Submission Sixty-Eight

We sat out on the deck all night
From 20 feet away the rain fell,
onto the pavement,
where it began to forget itself

the headlights flickered through-
spelling in flashlight:
Last Chance,
Remembrance

The night,
it grew so dark,
we actually had to hold the lighter
at the bottom of our frozen breath
to simulate the sunrise

He had been missing for over 2 weeks
We exchanged journal entries,
tried to pretend like they weren’t eulogies

I grabbed your pinky
whenever a cloud would yell too loudly



I think the best part about growing up
Is not having the time
or ability
to miss someone

Behind our first house their was a Lilac bush
we would play in the backyard on Sundays,
you refused to go near it,
you said it was because
the mirror had made you afraid
of anything too easily beautiful

I think we both knew from a young age
the body makes you work for it

Around 4 a.m
my stomach jumped
It wanted to join the rain
which is to say,
it wanted to forget.
you did what you’ve done our whole lives
patted counter clockwise

the pads of your fingers
felt like Last Chance

Ever since he left
a body part has gone missing,

I think I see him
at the end of a trail of headlights
Collecting the parts of our selves
we tend to forget too easily.

Submitted and Writtend by: Andrew Pine

Submission Sixty-Seven

“Welcome to the Fairie Worlds festival”.

I was there, it was my sixteenth birthday, and I could not wait for my day to unfold. I thought about the coming hours, the people that would come, the music that was to play, and more than anything else I looked forward to meeting Brain Froud, an artist’s inspiration.
The gates opened, and people from all over the world came pouring in. It was amazing to see how they wore their creative souls on the outside. Elaborate hand sewn costumes, giant wings, painted bodies, men on stilts, and simple smiles stretched across the crowd. Each one a work of art, telling you a thousand untold stories as they soaked it all in.
Somewhere in the distance music began to play, it started out soft and low, drawing me nearer to make out the lyrics. “Hear the howling of wolves, provoking the night, wild dances in the full moon light...” Every able creature was linking arms and moving to the music without a care as to what waited upon their Monday desk or what anyone told them they should be. Complete freedom overtook the night with every beat of the drums.
When at last my feet could no longer take it, I braved the line of the goblin market. I have long admired the work of Brain Froud, his drawings and paintings have been the inspiration for my own art many times. He, along with his wife and son, had flown in from England to be at this festival. It was not too long before I was there standing in front of him. We shook hands and he wished me a happy birthday as he drew a small fairie on the inside page of my favorite book, Good Fairies/Bad Fairies. I can’t honestly tell you what I said to him or his talented wife, as I was struck so speechless from the reality of it all, that tears had formed in my eyes.
It was silly to cry, I know that now, but at the time the whole day made me feel like a part of something bigger than myself. It felt as if anything that you dared to dream of, could and would manifest into an attainable reality.
I met some wonderful people; I am still in touch with a few of them, others I wish I could find again. I danced to the most amazing music sung straight from the heart of poets. I was able to meet the artist whose work got me seeing fairie art in a whole new way, I was sixteen, and it was the happiest day of my life.

Submitted and Written by: Kamea Black

Submission Sixty-Six

"The Hand that Speaks Images" ~ Anonymous

Submission Sixty-Five

Saw a lovely lady at a bus stop with this backpack and requested to take a photo.
She agreed and thus,submitted it to my project.



HAVE HOPE

Smile Dolls!

Take a moment to listen to your favorite song many times and dance!

Submission Sixty-Four

Call Me A Leaf

Every fall I take notice of the leaves. They become so vibrant just before they take the flight on the blustering wind express. Eventually they become settled in and wither or whirl away.

I look at life just as I look at a leaf. Look closely at their veins. They have so many paths and patterns, like our many journeys they connect to others. But all the lines eventually come to an end. In the end there is splendid color in the preparation to “fall”. I believe our spirits do the same.

Recently I’ve noticed the imprint of fallen leaves on the cement paths of downtown. Shadows, so beautiful, where they were alone or were connected, then whirled away by a blower or breeze. Even after the leaf was gone the shadow remained.

Spring comes again for another chance at life, just like our journey if you believe in such things.

Enjoy this beautiful time, be peaceful in your winter slumber and look forward to awakening in the spring, anew!

~Submitted and Written By: Josie Leahy-Brooks

Submission Sixty-Three

He sees me still

Circumstances keep us apart
Me in the hospital
Greeting new faces every twelve hours
for six days
Him home sick unable to come.

Fate would have it
day thirteen comes while I am away
He isn't there to see me
on the Most Dreaded Day.

I leave this place
a woman changed, different though the same

Anticipating his arrival
I forget myself
I shop for dinner amongst strangers
that won't know the difference
nor care.

Driving home though
my breath begins to catch in my throat
panic and fear strangling me
What if this changes everything?
What happens if he looks at me
and can't see ME any more?

Dried tears on my lashes
I turn to greet him at the door
His hair is gone too and he sees me still
and he holds me tight
while we cry together.

Cindy Scillo
December 5, 2009
Day 15 after my first round of chemo

Submission Sixty-Two

Photo By: Josh Hagan

Mightier II - early 2009

The written word,
As in the pen,
Is mightier than the sword.
It is sharp, concise, and to the point.
It is blunt and harsh.
Words can wound even the toughest,
Can pierce the heart.
All of which a sword is capable.
Malicious and cruel.
But words are mightier.
They can heal the stabbed heart,
Amend.
Words can patch up the evil wrought.
And in that sense,
Let the pen
Be mightier than the sword.

Submission, Poem, & Modeling By: Briauna M. Graeber

This model often writes poems and then has photographers focus on her poem to be the theme of the photo shoot. Some of the photos that have come from this are just amazing. It creates a visual to go with words. They walk hand and hand to create something beautiful and truly unique.

