Melted Crayons and Houses Made of Sunshine

Hile, inklings!

You might have noticed my recent silence here. I have no explanation to offer other than the reality of life with a newborn, said reality consisting of round-the-clock feedings, projectile poop (4 feet and counting), and sleep-deprivation (there were hallucinations). Said reality leaves little time for creative endeavors, and when I’ve had that little time, I’ve devoted it to finishing Rethana’s Trial and to editing Josh Unruh‘s Weird Western.

But.

Yesterday, whilst out walking with the aforementioned projectile-pooping newborn (she was not projectile-pooping at the time, which made the walk much more pleasant), my creative brain randomly kicked into high gear and made a poem. Last night, I had a chance to sit down and write it all out. I thought y’all might want to read it, so here it is:

Building Plans
by Courtney Cantrell

I want to live in a house
with half a million windows
and trim painted the color of laughter.

I want the sunshine in every room
and enough kitchen countertop space
to cook breakfast for a multitude.

The dishes are crystallized happy tears,
the teacups are adoration solidified,
and the cutlery is made of rainbows.

I want a bag of pixie dust
hung on every doorknob
and monster-hair plants stretching toward the ceiling.

Every closet leads to Narnia,
every mirror to Wonderland.
Every threshold is a bridge to Terebithia.

I want stars to carpet the floor.
I want to swish skip crunch through them
like crackling leaves in autumn.

The lamps burn on love
and don’t have an “off” switch.
The shadows are made of angels.

We lay ourselves to rest
on cushions of fluffy clouds,
and from our lips spill all things bright and merciful

as our hearts sing in sweetest harmony with forever.

I hope you enjoy reading that as much as I enjoyed writing it. : )

And because it goes well with the poem, I leave you with the melted crayon rainbow I recently finished for the projectile-pooping newborn’s room.

Click to embiggen!

Fling this post into the ether of internetted winds, that it might implant itself in a bazillion other consciousnesses and hasten the onset of my world dominion. ...Wait -- did I say that out loud?Buffer this pageDigg thisEmail this to someoneShare on FacebookFlattr the authorTweet about this on TwitterShare on StumbleUponShare on TumblrShare on RedditPin on PinterestShare on LinkedInShare on Google+

11 thoughts on “Melted Crayons and Houses Made of Sunshine

  1. Patricia says:

    That is a lovely poem. Someday you’ll have that house, and I will come visit for a few thousand years. 🙂

  2. amanda says:

    appreciate the poem : )
    what a lovely image!

  3. Pam Davis says:

    Love the poem. It stirred my imagination and opened a door in my heart.

    The melted crayon installation in the baby’s room is awesome.

  4. Jenny says:

    O! How grateful I am to have been guided from above to your site today. I needed the reminder of Beauty, today’s been such a difficult one to understand. Your poetry, your art for the new angel you just birthed into our welcoming arms, THIS is what it’s about. Beauty. Love. Light.

    Thank you Courtney, for being my beacon this day.

    PS: I was promised pictures of baby smiles and baby toes? Did I miss them here? I’ll look again…congratulations!

    PPS: And don’t worry! The projectile pooping will soon shift to the occasional projectile vomiting.

    • Jenny, thank you so much for your kind words. I’m glad that what I wrote could be a ray of sunlight for you on what was, indeed, a terrible day and impossible to understand. It’s encouraging to hear that when I do what I’m created to do, it brings light into others’ lives!

      No, you didn’t miss baby toes here. Now that the littl’un is actually here, Ed and I find that we’re reluctant to put her on the internet much! Paranoia strikes again…or maybe it’s just healthy caution? ; ) Either way, I do still intend to share a pic or two, I promise!

      P.S. Ohhhhhh, no projectile vomiting, please. I don’t think the carpet can handle it! Nor can my clothes…. ; )

  5. tara nachelle says:

    Wuv dis, sister!!

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