red-beaked FLAMINGO and COCONUTS roasting on a sunny beach, and where we string rows of lights on PALM TREES and go to the BEACH Christmas Day...where we have BRIGHT, not WHITE Christmases :)
Awww, I'm so sorry, they don't sell snow tires or window scrapers here--but we do have a nice assortment of boats, tarps, and you can always buy RAIN X to wipe across your windshield--that stuff is MAGIC, I tell ya.....
Ahhh, but alas, I digress....

This Christmas I had to spend apart from my folks and my brother--mostly because of my mom's fragile condition.
I didn't like it. Not one little bit!
Instead of moping around, feeling sad and blue and sorry for myself, I opted to spread a little cheer to those who likely could use it MUCH more than I....to some folks in local nursing homes.

A coworker who has her own company on the side invited us to go Christmas caroling with her to two local nursing homes in Ft. Lauderdale--one of which I knew quite well, as it was the place my Poppy spent his last few weeks alive. I hadn't been there since his passing, and I had no idea if and how I'd be able to sing without unleashing pent-up waterworks. Those of you who know me KNOW that I am VERY emotional and quite prone to tears...although I personally prefer to call it "leaking" instead of "crying"....

Now, the hubby, even though he has an AMAZINGLY deep, dark, sexy, and BEAUTIFUL voice, never partakes of public singing--singing in the shower, YEP....singing thru the house--oh, YOU BETCHA...singing in the car, SUUUUREEEE. Anything BUT group singing, like choirs, concerts, or carolling....

Thank GOODNESS for best friends, because my bosom buddies Jon n Gilma were game enough to come along and join in the fun. Gotta just LOVE 'EM!!!! :) TONS!!!

I called Mom to tell her what I'd be doing Christmas Eve, and she got all choked up with tears, touched and all by our willingness to go and visit these people who sometimes NEVER get any visitors, let alone get serenaded. I told her we should probably give them complimentary ear plugs, as I'm not sure how wonderful we'd sound--but hey, we'd give it a try, and it's the thought that counts, right?

Well, we sure didn't sound like Mo Tab, or even some of the folks on American Idol--but I, for one, sure felt the beautiful Spirit with us as we sang, watching the residents respond to the Christmas Cheer we brought with us--smiling, crying, singing and clapping along. Some took us by the hand, bestowed kisses on us, while others beckoned us to come inside their rooms so we could get a little closer :)

We met some lovely people and made some new friends, and came away with joy and gratitude in our hearts. I, for one, can truly say that I got so much more in return than I personally gave to going along and singing with a bunch of folks I didn't really know.

My coworker Cassandra put this video together on YouTube thru her company's name, Inspire Many. I'm grateful to her for asking for folks willing to come along and lift up their voice and with her sing.

Enjoy, and don't laugh TOO hard at me making a fool outta my silly self!

Spreading Christmas Joy--Even at the Food Court :)

2010-12-14T10:37:00.001-05:00

As holiday shopping kicks up a notch with each passing day, folks tend to get a bit more stressed, watching their spending especially THIS year, "making those lists, checking them twice, gonna find out who's naughty and nice" :::thinking 'HMPH, BAH HUMBUG' as I unwrap my Emergency chocolate, take aim with my piece of coal, and chuck it at the trash bin in my office:::

After all, 'tis the Season, right?

"It's the Most Wonderful Time of the Year...."
"Santa, Baby, just slip a sable under the tree for me, been an awful good girl."
"Deck the Halls, 'Tis the season to be jolly--Fa-la-la-la laaaa-la-laaaaah-la-laaaaaaa", and all that good stuff....

OK--Yeah yeah yeah, that's great and all. Now please move a little farther so I don't peg you with my charcoal or candy wrappers. Hey, I'm being NICE and not NAUGHTY--you gotta warning :)

This year I just haven't had time to feel all "Christmas-ish." The tree? Yup. Still in storage. No lights, no glitter or tinsel; my folks don't have theirs up either--heck, I didn't even get around to put out any cute little snowman or the little decorations in my office like I usually do to be a bit festive at work. What can I say--I guess I got the Christmas Blues, with everything going on this year.

So, when you hit the mall with the rest of the masses, grab a quick bite to eat while you sort through those receipts, give those aching footies a little bit of rest, and condense shopping bags to make room for the next frenzied round of shopping madness; the last thing you would expect to see would be a top-notch choral concert performance, right?

WRONG!

Take a look at this, let the incredible spirit, joy and beauty wash over you as you watch, listen, and feel the Hallelujah Chorus from Handel's "Messiah."
A-la-FOOD COURT STYLE.
At Seaway Mall in the Niagra Falls/Ontario area, to be precise.

Right at home nestled between Chik-fil-A and Panda Express and the arcade. Niiiice.

Turn up the speakers, sit back, watch the expressions on the faces of all the folks totally taken by surprise by this "Food Court Flashing" when this choral group gets up on the tables, chairs, scattered all throughout the food court.

In a word: BRILLILANT!

As I freak out over leaving for Houston to be with my mom during her treatment, worrying about my dad holding up through this entire process, watching their home, juggling work, working on recovering from my annual dose of HACKING, and begrudgingly leave my amazing hubby (my main supplier of said emergency chocolate), my loving li' critter Nutmeg, and the comfort of our home even if it's just for a couple of days--

With rolling suitcase and briefcase in hand, I arrived all frazzled at the office this morning, already stressed out, a dear colleague and friend kindly shared this BEAUTIFUL YouTube video with me--and this hit me like a freight train.
BAM!!!!

Made me Stop.
Made me Watch.
Made me Listen.
Made me Breathe.
Made me Step Back.
Made me Think.
Made me Cry.
Made me Feel.
Made me HEAR.
Made me Remember....

Get out of the frantic world of "ME ME ME"
Take a breath, marvel at this beautiful world,
even on an oddly rare, chilly, yet bright South Florida day.

Get into the joyful, peaceful season of "HIM HIM HIM"
and revel, soak up and GIVE THANKS
for all the blessings we've been given,
all the opportunities to experience life,
to bless others, spread joy, fill a need,
be a friend, give to the poor.

To LIFT UP YOUR VOICE,
no matter how large or small,
to PRAISE HIS NAME
and give a piece of Christmas Joy--
Even at the Food Court.

HALLELUJAH! HALLELUJAH!
HALLELUJAH! HALLELUJAH!

Instead, work on rewriting those Christmas songs
to go more a little something like this:

"Santa, Baby, already got me
everything I need, indeed.
Don't need you to bring me a thing.
Santa, Baby, I'm such a lucky girl!"

OK, so it's not perfect--but it's classic me.
Call it a work in progress.

After all, aren't we all....

2010 First Presidency Christmas Devotional--"Seeing Christmas Through New Eyes"

2010-12-09T16:44:00.004-05:00

I love listening to the First Presidency's Christmas Devotional,
and I look forward to it every year. It fills me up with that warm,
gooey feeling, even if it's from a satellite broadcast. Watching the Mormon Tabernacle Choir perform, catching glimpses of panned shots of Temple Square superbly lit up and decorated, completely blanketed in snow...awww, it makes me remember way-back-when, when I lived out there for a stint as a college kid attending BYU ::sniff sniff, getting a bit misty-eyed:::... I just LOVE IT!

Listening to the First Presidency give their respective talks never fails to amaze me and marvel at the incredible power, simplicity, and love they convey in their words--each very different in their flavor; but, combined, make such a delightful spiritual feast of the sweetest flavor to my very soul.

This year, my favorite talk was from President Uchtdorf, and one of his quotes especially hit me:

"“If we look for the good, we can see this time of year with new eyes—perhaps even with the eyes of a child.”

This powefully tapped my heart--TAP TAP TAP! HEY, YOU THERE, LISTEN UP!--and refocused me on the positive instead of the potential challenges and adversity--something I'm dealing with in the journey of my mother's growing battle with cancer.

There, sitting in our living room Sunday night, with Mom quietly watching along with Dad, we bathed in the spirit of truthfulness as President Uchtdorf's deep, melodious voice trembled with emotion as he taught and bore witness of the true spirit of Christmas to all of us.

Even those of us 3,500 miles away sitting at home
in Sunny South Florida.
Even to my mom, who's not a member of our Church.
We all could feel, hear, and see it--as with the eyes of a child.

I only hope I can keep that through the Christmas season and throughout the year.

I couldn't resist posting the video of President Uchtdorf's message.
I hope you enjoy and pass along!

Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays,
and Peace, Love, and Joy to you all :)

2010 First Presidency Christmas Devotional--"Seeing Christmas Through New Eyes"

2010-12-09T16:44:00.002-05:00

Blogs and Tweets and Web Sites--OH MY!

2010-12-06T14:33:00.002-05:00

OK, first of all, I’m am amateur—I really feel like I have absolutely NO IDEA what I’m doing out of bed, let alone behind a car, a computer, a book, etc….

When I get to oogle on Google and muck around through the incredibly vast world of online publishing across this little blue planet we inhabit, it totally amazes and overwhelms me—not underwhelm, not whelm, OVERWHELM even. Here’s why.

You never know who’s reading what these days, nor who’s writing what. I’m not trying to scare anyone with Big Brother or Wiki Leaks conspiracy stuff; it’s just a fact of life. Truly, people—readers, writers, performers, audiences—all across the world are on a LEVEL playing field, so to speak. The virtual world is indeed your oyster.

So, now more than ever, putting it out there is becoming more and more important—but how you put yourself out there needs to be just as varied as the multiple platforms out there.

Someone like myself, who is navigating the creative writing waters and exploring the avenues of becoming published, paid, or even recognized by anyone out there; testing the waters by blogging, tweeting, Facebooking (or any other type of social networking), and submitting works to contests, journals, or other publications or publishers can be a very confusing and daunting task.