Submission Sixty-One

I was born ugly. The soot and dew of a wash away city like Seattle-

stained my forhead.

Years would come and go



in and out, the doors revolving like a bandsaw alphabet

it was hard to hold on,



i did not speak the same language as the others,

my mouth was broke as porcelain



i spoke deft kitchen table philosophy



the kind spoken with father after he's got a few glasses in

I asked questions-

questions about

oceans, phylums, genus's,

about movies, about

sunken eyes, do they disinigrate like shipwrecks?



we spoke in incomplete's,

in predicates, I stuttered

I rapture dyslexic

Homonym prophetic selective

etiquette, where stars dad come from?

where did the teachers lose me?



clearly my kitchen talk

philosophy was like looking at the alphabet barely

eaten and wasted, bloodied and

meat still at the bones



so they force fed me more

I entered rooms with no doors



with big clumsy computers yelling robotic english lessons at me

the teachers stood behind,

the world stood behind me,

with gun and stop watch

as i typed the sentences

"Marie walks to the park, with her dog

Marie wlaks to teh prk--her dog with

////////////////////////

Marie ash walked, her dog with park

Marie

Marie has

Marie dgo park and walked

Marie

park

--and what they didn't know

was that when i went home

to schizophrenic times tables

that spoke backwards and with a hiss

and i read their books

practiced their equations

Dug a grave with the syllables

-I spoke pretty for a society of ghosts

I held that pen in my mouth like Hamlet held Yorick

Am I Am I am I am I am I am I am I?

i spoke like a gun contemplating its bullets birth

the ears bless(ed) and will be, I told my father we are

what we are what we are

I said I am I am

i told everyone who would listen

I am! I not them? REad, yes, write, math arithmetic

But no one ever asked me

the right questions

I made sure to ask my father

all of them

why

why this earth? my mouht?

this school? this empty notebook? what happens to the words when in the air?

are they lost before crash landing on another's ear?

Do i talk funny because my words are in fightdogs fightdogs

fightdogs I mean I mean I mean

why is the air heavy?

consuming?

Do words die?

Do words die?

Then where do they live?

.

~Andrew Pine

Inspiration from Others Work

Submission Sixty

It seems like I am getting very personal submissions. The realness and thankfulness that you all are expressing is more than I ever expected. Keep your beautiful wonderful submissions coming. You are all wonderful human beings that care so much about the people around you. Thank you!

Submission Sixty is from Jen Owen. I found her because of an organization that I am closely tied to. Poetrynight. She did this wonderful photo album about finding her strength from poetrynight and I friend requested her on Facebook because I knew the people in the photos. About a week later I found out that she was also one of my friends boyfriend's mothers. Then she located my project and submitted this:

I lost my mother in 2002 to her 4th battle with Cancer. She beat Breast cancer. She beat a brain tumor. She beat bladder and ovarian cancer...and I thought she would just keep living forever because she was so strong and had so much hope that she would be here to see my children have children. She called me one afternoon and I picked up the phone and I knew it was her because I just knew...and I knew why she was calling me. The cancer had spread through her whole body and when she got that news - all of her hope was extinguished with the words "You are going to die....this time."

I told her I loved her. I told her it was ok to stop fighting. I told her it was ok to die. And she stopped hoping to keep living long enough to see her great grandchildren and started hoping that I would continue hoping for things when she was gone. She switched her focus in the last few months of her life and started hoping that I would do something with the talents she helped create in me...art, photography and poetry as well as lessons of how to be a good mother when life didn't seem to ever throw you anything but crap. She started hoping that in watching my own mother and my best friend die a horrible painful cancer filled death - that I would grow stronger and learn how to see my struggles and pain - as gifts...and learn from them. She hoped I would pass on everything she had taught me growing up...to my children, so that when they grow up and have children of their own...part of her would still be undeniably present in the way they live their lives...and her original hope to be there with her Great Grandchildren (in heart) - would still be a reality.




I tried to think of one thing that gives me the most hope and had a really hard time until I remembered this poem I wrote about 4 years ago. The one thing that my Mother taught me growing up, was to be grateful for everything you have - even if its not what you originally wanted or hoped it to be...because there are some people that will never have even that much.




The one thing that gives me the most hope - is that Im working so hard to ensure that my own children grow up being grateful in this world that seems to force selfishness and self centeredness down their throats every chance it gets...by not giving them everything they want or ask for. Making them work for things. Save for things. Be thankful for second hand things instead of upset we couldn't get them brand new...happy about wearing thrift store clothing, playing with puzzles that have a piece or two missing because it used to belong to someone else that loved it once or being grateful about having an old rusty bike to ride instead of the $200 shiny new one they put on their birthday list...and sometimes they don't understand why I do these things and sometimes they get angry at me for refusing to give them what they want but when they are grown and stand before their own children who are asking for a new bike - when the neighbor offered up their child's old rusted one...I can only hope they say no to my grandchildren and pass down a little piece of my Mother to them...that is my hope. That she lives on through me, through my children...to stand face to face with her great grandchildren someday and speak her words of wisdom through the mouths of those she missed out on watching grow up..and that her greatest hope will be realized too.



UGLY BIKE

I want you to have an ugly bike.

One that you are ashamed of -
with rusted pedals and broken spokes
that will never make snapping noises
with playing cards woven between them
like the rest of the neighborhood kids.

I want you to have an ugly bike.

One that wobbles side to side
when you try to go faster -
like little old ladies in crosswalks,
arms full of groceries and arthritis
at busy intersections.

I want you to have an ugly bike.

One that throws you off
and gives you a forehead scab
when you push the brakes too hard,
like broken race horses
tired of being kicked in the side.

