Pisces Writes

2010-09-30T12:23:00.000-05:00

you are a butterfly who pinned yourself
to black paper,
put yourself in chains-and there you remain.
happiness dances out in the distance for you,
but not so far that you can't see it. ephemeral.
you don't believe you can lay claim
to your own tiny slice of it.
barrier
barrier
barrier
you stack one more brick in the next one.
you claim to want as you reach
for the mortar.
i will love you, as you are, forever,
but i will not live pinned
or with a For Sale sign in my front yard
when you were really
never
in the market.
the walls are so high now i can only see
the tips of your fingers as you wave goodbye.

On high

2010-09-04T19:26:00.001-05:00

i sit,
waiting to settle. the chorus
lift their voices and begin,
the crickets crying, hummingbirds
battle with light sabers,
deer practice at the barre,
their agile selves, ears high,
watching me.
i close my eyes
and could be at the ocean
in Cornwall,
the trees moving in waves
like the surf rolling in.
foreign sounds i can't identify-
bug or bird,
and my own heartbeat tries to find
its place among the many.

i am filling me with more. i have found me
in Spirit again, or Spirit has found itself in me.
i don't question but breathe "ahhhh" to be
back in this comforted familiar place.

i will not say i am not frightened or
still adrift.
but where i longed for comfort
in places i should not have,
i've begun to find profound
simple peace in small moments.
i had lost that. i once was lost.
and now i'm found. those words
are as good as any.

this place makes me want to
walk softly, move slowly, be silent.
the grass is crunchy and dry,
my sweatshirt pulled on today
for the first time this season.
the old dog is missing and has left
a small, black hole of hurt in me.
i am aware of the ancestors who
might have walked before, who disturbed
deer under an apple tree like i did,
who marveled at the first chill in the air
as if they didn't feel it every year.

i know these moments are fleeting and
that great joy or great sorrow are around the corner.
it is astonishing that i have so little control
over my own story.
and so much.

i gather myself together. step quietly inside
her empty house, write and step out
to share popcorn with the brown dogs.
a communion all its own.
no doubt, like this place, equally holy.
amen.

Un-Done

2010-07-14T14:49:00.000-05:00

my seams are pulling.
i am coming un-done but
don't be afraid for me.
the crevice is cracking wider
and the sunlight is clearing me out
of all the old stale crap
that clogged my heart, my love, my life.
i can see me and you again,
the big 'you' of it all,
and the family all around me.
i am sentimental and ridiculous
and i'm just fine with that.
i'm fine with it all.
the dervish is whirling in me again.
my small imagination can't engage in conception.
it is all too big.
so i will rock and weep with this overwhelm.
of love.
overwhelmed with love.
keep me open.
keep me open.
keep me open. wide.

A Valentine's Day Gift for the Future

2010-02-14T11:44:00.000-05:00

I know the day is coming
when I will drink mightily and quench
this thirst, the draught done,
the rainy season blessedly come. I've
been good
done the work
grown strong
and remained open.
My rewards are coming,
lit brightly and ready to celebrate with me,
dancing around the fire.
Perhaps the face will be familiar
or strange
but it will love full-tilt and fearless.
And we will wallow together like fat puppies in our good fortune...

Patti Smith Changed Me Late in Life

2009-11-03T14:55:00.002-05:00

I don't know you.
You, half man, half woman,
with suits and ties, boots and skirts, cardigans.
One minute soft, the next angry and defiant.
Yours seems like a life well-lived.
I envy you, your unself-conscious
lack of beauty,
your boots,
your black and white and gray-ness.
You deliver words in a voice
like heaven,
scream with nails on black board insanity.
Two people at once.
You seem to have loved deeply and
lost so much.
You lost so much but your spirit still shines.
You seem fearless. Are you?
Dreams of life. Mine are freezing here.
You have suffered more.
You run free like horses, horses, horses.
Is that too cliche?
Run wild with Burroughs, Ginsberg, Robert.
Sip tea in your home.
Dichotomy.You.
I want to touch your natty hair
and see if some of this grace will reach me.
I. am. rarely. moved. like. this. anymore.
Patti.

