for Lily

what is motherhood if not by your side
watching you my love
what is pure in my life holding by a wisp within your deconstructing body
sweet child how I need to scream inside the ocean
smack the gods
embrace the spirits
where you won’t hear my pain
these arms and legs of mine so powerful
if I could give them and live to hold you still,
carry you as I have done across these years
never with regret
all that I am
wrapped around your life
such beauty in your speaking eyes, your soul-plumped mouth
how you’ve grown these past seasons
metal-bar suns and rubber-tube moons following along your flesh
yet
you and I have traveled so much longer than they believed possible
now
you grow a bit tired
your little body weary from the outside
fatigue settling some on the inside where my care holds you together
but still fierce in your heart
in your eyes of earth
you are my rock
you are my joy
not in any time
in any space
of any moment
will I ever grow tired
of your heart living inside mine

Gallean with ragdoll

to my cousin, Marie for her beautiful daughter, Lily xo

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

 

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😘

’tis wrestling season, my eyes close for 2 months


I listened last night
cresting waves
you
a ship
the gymnasium floor
covered in ocean blue and harvesting gold
home advantage
there you were
every time I closed my eyes
imagining the sea
rather than watching you twist and be twisted

my heart opened them
I must be like you
brave
put myself out there
on the mat
face my fear, my folly, my foe, my friend
when did you become so you

my son

the little boy
I must one day
release into a hard world
with no soft wrestling mat beneath
should you fall
maxmy max is on the right, gold-stripe
so very difficult watching these wrestling matches
hoping none of these kids get hurt
but they do
must keep my eyes open

5 am peaceful, poem published in the Avocet

5 am peaceful

wishing it were contented spirits
dusting the cement grass with glitter
not winter’s freeze

my dachshund’s paw prints
sweet as a postcard
one might send a faraway lover

I linger in the numbing quiet
let the moment warm this blanketed silence
hushed low like swimming beneath water
where despair drowns then floats away
in bubbles and dancing reflections

don’t want to twist the frozen doorknob
and go back inside
I’d love to remain out here
5 am
with the sparkling dust
and all that glitters
in the beauty of this silence
when the world is so peaceful

Rudolph Hug

Rudolph Hug

drawn a few years back with watercolor marker, acrylic, and a dab of prisma pencil

it is

well
it is
done
a book
mine
thin and monochromatic
beast and verse
love and madness
what we do to ourselves
what I’ve held
and continue
to store in my own heart
through personal trials
and gentle outward observations
it is
done
a book
for my children
something to hold in their hands
one day
when they need my heart nearby
I might be here
when they seek my heart
but if I’m not
it is

I’m of the old school belief if something is worthwhile eventually it will find its way, not a wonderful sales person for my own work, I must make an effort especially for my talented and generous friends and family who helped me realize this first publishing dream, so my friends, my very first illustrated book of free verse (some call them poems, my father believes poetry should rhyme – these verses do not) is available on my booksite – loveofthemonster.com
cover-image-jpegI thank you – how very exciting it is this morning to write this as the first white of winter presses against my studio door:)

“they”

her eyes face the pavement
“they” whisper
in booming voices
secrets no one could know
cutting 
tearing at her invisible flesh
piece by piece
bit by bit

the backside of her heart vacant
“they” say
“they” laugh
“they” commune
“they” cackle
exhaling poisonous fumes
their souls
shriveling with each round

this assault will continue
as must she

Dolores/oilthis 4’x’3 painting is almost 30 years old – one of my dear sisters allowed me to stretch and contort her beautiful face for the purposes of art
where I have common brown – dolores’ eyes are beautiful blue

this verse was published last year, I reworked it extensively
every time I return to my older poems – I cringe a little, laugh sometimes, then rewrite

kryptonite

sometimes she just gets tired
her little world snags on the edge
it doesn’t want to spin
neither does she
kryptonite sometimes settles across her womb
in the dark where light once lived
a spec of universal magic
slapping weightless color across heaving walls
offers no more portals
and the face present for all
is its most false
on the other side
baby gorilla
baby chimp in prisma on construction paper done a few years back-thank you

you sexy things

seven am
returning from a school drop
two older gals
walking, striding, smiling
sun
yea, it’s shining
not as brightly as these two powder-fresh sprites
their white Sketchers impossibly polished
like their well-seasoned eyes
almost see facial twinkling from my car
I’ve lowered speed
decelerating
crawling my Ford tires
slow the rushing axles

beaming at these living cherubs
while I sing along with Sirius ’70’s

wouldn’t you know
you sexy thing
starts playing
too freakin’ perfect

exuberant I’ve grown while observing these fine ladies
damn, still buckled in
I wanna get out and dance
run, sprint
stride step with these great smiling ladies

I picture them shakin’
moving their tried and true derriéres like they were 25
and in their minds, they still are
easy to deduce by their meandering glitter trail

I bet these 2 beauties were live wires
the kind that stretched and sprang back
knocking all them young lads for a loop
and a tongue tie

with their bedazzling smiles
and fine fighting features
you go girls!
you sexy things!

 even more perfect ’cause I love hot chocolate especially after wine;)

this is for the man

this is for the man
who raises his children
well
despite the fears
hidden beneath his cape
this is for the man
who teaches young hearts
to embrace
courage enough
to face their own fears
this is for the man
who despite his wounds
and scars
battles ever onward
leading always by example
even when his mind and body
are exhausted
he teaches his children
it is not by the flesh–
fingers, arms, legs
but by the heart and mind
we are all connected
this is for the man
whose stubble
their supple face skin winces at
when they goodnight kiss
his solid chin

Who

 HAPPY FATHER’S DAY TO ALL YOU DADS