In addition to daydreaming, hair twirling, and munching on Twizzlers and chocolate-a-plenty, I’ve been reading up on the issues facing publishing and booksellers with the ever-evolving technology—and the shift from publishers to go from “publishing companies” to “MEDIA companies” to adjust and change with these shifts.

Very interesting, Grasshoppahhhh….

The more I read, the more disheartened and confused I felt. The more I read, the more I realized I needed to know. One thing that totally shocked me: so many conflicting rules—some sites consider “published” materials to be anything on your blog, website, social networking page, or email—so that automatically ruled ANYTHING I’ve ever written to date, with the possible exception of my college admission essay on my dog biting off my finger….Grrrrr….

The entire reason I made a blog was to unite and mingle with the virtual world around me, sharing my thoughts, feelings, talents, and rantings—in the hopes that someone somewhere might be able to connect, relate, or enjoy it enough to read more and get to know lil’ ol’ me…so, was that a mistake?
Did I go in the totally wrong direction?
Funny, it didn’t feel wrong.
Not to me.

Others, however, welcome items that are previously “published” as long as credit was given, etc. Some award cash payments, others actually have the NERVE to ask YOU to PAY THEM to read your stuff and then have them judge you?! 'Scuse me?!!!
Wow, ummm, no way, no how….NEXT!!!!

I’ve ventured out to explore some great poetry sites.
One is MyWordWizard at http://www.mywordwizard.com/
( check out two of my poems on their site at http://www.mywordwizard.com/stuffed.html and also http://www.mywordwizard.com/buried-treasure.html ).
I've also submitted to publishers and publications such as Able Muse Poetry, Segullah—a Mormon Women’s literary publication and blog—and a few others.

Even though I know TONS of folks submit stuff to these and many more places in the hopes of becoming published—I still softly hold my breath, giddy as a little girl on Christmas.

Still a girl can dream, can't she?

Hmmm, ok, maybe I wouldn’t be a published poetess, and definitely not rich NOR famous---hey, I’d settle for a simple column, journal entry, or humorous story every now and then. Even for my local paper or something. That’d be just DANDY with me J

I’m so grateful that, through my Church calling as Public Affairs Director for my local area, I’ve had the opportunity of having some articles published in Church online newspapers and will very soon have an article appear in The New Era Magazine. That’s fantastic, an international publication targeting the youth of our Church worldwide.

That still isn’t where my creative spirit wishes to go,
however grateful I am….
Still I write,
still I dream,
still I stumble and scream,
struggling to grab a hold
of my teeming mind,
to find that path that is me,
that sets myself free and simply BE…..

However, when I pondered pulling down all my posted content, thus disabling my blog, my heart simply sank. It just didn’t feel right—and those of you who know me know I always follow my heart.
I like my blog. The look of it, the feel of it. It's SO ME!!!

So, in the spirit of “to thine own self be true,” I still believe in sharing my words, thoughts, and feelings, with my friends, family, and community around me.
Whether I get paid for it or not. It just feels like the right thing to do.
For me.

So, for now, still I write.

Someday, I feel I’ll make a living “following my heart” writing my little Twizzz off—I just feel it. Becoming one with the inner Twizzz. Om.

Hmmm, Grasshopper nothing—where I come from, that’s a TASTY milkshake, and a milkshake sounds just wonderful right about now.

“To thine own self be true”—How about you? How are you following your dreams? Making them real?

C’mon, people, open up and TALK TO ME.

Stuffed

2010-11-29T12:33:00.002-05:00

Packing up leftovers,
licking the spoons of their savory
sausage-appled-and-sagey stuffed goodness--
Oooh, did you taste this?!
Scraping remnants of recipes collected
through the years together.

Small and simple.
Kept it small and simple this year.
Enjoyed more easy moments
full of food and family.
Peaceful.
Good.

Car keys tucked into nooks and crannies
with time to spare until kickoff,
gentle laughs about the gravy stain
on your new shirt—oh well.
Grab another butter-baked roll to mop it up--
I won’t tell!

Fetch me another roll of towels
while I let the pans soak--
I’ll just buff up the trays before
putting them away for next year.
Did you happen to catch the score?

Lounging in loaded down lazy-boys
remotes slipping as body and mind
decide between holding on to
their piece of pie or to consciousness--
Hmm, so tempting, so warm….

Quiet dialogue floating amid the TV din.
Doorbell—Come in!
Make yourself home,
grab a cold drink from the fridge and sit down,
tell us what’s been going on with you--
what’s new?

Relax and unwind,
twirl your fork as you eat
and talk a little more,
revel in the smell that you find
around here this time of year--
smells like food and family.
Peaceful. Good.
Simple.

I think I’ll have a little more,
what about you....

Au Natural

2010-11-18T12:16:00.030-05:00

I did it again.
Yes, ma’am,
I sure did.

Left the house again
without my face on.

Not quite
like getting my game on,
but a little like
putting war paint on.
Gearing up, getting ready
for battle for the day,
to face the world,
dare it to squint, to smirk,
to bat an eye at me
the wrong way--
nuh uh, no way!
Not today….

You heard me,
I said
“face-free,”
that means
no spackle, no cream,
no base, no powder
no shadow or dream
of what I seemed to be,
only yesterday--
just
what I am.

And what is that?
Well? I'm waiting....

Am I
a woman, muse, wife,
daughter, deep thinker,
ruse to rile you up at night,
unsung super heroine,
a closet comedienne,
professional picture-
messer-upper?

Voila—c’est moi!!

Good enough
to drive to work
without accident
or incident,
unless you count
the lookers-on
who seemed to
part the waters,
so to speak,
as I dared to bare all.
Of my face, that is.

Nice try, though….

What, no cat calls?
So!?
Whatcha laughing at?
What’s so funny?

You act like
you ain’t never seen
a woman without her
fake face on before.
Oh, c’mon!

That’s right, go on,
Take a good look.
Eat your heart out!

No sunscreen, no primer.
Not microdermabraised.
Unplucked, uncovered,
yet completely
and utterly
desired.

No airbrush,
no photoshop,
no fake blush,
no photo-op,
pure me.
No kidding.
Really.

Gotta be insane
to be seen out-of-doors
these days like that.
Like what?
Like, really me.

Can’t paint-me-
by-number or
spray-tan me on in a pinch,
or
shimmer, satin, matte,
dab or pat it all smooth
like buttah.

(Don’t you go and “Sista” me,
Girl, PLEASE!)

Swirl, sparkle and shine me
into my state of Fineness,
call me HIGHNESS,
yes, you may,
because I can,
I just DID.

Can’t firm, tighten,
shrink-wrap me down,
I’m not down with that.
Cut the crap!

I’m “kitchen-sink” size,
holding everything
good and plenty
that’s ME.
Eyes wide open
(fluttering beautifully)
to SEE what’s really
all around me.

Surrounded by
such surreality.

Grab me my jeans,
will ya,
the ones with a touch
of spandex,
the ones that can
give a little
as I live a little,
or a LOT.

Don’t go nip, tuck
and lypo-suck me
outta my freaking mind--
too harsh and unkind
in natural light,
naturally,
to the naked eye

Why do we bother
so carefully crafting that image,
calm, coiffed, controlled--
painting on our confidence
when our surfaces
crack, smear, and
run under pressure
in all kinds of weather and times?

Cover up
those cottage cheese thighs
all super-sized in the
hottest looks and
colors of the season.

Wiggle, jiggle,
go ahead and giggle!
Let it all hang out, now.
Mmmmm, mmmm,
so squishy and gooey-in-
the-middle--
This is how I belly roll,
stretch marks et al.
(call it belly dance, if you will.)
Hey, that’s just me.

Swab me
all paraben-free
Injecting me organically,
laugh line upon line.
Purely
chock full o’ sulfates,
dewy dimethicone
removes
unsightly undertones
of oiled youth
whitened tooth
faking truth

Zip it up, Put it away--
No product, no spray,
No dyes, all the way.
Just for one day.
Look, Love, and OWN
that face in the mirror.

Just for the day.
Be the way
you were created to be.
Set yourself FREE.
Enjoy your ME.

Go on, eat your heart out.

Feel me now?
Game on!

Written by Eliza Jane Farley Gomez
November 18, 2010
©2010 Eliza Jane Farley Gomez

Office Spaced

2010-11-17T12:31:00.001-05:00

Holes in the ceiling tiles
stare down at me,
blank, zoned out,
gape open at
my utter lack of
mental oxygen
today
tomorrow
whenever....

myopically gulping for
any last tasty tidbits
clinging to the surface
before, during, and
after hours.
Unheard of. Absurd.
Irrelevant to my
frame of mind.
Fluorescently buzzed,
numbing thumb-tacked memos
to my forehead--

What was it you said?
You did say something, didn’t you?

Or are mine the only lips I hear moving?
Hmmm….

Written November 17, 2010 by
Eliza Jane Farley Gomez
©2010 by Eliza Jane Farley Gomez

Putting It Out There--BIG GULP!

2010-11-12T11:11:00.002-05:00

OK, I guess I had a blonde moment, no matter how artificially intelligent I might currently be (I recently wandered over to the REDHEAD side), LOL!
I follow several folks on my Twitter account, one of which is someone I’ve long admired and respected, albeit from very far away—Mr. Roger Ebert.

Back when I was in high school, my best friend and I loved going to movies, and we’d sit for hours afterwards discussing them, along with other important things like books, boys, and music, of course! We would fancy ourselves to be critics, believing that one day we could be famous critics like Mr. Ebert. Someday.

Fast forward over 20 years…..

Mr. Ebert has an online journal and his entry on his site on November 5th is titled “All the Lonely People.” It simply captivated me, and I had to read it several times and quietly reflect upon why, exactly, his words so moved me. I had to respond and let him know—something I’ve never done.

However, I firmly believe that when someone touches your life, you gotta let him or her know.

Otherwise, how do they know what they’ve done?