And I remember Stinson Beach

2009-11-03T14:50:00.003-05:00

I was there just a few nights ago,
there with old love and new,
in the flights of my other life
the nightly visions
so much better than the days.
I remember the man
climbing the rocks,
the boy, ours, in the tide pools.
It was a time of naked men
and sisters, still loving
and the cold surfers in black skins.
I was newer then,
the skin and heart not yet
buffed raw.
He was alive then,
he was better then.
There were starfish.
The water was cold, our boy ran free.
I wondered at calla lily and
birds of paradise
growing wild, like weeds.
The Zen fields,
the small cottage,
the place felt like ours.
I was no more lost then
than I am now.
No more lost.
So much changed.
I was there again. Were you?

October 2009

2009-10-26T19:48:00.004-05:00

A dark, cloudy soul,
yours. Who I long for.
the clouds come in...and they linger.
No amount of reassurance can clear them.
Your demons dance in, dance out.
Dance on everything around you,
obscuring the view of me, standing.
And as quickly,
the skies part
and your sun shines
and I'm reminded that it moves me.
When those clouds break,
even for just a moment,
I see.
I see the reason for it all.
Just as quickly, storm clouds gather again
and you vanish. I am vanished.
We are overcome. Sunshine forgotten.
I see now.
I am your dora, isak, katherine
to your denys.
I sit at the sidelines and I wait.
I will never be invited in.
But there are gifts and pleasures,
and moments. There are no weeks,
or months, or years. There is no us, no we.

I wait for the sunshine, for the recognition
in your eyes,
for the return of you.
I do not stop living.
I cannot stop loving.
This is the choice. This is the life I have chosen.

2008-10-17T12:30:00.002-05:00

Today, I'm doing all I can to surpress this routine sadness and loss. It would be easy to make assumptions about these lyrics and the date...but don't.

My Immortal (Evanescence)

I'm so tired of being here,
suppressed by all my childish fears.
If you have to leave, I wish that you would just leave
'cause your presence still lingers here
and it won't leave me alone.
These wounds won't seem to heal,
this pain is just too real...
there's just too much that time cannot erase.

When you cried I'd wipe away all of your tears.
When you'd scream I'd fight away all of your fears,
and I held your hand through all of these years.
But you still have
all of me.

You used to captivate me with your resonating life.
Now I'm bound by the life you've left behind.
Your face it haunts my once pleasant dreams,
your voice it chased away all the sanity in me.
These wounds won't seem to heal.
This pain is just too real.
There's just too much that time cannot erase.

When you cried I'd wipe away all of your tears.
When you'd scream I'd fight away all of your fears.
I held your hand through all of these years,
but you still have
all of me.

I've tried so hard to tell myself that you're gone,
but though you're still with me
I've been alone all along...

When you cried I'd wipe away all of your tears
When you'd scream I'd fight away all of your fears
And I held your hand through all of these years
But you still have
All of me

reviving spirit

2008-08-18T19:15:00.003-05:00

we are walking the dogs
and there have been five perfect days
with you and my heart is full.
i could not have asked for more,
and did not.
i keep poking in there, though,
because something is missing.
i know i bemoan the romance
that is sometimes lacking and
fire that seems to be dwindling
and i suddenly understood
that i've fallen out of love with me
and with life
and i no longer court myself.
i put flowers in vases for you
and never for me.

i remember falling in love
and learning about seeds, and true leaves,
and soil and light
and worms tilling the earth for me.
i remember praising the rain
as the small miracle it is,
thankful that i was not dragging
the hose from corner to corner
(though i secretly enjoyed that time
of just standing and looking).
i remember sitting with friends,
silent as monks,
over small art projects
important only to us
and feeling a peace that was tangible.
i remember my spirit
soaring as i sat listening to church bells
in the monastery,
missing family but not lonely,
and knowing God/god.
i remember watching movies
with two young men
or the first cup of coffee in the morning
and feeling that my life was complete.

