i choose YES

One of my poems, dark magic, has been published on FOXGLOVE JOURNAL if you’d enjoy reading a little poem elsewhere – Foxglove is a lovely and inspired journal  😘 – thank you

 

 

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change the shadow

A time to cleanse the white winter dust from our bones
See beyond the eyes we’ve settled into since birth
There will be bursts of newness now
Duplication is not possible in nature–
yet, we humans often manage repeating ourselves
There is a comfort in settled experiences–
solace in our familiar numbers
One’s own purpose lingers beyond the grassroots of life
As foundations burrow in, and the sun effortlessly alters shadows
there are tiny moments
The slightest current can lift a seed passed the tempting border of sameness
Convince, prod, cajole, plea, praise the mind
Allow your heart and body no choice–
but to follow

Robin’s Tree

 

not where I live

Today, I’d like to write something about me.
Not from a clever place.
That’s not where I live.

Rather, I am someone who picks at her scabs
and watches them fall into Rorschach patterns
on the foot-flattened carpet.

Insignificant silhouettes that go unnoticed,
except by those fascinated with inkblots and
inexplicable stains.

communal totem

exposing myself

Burbage’s Globe
Aerial fly-bar
Frozen pond
Grassy slope
Low-rent stage in high-rent district
Chipped pedestal
Monkey barrel
Bar
Coffee house
Social media
Lemonade stand
Wet inked
Newsprint
Periodical slickened
Dick Blick canvas
#!*#**!!##**
Lincoln Center
Mind
Street corner
Library room with one transom
Long pier
Short pier
Mountain top with foot-warmer
Dream
Convention hall with stadium seating
Conference hall with folding chairs
Above a deli
Below him
Bareback ride across sunset primed sand
Charlie’s Angels’ intercom
Amphitheater
Anywhere “O” speaks–
or suits with sneakers gleefully dance
Red carpet
Leaning on Harry’s white Steinway as he plays
I wear dazzling white gown in above image
sometimes gown is gorgeous emerald
on rare occasions–blood crimson

Sydney Opera House
Basement studio
a few of the the many places I pretend my words and art expose themselves

eavesdropping

hitting bottom on my second glass of wine
hearing laser sharp, vision glazing
crumpled paper menu and sleuthing pen
seated at table
situated near bar
and men wearing baseball caps

…like she’s
she’s a wanderer
always wants to walk back to Florida
…like a two year old
yea, my mom went through that
got her in a place now
thought she was back in high school
said she was prom queen
that’s when we knew
twilight years
God bless ’em, when you can keep ’em
better sometimes forgettin’
don’t wanna remember mine
maybe we’ll see grandma dancin’ on a pole
she did think she was prom queen

oatmeal walls

 

madness, you see

I am quite capable of driving myself to madness
I do not require any help, most especially not yours
I do not need your over-involved directions
I can find the place blindfolded
You see, I have my map right here–
Tattooed on my palm with invisible inks
I have chosen the most expeditious travel plan–zigs and jags
I will not listen to your bullshit–straight lines and direct routes
You see, I am desperate to get there
I am sorry if I appear rude, but I cannot stand you anymore
I will not watch your tempting lips mouth what I do not want to hear
My friend, there is no time left for me–
for us

I really must reach madness
You see, it was long ago when I drove Him there
He is the only one who can tell me how to get back–
to the place I felt safest–
before I lost my mind
Trapped

my passion

so many of us wrestling our muses
getting off on the lonely thrill of possibility
safely tucked faraway behind a warm screen
not on the other side of winter’s sheets
the one who will save you from yourself and the spirit who toys with your intent
allowing us to believe and pretend there is something fresh to say
words, nuances in forms uttered as never before
more learned
more experienced
mock my inability
lovers mouth these moments in blind voice
ecstasy where speeches and diatribes are meaningless and sensations are God sent
complex notions suffocate deep in the wrinkles
in the darkness of bright minds lit by isolated hope
books of famous speeches forever bound together gathering dust
like my feet beneath my desk
there is nothing new to speak of
we unintentionally aim to create thoughtless things
passion and peace are not real
they are the pair of cement lions who guard my front porch
where Christmas lights still hang
other than these hardened beasts
peace is man’s inability to calm the ocean
and my passion is in your mind only