Soooooooooooo, I had some brilliantly witty sort of response that flew right out of my brain onto electronic paper (i.e., the computer screen) and hit “Submit” and then waited with baited breath, constantly checking back to see if my comment got posted, let alone read. NOTHING. I was heartbroken.

I had even Tweeted that I had gone ahead and commented on the journal site, maybe that jinxed me?

My niece had even Tweeted me asking where the heck was my comment—who knows?

Did I hallucinate? Hmmmmmm….

Well, folks, if at first you don’t succeed, TRY, TRY AGAIN! So I did.

Of course, it wasn’t exactly brilliant—never really was, I was simply using hyperbole to allure and entice readers into thinking I’m magnificent. KIDDING!!!

No, it was simply me, reaching out across the cyber universe, to let another being know that what they bravely put out there was received, reflected upon, and appreciated. By ME.

Here’s the link to Mr. Ebert’s journal site, feel free to take a read, enjoy the BEAUTIFUL and powerful photographs that accompany the journal entry, and see for yourself. http://blogs.suntimes.com/ebert/2010/11/all_the_lonely_people.html

I’d highly encourage and recommend reading this, and I’d love to hear your thoughts on what you think J

Oh, and, yeah, I actually saved my previewed comments and am pasting them below, as proof that I actually did submit something. But, alas, in my nervous haste, I had typos ::GASP::: Oh well, I dunno if it will post on his site this time, whatever the internet gremlins decide, I guess J Here’s what I posted:

Previewing your Comment

By Eliza Jane Gomez on November 12, 2010

I've been such a fan of your work for years--in fact, back in high school, my best friend and I wanted to be film critics "when we grew up." Over 20 years later, life taking a totally different and beautiful direction, I still haven't grown up and likely never will....I ventured to step out and comment on this entry of yours a couple of days ago (but I guess something prevented my post from listing)--which is a first for me. I tend to read and not post. Alas, whatever dim-yet-delightful comment I was "inspired" to write is lost to the cyber abyss forevermore..... However, your words in this particular entry literally tapped me in the heart and I felt compelled to "reach out" and let you know how grateful I am having read them.

Your words in the paragraph below especially sounded that bell deep within me:

"But why are you writing them? Don't you have anything else to do? Every day there are untold millions of comments, texts, and online interactions. Millions. And each one says, I am here and I extend my consciousness to there. There might have been a time when humans were content to sit and simply be, like the goat I saw yesterday sitting contently in a patch of sunshine at the Lincoln Park Zoo. That time was long ago. We want the news. We want to chatter and gossip. We want to say "I am alive" in a billion billion different ways. And now here is internet, providing such an easy, easy way to do that."

Your one particular line reminds me of the line in "Ars Poetica" that states,"A poem should not mean/but be."

I find that this is precisely why I venture at all to create and maintain a presence online--via Twitter, my blog, my poetry, Facebook, what-have-you....And, even though some of us at times revel in our solitude, we also embody the curiosity of exploring "what's out there" and make those connections that in any other way would be rendered unconnectable. From the safety and distance we still possess the ability to create, fan, and ignite experiences and passions. Your "delicious learning by proxy" very much represents how I vicariously live via voracious reading, mucking around on the internet, living life to the fullest, virtually and literally.

However, your commentary on lonliness also speaks to me in a different way altogether. I am entirely comfortable and embrace both being lonely/solitary and also the opposite end of the spectrum of being a social butterfly. Very much a people person, I thrive on meeting and getting to know new people, almost as much as travelling to new places...however, the more I reflect on this, the more I actually feel both connected and detatched--some part of me (not to sound so Sybil-lish) feels more alone than ever. But not in a negative way; no, much more a very soothing, "I'm more comfortable within my own mind than without" sort of way.

Your writing and the included photographs poignantly capture this, and I think that's what really jumped out at me. Made me think. Always a dangerous thing, that. Dangerous, yes, yet true.

So, sir, I thank you.

For beautifully capturing a sense of sentiment I never had any idea how to express. For sharing of yourself in an intelligent-yet-intimate way. Of connecting with wandering online travellers such as I.

And, yes, I still hold to the notion that one of these days I'll be able to be like you when I grow up, whenever that is :)

Humbly and Sincerely,

Eliza Jane Farley Gomez
Pompano Beach, FL

Can of Soup

2010-11-08T12:17:00.000-05:00

Standing in the checkout line,
Humming and tapping
to the muzak in time,
waiting just to pay and go.

Browse the fashion trashing tabloids
and tasty artisnacks,
looking over my loaded cart,
putting stuff back
that’s not on my list.

Lady behind me’s all pissed
about all my disgarded junk
invading “her” space in line.
HERS.
Do you mind?!

Hurry up, now,
I gotta run,
gotta get back home
in time to fix a
little something for dinner.

I gotta life, you know,
outside this store.
I can’t wait here all day….
Just another minute,
almost done,
I’ll be home soon….

Fall back with my head
on the pillow,
trying to let go of
the thing that won’t leave.
The damn I.V. dug in my arm,
dripping steady and warm,
drowning my pain down
the hall of my dream.

Hmmm, seems pretty real, though--
It is just a dream, right?

Did I imagine all the nurses
browsing down the hallways
of the patient rooms,
like shoppers in the stores,
checking, fluffing,
holding clipboards,
pushing their computer carts,
clipping bandages like coupons.

Scanning wristbands
like swiping cans of soup
across the sensors,
one right after the other,
at the checkout line.

So robotic, automatic,
ignoring the snoring,
the moaning, the crying,
the pissing and bleeding in bed.
Dead, oblivious to all but
the pulse oxymeter,
blood pressure stats,
and the beeping on the screen.

Tell me I’m dreaming….

Back in time,
as a child,
I remember the line
from that show,
“Loaf of bread,
this is your life!”

What a life to have,
Loaf of Bread,
sitting passive on a shelf,
waiting to be grabbed,
pinched, squeezed,
bought, and eaten…..

Not exactly a
“Thank-you-come-again”
experience….

That’s all I am, I guess,
how I feel in this place,
cans on a shelf--
no sense of self,
none at all.

Phantom figments of
people flickering, hovering,
impatiently tending to patients,
bending over me
without “seeing” me,
dressing my wounds.

Meanwhile ignoring the
torn gowns of hope discarded,
soiled, unsnapped, gaping
as bare-bummed,
red-socked folks
shuffle with their
newly-befriended poles,
making the mad dash
to portable bedside commodes--

Whew!

Just in time to explode,
unload their mounting fears,
bracing themselves for
tears that are too scared to fall….
and flush it, fold it, tucking it all
back into upholding a semblance
of dignity, not shame.
Terrifying!

The sick and the lame all around me
speak my name with their eyes,
beg for a shred of humanity, of
decency, of feeling alive.

With care like this,
tell me, how can I survive?
Why would I want to,
if this is survival,
if this is the “personal” care
I get--
Makes me sick!

Oh, wait, I already am…..
It’s just a dream, a very bad dream!
Please!

Wake me up before I can’t anymore--
Hurry, see that lady at the door,
plastic-wrapped, gloved,
sterile Monster--
the one that digs around
in my veins
to find the blood
that she claims isn’t there,
(must be too sick and tired
to come out to play.)

Go away!
Just leave me alone!

NO, not YOU!
Don’t go, please stay with me,
otherwise she’ll stick me again
‘til I bruise, or simply “forget”
to bring me some water,
or somehow manage not to hear
when I press, poke, and
desperately try to page her
with that abused button remote
just so I can go to the bathroom.

Hours later—“What do you need?”
Never mind.
Just bring me
another chuck for the bed
and a towel….

Welcome to my nightmare….

What a way to heal—in a hospital,
of all places!

Fully trained, credentialed,
experienced. Expert.
Where they care,
where patient safety comes first,
but not comfort.

Where they make you
fill out forms till your hand aches from
holding a pen for too long,
but they won’t hold it.

Where they show you
where to get a visitor’s pass,
but won’t visit you, keep you company.

Where they say that they
truly do care
what you think, feel, or say….

By the way,
as I lie here,
stuck in my stink of a bed
in the Who-Gives-a-Crap
(I just did)
department, I think,
“Can of soup, this is your life!”

Well, here--
take your bedpan,
and your body wipes,
and your scratchy vinyl pillows!
I don’t need ‘em, and I don’t want ‘em!

I’m putting it back, all of it, back--
not on my list.
It’s my life, up to me, not you.
MINE!
Do you mind?!

Hurry up, now, quick!
Help me unplug from these wires.
I’m sick. And tired.
I’m going home.

I gotta life, you know,
outside this bed.
I can’t wait here all day….
it’s killing me.
Just scan my lovely little wristband,
so I can check-out and go.

"Thank you, come again"--
I think NOT.

Hair Brushing

2010-10-25T17:30:00.009-04:00

Lights out,
visitors gone,
it’s just you and me,
no phone, no TV.
Just us girls.

Hush now, don’t worry--
I’m right here, and I’m staying.
It’s all right, I won’t leave you.
Get some sleep, now.
I’ll be here.

Let me grab my nail file,
trim your nails,
file them down just a bit,
nice and round,
nice and smooth.

Those little things make
such a big difference.
(We girls understand that.)

Trusting me,
letting go,
letting me
take your hand in mine--
Once,
strong, quick and
nimble…
Now,
trembling and feeble,
weathered and
weakened by pain.
Rubbing lotion in
to massage away
the strain of the day.

Those beautiful hands--
so elegant and graceful,
writing and typing stories,
covering glories and events
through the years.
Stories I could only imagine….

Those very same hands
held us as babies, helped others,
cooked, cleaned and worked us
into the family we are.
Those same hands that
wiped tears from my eyes,
picked me up when I’d fall,
hugged, raised, and loved me
into all that I am now.

Cragged, scarred and
roughened by
life’s many lessons--
their beauty not lessened but
ever beautiful still.