the world sucked me down love.
and as much as you've lost you,
i lost me. so far gone.

so here we are, each of us grasping
at something we've touched before
but like being unexpectedly set down in a distant land
i don't think either of us is sure
how to get back.
there is no compass...
wait.
no.
there is.
my heart feels a pull sometimes,
a reckoning of something familiar,
like a dream you can't quite explain
the next morning
though you were fully absorbed in it all night.
and i see it on your face at times too.
could we ask for better a companion
than the other
in this attempt to get back "home",
with our maddeningly diverse definitions?
though the glare of our past
blinds us both and is so different,
we speak the same language
of bird and quiet and soft and song,
of words on the page,
of the moon.

i think as we build this delicate future,
we must shore up God/god,
make a corner for spirit so we both,
not just you,
remember to be still
while the compass needle settles
and points us to this new definition,
the one we will make,
of home.

Unbroken

2008-06-02T18:39:00.004-05:00

God.
Watch over those whose hearts are unbroken,
the tender membrane of that muscle
still intact-
while those of us
learning to love again
with our hearts cleaved
and the darting eyes
of a wild animal who has seen danger
wake up wrapped equally
in the blankets of hope and fear.
What it is to love
with abandon and ignorance
is long gone.
Now preparations for the ending
begin
at the beginning
despite knowing the absurdity
and pointlessness of those preparations.
The heart will still break
as mightily as the first time
and the agony will not be reduced
by one small measure.
Still.
You cannot shut out the visions
of endings past,
nor the nightmares that still
wake you, wet-faced,
and the optimism that you feign
is just that:
feigned.

What are the options then?
To not take another ride,
to burrow in and block the door
until you look up one day
and realize those days alone
filled you slowly with pain
instead of pummeling you with it.

I don't know, dear.
I see you rise in the morning
and I am breathless
that the chance even came again-
astounded really
that you fit better than
all the others...
or so it seems now
when we bathe in that innocence
for a bit,
cry out again and again in the night-
this time in ecstacy,
determined once more
to write this story in its entirety,
to the end.

What fools. What courage.

2008-05-15T14:24:00.003-05:00

i shoot myself in the foot,
do the insanity dance
of wanting something different
while i shoot myself in the
other foot.
when will i stop chasing
and chewing on my own tail?
slow down, breathe.
there are no rules.
hard days come,
they go.

A fitting lyric for today...

2008-05-15T14:19:00.001-05:00

Something to Believe
The Bravery

The faces all around me they don't smile they just crack
Waiting for our ship to come but our ships not coming back
We do our time like pennies in a jar
What are we saving for

There's a smell of stale fear that's reeking from our skins.
The drinking never stops because the drinks absolve our sins
We sit and grow our roots into the floor
But what are we waiting for?

So give me something to believe
Cause I am living just to breathe
And I need something more
To keep on breathing for
So give me something to believe

Something's always coming you can hear it in the ground
It swells into the air
With the rising
Rising sound
And never comes but shakes the boards and rattles all the doors
What are we waiting for

So give me something to believe
Cause I am living just to breathe
And I need something more
To keep on breathing for
So give me something to believe

I am hiding from some beast
But the beast was always here
Watching without eyes
Because the beast is just my fear
That I am just nothing
Now its just what I've become
What am I waiting for
Its already done