I want you to have an ugly bike.

A screaming banshee
when you turn bent handle bars.
I want it to wail and screech
a constant reminder to you
of how much it was loved - once.

Because I love you.

Because
I want you to know what it feels like
to be laughed at for things out of your control -
like kids that cant have bikes
....because their legs don’t work.

Because I want you to know
what its like to feel off balance -
like little boys in white walled rooms
that spend their days being held
over waste bins full of today’s
chemo reactions.

I want you to have an ugly bike.

Because I want you to learn
that ugly things can be beautiful,
and forgotten things
still have plenty of life in them -

Like car crash scarred cheekbones.
Like burn victim smiles,
and starving Vietnam Veterans stuck in
soiled sheets all day
while overweight nurses play cribbage
and order stuffed crust pizza
with three different dipping sauces.

I want you to have an ugly bike.

Because I want to see your eyes light up
when you get new plastic rainbow tassels
to hang from your rusty, bent handlebars
and watch you race off into the horizon
Grateful

Because I love you.

Photo and Poem Submitted by : Jen Owen - 2006

Submission Fifty-Nine

~Justin Hall

Submission Fifty-Eight

I've been trying to decide if I should share this or not for a while. I decided to go for it. In responce to this note I just want to do a shout out for Julie and tell her that she gives me hope. She did so much to help my family and I will always cherish her.

Dear Kashia,

I apologize for missing your Whispers of Hope deadline. I appreciated your calling my attention to what generates hope for me but did not create anything to reflect that appreciation. Well, that is not entirely accurate. I did not create any piece of art, but on multiple occasions experienced the creation of a spring in my step as I walked along pondering your question (dance?) and I generated ongoing lists of sources of hope as I wandered in the woods with my dog. I guess you could say that you inspired a ritual. Often my walks would begin with heavy thoughts on my mind. I would leave my office and drive to some path that would lead me into the mountains or along the river. I would be thinking of the sad stories that I had just heard or anticipating accounts of struggles I would soon be hearing. Then I would shift gears and contemplate, "What gives me hope?" Often the beginning of my list would encompass my current setting--arriving in the moment and noticing the warmth of the sun, the green of the plants, the sounds of birds calling and water running. (I am always better able to summon hope in warm weather.) Experiencing the present moment allows me to feel hopeful. And birds. My God, they can FLY! I participate in their flight when I watch them with all of my attention. I have a particular affinity for great horned owls. I feel hopeful because I see at least one almost every day. I experience a feeling of blessedness every time that I do. How does that happen?

List elements: flowers growing out of crevices in rocks, the river endlessly flowing, companion animals sharing unreserved affection for humans, rainstorms that subdue forest fires, lightning storms that cause forest fires, people whose trust has been betrayed maintaining open hearts, the easy smiles of children at play, music, my children's capacity for love, synchronicity, awareness that my being is bigger than my body, the infinite variety of clouds, altruism, cocoons, snakes shedding skin, knowing there a wolves in the woods, tears shed in knowing relief, babies, restful sleep...

I walked and discovered hope. I also discovered that every "list" included your name, dear Kashia. You give me hope with your generous heart, your concern for others, your devotion to your beautiful mother, your capacity for play and eye for beauty, your intelligence, your activism, your creativity. YOU give me hope. Thank you.

Love, Julie

Submission Fifty-Seven

Hope Whispers Sorbetto (White Peach & Basil Sorbetto)

3C peeled & diced white peaches
1/2 tsp fresh squeezed grapefruit juice
a whisper of basil (1 medium-sized leaf), finely chopped

Place all ingredients in blender & blend 'til velvety smooth. Place this puree into an ice cream maker & follow the manufacturers instructions. Once puree has reached desired consistency, place in the freezer to set 'til ready to serve. Garnish with fresh white peach slices and fresh basil chiffonade. Serve and eat.

Submitted & Created by: Mare Butterworth

A bit of irony. . .

So my mother and I were talking about her hope to walk again. My thoughts were channeling through my head at rates that would shoot me into space. But mainly I was thinking, "Shit." The neurologist gave her a glimmer of hope in a few simple words and immediately I started wondering what the consequences were going to be and if I was prepared to deal with them.

It's funny. I am the girl that is all about hope, all about promoting internal happiness. However, I am also the one wondering what the consequences are going to be of that doctor giving my mother a glimmer, a whisper of hope.

I guess my ideals were a bit different than what my mom had in mind. My hope was that my mom would one day be able to navigate the world in a wheel chair, discover true love, and be happy. Meanwhile her's maintain even more simplicity: to be able to feel like she is giving something to the world and to be mobile.

I love that she is optimistic about being able to walk again and just about life in general. She where's her heart on her sleeve and often times she ends up heart broken because of it. (Yes that remark is directed towards certain, very specific people, that shall remain nameless for this post.) I have seen the pain that loosing hope can cause my mother and to so many people. I have seen the vines of disappointment griping our throats, the terrors that permeate my household when dreams are lost. I have seen sadness and have felt pain and so has my mother. Every time she manages to come out a better person than before but the scars left because of the lack of hope and dreams run deep in my family. So even to this day, even after working so hard on this project I find myself challenging hope. The thing I live for. The thing we all live for in one way or another.

This is what I said to my mother during a conversation we had this evening on the subject of her walking again, "I can watch you loose your mobility, I can be there for you in anyway possible. But when it comes to you loosing hope that is the one thing that impacts be above all else. That is the one thing that is going to scar me for life. The one thing I will remember is the hope that you lost so many times. It will break my heart."