Hush now, don’t worry--
I’m right here, and I’m staying.
It’s all right, I won’t leave you.
Get some sleep, now.
I’ll be here.

I patiently sit by your side
through the night.
Watching your face,
pinched with fear,
gradually,
minute-by-minute
fall into slumber,
quivering lip slacking low,
clutching fingers letting go
of their seasoned control of
their vice grips as
worries slowly fade
into the blanket
tucked around you.

That very same face that has
always been there,
always watched over me;
now, humbly overcome by
you letting me
watch over you just this once.

That beautiful face,
once fully-and-expertly-
made-up, and perfect.
Professional.
Now, lined, aged-kissed by
years of experiences made,
grown, fully shared and given.
Every age spot so precious,
so dear, so full of living.
That beautiful face--
perfect still.

Hush now, don’t worry--
I’m right here, and I’m staying.
It’s all right, I won’t leave you.
Get some sleep, now.
I’ll be here.

Let’s slick some lip balm
over those chapped lips,
shall we, to heal them,
to soothe them.
Just a little dab of color.
There. That’s better.

Beautiful lips that
mean business.
Stubborn.
Independent.
Lips worn with kisses
and smiles and strong
words of wisdom,
kissing away years of hurts,
gave advice that really works,
spoken truth (even when it hurt).

Hush now, don’t worry--
I’m right here, and I’m staying.
It’s all right, I won’t leave you.
Get some sleep now.
I’ll be here.

Won’t you let me
brush your hair—
you’ll feel so much better
when I’m done,
you’ll see….
Reaching for the worn
wooden handle,
I stand behind you,
fluff up your pillow,
whisper soothing words
to calm your nerves and quell
unanswered questions.

Remember when you said,
“It hurts to be beautiful”--
you cooed to me when
I was four, and you
yanked spiked curlers
from my hair
as tears streamed
down my face—
that tangled mess and memory
still reminding us how to
laugh through our tears
these many years later.

Untie your scarf and
begin to work your clip out,
unwinding your hair from its
loosened bun, softly pulling
the brush through your hair.

Beautiful hair
that means confident,
feminine,
in control.
Silky strands, now silvered and
gleaming from decades of working,
of caring, of loving us—mothering.
A bit thinner from the cares
and worries from the world,
all for the good of her family;
but, to me, that hair is
even more beautiful now.

Brush away those knots of
stress and worry; brushing
gratitude, love, and peace
with each stroke,
calming, falling into the
steady rhythm of the
I.V. drips and ticking clock,
gently rocking you
back and forth in your chair.

Did you used to
rock me to sleep like this?
Did you brush my hair
till I fell asleep in your lap?
Thoughts wander wordlessly
through the long hours.
Long, tender, thoughtful,
delicate.

Mirror dimly reflects
florescent glimmers
glistening down my cheeks.
Grateful to be needed.
To be trusted.
To be let in.
To be here.
Quietly.
Finally.

Hush now, don’t worry--
I’m right here, and I’m staying.
It’s all right, I won’t leave you.
Get some sleep, now.
I’ll be right here when you wake…..

Eliza Jane Farley Gomez ©2010
Written By Eliza Jane Farley Gomez
Monday, October 25, 2010

Road Trip

2010-10-11T14:54:00.000-04:00

They say all roads lead to Rome.
Ok, so….

What road leads to you?
The You that you want,
the You that you need,
the You that you are already
(and may not know it)….

Better be ready,
at least have some idea of
what makes you you,
makes you tick,
who you want to be
and why,
try to picture the path
your life will lead.

Even so,
how do you really know
what your life’s road will be,
what’s your destiny?

Destination unknown?
Doesn’t have to be….

What does it look like?
Is it straight and narrow,
or winding and curved?
Is it paved or cobbled,
or covered in dirt?

Where does it come from?
Where does it go?
How does it travel?
Too fast, or too slow?
Is it the “Road Less Travelled,”
or does everyone know?
How far must you take it
before you know?

When you drive
down the beach,
Are you ready to meet
The You that is waiting
for you to arrive?

Climb inside
and sit back,
inhale the salty,
sunny breeze
on your face,
tickle the truth
in this place,
in the now,
the familiar
that’s moving
around you
right by you
beyond you
yet through you.
Take it into you.
It’s all You….

On your way,
do you notice the scenery
as you drive on by--
the peaks, the valleys,
the seasons or greenery?

Or are you too busy
fiddling with the radio,
too distracted by trying
to get your groove on,
or figuring out
where to go next,
living your life by the clock,
paying
no
attention
whatsoever
to the beautiful
blurs that whizz and
whirl by in the moment.
Blink and you’ll miss it….

Get to know the You
that is you right now,
that’s in the here-and-now,
that feels real right now.
Up close and personal.
You and just you.
Feels comfy pajama’d,
feels lived in, easy in your skin,
feels like you feel right now.

Do you know what your
very own road tastes like?
Do you barrel down your road,
windows down,
head hanging out,
mouth wide open?

Is your mouth full
of grime and grit,
makes you hack up
saliva and spit?
Or is it rich like the
ground soaked with rain,
licking at your skin,
coaxing you to begin again,
to inhale the freshly cut,
crisp chlorophyll new,
hovering, flowering you to
sip your sweet nectar.
Does it taste like you knew it would--
the You you know and love
on the tip of your tongue?

What about the You
that’s not really you,
but has been, or,
might have been,
for just a little while?
Took a wrong turn here or
detour or dead-end there, or
went off the beaten path,
simply mucking around?

Been there, done that,
got a drawer full of T-shirts….
(I think we all have….)
Out of style now, dated,
Torn, ripped, and faded.

Moved on, up and
over-and-over as the
You-back-then turned into
the You-just-awhile-ago,
into the You that
you are right now,
growing, reaching and
stretching into the You
that you will be. Someday.
Eventually.
You can almost see, but
not
quite
yet.

Are you there yet?
Will you be?
Ever?
When will you get there?
Where is “there” anyway?
How will you know?

Going down the road
you travel, you learn to
love the ride, the road,
marvel at mirrored reflections
of sites seen, places been.

Open wide, dig inside,
unravel and get to know You,
feel you, taste you,
learn you, grow you.
You, the whole You, and
nothing but the You
as you go down
that path that you choose,
the way that you choose,
on your way to becoming
the You of all Yous.

Ok, so….
Which way do you go,
which way do you go now?

©2010 Eliza Jane Farley Gomez
Written by Eliza Jane Farley Gomez
October 11, 2010

The D Word

2010-10-08T15:40:00.000-04:00

I hate the D word,
really, I do….

(If you see what I see,

wouldn’t you, too?)

Why do we dwell on

the divergence,
the diversity,
the difference
of life?

D is for…

Dirty
Depressing
Difficult
Dull
Doomsday
Dumb-as-a-box-of-
(but, alas, I DIGRESS)….

I don’t mean to
get y’all
DOWN-in-the
dumps….
after all,
we don’t have
to live on the
down side, do we….

Don’t get me wrong,

now,
I DO
happen to know
D is for…
Divine
Deity
Delish
Delightful, as it were.

Well, DUHHH!!!!
Ya big DUMMY!

Are we not
all of us
created in
God’s image?
Male and female--

Doesn’t
that
mean
we
are
all
the
SAME
and
NOT
DIFFERENT?

Yet, “Different,” you say,

“is good,” you say,
“is special,” you say,
“is set apart”—

Well,

I couldn’t
disagree
MORE….

Why do we
break ourselves
up from the
rest of the
group of
humanity--
is it vanity,
insecurity,
or PRIDE?

Why must we

hide behind
labeling others
(like we label
ourselves) for
the comfort
of our own
little cubby holes
and categories?

Why can’t we

just let it BE?
“Live United,”
not divided
into those
cozy little labels.

Scatter-the-gories and
let Life tell the story
of the you-
and-the-me
of the US,
of the WE.

We are different,
Yes, we are—
in a sense,
that’s true.
That’s beautiful.
BUT we’re
more the same,
more alike
than not--

We’ve got
to stop
looking
at
(and dissecting)
the
individual
parts,
but, instead,
at the
sum of our
collective souls,
minds, hearts,
energies,
talents,
gifts.

Get my drift?

Sure, go ahead,

celebrate diversity,
celebrate life.
Celebrating is good.

But
don’t
ignore
Inclusion.
Feel it. See it.
Know it. Be it.
Live it. Breathe it.
Love it. Teach it.
DO IT.

No matter how different
we may be,
we’re more the same
underneath it all--
All God's kids.
All loved.
All Divine,
unlimited in our potential.

Peel back the skin
and you’ll see,
you’ve got the
same blood,
same bones,
same guts as me.
Same hopes,
same fears,
same dreams as me.

Same you. Same me.

Same Difference.

Damn,
there’s that D word again….

Lie Back

2010-09-28T15:13:00.000-04:00

What am I wearing?
Your voice
in my hands
gives them warmth—
makes me feel the fan
on my face.
Gives them guidance.
Makes me know
the suck of your words
driving my mind to
lie back.
So passive in passionate grope
on the edge of the bed.
Lips swollen moist
at the thought of your mouth
inside mine.

What am I wearing?
Your stare
on my lips
gives them wet--
makes me feel the crisp
of the night
on my back.
Gives them strength--
makes me trust in
the curve of your neck
rushing my mind to
lie back.
So sated in promising thrust
on the edge of the bed.
Cheeks flushing hot
at the feel of your legs
wrapped in mine.

What am I wearing?
Your soul
in my thighs
gives them dark--
Makes me feel the
chill of the room
on my chest.
Gives them reason--
Makes them know
the soothe of your fingers
gentling my heart to
lie back.
So cradled in unconscious shudder
on the edge of the bed.
Hair tousled, damp
at the sight of your hand
over mine.