2008-05-06T11:35:00.000-05:00

its early yet
sounds of dogs snoring,
the occasional purr from the cat,
a bird is waking.
i watched the big dipper
out your window last night.
i slept in peace.
i wear your shirt to bed.
you wear mine-
and my socks.
your feet are so cold
and you rub them warm
or press them against
the ragged soles of mine.
you poke fun at me
because i can't see
and i'm not used to it
so i never have my glasses handy.
i poke back at you
because you are always in a tither
over something.
we take stabs at naming
the new bird at the feeder
or the root of some
long familiar word
which now sounds strange.
i remember when i was young
how i dreamt big dreams
of travel and adventure,
of big cities and endless conversation.
how much of life
is following a thread
and then discarding those things
it turns out you really didn't want
after all?
then following it further
to discover what you love
that is such a surprise.
we sit in silence.
we read.
we tour the plantings i've put in
around your house
(what's this? is that ok?).
we pet the creatures.
we cook.
we nap.
a big night out is dinner
and the bookstore.
we spend an awful lot of time
looking at each other
right now.
these are the moments that nourish.
these are the things we do for fun.

abundance...

2008-04-21T11:28:00.004-05:00

in the firelight
dancing softly barely
everything falling into place
what a revelation.
you come into my world, unexpectedly,
greeting me each morning,
sending me off to sleep at night,
with sparkling eyes
and brilliant smile,
bouncing down the sidewalk
clearly so happy to see me.
my love is elsewhere-
and you know this.
it's not my love you want, anyway,
is it?
we listen to each others' tales
of adventure and women and
i realize,
suddenly,
my life is filled with abundance.
taking a breath at a time
enjoying the faces smiling back-
this is new territory
and i'm not yet at ease,
but i'm trying.
no one is pulling at me
nor promising me anything.
this is a new day.
the sun is out.
there is growing to be done
and it's time to play.

let me

2008-04-10T12:23:00.005-05:00

let me lay my head down on you.
i need to rest awhile.
i write and think often
of passion and desire
and fail to express
my attachment and lust
for the quiet soft moments
that we share.
let me be silent
and hear the wind blow
through your trees
as the dogs nap gently
on the porch and beside us
and kitty dozes around your neck.
this is the space
you give to me,
to breathe and not talk,
to read and write
and share a walk,
holding hands
as my eyes wander over
the glory you own.
i know we have begun the walk
again
and we don't know
where it takes us,
but do we ever?
really?
know for sure?
death could claim us
as easily as our own crazed psyches
or another, tempting.
so close your mind to fears
that i am planning
a life
with you.
i don't share this quiet,
this ease,
with anyone but you.
it is the gift you give.

pandora...

2008-04-05T14:36:00.002-05:00

careful before you lift that lid.
there's a warning printed there.
no one has fully unleashed
pandora's storm and it could be
a frightfully disturbing sight.
she's not met her match,
yet,
and before you take that risk
you might want to ponder
really really hard
about what you think you want
and think you can handle.
the wind whips around,
ice and fire on your skin,
fingers entwined,
the sounds moan low.
pandora is a gentle beast
who only wants a tiny bite
of your soul,
but it could change you forever.
she wants your hunger,
your addiction,
to climb inside and curl up
in the cave.
she's been well-behaved for so long,
waiting to be set free.
can you take that chance?
are you sure you are ready?

Great Song...

2008-03-30T18:12:00.002-05:00

Going through itunes doing some clean up and gave this dear song a listen. Pierces the heart and says a lot.

Blood and Fire
Amy Ray

I have spent nights with matches and knives,
Leaning over ledges, only two flights up.
Cutting my heart, burning my soul.
Nothing left to hold,
Nothing left but, blood and fire.

You have spent nights, thinking of me,
Missing my arms, but you needed to leave.
Leaving my cuts, leaving my burns,
Hoping I'd learn.

Blood and fire
Are too much for these restless arms to hold.
And my nights of desire are calling me,
Back to your fold.
And I am calling you, calling you from 10,000 miles away
Won't you wet my fire with your love, babe?

I am looking for someone, who can take as much as I give,
Give back as much as I need,
And still have the will to live.
I am intense, I am in need,
I am in pain, I am in love.
I feel forsaken, like the things I gave away.