After saying that I realize that it grips the core of who I am. I search for hope so much because I have seen the consequences of loosing it. I have seen how it can destroy a person only to build them back up. So I challenge hope. I fight to give it to people but I challenge what it is. Is it good or bad? I have seen it make people's lives worth living, but loosing hope can be the same as loosing a will to live. I see so many ups and so many downs of this thing called "Hope."

I have come to the final conclusion : I think hope is like authority, it can be exactly what is needed but it also needs to be questioned.

Submission Fifty-Six

"Citizens demonstrating for the improvement of our nation and world
give me hope."

~Gary Wade, photographer & poet

Submission Fifty-Five

Landscape with block party DJ.

(In which the author samples a De La Soul Lyric.)

The crates, with the table, are lifted on tenuous arms.
Cadences and their memory transfigure
the concrete; dips, sways, arrested

by the thread of the needle. Shoulders
in the vinyl’s bell’s gradiated arc
lean, waver, their delta’s and darkened

corners spun in the basin of a table
and the sound. Stilled, for a beat-drawn
revolve of the wax in the crates." Five

days to work, one whole day to play
come on everybody, get your roller skates today"
In the crates, the DJ is a comforter.

Submitted & Written by : Robert Lashley

Submission Fifty-Four

Submitted by myself for my mother who finds this song hopeful.

Submission Fifty-Three

"Finding someone that is enough like me to understand gone through and not judge me, Alex, you give me hope." ~Ashleigh

I think that this quote goes perfectly with this submission.

"The most precious gift we can offer others is our presence. When mindfulness embraces those we love, they will bloom like flowers." ~ Thich Nhat Hanh

Submission Fifty-Two

"Food gives me hope." WWU Student

Submission Fifty-One

Model: Ashlee

"Imagination gives me hope." Nikei Jo Eldridge

Submission Fifty

Model: Betty Desire

"Personality gives me hope." ~WWU Student

Submission Forty-Nine

"Positive change gives me hope." ~WWU Student

Submission Forty-Eight

Model: Doria

"Optimism gives me hope." ~WWU Student

Submission Forty-Seven

"Animal companions give me hope." ~Gaye Green

Submission-Forty-Six

"When people simple accept one another... that's what gives me hope

specifically (although I don't know if this is part of the project ^w^) the most hopeful moment of my life so far was when there was an 8th grade talent show... people that had hardly talked the entire year got up on stage and sang or recited from Shakespeare or whatever they wanted and the entire grade was silent... no one even whispered, and they listened... and then they clapped and they smiled. They clapped because they liked it, they liked it because they had listened, and they listened because they accepted that person."

~Image and quote submitted by Melanie Cahill

The Empowerment Project Collection

Call for Submissions: The Empowerment Project Collection

The Program: The Empowerment Project is a unique and interactive three day program focusing on the realities of sexual assault and dating violence. The goal of The Empowerment Project is to give youth an in-depth understanding of these issues and help them to understand how to replace harassment and violence with healthy relationships and effective communication skills. On the final day of the workshop, students read narratives/look at visuals created by a variety of people who have been affected by these issues. The narratives utilized in the Empowerment Project are often utilized in DVSAS volunteer training and at some community events.

Who should submit: Anyone impacted by violence, and let’s face it, that’s all of us in one way or another. Individuals who have experienced violence directly, whether physical, emotional, and/or sexual, and the allies who struggle with watching our loved ones experience such trauma. Submissions can include instances where an attitude was shared through a comment, joke, or gesture, how that situation was dealt with (silence, confrontation, etc.), and explore the impact it had on those involved.

Men – there has been a request from program participants to hear more stories from men. Please help fulfill this request. Perhaps you have experienced or witnessed forms of abuse. This is more common than you would think as 1 in 6 men are sexually assaulted – any unwanted sexual contact - before the age of 18. Was there an instance where you were impacted by the abuse a partner experienced in a previous relationship? Have you struggled with the male gender construct to always pursue sexual activity although you didn’t want to? Maybe you stepped in when someone was being harassed, or told a joke that perpetuated the acceptance of violence or gender inequalities. Male participants would really like to hear examples of men standing up to other men.

Guidelines for inclusion: Written work has a maximum of 250 words. Please proofread your work as I am not comfortable censoring or altering one’s experience after it is submitted.
Narratives can briefly describe the situation/event(s) that occurred, but the focus should be the emotional/physical impact the event had on the individual’s life. Visual submissions should be two dimensional and approximately 24” x 40.”
How to submit: It is your choice whether or not to include your name with your piece. Some do, some don’t. It is entirely up to you. If you would like to submit anonymously, please send or drop off your submission at 1407 Commercial St. Bellingham, WA 98225 Attn: Zara Stevens If anonymity is not required, written narratives can be emailed to zstevens@dvsas.org or call 671-5714 to arrange to have your piece picked up. While I accept pieces on a continuous basis, I would like a new selection of pieces for the upcoming school year; therefore, the deadline for submissions is Wednesday, September 15, 2010.

Questions?: Please don’t hesitate to contact me with any questions or would like an example of a narrative that is currently used in the Empowerment Project. All communication is confidential. Participating in this creative process can bring forth some buried emotions or memories. I admire anyone with the courage and strength to speak about their experience and am here to support you through this process.

Submission Forty-Five

"There are so many beautiful andrea gibson poems that give me hope, like this one." ~Submitted by Ashlee Gray


hopefully this will give people who have been through sexual assault or any sort of harsh relationship situation some hope:

This Is Me Not Hiding
At the lowest point in my life I was screaming at you to hit me.
I was screaming at you to hit me in defense of my rapist.
Everything was still spinning from that night so I couldn't place the blame straight.
I wanted you to hit me because it would make up for all the things I had no control over.
Because I let everyone tell me I deserved it. Because you were itching for revenge.
And because I would hit you too and it would make up for having not have been able to fight back.