Written by Eliza Jane Farley Gomez

Rediculosity

2010-09-22T12:28:00.005-04:00

Do you want to know
what keeps me up at night,
what makes my stomach
tighten up, clench
at the mere thought?

Do you really want to know?

Well it’s like this….
We work so hard to
learn so much to
be so much to
do so much
all in such a rush
no time to blush
grab a bite and go!

But why, tell me why
do we do “it”
at all?
(What is “it” anyway?)
Tell me why.
Do you know why?
Well, do you?
DO YOU?

Let me tell you
something….
“Tell me,” you say.

No time
these modern days
to sit down anymore,
and share meal familial,
staring, baring ourselves
in the light of the real
reality we’ve created,

alone,
isolated,
bombarded by
screen crawls,
pop ups,
sound bytes,
downloads,

all remote-controlled
by our tweets and our
socially-networked
personas tucked nicely
in the palm of your hand.

Still don’t understand?

Take a swig
of that imported water
while driving by
smellified local lakes
festering fish
choked on phosphates,
foaming mistakes
of our fathers.

Drive your foreign car,
taking you far
in that safely bubbled
artificial that so
coolly preserves you
into the perverse

Lead-painted, Wi-Fi’d
dollar store universe
that now makes you
self checkout,
yet outlaws beggars
on the streets.
Cover them with sheets,
roll up your window,
pretend to make a call,
turn your head,
drive on by….

Imported goods
outsourced jobs
sold out pride
quality lies
home grown pain
by home towners
long forgotten….

How have we gotten
so low?

How can you
pretend not to know
our strength,
our government
(and power)
of the people
by the people,
for the people
lay crumbling and rusted?

This land was a place
entrusted to us
One Nation, under God.
Indivisible.
Yet, divided, we fall,
fall from grace,
trying to save face with
the rest of the world….

Drive those prices down, now,
come on, lower than that.
Work it.
Break the competition,
break it.
Cracked our foundation.
Buy now,
live in the now.

Eat,
drink, and
be merry now, for tomorrow we…
Oh, just do it now.
Gotta do, gotta do
gotta do do DO.
Hurry up!
Right now!

Pay later. Worry later,

Much later, worry about it all
tomorrow….

Well, folks,
later is NOW,
and payback’s a bitch.
(except when you’re rich,
and we sure ain’t, nope,
not anymore.)
Foreign countries
now own our stores,
foreclose us,
slamming the doors.

What have we done?

The politics of fixing
this mess are simpler than
mud-slinging campaigns,
not about
assigning blame,
Tea-Party this,
Socialist that,
Labeling, distorting,
smearing it all
Into meaningless,
mediafied mumbo jumbo.

What’s left that’s in-between?
Such a bipartisan pain in the ass…

But, as a nation we
should be ashamed of
what we’ve become….
for talk is cheap, and
we’re all flat broke
with the chipped,
plastic fake
of broken promises and
airbrushed tomorrows.

Spare me from
strategically-placed
photo-ops—why not spray
dispersants on those
oil-slicked honey-tongues
into shutting up for good?

We can do better than this,
can’t we?

“We the People”
lull ourselves into
watching sunsets
on HD wide-screened
LED jumbo-trons,
globally warming us
into feeling brighter,
better, more alive
than we really are.

The remote tepidity
screams
of the sheer
rediculosity
of it all….

Supersized lives
downsizing
doped-up dreams,
bringing us back to
what seems possible.

Gotta get back
to the basics
of who we really are
what we really need right now.

It takes more than
a world about me
and my YouTube,
takes more than you’re
willing to see
this very second,
takes all that you’re
able to be and more

Do you have what it takes?
Do you? Prove it.

What will we leave behind
for our future?
They deserve so much more
than a “taste-but-don’t-swallow”
experience, don’t you think?

No more social experiments,
we’re no Petri dish.
We can only change by doing.
Doing together.
United we can stand a little taller.

Take my hand,
don’t be shy,
Get off the couch,
we have to try
day by day,
one day at a time.

Do what we can,
where we can,
how we can,
when we can,
all we can.
While we still can.

After all, it’s home, it’s here,
it’s what’s left to do….

Written by Eliza Jane Farley Gomez
September 22, 2010

Pregnant

2010-09-21T11:39:00.001-04:00

How far along am I?
Hmmmm, I’m not really sure.
Can’t seem to recall
The exact moment the
Fertilized thought took root,
Anchoring in my womb.
Which one are you talking about?

Was it 10 years ago…
Wait, no….
How about last night,
In three weeks?
The day after tomorrow?

If only I were pregnant
like this every day.
I’d pay good money
just for that. Really.
I’m not joking.

I’m not crazy.
I’m not showing.
I’m not moody.
I’m just growing
larger and larger,
expanding horizons,
if you will….

I don’t have morning sickness,
not like you think,
not yet, not really.
I get poetic poisoning
when I take too long to
float, to think, to center,
to write all the flutterings down
The pieces try to drown me,

Weighing down my heart,
swelling with the full
force of feeling enlightened
tickling the walls of my mind….
Kicking me softly into here and now,
Rubbing my tummy absently,
Humming lullabies to the
creative little cooings inside,
open me wide to the
sound of my soul
makes me whole again

Can’t cradle my little ones,
not yet, my darlings,
not with my hands just yet.
Leaves me upset,
Unfulfilled, unmade.
Tears gradually fade when
Spirit whispers to me,
“Soon, when we’re ready,
when it’s time.”

(How much time do we need?)

Funny, I don’t get swollen ankles,
just swollen veins, pumping,
gushing, flowing those hot,
thick, tangy passions,
into something new,
but messy.
Bold, not safe,
but feeling true,
feeling me, feel that
seed growing now every time
my mind wanders, lingers
on the possible words,
the rich flavors of ideas
tingle, mingle, swirl,
forming fresh meat,
digging deep as
my poor heart will go.

There’s only so much
space that’s inside,
when I feel full,
stretched tight like there’s
no room to grow,
Just when I want to
say “No more,
I can’t breathe, I
can’t take anymore!”

I’m on sensory and
mental overload.

I need to be on
creative bed rest
when linguistic contractions
buck me out
of daily life,
doubling me over,
giving way to sharp,
sudden shudders
of knowing that
the end’s right on
the tip of my tongue,
pushing, tearing,
crowning out
the realization of
one
more
poem.

Shaking, quivering,
sweating, smiling,
cradling, reveling,
Savoring that you’re mine.
All mine. Really.
Part of me.

“Congratulations,
It’s a…JOY.”

A joy worth repeating.
And sharing.
Over and over again.

Written by Eliza Jane Farley Gomez
September 21, 2010

Get Healthy, Get Budgeting--Come on Down!!

2010-09-21T09:53:00.000-04:00

If y’all are in the Broward County area

on Friday, September 24th, from NOON til 6pm

COME ON DOWN
To the
2nd Annual Lauderdale Lakes Health Awareness Day

Sponsored by United Way of Broward County (where I work n stuff)
and the American Institute

3190 N. State Rd 7, Lauderdale Lakes, FL 33319
Call 954-777-0083 for more info

Featuring SPECIAL GUEST Lorenzo “Ice Tea” Thomas!
FREE Mini-Physical Exams and Health Screenings
FREE Health Care Workshops
FREE Financial Workshops

Come on, ya KNOW ya WANNA....
Click on the link below for flier and more info:
http://www.unitedwaybroward.org/index.php?src=events&srctype=detail&category=UWBC%20General%20Events&refno=3735

Ode to Lava Lamps

2010-09-14T15:57:00.001-04:00

I love lava lamps.
Gotta love 'em.

Always have.

Maybe
I'm just a product of my generation….
So simple, so GROOVY,
so ebb and flow,
letting go
Of all the stuff that
Clogs the soul….

Besides, sometimes
I feel like
embracing my "inner amoeba,"
ya know, and just stare
off into space,
drifting in and out of
businesslike relevance.

A "lava" state of mind, if you will….

It's hard not to smile,
just for a little while,
so hard not to be entranced
by all the positive,
glowy warmth
of the float-drift-and
fall into the cozy,
enthralled
by that
illuminated blob
in a tube.

Stretching,
reaching,
spreading
that gooey bit
of happy and
peaceful,
not giving a damn
about deadlines
or gossip, or
"what do they think"

Don't THINK
Take a break,
back away from the desk
Take a deep breath,
and just drink of
that rich, tubey,
trance-like
you'll be.
Lovin' that free
Kick back, and be….

Soak up that feeling of
ooh la la lava.

Don't bother me,
I'm getting my lava on now….

Written by Eliza Jane Farley Gomez
9/14/10

Spirit’s Divide

2010-08-12T09:56:00.042-04:00

I'm a shield
and protection,
my choice and election
unsure--

Yet, it Pure,
purely burns inward,
turns.
Lesson learns me to
FEEL...BE...
CONSUME
all the air in the room--
It's too much,
much too soon….

Why right now?
I'm not ready.
But,
HOW?
How to harness
this truth?

And I stand,
taken in,
with a spin.
It begins….
Knowing grin--
I can't win.
Full of sin
Pumping thick
in my blood….

So I stand,
Lock my love
into.
Me.
Gaze above….

And it's real,
really there
in my flesh,
tries to tear,
Bear me up
deep inside
through my Spirit's divide.

Promptings strong,
wake my night--
I must now
Testify,
bare my soul,
Choose the Right
by the Light
of the Moon.

Shadows soon
catch the tune of
my thoughts.
Make,
immune me from
turning away—

So I stay at the Front
And I pray,
Pray my feet give no way--
Flex my faith
In the Dawn
of the Son.

Feeble crust of His Bread
Tastes pure hope
in my head.
Soaks me up to the
Very last drop…

Human cup that
I
drink.
Just to—
taste, smell, and think
in this skin that's so warm
with this place.

Fills my heart
with the love of His face--
His face, that I know
like my own,
Soul remembering…
Home--
long ago, not unknown.