Pilate/acrylic

Pilate/acrylic

 

new love

you’ve made me sense the nearness of my years
and I don’t mind at all
possibilities are as rampant as raindrops on an April morning
I can see quite plainly how your smile is different
this is where I thought I might feel nervous
losing you to THAT world
the very same world, I once hurt my hands punching walls to reach–
hobnobbing like some awkward figurine whose two legs were sculpted as one–
and whose tiny Victorian shoes were forever jammed in a loaded pedestal
you are now primed to enter THAT world, but walking elegantly through the door
so you see my son, my smile is different too

max-yankee-smaller-filepainted this when Max only reached my elbow, now he towers over me

I need crap, but eyes can’t see it

I needed to see the stars this morning desperate to dream with my eyes open. The moon too, as I was being quite demanding. But neither moon or stars presented themselves to me. The sky was trampled beneath a mosh pit of cloud crap. I stood there disappointed and aggravated over these sky-high brighteners failing to lift me in my time of neediness. I grew pissed in fact, at the audacity of mother earth to disappoint one of her own good-natured tenants. I’m the guy trying to keep happy up, up, up, and I’m looking up, up, up at a shitty sky. Fuck, I don’t deserve this. I’m so wonderful and should have stars whenever I need them.

While sulking for a well-deserved miracle, my brilliant Dachshund speaks to me in the dark morning cold. No not really. Someone was talking though. She was saying how I don’t appreciate the stars enough to see them. The stars and moon are ever-present. They haven’t been vanquished, my vision has. My ability to see beauty on the floor when its trampled beneath a mosh pit of crap. I should close my eyes and see whatever it is I need to lift my spirits. No one, hell not even a brilliant Dachshund, can do this for me. Good as I force my heart to be, I am not that good. There are selfish thoughts brewing and I blow them out like candles on a cake I covet.

I stand in awkward silence, having just been berated by an old-school friend. I allow her voice clarity and give into the honesty of this truth. I don’t appreciate all that is. There is a gorgeousness about this place, past the mosh pit of crap. No one can take the stars or moon from my eyes. Or yours. I adore nasty Dachshund breath, even though I loathe it. Mojo is warm and sweet. We are all blessed with the brilliant night sky, regardless of what transpires daily below it. There is up and we need to focus our vision there.

Now I am happy. It is time to take my son to school. He is a driver-in-training so he’s behind the wheel. We are cruising by a student who’s walking to school. A football falls from his backpack but goes unnoticed by him. In my pleasant beautiful calm, I roll down the passenger window and call out to the boy. While doing this my anxious arm swings out, pointing to the football behind him. Here, my eyeglasses go flying out the window. My son pulls the car over at the first opportunity. I leap out and sprint to find my glasses flattened. Damn

And I thought my vision was cured after my morning epiphany. Sometimes what can you do, but suck it up, cry or chuckle.

features

features

I wrote this at 6 am but decided to post in the pm. I didn’t listen or watch live inauguration coverage. I read President Trump’s speech just awhile ago online. Next to last paragraph of his speech had an uncanny ring. Hmm, I wonder what it all means…😉

“And whether a child is born in the urban sprawl of Detroit or the windswept plains of Nebraska, they look up at the same night sky, they fill their heart with the same dreams and they are infused with the breath of life by the same Almighty Creator.”

Goodnight, Gracie…

the greatest show on earth

yesterday, I had the good fortune to be reminded of something so sweet
it permitted me almost complete peace with the world
and entire happiness with planet people
as I watched with anxious mom eyes, young men and a few women too–
my son among this intense leaping group
willingly get tossed about sprawling mats and body slammed through practiced experience
I escaped a few moments for coffee

there in a deep fluorescent hallway
away from the hearty stewing odors of an enclosed winter gym
a little blonde tyke, resplendent in cherubic pink cheeks and wild child whimsy
his laughter and stubby legged runs–
the penguin-like waddles of a boy not yet near man territory
tearing up and down the checkered oatmeal tile, he flew on socked wings
I, trying to stifle a grin
(honestly, more for the creases now carving into my retreating lip flesh)
simply could not stop smiling, beaming in fact at this whirling dervish
and then he, who lost a fierce hallway sprint to a taller little girl, in their run for the shoeless roses
proclaimed to any and all observers (a line I wish I could take credit for)
“she made her socks run faster than mine”

in this morning’s paper
an article printed on the closing (after 146 years) of, “The Greatest Show on Earth”
this media headline is incorrect, perhaps even yellow in its presentation
yesterday I watched The Greatest Show on Earth in a small high school hallway
and here–the most entertaining truth
the little socked boy’s name was
Gabriel
elephant eye:trunkand for the record, I am joyous for the animals, large and small who should never dwell beneath any big top other than sky