But you didn't hit me, you hit him.
With a crowd circling around like they had never seen such action.
And you didn't do it for me, but for my offenders girlfriend (let me tell you I was not his first victim).
And for yourself, because the thought of me sleeping with someone else
meant that we would not be getting back together and meant that you really didn't own me.
It meant a lot fucking more than that but you never cared to ask.
No one asked. No one asked me if I said no. No one asked me if I was ok.
I didn't know the answer to the last one anyways.
I couldn't think.
Not with you screaming at me through your phone, calling me out
to meet you, if I dared.
Not with the hateful messages flooding my inbox.
I couldn't feel anything.
Until that crowd had been crowded around me.
Until I was screaming at you to hit me.
Until I realized this was happening to me.

How soon "I love you" can be replaced with "I hate you" is more than disturbing.

And when you moved the fight away from me,
I crawled under that bridge where homeless people go to shoot up and girls go to give head.
I crawled under that bridge to die like a dog.
Like a dog with no thumbs to pull the razor blade out of the pencil sharpener.
I was so young.

And right on cue you called me, to take back the things you said,
like the impulsive noncommital fucker you are, who can't throw a punch at me with your fists but sure can with a text message.
I decided I must live.I had to survive.
I was too pissed off to die. I had to take this experience and get the hell out of that life.
I had to, one day, tell my story of survival.

A Bellingham poet once advised to sing of your victories. Do not hide. Well this isn't really a song but it's close.
This is the story illistrating where my victory began: under a bridge, covered in tears, ready to live.
And it has ended with me being able to answer that question no one would ask.
"Are you ok?"
Yes. I am.

~Submitted & Written by Ashlee Gray

Submission Forty-Four

"Learning and working with others gives me hope." ~WUU Student

Submission Forty-Three

"Acceptance gives me hope." ~ WWU Student

Submission Forty-Two

One of my own for a change. . .

The track we call life. . .To fall or grasp the hand. . .

Dedicated to my Mummy and her new legs/wheels. . .

What if our reflexes whispered instead of sprung
What if our limbs failed to move when our brain sent the request
What if we could not move for months
What if it hurt to be hugged
What if our whisper fell short
What if hope loomed in the distance but we could not grasp it
What if a mare ran a race to fall
Fall
Fall
Laying on the track
The men walk up
The men walk up deciding between helping or shooting
What if they did a bit a both
Built you up only to shoot
Shoot
Shoot
Could you survive

The thing is
We do
We survive disease
Disease
Disease
When our arms grip the metal bars and we pull ourselves to our feet
You take that first step
Take that first dance
Take that first hand and slide
Slide
Slide
Don't let those men put you in a chair
The electric chair
You killed no one
The life before you is yours
Revamp the chair give it wheels
Let it roll
Roll
Roll
Spray paint the metal
Make it your own
Give it a name
Personify your new legs and
Dance
Then live
Your life

Grasp it
Breath it
Let the heart pound
Pound
Pound
Its yours
Only yours
You can take it
Live it
Let it
Roll it

Then grasp the hand
It will be there
Waiting
Waiting
Waiting

HOPE

~Submitted and written by Kashia Gale

Submission Forty-One

Both images submitted by : Rebecca Truman

Submission Forty

Darkness

The darkness has descended
and threatens to consume me
my passion is gone
it has consumed all of my energy
this monster that comes like a thief
stealing all the loveliness in my life
taking away every hope that I had
he leaves me with nothing but emptiness
I hate him
He comes so secretly and by the time I realize he's there
it's too late
he's already settled in to the middle of my being
propping his feet up on the dreams I once had
littering negativity throughout my mind
until every space is filled with his poison
I must rid myself of him for good
My plans do not include him
he imposes himself onto me
and wills himself back into my life again and again
I must stamp him out and send him back to the grave he came from
all he knows is death and destruction
all he knows is isolation and pain
I long for him to go away and never come back
you are not friend...you are strictly foe.
so be gone!
Oh, if only it were that easy, our lives would be ribbons and butterflies
joy and love,
but we must know sadness to appreciate the joy
we must know pain to appreciate the love
we all walk through the valleys filled with shadows of death
we all pass through those darkened times that push out all the light
the only difference is, we come out of those dark times
with more hope
with more joy
and with more love

Photo & Poem submitted by : Rebecca Truman

Submission Thirty-Nine

"The generations before me offer me hope." ~WWU Student

Submission Thirty-Eight

"Feeling supported and uplifted by those around me gives me hope." ~ WWU Student

Submission Thirty-Seven

"The tenderness of good friends gives me hope." ~ Mare Butterworth

"Nothing bothers me, as long as I'm not hurting you. If I hurt you, tell me." (Statement recently made to Mare by a friend.)

Submission Thirty-Six

To Hope by John Keats
When by my solitary hearth I sit,
And hateful thoughts enwrap my soul in gloom;
When no fair dreams before my "mind's eye" flit,
And the bare heath of life presents no bloom;
Sweet Hope, ethereal balm upon me shed,
And wave thy silver pinions o'er my head!

Whene'er I wander, at the fall of night,
Where woven boughs shut out the moon's bright ray,
Should sad Despondency my musings fright,
And frown, to drive fair Cheerfulness away,
Peep with the moonbeams through the leafy roof,
And keep that fiend Despondence far aloof!

Should Disappointment, parent of Despair,
Strive for her son to seize my careless heart;
When, like a cloud, he sits upon the air,
Preparing on his spell-bound prey to dart:
Chase him away, sweet Hope, with visage bright,
And fright him as the morning frightens night!