And I stand.
I am one,
one who sees
through the forest
of Being
this life—
it makes sense…
Sense to me
now….

I am ready.
I am come
here, to witness,
in song.
Pure forgiveness,
The truth of all things
in our time.

About time….

Finally, Flowing, Free--
Freely shaping—now, BE….
My soul, shield, protection
My choice, my election
Made.
Sure.
My Life.
My decision.
My ME.

Written by Eliza Jane Farley Gomez
9/17/08, rev. 8/11/10

Knowing

2010-07-31T10:07:00.001-04:00

I lie awake at night,
wonder how you are,
knowing you're so far away.
So I fluff up my pillows,
and I tug at the covers.
Tomorrow's another day….
And I pretend that I'm smiling--
that I really believe it--
when I wake with the taste
of your smile on my tongue.

I walk through the house at night,
wonder where you are,
knowing you're too far away.
So I sit in the kitchen
in a tank top, sip cocoa
to the ticking of the clock.
Tomorrow's on its way….
And I make like I'm laughing--
that I can't wait to feel it--
when I wake with the warmth
of your laughter in my ear.

I go to sleep at night,
wonder how you are,
knowing you're just far away.
So I scratch my dog good-night,
and I stretch in the cool bed.
Tomorrow I'll be okay….
And I laugh, 'cause I'm smiling--
and I just can't believe it--
when I wake with the smell
of the sun on my face.

(Written by Eliza Jane Farley Gomez 10/20/96, published in 1997, rev. 7/22/10)

Timed Out

2010-07-30T09:02:00.000-04:00

Why do I get quiet time?
I'm not a child, you now.
Won't go sulk in the corner
because you don't wanna deal with it,
because you lost a voice for what's inside,
because you scared yourself and don't know
what to do with your sticky pizza fingers anymore.

Why do I get time out?
It's not fair, you know.
Won't go write rules down after class
because you don't wanna feel it,
because you lost the strength to do what's right,
because you psyched yourself out and don't know
what to do at recess anymore.

Why do I get nothing?
I'm still here, you know.
Won't run home and cry to Mamma
because you don't wanna fix it,
because you're afraid of letting go again,
because you shut yourself off and don't know
what to do after school anymore.

Why don't they teach stuff like this at school?

(Written by Eliza Jane Farley Gomez)

Home

2010-07-30T09:00:00.000-04:00

I still smell you
driving home,
all alone,
and I smile,
'cause you're still with me--
apart, yet, a part of me
in my shirt, my skin,
my hair--
you're not really there,
yet I feel you
stroking my hand,
my back,
my face as I
grab the clutch
at the light
in a blush.
I can taste you
in the breeze
on the road
in the dark,
and I know
that you're with me
you're so far away,
but I hear your
heartbeat goodnight
pulling up to the house.
I turn the key.
I still see you
in my bed,
through the night,
in my dreams,
and I smile,
'cause you're at home
with me.

(Written by Eliza Jane Farley Gomez 4/9/98, rev. 7/21/10)

Friendly Advice

2010-07-29T08:58:00.000-04:00

Don't want too much--
you'll never get enough,
left wiping away
that lingering stale from your mouth
with the back of your hand
once the haze clears.

Don't think too much--
you'll never know enough,
left stretching away that
lingering yawn from your limbs
with the spread of your arm
once the day breaks.

Don't work too much--
you'll never do enough,
left rubbing away that
lingering dream from your eye
with the tip of your pinky
once the cover falls.

Don't give too much--
you'll never be enough,
left rinsing away that
lingering shock from your heart
with the splash of your tears
once the alarm goes.

Written by Eliza Jane Farley Gomez

Offering

2010-07-29T08:52:00.002-04:00

Use my head
to spill out yours--
to let emotion
run its course
along my lips,
inside my mouth,
you shake and sweat
with burn of truth.

Use my heart
to strengthen yours--
to let it cry
and reach for more
against my skin,
deep down inside
you cuddle close--
in me you hide.

Use my soul
to soothe with yours--
to keep those dreams
and make you sure,
amid the love
all through my veins,
you sleep in peace,
smiling my name.

(Written by Eliza Jane Farley Gomez originally 9/26/96, rev 7/21/10)

Never

2010-07-28T08:30:00.001-04:00

Words never said.
Could never choke them out.
Bricks biling up at the base of my throat.
Funny how the wall fell--
don't need to hide anymore.
Flowing through free--
weightless, alive in my veins,
sizzling my tongue,
filling trembling mouth with
oneness of being.

Feelings never shown.
Could never strip them bare.
Winds whipping out at the backs of my legs.
Funny how the blanket fell--
don't feel cold anymore.
Shining through free--
glowing, hot in my mind,
searing my skin,
filling tearless eyes with
oneness of knowing.

Bodies never touched.
Could never hold them back.
Rains driving deep into the strands of my hair.
Funny how the clothes fell--
don't feel naked anymore.
Seeping through free--
glistening, washing my face,
licking my heart,
filling waiting arms with
oneness of having.

I can say them now.
I can feel them now.
I can touch them now.
Funny how things happen….

(Written by Eliza Jane Farley Gomez 7/20/96, rev. 7/26/10)

Beach Sessions

2010-07-27T08:41:00.002-04:00

And I sit.
And I scrunch.
And I smooth.
And I brush a loose hair from my face
in the salty breeze.

And I sit.
And I stare.
And I sigh.
And I laugh a tear back from my eye
in the lapping waves.

And I sit.
And I stretch.
And I sprawl.
And I make shell constellations
in the midnight sand.

And I stand.
And I shake.
And I smile.
And I leave beach-covered sandals
in the velvet moonlight.

(written by Eliza Jane Farley Gomez 6/15/97, rev. 7/26/10)

Buried Treasure

2010-07-26T09:01:00.003-04:00

These covers hide me
in my bed--
I dig for shelter,
bury my head,
biting into all
your "saids" unsaid.
These covers hide me
in my bed.

These covers claim me
through the night,
caress and cradle--
hold me tight,
stroke my heart--
it's taken flight.
These covers claim me
through the night.

These covers make me
so complete,
they smooth my sane
and trap your heat--
your soft familiar
wraps my feet.
These covers make me
so complete.

These covers with me,
pour into you,
I breathe your heartbeat.
I feel it move.
Hot, woven whispers
whet me through--
these covers with me,
uncovering you.
(11/23/99, rev. 7/22/10)

In My Arms

2010-07-26T08:59:00.001-04:00

In my arms
you can stay
as long as you like,
so I can rock you
gently to sleep in the
sounds of the morning,
cradling your head
from all worry and care as
my heartbeat soothes,
rhythmically,
quietly,
back…and
forth….
lines vanishing in
trusting slumber in
the crook of my love.

In my arms
you can stay
as long as you need,
so I can hold you
so soft in the
hush
of the night,
unfold your mind into
the blanket of me.
Keep you warm,
safe from harm
as you dream of
the soon to be.
Lullaby, my darling,
so you can be
strong enough
and
trust me enough
to bear up your burdens.

In my arms
hold me tight,
comes the light
as you sleep,
back and forth,
fluff-up your soul
and know
WE BELONG.

In my arms
my heartbeat--a
song you can feel;
smooth away fears,
nuzzle up to my soul
and dream in
first rays of our morning.
Taste tomorrow's
sweet taste
on my skin,
smell our new life begin--
where you belong,
my dear love,
hurry back
to your home
in my arms.
(12/13/99, rev 7/23/10)

10 Years Later....

2010-07-21T12:25:00.000-04:00

I wrote these two poems before actually seeing my husband, before meeting him face-to-face….
Yes, more than 10 years ago, falling in love online wasn't quite the norm as it has grown into being today.
In rereading these little poems today, on our 10^th Anniversary,
I can honestly say my feelings have catapulted to a
completely different plane of emotional and spiritual depth.
Reflecting back on how crazy I was back then, taking a huge "leap of faith" in
Falling in love with someone sight-unseen, long-distance, across state lines
And totally just trusting my heart and the Spirit which kept prodding me forward,
I thank God each and every day that I trusted "in the Lord and leaned not into (my) own
Understanding" because He truly blessed me with one incredible man, my dearest
and truest friend and companion and lover. He blessed me with a love so deep and true
that healed me, brought great peace to my heart and soul, and clicked my other half snugly
Into place, making both of us whole. Benjamin, while these words are still very true,
They are a faint glimmer of the depth of what I feel that words completely eclipse yet heart and soul embody.
Thank you for loving me, for believing in me, and for being with me together forever….

Until Now….
Can you begin to know
how happy I feel...
Can you know this feeling too?
Can you begin to understand
how deeply I love you?
Can you begin to feel my
heartbeat that flies
as you meet it with
such magnificent words...
words I've never heard...
words I've never owned...
words I've never felt...
words I never believed to be real...
until now....
Can you begin to see your heart
softening me...
making me into what I need to be
for YOU....
I never knew....I never knew....
I never knew.
until now.
11/30/99

Twenty Minutes More
Twenty minutes more--
sighhhhhhinnnnggg
to keep dreaming
as i sleep,
sleeping you to me…
eyes go right thru me,
arms go around me,
skin sticks against me….
you linger in the air,
just out of reach--
not really there….
reaching.
reaching.
reaching....
I DO.
beseech thee--
give me
twenty minutes more,
before the alarm
can do any harm
to the magic I feel--
your
hot hands of steel
touch me and heal
EVERYTHING
that hurt before--
before i knew
how to deal with
the hand i've been given.
feeling.
feeling.
feeling....
i strrrretchhhhh
to hold heaven
in your eyes--
that seal
all our words
from the night before….
praying.
praying.
praying....
give me
twenty minutes more
more of that
heart-felt-and-tingled--
soft part
YOU
mingled with
ME
in the dark--
staying.
staying.
staying....
did you hear my
heart
pounding
at the start
of your words--
saying.
saying.
saying....
never leave me
stay
love and
keep me
just--
love me,
twenty minutes more….
11/30/99 rev. 4/23/08

I Remember

2010-07-07T17:28:00.001-04:00

Mikey,
I remember you all the time,
At the oddest moments, really.
Like when we were singing along to
Springsteen's "Born in the USA" while
We watched fireworks on the 4^th of July--
YOU taught me to appreciate
the poetry
that is Springsteen….
And I just can't wrap my head around
The fact that you're gone nearly 11 years.
Gone.
Not forgotten, just not right here,
Laughing with me, singing with me,
talking about "deep stuff" with me.
Mulling over poetry and writing with me…
GETTING me.
Quoting goofy movie lines,
belting out SARAH, HEART, Indigo Girls in the car,
driving down the beach at night,
cracking up at you being such a GUY
Drinking thru a straw so daintily—batting your
Incredibly lush lashes, darkly twinkling us
into hysterics as we got high
on chocolate cokes and great conversation.
Good times, no, GREAT times….
Times worth remembering.

