golden opportunity

back to the beginning
evolution
back to the beginning
2016

the world spins
axis
the world spins
speculation

yet this morning, I couldn’t keep off the keys
music
yet this morning, I couldn’t keep off the keys
social media

steer by the stars
navigate
steer by the stars
fame

“It was the best of times,
it was the worst of times…”
we tend to forget
we tend to remember

need a period of darkness to bloom
poinsettias
need a period of darkness to bloom
civility

golden opportunity
ours
golden opportunity
2017

Gallean with ragdoll

why fix this broken machine

why fix this broken machine
the urgency in uplifting messages
broadcast with heavy hearts
misguided mobs leveling cruel ends
by hideous means
refusing to behave
as a beautiful homogeneous group
faith shaken to the core
our vast home, shriveling
wicked minds vexed by calculating brains
broad strokes of ignorance painting world murals
why fix this broken machine
pulling loads up the mountain
carts inundated with hopeless direction
greed, avarice, folly, sickness
wishing upon flesh stars

…still…

despite every sour moment
we suck into our spongy hearts
there is something undeniable
in the endless beauty of man

we are not machines
we are not broken
we fix the pieces that wear over time
we readjust the parts because we have the ability to do so
we restart the stops in the moments we catch our breath
we reignite the stalls when our brothers collapse upon themselves
we do not crush ourselves, over and over again
we reinvent
despite the few who dare to rip the road from beneath our feet
we continue walking up the mountain

there are those who choose to break
there are many who refuse to be broken

Dream Catcher

Dream Catcher

I wish you all a more hopeful, beautiful and peaceful New Year. Here’s to gentility, civility and warm embraces in 2017
am:)
xoxo

my silly secret

like a blazing stogie dangling from determined lips
all other luminous pricks lured away by post-holiday sales
my eyes navigate the smudged thermal pane
a lone gleaming star outside the milky glass
I must get closer
I’ve got no answers for anyone this year
and more questions for myself with less time to respond
the kitchen slider is an obstinate fucking portal
I remember falling on scabby knees
praying beneath the Northern Star
for wisdom and ‘wiseness’
crying for everything I couldn’t find
and God knows I still look for
the star
storybook glitter brilliant enough to sustain my disbelief another year
pulling at the door handle, dropping f-bombs with each yank to the right
gotta fix the damn slider in 2017
I must get closer
to this sparkling beacon of Christmas birth and glowing yuletide renewal
this year, this year it’s more important than ever
shit, you know I declared the same thing last year
shivering in the dark, I’m standing on my splintered deck
finally nearer to the star
I whisper to her pointing ears, ‘guide us somewhere safe’
we must believe in something more than ourselves
or we will implode upon our self righteousness
I’d pat myself on the back too, if I didn’t hurt my shoulder opening the fucking slider
the pulsing star
limitless hymns composed for her singular brilliance
orbiting existential principles
liquid onyx landscapes and oceanic skies
I lift my watery eyes
my lips smiling with their silly secret
this isn’t the prominent Christmas Star shining brightly 19 degrees above the horizon
it is Venus
she’s the one who lured me to heavenly hopes all those years ago
when I was a child and didn’t know which way was North

wood nymph

 

are there enough pages

are the chambers of your heart sliced thin
with enough pain between the parchment
to make you an interesting read
have the edges of your soul been sharpened
despite the dull devils trying to wear them down
are those cobwebbed secrets in the recesses of your mind
sell-able
will anyone pull a star down from heaven
and slap it on your blemished skin
the thoughts that crawl up your beading flesh when lights go dim
can those fading illuminations stage a moment
amid a sun-packed universe of perfection
what makes your story
more interesting than your lover’s
will there be enough pages to sew together
after you tear your life apart
sculpt woman

my pink dog

dear God
I seem to have lost my faith
the pixie-haired girl stuck
to a weathered pink dog with stale bubblegum
has stumbled too low
to be found in my dreams
her memories as diaphanous as Christmas spirit
present only if you’re willing to believe
Lord, somewhere while seeking gold
my pick-axe and pan rusted
jewels of this earth
fake gems plastered in false promises
my pink pup disintegrated long ago
nothing to grab onto now
no faith to embrace
no shield to burnish
stamped with the devil’s pitchfork
locked inside life’s eternal circle
the sign of peace
we alight here in this place
our time measured in a fish eye blink
lays out no global welcome mat
too many starving toes crowding “welcome”
and the rubber rainbow has discolored
beneath this vast azure roof
no one shares a meal together
I’m gonna tell you something, Lord
despite this miraculous ability to hate
that we’ve been granted
my greatest fear
is the moment
I believe these words
I’ve just written
the pink dog is still tucked away safely inside my heart