Whene'er the fate of those I hold most dear
Tells to my fearful breast a tale of sorrow,
O bright-eyed Hope, my morbidfancy cheer;
Let me awhile thy sweetest comforts borrow:
Thy heaven-born radiance around me shed,
And wave thy silver pinions o'er my head!

Should e'er unhappy love my bosom pain,
From cruel parents, or relentless fair;
O let me think it is not quite in vain
To sigh out sonnets to the midnight air!
Sweet Hope, ethereal balm upon me shed,
And wave thy silver pinions o'er my head!

In the long vista of the years to roll,
Let me not see our country's honour fade:
O let me see our land retain her soul,
Her pride, her freedom; and not freedom's shade.
From thy bright eyes unusual brightness shed---
Beneath thy pinions canopy my head!

Let me not see the patriot's high bequest,
Great Liberty! how great in plain attire!
With the base purple of a court oppress'd,
Bowing her head, and ready to expire:
But let me see thee stoop from heaven on wings
That fill the skies with silver glitterings!

And as, in sparkling majesty, a star
Gilds the bright summit of some gloomy cloud;
Brightening the half veil'd face of heaven afar:
So, when dark thoughts my boding spirit shroud,
Sweet Hope, celestial influence round me shed,
Waving thy silver pinions o'er my head!

Submitted by Zarayah Israel

Creature of the Stream : Submission Thirty-Five

Man of the forest and
Creature of the stream.
You remind me of a deer running through the woods.
You find a path recognizable only by the animals of the forest
And eat the berries I might have thought was poison.

This is Torrey. Last week he contacted me about a place deep in the woods that he wanted to take me too. Then he added "P.S. I promise not to off you." Well he didn't off me and it was the best representation I have experienced of hope and peace in one place at one time. Wondering through the woods knowing only that at some point we would reach a stream I flew with it and enjoyed the peace that nature had to give me along the way. When we arrived I dropped my bag and felt as if I could dance on the logs and jump through the stream. After I explored for awhile I lay down on a log looking up at the sky, feeling the wind brush against my palms and hearing the grace of the water as it danced on the rocks. I remember thinking to myself that the only element missing was fire. As I breathe in the air and bound forward in my thoughts my mind begins to slow and silence it's self. All I hear are the elements and Torrey's deep hum of melody farther up the stream. Torrey explained the stream as a place where hate could not be felt. "It took all anger and hate out of me, and i thought mabey the world had a chance, if everyone could have moments like these." After going there myself I understand these sentiments completely. Where is your place where hate can not be felt? Where do you go to feel at peace or feel the inspiration that is within?

Submission Thirty-Four

Model: Ashlee Gray

In a conversation I had with Ashlee Gray's mom she stated the the thing that makes her happiest is the happiness of her child.

Submission Thirty-Three

Model: Josephine

"The time that I am able to spend with Friends & Family brings me hope." ~Vasi Graham

Submission Thirty-Two

"The uncertainty of my future gives me hope; it is full of all sorts of possibilities." ~WWU Student

Submission Thirty-One

Model: Kellan Green

"I find hope through beauty and I find beauty wherever I can: in a child's laugh (especially my own), the awesomeness of nature and quite often, through music.

I don't make music, but music that speaks to me can (and has) carry me out of the darkest times. It can pep me up when I'm feeling sleepy, it can mellow me out when I'm feeling hyper. Music is a band-aid for my soul, no matter what condition my soul is in.

I don't create art, but I do try to create beauty and hope by living kindly and attempting to pass along joy and acceptance to the people I interact with." ~Jennifer Lovchik

Submission Thirty

"Sunshine is making me get out of bed this morning." ~Sharon von See

Submission Twenty-Nine

Hope

Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune--without the words,
And never stops at all,

And sweetest in the gale is heard;
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little bird
That kept so many warm.

I've heard it in the chillest land,
And on the strangest sea;
Yet, never, in extremity,
It asked a crumb of me.

By: Emily Dickenson
Submitted by Andrew Shattuck McBride
If you have some time take a look at his marvelous blog: http://andrewsmcbride.wordpress.com/

Hope: Community Forum/Discussion

I am currently planning on having a Community Forum/Discussion on Hope in early to mid September. It will be marvelous. We will be looking at the submissions I have received through this project as well has discussing the things that bring us hope and what hope means to each of us on an individual bases. However, at this point I am still in the planning stages of this event and could use some support to make this happen. If you are interested in helping make this event a reality please contact me at whispersofthewheel@live.com

Much Love,
Kashia

Submission Twenty-Eight

"The lives of our children bring me hope." ~ Crystelle Johnson

I found this movie and thought it fit with Crystelle's submission.

Submission Twenty-Seven

Susanna
by Anne Porter

Nobody in the hospital
Could tell the age
Of the old woman who
Was called Susanna

I knew she spoke some English
And that she was an immigrant
Out of a little country
Trampled by armies

Because she had no visitors
I would stop by to see her
But she was always sleeping

All I could do
Was to get out her comb
And carefully untangle
The tangles in her hair

One day I was beside her
When she woke up
Opening small dark eyes
Of a surprising clearness

She looked at me and said
You want to know the truth?
I answered Yes

She said it's something that
My mother told me

There's not a single inch
Of our whole body
That the Lord does not love

She then went back to sleep.

~Submitted by Jessica Lohafer

Submission Twenty-Six

"Great ideas, it has been said, come into the world as gently as doves. Perhaps then, if we listen attentively, we shall hear amid the uproar of empires and nations, a faint flutter of wings, a gentle stirring of life and hope. Some will say that this hope lies in a nation, others in a person. I believe rather that it is awakened, revived, nourished by millions of solitary individuals whose deeds and works every day negate frontiers and the crudest implications of history. As a result, there shines forth fleetingly the ever-threatened truth that each and every person, on the foundation of his or her own sufferings and joys, builds for all." - Albert Camus (November 7, 1913 to January 4, 1960)

Submitted by Andy McBride

Submission Twenty-Five

Model: Torrey (While not quite a child he does have that look of joy and innocence that is so appealing to many people.)