Seems like just yesterday,
when I bother to think back,
but so much has changed….
Sometimes I feel so lost,
because I lost such a big part of me in you.
The big brother I never had…YOU….
Marathon phone calls spilling over
sketches, poems, bits of this-and-that,
lucid dreams that we only dare
talk about with each other because
they're just simply too bizarre
to share with anyone else.
Who else could I ever discuss foot fetishes,
Greenwich Village, Marxism,
Politics, Deep Doctrine, Maya Angelou's poetry,
Patriarchial Blessings, road tripping, and
Going to the Temple—all in a single stream-of
Consciousness conversation? Nah….

Belly laughs. Bear hugs.
Harmonizing in church, hanging out,
or in the car.
Break out the guitar and our journals,
Break it all down into the real, the feel,
Singing out, sharing that healing together.
Crying on each others' over-sensitive shoulders.
Keeping each other from tearing ourselves down.
Analyzing "why won't he call me? What's wrong
With me?" and coming to the rescue with
music, movies, chocolate, and understanding
that I'm an artistic, old soul….
You held me up while I cried it all out, felt so
Dirty, unwanted, unworthy.
You knew better.
I never got to thank you….

(If only you could meet and hang out with the
One who claimed my entire heart and healed me
—after all those months of singing me praise
I never felt I deserved—HE came!)

Loneliness touched you, too, and found you
an unlikely songbird to have and to hold—
if only for a moment. So tiny, so fragile. All yours.
Your very own little piece of heaven
after a life of hell. Out of everyone,
you deserved your happily-ever-after.
I wanted to envy you, really, I did. I tried.
but part of me felt protectively your sister,
wondering if her heart was as true to you
As you truly were as YOU.
Not my call, I know.
But I always did wonder….

Part of me just died the day you died.
Our little "band of merry men"
scattered and gone—
that's the only way I can describe it.
If you only knew "you-know-who" held me up
that day at your funeral as I cried over
everything YOU—ironic, yeah, I know.
So numb, so stunned, so swollen with tears
still unshed--that day was such a blur of
struggling to make any sense at all.
sense out of senseless, now that's rich.
So me….I just couldn't
bear to let it be.
Took me so long to go to the cemetery,
seems like it's more real that you're gone.
That can't be right, I still hear you giggling away
in my head, I still talk out loud with you
in the car, I still wonder what you'd think
About this-and-that.

The gang's still here, in a manner of speaking—
some drifted away, others faked out, flaked off,
totally crusted me out.
We've all gotten married, moved on, grown up
in our own ways.
It's just not the same without you—
we talk about you from time to time,
reminisce about the good ol' days,
sing, laugh 'til we cry, and
we still get high on
chocolate cokes and great conversation.
Good times, no, GREAT times….
Times still worth remembering....

16 to 35

2010-05-05T11:10:00.004-04:00

To Bridge that gap
Between breath and beat
Connect the thought,
Unleash the heat.

Stab my pen
Through paperous pores,
My passions bleed,
The words write, "MORE!"

Hot tingles touch,
Caress my veins,
Spiral sweetly,
Feel The Unnamed—

Flood myself
with quickened blush
As words fall away
In gasping rush

Unbridled, Pure, and
Uncontrolled.
Unconscious whispers
Yet untold.

Mind writhes, heart wrings,
Struggling to find
The strength to capture
My true mind.

Day in, daze out,
just out of reach
desperately thirsting
For release.

Each love, each pain
Surge, live, and flow
The ache to learn,
To stretch, to grow.

To KNOW what's
ALWAYS been inside.
To dig it out
And make it fly.

It's there--I. FEEL. IT.
Consuming me--
How to hold it,
Set it free?

I stretch and linger
In the flame.
Glowing. Stronger…
Yet the same.

Tidal me gently
Shudders of truth
Met dreams of woman,
While soul burst in youth.

My feverish spirit
Smolders away,
Erupts into feelings
I cannot say.

Bubbling, brimming,
Bursting through
My tears stream, soaking
Me into you.

Glist'ning gaze passed
What's done, what's said.
Stronger now. Wisdom.
Already paid.

Joy beams through scars
Of both body and mind.
Awareness, Sweet Freedom!
Delicious, and Kind

Of awakening maybes
Iron out the past
Laugh lines then deepen.
True. Told. Now. At last.

Eliza Jane Farley Gomez written 9/16/08Copyright ©2010 by Eliza Jane Farley Gomez

Ground

2010-05-05T09:58:00.002-04:00

So….
Here we go again…
Yes, again.
Reality hurts--
slow me down
climbing the stairs
click pavers hard
under heel
grudge me grab the door
and pull me away
from my senses into….

Closer, getting closer…
turn and RUN--
Get OUT
Get OUT
Get OUT!!!
Shouting silently
pull the door to me
bracing self against
worn iron bar that's handling
One last breath of fresh—
Can I handle this struggle
inside?
Can I hide
this revulsion I feel—
turning, steele myself
against the artificial
cooling my face into well-being.
for the moment

Mind no longer screaming
just numb
rearrange features
into smiling and saying
"Good morning"
Not in shock
just in moving through
the doorway that
engulfs me in
numb
Just a job.
Twitching lippery
turns upward,
remembering how to feel
in fluorescent light

Just a job,
not a career--
what a difference….
What do I do with THAT?
What would you like me to say?
I'm okay?
I won't lie,
so don't try
to make me like this
part I must play.
Oh, yeah,
I'll play it all right.
For now….

Cock my brow, chuckle low
In my throat—just a JOKE
that's not funny.
To you….
(But true)
Am I socially keeping you?
JUST GO!!!
Don't you know you can
always meet more? Sure!
Out of sight,
out of mind,
out of feel—so surreal
to feel this way
every day.
Breathe in, breathe out.
Automatic.
Plop my papers
lean over and slump
in my chair, staring out
my sliver of window
Well?
What do you want from me now?
Acid tongue of my mind
sharpens words to the point.

As Indoor and outdoor me
await the reply
stretch and sigh,
minimize the screen of time,
Click!
Go take a bathroom break,
wipe and flush these
Frenzied thoughts in my head
Wash my frustrations
work, instead.
Grab a drink,
Just don't think.
Be right back….

Written 9/23/08
Copyright ©2010 by Eliza Jane Farley Gomez

Day Of Service 2010

2010-04-27T16:47:00.012-04:00

(Pictured: a Team of volunteers in Boynton Beach, Florida, painting a home for Rebuilding Together of the Palm Beaches, as part of National Rebuild Day.)

People Have the Power to Make Miracles Happen

Personal Reflections About the Pompano Beach Florida Stake Projects

By: Eliza Jane Farley Gomez, Director of Public Affairs, Pompano Beach Florida Stake, April 27, 2010

What does it mean to be a Zion People….

Ever think about that?

I do, a lot,

and maybe

I'm strange

for doing so….

OK, I love to read,

(I have already previously established that I'm a bookworm),

so I read my scriptures a lot….

But, when you read the scripture that says, "And the Lord called his people

ZION, for they were of one heart, and one mind, and dwelt in

righteousness, and there were no poor among them;"

It makes you wonder....

just how a "people" go about doing all that….seriously….

I mean, we live in the days that kids have their very own handheld video games and mp3 players,so they don't even have to SHARE IN THE SAME CAR, let alone a neighborhood, or a town or city—and, we live in the times of wars, unrest, extreme poverty and disasters—both natural and manmade—

and you wonder….

HOW do a people become of "one heart and one mind,"

let alone the part about "dwelling in righteousness" or anything…..

Then you look around you;(well, at least I do;) at your co-workers,

neighbors, friends, and even family—and notice that in these

oh-so-modern times, something's missing, something's lost….

some call it being neighborly, others call it being friendly;

but it's a sense of unity and togetherness, of watching out for those around you,

For helping others, strangers :::gasp::: in need, without any sense of repayment of any kind….

Growing up, everyone in my neighborhood knew everyone else, kids played together, parents were seen in the streets, at home, watching kids (often including others that weren't their own but wandered along with the rest of the group)….

Today's quite different, especially in South Florida-- more dangerous, less friendly, more sterile, less inviting…..

Maybe those are simply days gone by….That’s kind of scary, because I'm not exactly that old (I turn 37 tomorrow)….

So, when you see large groups of people, whether it be musicians united to end world hunger, or celebrities conducting fundraisers for earthquake-devastated countries, for "charity," or a group of people getting together to perform service projects for their community—you stop (or at least pause) for a moment, and you take notice….

It fills you up with that something that was missing but no longer is—the warmth of connection, of uniting to help and serve others in a selfless act-- resonates and radiates within your own soul.

For charity, we are taught, "Is the pure love of Christ;"

and THAT, my friends, is what fills you up inside with that beautiful feeling

whenever you do something for someone for no selfish purpose, just because

it feels like the right thing to do….

