st r u gg ling artist

                               so   i    decided
i am more than the answer to "what's for dinner?"    
     the unrelenting pile of dishes

i am more than the name i changed at the altar,
     and the ways i fail Husband

i am more than the boy i nursed 'til i was spent
and would give up my only breath for, more
     than the worry over the
     mishaps that visit children

caught. i feel caught  between
the rock of guilt   and   the hard place of time

as i push push my way through this beautiful life i don't deserve
for a chance to paint the helpless run of words

en route to errands i pop in an audio - Pooh's tales,
then settle back for the story that wants to tell in my head
and catch it on paper when i park the car

i race, i snatch and just the same watch
the minutes fall 
                       through
                                      hungry fingers

i am more than the faith that rose from my dead life
     because we are more than spirit but too, flesh and mind,
     borne of the Living Word that justifies our reply

what does it say of me as Wife and Mother, my grateful honor --

but that i am happiest
     (clap hand over mouth)

when my dreams find their light in the words
that come together, sometimes soldiers
in sharp line or ballerinas
in fluid form?

i realize it is never a burden, a fresh joy each time

i am the song of history and hope
(except the Greatest Women past and present have denied themselves)

through the fatigue i wear in my bones, i delight through 
the hard, hard way to get it down    just so
so u can s e e    the art and grace    in the world that thrills me

i know the prince and the pauper are apportioned the same
hours but my time feels rationed

pl e a se, let me finish this thought, but
    -- the but --
                     incommodius conjunction, dissolution
of my right to self

i am more than the Kitchen i have loved but it needs taming 
because i am Wife and Mother and there i go to 
the unrelenting pile of dishes i am 
more than
Apron
I am indebted to my husband, to whom I dedicate this poem, for doing his 
darnedest to leave me to my words.

198 thoughts on “st r u gg ling artist

  1. “Please let me finish this thought…..but…” Oh you finished it all right! And that too brilliantly. It’s this belief and drive of being “more than a woman..” that is an essential key to self-development and excellence. God made each one of us unique and important. HE gave us the will to move beyond what is apparent, to turn unturned stones, to find meaning in the quirks that make us tick. What point is life if it just spent in a single track, right?

  2. Diana you’ve captured the tightrope we walk as artists and women oh so well. I’d say to shine and let yourself flow, onto paper as it is for you is to love yourself, husband and son. To be every ounce of your glorious self is to show them love- to live a life expressed. Beautiful!

  3. You’re a good writer person. Ha, seriously, this is great. I know what you mean (in a fatherly way). I’m exhausted all the time. No matter how much I clean, it never gets clean. I try to stay creative in my life and words and writing and videos, but it sacrifices for the life. I see photos from the past and they seem like a different life. Still we keep going. I hope.

  4. I love your awarenesses that you’ve arrived at here – and the realization that who u are and the roles you play are not mutually exclusive from each other, but rather, essential to each, Diana. xo (I seem to be experiencing problems getting notifications of when people are posting.)

  5. The art & grace of your writing and creativity is simply amazing to witness… The struggle of the wife, the mother and the roles & dreams you pursue…we all can go along for the ride with your writing as we have dreams too. And for you to be able to let us escape and ride your words (as if we had actually written them) is special. Your husband must be smiling at this emotional & personal piece of art you have created and shared.

    • Ahhh Randall….giving me chills. You almost leave me without words – but the thanks. Profound thanks. “We all can go along for the ride with your writing as we have dreams too.” This is the hope of all artists, isn’t it – of visual and verbal? I love that this piece spoke to you through the roles (and gender) we don’t have in common. You do your share of transporting us to places outside and inside our dreams, R.

  6. If we’re not struggling and juggling, we’re not living. But you: you are wise enough to parse that problem and say, boldly as it should be, that there is more. So much more. And that *you* are so much more. Blessed be the way of the attentively and intentionally joyful!
    xoxoxo,
    K

  7. When I was reading this, I could imagine a video version of it, with slowly appearing, vibrating, and fading words and phrases, and with blurred colors and drops of rain on a glass window as the background. And with a flute playing in the beginning, and piano comes in with soft strums on guitar halfway through. I really love this ^_^ the way the words are placed and played, it’s really beautiful 🙂 thank you for sharing it!

  8. I love this poem. I think it could be performed in spoken word. Your choice of words and the emotion they convey are powerful. I am on the empty nest side of mothering, but I have recently been working on a poem with a similar theme. The working title is: “There’s More to Me Than That”. It might change once the poem finds its way. Anyway, bravo! And a little finger snapping (the way we clap for poetry).

  9. This poem resonated with me. To me, it is a poem that has to be seen (read) to be heard. Or read by its author. As I read, I thought of Robert Frost reading Robert Frost and Dylan Thomas reading Dylan Thomas. Thanks.

  10. Been there. Felt all this and much more in life. Don’t know you have found your way back or not but more often than not, it is not possible to go back and begin from where we left. There has to be a lot of compromise in life to the point of being crushed down as far as one’s identity is concerned. And the worst part is, no one understands.
    It’s your sacrifice alone but you must not expect a reward, not even from the sapling you planted and looked after as he will forget when he grows up and leaves home to live his own life. One can/should just count one’s blessings and bless everyone esp. one’s own born. That’s part of being a woman.

    • Isn’t this amazing? How we hear each other across the divide of time and space? Right: we dare not count on reward beyond the joy of the labor. Your closing conviction strikes me somehow, though many have said it through the years. That’s part of being a woman. To receive, to bear, bring forth, give. Thanks for connecting, Alka.

      Blessings,

      Diana

  11. From a mans perspective, I love this blog! It shows that sometimes a mother may just need a little time out, not loving her husband or children any less, just that timeout for mummy that allows her to see how much she loves her people. It is hard journey being a loving mummy. Following you now for more adventures. Stephen

My Two Gold Cents in the Holistic Treasury

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