"Children's Smiles bring me hope." ~ WWU Student

Submission Twenty-Four

"Picture [Hopey Rose] is of a bright rose in a darkened world" ~Created by Wyatt Weaver

"Perseverance gives me hope." ~Wyatt Weaver

Submission Twenty-Three

The Art of Courage.

You will go off into the challenge lands

Armed only with wishbones and harp strings

Where they will be waiting



You will dance the slow yoga of cherry blossom tattoos

Fending off knee jerk war cries

With a parry of lotus petals and satellite moons



They will throw silent earthquakes at you

And your dreams will be made of blood

You will fall, and you will fall

And you will struggle to rise

Before you fall again



They will see this and call you fear

Worse than sin, the viper’s teeth

Of cancer sucking away their morals

They will flay you with whips made of time

Grind empathy into poison needles

And bury them in your skin pointing outward

So those who love you cannot touch you

They will feed you loneliness

You will not be afraid

You will keep your voice inside

The left pocket of your thoughts

Where it can’t be stolen

And you’ll sing to them



The golden underside of a teardrop

Magpies between the rafters at dusk

The song of the last kite flying without strings



This will infuriate them

They will drown you in gunfire

Strap you onto concrete slabs

Inject their hatred into you

And wail crimson razors

As you turn it into music



They will exhaust their tortures on you

And you will die every second

But it will do nothing



When they can do nothing more

They will finally send you home

And when you return

I will meet you halfway



They will be following you

Nineteen paces behind,

Eyes lowered

Begging for mercy


Created by: Spike Daeley

Submission Twenty-Two

Submission Twenty-One

"People Supporting People gives me hope and inspiration." ~ Western Washington Student

Submission Twenty

The things that grow amongst the chaos give me hope.

Before our Time

Submitted By Kellan Green

Submission Nineteen

Hope ... "Time, quiet, it's inevitable, just give it some time, o, and a little bit of the blues. Embrace whatever is bogging you down and roll with it."


Even John Lee Hooker had bills to pay

Sometimes, on the second day back,
wherever home is, after a trip back east,
or west, forlorn tall legs eking their way
through Labrador grass. It is moonlight,
in this town, the sunglasses our neighborhood
hoodlums hide behind spark, crack, and burst,
sending dark shards back into our favorite hiding
place. I suppose the expectancy, no, the collapsing,
shivering sideways hope must always meet terribly,
terrifically with the glass in the window
which will never unlock. The quickening salamanders,
the berry bushes suddenly spring to life,
but we can hardly wait for August,
September, October, November,
December, redone, touched up
like an old painting
someone’s mother has forgotten in the attic,
All these years.

And in a tiny flurry of light,
As if a giant had breathed forcefully
On an old dusty bookshelf,
We are reminded of distinction,
Of the distinction, the difference
Between halfway sound
And eternal breath.

The mollusks snap right off the ships,
We wish you were here, the dog
Starts barking at just the right time.

Written and Submitted by Omar Tanamly

Submission Eighteen

"Laughter gives me hope." ~Yoshee

Submission Seventeen

"Kitten's give me hope, along with other small fuzy things." ~Western Washington Student

Submission Sixteen

Models: Jeff & Josephine

"True love gives me hope." ~Western Washington University Student

This thing called love. It seems to keep moving forward. Even just the search for true love seems to be motivational. While this was originally submitted by a WWU student it came up many more times in my search of what brings people hope. The common sentiments that people expressed to me was, "Love takes so many forms. Without the love that people have given me and that I have been able to give my life would have been a lot different and not as happy and fulfilling." So with that being said maybe it is time to let go and let love because apparently it is a very moving potent force.

Hope for the Hopeless

This is my theme song for my project.

Hope for the Hopeless by A Fine Frenzy

Stitch in your knitted brow
And you don't know how
You're gonna get it out

Crushed under heavy chest
Tryna? catch your breath
But it always beats you by a step
All right now

Making the best of it
Playing the hand you get
Well you're not alone in this

There's hope for the hopeless
There's hope for the hopeless
There's hope

Cold in a summer breeze
Yeah you're shivering
On your bended knee

Still when you're heart is sore
And the heavens pour
Like a willow bending in the storm
You'll make it

Running against the wind
Playing the cards you get
Something is bound to give

There's hope for the hopeless
There's hope for the hopeless
There's hope there's hope there's hope

There's hope

Submission Fifteen

the gift of non-invisibility

I have a friend who constantly
finds herself in a position
to nurse the wounds inflicted
by time upon the living soul.
she does not do this without frailty
and wonders why the sky cries
continually into her fractured cup.
it is her gift, I say.

as for mine, what good is
the soul of un-read verse?
how does a heart that bleeds
invisible ink bring about healing?
time is my gift, each dawn
a pretty wrapping, I say,
as i scribble my name
into the colors of the sunrise,
without apology or timidity,
because I (have to) believe

that somewhere, someone
is waiting for my poem;
somewhere, there’s
a reader who needs
to hear what I need to write;
someone who can decipher
my pain, my joy, where I cannot,
and take it into the folds of her abrasions,
using my blood and tears to heal her.

in, this way, giving of the self,
no one is invisible;
it is all I have to give.