You can connect with others, unite with others—others of different political or religious backgrounds, who speak, dress, look and believe differently than you do—and you unite in purpose, to do something beautiful, something meaningful, something positive, something selfless—that unity glows and blends and creates one of the very most positive and powerful feelings a person can experience in life.

I personally feel there is nothing more powerful than the power of people united to do good works and serve others—helping others, reaching out to touch people's lives for good.

This past Saturday, on April 24th, all across the Southeast United States,

thousands of folks who belong to my church (The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints),hand-in-hand with partners and friends in their local communities, came together,

giving back to their communities via hundreds of service projects for the (2nd Annual) Day of Service. Projects ranged from beach clean-ups, to painting parks, shelters, community centers, food, clothing, blood drives, etc. Kids, adults, parents, grandparents, rich, poor, homeless, and total strangers came together from all walks of life-- for a few hours, setting aside differences and their own personal lives-- and simply reaching out to make their own communities a better place.

To quote directly from the Day of Service's website (www.dayofservice.org ):

"The mission of the Day of Service is for churches, civic organizations, and government agencies to link arms to strengthen local communities with meaningful service projects that will help those in need, beautify communities, build friendships, and bolster the spirits of all."

For the second year in a row I've had the humble honor to be closely involved in the planning and execution of projects in Broward and Palm Beach Counties, as I work in a leadership capacity in Public Affairs. More importantly, however, I have also had the incredible privilege of witnessing lives touched and changed, along with hundreds of miracles that happen when people unite across social, cultural, economic, and religious lines, coming together to serve and bless lives of people in our community who need it most. Having grown up here in South Florida, and since I work in the realm of non-profit human/social services professionally, this has a very profound meaning and special place in my heart….

In Broward and Palm Beach Counties the sun shone brightly on a beautiful Spring day, no rain clouds in sight; but faces of volunteers glowed brighter, radiating the happiness and joy they experienced by participating in service projects. Groups planned their respective projects for months, meeting with planning committees and community members, getting the word out on the street and throughout the media. When the big day came, hundreds showed up, eager, excited, ready to roll up their sleeves, get a little dirty, a little sweaty, and give a lot—groups cleaned up litter and trash along neighborhoods in Fort Lauderdale and along the beach as part of the Great American Clean-Up. Others met to paint and clean and spruce up facilities at Cooperative Feeding Program, a non-profit food bank that networks with several homeless shelters and other non-profit agencies to stave off hunger in Broward County. Other groups met to fix up shelter facilities and provide goody "Love" bags for homeless residents in Fort Lauderdale for The Shepherd's Way, a non-profit agency that specializes in homeless services. Others still cleaned and repaired parks throughout Broward and Palm Beach. In Palm Beach County, from Boca Raton up to Jupiter, six teams of youth and adults partnered to paint and repair low-income homes of the elderly, frail, and disabled with Rebuilding Together of the Palm Beaches as part of "National Rebuild Day."

For a few hours on a perfect "Spring Break beach weather" day in South Florida, people forgot about sleeping in on a Saturday, skipped the beach; and instead they served, had fun, made a difference—and I caught a beautifully precious glimpse of a people united in purpose, giving loving and meaningful service….

I watched a "ZION" People at work for awhile…

with camera in my hand, tears in my eyes, and joy in my heart….

And I wonder…

When can we do this again? We don't have to wait until next year....

What can you do, what little part, to feel that glow inside, to connect with,

And give back to, your community?

Think about it….

Twenty Minutes More

2010-04-27T15:12:00.001-04:00

Twenty minutes more--
sighhhhhhinnnnggg
to keep dreaming
as i sleep,
sleeping you to me…
eyes go right thru me,
arms go around me,
skin sticks against me….
you linger in the air,
just out of reach--
not really there….
reaching.
reaching.
reaching....
I DO.
beseech thee--
give me
twenty minutes more,
before the alarm
can do any harm
to the magic I feel--
your
hot hands of steel
touch me and heal
EVERYTHING
that hurt before--
before i knew
how to deal with
the hand i've been given.
feeling.
feeling.
feeling....
i strrrretchhhhh
to hold heaven
in your eyes--
that seal
all our words
from the night before….
praying.
praying.
praying....
give me
twenty minutes more
more of that
heart-felt-and-tingled--
soft part
YOU
mingled with
ME
in the dark--
staying.
staying.
staying....
did you hear my
heart
pounding
at the start
of your words--
saying.
saying.
saying....
never leave me
stay
love and
keep me
just--
love me,
twenty minutes more….

Copyright ©2010 by Eliza Jane Farley Gomez

Blanket

2010-04-14T16:49:00.003-04:00

I feel you
Throughout my day,
In and out,
And I feel so warm inside….
You keep me warm
Arm draped over my waist
Feeling you think of me
Tingles you through to me
Heart on the brink of your warmth….
Flow through my mind
Helps me unwind
Our thoughts, intertwined,
Felt as one.

I see you
Throughout the night,
Close my eyes,
Let images of you flicker,
Dance and glow,
Like my own personal nightlight
Inside.
And I know.
Turn into me,
Pull up our blanket
And smile, cuddle closer,
Trace peace down the curve
Of my back.
Tickle backs of my eyes
With dark, wordless smolderings
That keeps body and soul
Burning in tune with our bond.
Blinking, you turn layers
Like the pages of me,
Not meant to be seen by
The rest of the world.

I hear you
Throughout my dreams,
Snuggle up in my sighs,
Feel your skin on my thighs,
Know your cool
Makes my warm
Warmer still.
Ever still.
Whispers of
Whiskered breath brush,
Softly fill up my head,
Reach me out
Lean to embracing
Deep rumbles,
Your sweet music that
Wanders me free,
Freely frolic in the
Plush feeling
Of you and me.

I taste you
Throughout my thoughts,
Rolling the tip of my tongue,
Swish souled saliva
Around my mind's mouth.
Mouth watering….
Still there,
Right where I left you lingering,
Lazy this morning….
Stretch back in my chair,
Lean my face into your hand
Caress, stir, understand
Those rich, pregnant flavors that
Blend, pouring, mend
All the worn patches of me
Into…..
Nibbling morsels,
Just savor the true
Meaning of
Me and You.

I smell you
Throughout my skin,
Slow smile spreading
Beginning,
Settling into
The cracked musty surfaces.
Safe.
That is me, now….
Grounded, unguarded.
Embraced.
Catch a whiff of me
Catching my breath at your gaze
Here now with me, not gone,
Just a trace of
Your musk in my hair
Rubs me raw where you've
Healed me to you
Everywhere

I love you
Throughout my life
And beyond--
Wipe the pain
From the tears of my soul--
Ones I can never control--
Over and over again.
I can't explain it quite right;
But, the heart that you hold Me with--
The kiss that you hush Me with--
The hands that you take Me with-
Your love that you fold Me with….
Patiently holding me close--
Makes me whole
From my soul, inside out,
Safe and warm,
Round about, both of us
Undercover….
I feel you always,
I feel you in me.

Copyright ©2010 by Eliza Jane Farley Gomez
Eliza Jane Farley Gomez April 14, 2010

Bookworm

2010-04-06T20:27:00.005-04:00

Books and paper.
That's what I'm talking about.
Books
And
Paper….
How can you get the thrill
of turning that page
When there's no page to turn?
Nowhere to burn
The passion of the moment of the
Action of the suspense
Of the thought
That's right around the corner
On the
Very
NEXT
Page.
Hold that thought,
Turn the page
Smell the burning suspense
Soak through the ink
Makes you think
Don't BLINK
Or you'll
MISS IT!
There….
Ahhh…..
Smell the
Sweet Release of
Reunion….
Just knew you'd
Continue that thought.
Fingers caress, stroke,
Lingerly ginger the mind.
Thumb the edges
Flick, flip, hold, and
TURN the
Words upon words
Thought after thought.
Hands hold, rub, absently
Trace down the spine
of the story,
Tease words into meaning
more than the paper
and ink on the page--
so much more than mere
Books and paper.
That's what I'm talking about.
Slipping pieces of ribbon,
Cloth, softly frayed yarn
Snuggled into the crack
To mark where you left off—
Sticking out at you,
Beckoning you to
Return and reveal
And unravel the….

What was I saying again?
Can your "Kindle" do that?
Your "e-books," your "ipod," your
Whatever the
Doohickie-at-the-moment
Is….
all the rage now these days.
It's
Not
Quite
The
Same….
Clicking, scrolling,
Pushing
buttons, bars, screens--
no swish of pages,
no sense of, smell of
printed genius,
no oils mixed with
fingerprinted fantasy,
fiber-mixed –with-vision-
mixed-with-breath withheld
years of dried
tear-stained print,
stories well-spent
in the beds (and the minds) of others,
or, if you prefer,
sprawled out on the lawn under a tree.
Not the same at all,
Quite handy, though,
Fits in my pocket, purse,
Or slips
tucked in my bra—
Can't do that with a book…
Stay up late and read by the glow
Of the tiny, little screen.
No smell,
No sound,
No bookmarks
No dog-ears,
Just smudges on the screen,
Ok, that's annoying.
Rub it out, go ahead,
Round and round, up and down
There…much better…
Beep.
Beep.
Blinking screen,
Makes me blink—huh?
Wait!
Oh man, not now!
Right at the best part!!
Battery's dead…
Where's my charger….
Rummage blindly around
Under the bed, in the dark.
Hmmm, what's this--
Grab a familiar
brokeback spine,
Read a dozen times,
Right here, waiting for me,
Like an old friend.
Go ahead, pick it up.
See?
Right where you left off….
Just books.
And paper.
Now, that's what I'm talking about….

Eliza Jane Farley Gomez
April 6, 2010
Copyright ©2010 by Eliza Jane Farley Gomez