My Charlie

My Charlie

 

is it here

is it here
the lifetime
the hours
the minutes
the moments
you work so hard for
kill yourself
push your mind to its unsustainable limits
your heart to its non-containable boundaries
those out-of-sync metal drums
steel tubers slithering between your ears
a maelstrom of indecent wavelengths
not silent since
Silent Night split open the cheer seams
of your calloused fingers
will they ever notice
will he
the lifetime
the hours
the minutes
the moments
sacrificed
a shining star at the top
these endless soul-lurching efforts
is what you daily imagine
when your brain has space left
and the tree is vertical
upright and fresh
in the daylight
things hide beneath other weights
wet spoons and sockets could fry away this opus
remember to wait for the dark
I promise
delicate lights will remind you
rest a minute
a moment
allow the silent night
to quiet your nerves
in this tiny magical space
reserved for you alone
the lifetime
the hours
the minutes
the moments
the ruckus in your body
the battles in your mind
the promise to yourself
never lose sight of the star
the one you placed perfectly on the tree
in the finest snippets of clarity
your mantra
and mine
the inner-voice of relentless hope
it is in these tiniest moments
timelines do not matter
even in its frailest state
hope
is our shining gift

with hope we are at our best
in hope we are at our most human

Baby Elf

Baby Elf

 

this new chapter…

there in our hands, the power of words
yet so often, we rally them into service
too late
too busy
considering pluses and minuses
try as we do
to separate
fact from fiction
moral fiber from bull crap
opportunities vanish
to speak
my heart
to yours
calendar clocks tick away
missed opportunities
wrong gift sizes
this year’s chapter closes
now all we can do
is wish upon a Christmas star
pray
for those of us with faith
hoping it eventually comes
to light
what it was
we never got
to say
perhaps, one day
when the magical star returns
with it will pulse
another guiding opportunity
to shine
this new chapter will be better
imagine our one world
spinning with a modicum of peace
where
we two
can love again

Deer Friends

Deer Friends

magical words, miraculous changes

it has been said
passed down from yuletide lips
Charles Dickens saved Christmas
not the man, ’twas the book
his story, we all know
if you don’t (your library copy might have gotten jammed in an 1843 chimney)

Industrial Revolution spinning at warp-speed
factory holidays are ghost shadows
we are living in the fast-pacing present–more is better
our dull, simple past soiled with slumming traditions–less was less
one floor above sweating basement workers, the future appears bright and shiny
a young boy’s father gets locked up in debtors’ prison
the child Charles, now forced to labor in a “rat-infested boot-blackening factory”

these formidable memories haunt Dickens

I imagine Charles back then
beneath winter’s moonlight
childhood terrors like bony hands slamming rusted leonine door knockers
he summons these all-too-vivid specters to do battle with his benevolent muse
the war won
A Christmas Carol is born

“…in 1867 Dickens reads A Christmas Carol. One of the audience members,
Mr. Fairbanks (a scale manufacturer) was so moved that he decided to break custom
and give his workers Christmas Day off and not only did he close the factory,
he gave turkeys to all his employees.”

magical words can inspire hearts to make miraculous changes

Little Tree

Little Tree

Charles Dickens, true to his words became an exceptional philanthropist. “…the welfare of the nation’s children was at the top of his list of concerns, and he used his pen and his considerable dramatic and oratorical powers to raise awareness of the plight of poor children and to raise money for children’s charities…”

sources in order of quoted appearance: Uncle John’s, Christmas Collection (yes, the Bathroom Reader, please don’t judge where I sometimes read😉), charlesdickensinfo.com, hharp.org

if my little poetry book love of the monster helps one heart, that would be a gift I’d keep trying to give😘

deliciously contagious

a mouth doused with sweet romance
is deliciously contagious
eyes bedazzled by the goodwill of others
illuminate the world
a steadfast hand that comforts the weak
can reach the Himalayan snow caps

lovers who entwine in a sincere embrace
are more satisfied than Cyber Monday shoppers
a soul refreshed by winter moonlight
will shine for eternity

a heart made of fruitcake
can never be broken

Peppermint Pigs

Peppermint Pigs