By Dawn DiBartolo, CA

Submission Fourteen

"I think we can find the hope within." Miguel Muller

Submission Thirteen

Rainbows -- A beautiful song by Tippy the Vegan/Introspective Mess

I live by the light at the end of a tunnel because no matter how dim it seems, it has shown through in the past, so I know it is there. A long while ago I realized how beautiful darkness can be, how haunting. And also how dangerous. The most beautiful creatures in the world are deadly, after all. After experiencing a mind-numbing depression that left me in constant pain for months on end, I came to appreciate this new found love for hope and all things that seemed so cheesy are far away. Then, the light at the end of a tunnel transitioned into a love of rainbows. The idea that no matter how dark a day, the world gives you a beautiful view of refracted light to gaze upon - whether it's seen internally or otherwise. ~Tippy the Vegan/Introspective Mess, CA

Submission Twelve

Donald Carver on Hope & Heritage "what is it that makes us feel hopeless?...maybe a seemingly insurmountable task....a loneliness or separation?....a doubting of our self or fear of failure...and in turn, what can make us feel motivated or inspired?....beating the odds?... succeeding in spite of hardship?... being a part of something bigger than our self maybe.....when my life seems to get difficult, or things i take for granted inexplicably fail, or i have issues that get me down, i think of my great great aunt.............. phoebe left home in vermilon , ohio and crossed the great plains in a wagon in 1852... the arduous journey was chronicled in later life in her book "a pioneers search for an ideal home"....all manner of hardship was endured....attacks... death on the trail...hunger and thirst... 6 months!....parts unknown!...unsettled!....but they made it!..by sheer will...determination ...faith..... phoebe and holden went on to found the town of lynden in 1871.... she was called the "mother of lynden" not only because she named the town but also because , in the absence of a doctor, she delivered dozens of babies there... holden and phoebe started the first postal service... opera house...church ...school.... phoebe had 5 children of her own, one of which was born on the oregon trail (yes she was pregnant when she left home!), and she fostered 11 more children...... she was a common woman...a pioneer...but a history maker ,and a history teller....a possessor of spirit...and a giver of hope....her inspirational life will soon be commemorated by the renound sculptuist william mc dermitt, and serve as a constant reminder of the pioneer spirit and the determination and drive of the people who settled the northwest"

Submission Eleven

"What gives me hope? Moments that put all else at a standstill." ~Robyn Bateman


Pleasures of Fruit, Sleep, and Summer


On an August afternoon,

my pudge-puckered hands

reached for dark, oval plums

that drooped from a tree outside.


The plums had bruised slowly

over time, as twisting branches

pressed up against the wood

slats of the house.


The few that I could reach

burst tart on my teeth, and dribbled

salmon pink juice

down my arms.


Behind the woodshed,

Jasper licked his golden jowls

patiently, eyeing the pulp

as it trickled through the cracks


of my palm. “Good Dog,” I’d said,

slurping bruised plum gut.

For an afternoon,

beneath the plum tree’s green-leafed shade,


we slept with bellies to soil;

me with mouth stained black and sweet,

and he with snout burrowed

close enough to dream of the soft-


ball body of a plum in his maw.

~Robyn Bateman

Submission Ten

"My Secrets Give me Hope." Western Washington University Student

Submission Eight & Nine

"My future granddaughter, that is on the way gives me hope." ~Kay Dayss

"My Daughter, Alexia is my joy and inspiration, which keeps me moving forward. The fallowing poem is about her." ~Pam Green



Was it really what I heard?

A note to a word, lays suspended in my ear, which kindles the love running through my heart.
The changes that came from a gathering of words, binds me inside though I do not know why,
Was it really what I heard?

A stroll by the shore shall resolve this great bind, as I remember the note that changed to a word,
For the suspending sound still runs through my head as clear as the moment that is was said.
Was it really what I heard?

Having gathered my thoughts, I resolved to the love and let go of the bind that held me inside.
For the kindles of love grew stronger within for this word was repeated followed by a grin.
This was the day I heard her say “MAMA”!

Submission Seven

"What offers me hope is the great mystery of existence, true love, selflessness, generosity, people coming together, the waves, the wind, and the mountains; all cycling through each other, transcending boundaries." ~Eric Schmitz

In The Morning

Wake up early in the morning
Stretch your back
Meditate for a moment
On the dreams you made last night

Go to someplace wild
Be relaxed

Listen to the wind
Feel the grass
See the horizon
Taste the ocean

Its briny waves crash over your feet

When its right: be a friend
When its night: be a lover
Never forget to first mend
Feelings which have torn
The Pilings from your harbor


Midnight Caldron

I feel the wheel turning
The spring of life burning
Green flames in a midnight caldron

Ingredients of west wind,
Earth and heart are mixed in
With hair of a missing loved one

I feel you soul in a bolt of lightning
The clouds have found you far to frightening
You slip down from the sky
Illuminating mountains

I hear the caldron bubbling
The spirits are fermenting
Sweet smells that were almost forgotten

My memories re-find me
In arms that help to heal
The breathe of a deep blue ocean




Release Defeat

I like to stay on beat
Feel my mother pulsing
Beneath my feet

Frozen is my apathy
Flaming is my truth

I’ll tell you what I mean

Time is never waiting
Talk is never telling

I like to walk a path
Skip on down to the creek
Release de-feet

I am the ancient one
I am the shining sun
I am my own guru
I am inside of you

~All Submitted/Created by Eric Schmitz

Submission Five & Six

"Beauty Gives Me Hope." ~Brooke Nowakowski, B'ham WA

"what gives me hope is the beauty of nature. it's just so amazing, because it's something that's not man made, so it's not planned in any way, but it can still create something beautiful! on my bad days, to be happy, I can just think about nature and the natural world because it has never done anything wrong." ~Jillian Papp, Vancover B.C.

Submission Four

"Music Gives Me Hope." ~ Briauna M. Graeber
Everett, WA