kind beauty in her young eyes

luscious moon

angels & demons

we are fighters, Jill

Jill,
you and me
explode through our mothers’ thighs
the same year
It is 1963, Jill
you and me
surrounding ourselves with winged creatures
clutching word and song
wisdom and farce
eyries we construct, yes Jill
you and me
where they belong
up high so our children can observe the world
before they depart for earth
It is 2017, Jill
you and me
we are fighters
protecting all those shadowed beneath our extending wings
we spar, laugh, punch, caress, comfort
we are educators
you assist students
I create teaching tools
It is 7 am, March 27, 2017, Jill
“fought a long hard battle…carried husband and family with great courage…love of her husband’s and children’s life”
It is 7:05 am, March 27, 2017, Jill
you and me
we have just met
I promise you, my dear friend
to keep loving and supporting and cherishing and fighting
to live up to your amazing life
God bless you, Jill
the dearest person, I never knew

cup the calm

time to relax the mind, heighten the senses
take the fingers for a stroll
haven’t let them loose in the Egyptian sheets lately
are we getting too closed in, devolving perhaps
like caged beasts and fishermen lost at sea
remap the stars
navigate to him–to her, across bombarding waves
intoxicate the glands, harden the resolve to coexist peacefully
the way temporary humans should on a temporary planet
back to whispering a sweet name in a fit of honest passion
a return to thanking the nakedness of the night
where muscles unhinge from scabbards
and time levels no orders
cup the calm, drink its sanity, inhale slowly and with much purpose
walk into the fray and remain unchanged
purple-wild-hair-edits

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

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