Blood and fire
Are too much for these restless arms to hold.
And my nights of desire are calling me,
Back to your fold.
And I am calling you, calling you from 10,000 miles away
Won't you wet my fire with your love, babe?

I am intense, I am in need, I am in pain, I am in love.
I am intense, I am in need, I am in pain, I am in love.
I am intense, I am in need, I am in pain, I am in love.

Blood and fire
Are too much for these restless arms to hold.
And my nights of desire are calling me,
Back to your fold.
And I am calling you, calling you from 10,000 miles away
Won't you wet my fire with your love, babe?

dinner in spring

2008-03-13T14:20:00.003-05:00

you are home, changing clothes and
i am at work, worried about my hair.
the sun is radiant (the words tire
of describing sunshine) and it feels
like life is new and fresh this spring.
the little details float by,
a friend of a friend you never knew
has died
and we cry over her obituary,
i write and call too often
and you are gracious and don't point it out.
i will want to touch you tonight,
in off-handed ways, the ways of a lover
seated at dinner in a public place,
who longs longs longs across the table.
i will be barred, still, from feeling
big feelings
and will have to put them back in the
tiny tiny ring box
i store in the pocket above my heart
where they stay mostly contained,
a tendril spilling, reaching out
every
so
often
like a morning glory vine.
i make bets with myself
on how long i can keep this up
before i explode
and spill the contents of my feelings
all over blank white walls
while you watch, bemused and horrified
at my emotional display.
tonight, however, we will dine
with good manners
and no messes
and enjoy the sunshine
wrapped in cliches.

by Frank O'hara

2008-03-13T14:13:00.001-05:00

I found out about Frank O'Hara from Stephen King's new novel, Duma Key, where one of Frank's poems is added. Here is a simple lovely poem that I am dedicating to M:

You do not always know what I am feeling.
Last night in the warm spring air while I was
blazing my tirade against someone who doesn't
interest
me, it was love for you that set me
afire,

and isn't it odd? for in rooms full of
strangers my most tender feelings
writhe and
bear the fruit of screaming. Put out your hand,
isn't there
an ashtray, suddenly, there? beside
the bed? And someone you love enters the room
and says wouldn't
you like the eggs a little

different today?
And when they arrive they are
just plain scrambled eggs and the warm weather
is holding.

stranger...even to myself

2008-03-09T20:55:00.002-05:00

a creation in motion,
surprised by the light and dark
that rages in me.
i am want, need,
i am none of these things.
i am strange and stranger,
even to myself.
i dare myself to live.
double dog dare to take hold
and do the things
that only terror is preventing.
to jump, headlong, into love
despite its barbed wire barriers,
to ignore convention,
tattoo DREAM BIG on my bald head.
i am twisted, sick and so conventional.
poking sticks at everything,
trying to get a rise
out of you out of me,
curious insanely.
i am hiding from the huge
magnificance
looming inside
afraid of it's consequence.
i am the imposter.
the syndrome.
my eyes rimmed dark,
blood red nails,
platform heels.
this is who i am inside.
a raging beast, a tornado of life.
this is the me i keep contained.

History

2008-03-05T13:28:00.001-05:00

open
threatening to close
and become a stranger to myself.
the slopes, the summits
of my torn psyche
maneuver me like a puppet
flopping and jerking.
no control.
hold please.
wait please.
patience please (laugh if you must).
the reasons are all justified.
but the encasement
worn unwillingly
worn unendingly
before now
is cracking, sloughing off,
and pieces of the impatient
stomping, snorting me
anxious to run to pursue
are emerging.
8/2/07

and now i am allowed in.
free to feast in larger portions,
to ease into those little moments
of hand holding, quiet drives,
giggles and snorfles.
you disappear still, it's true,
but you come back,
more open than before
and we weep our tears
that we've both earned,
and cheer on
and ache.
11/12/07

25X

2008-02-11T17:36:00.002-05:00

the bus
rattles past the river of fog
and we are wrapped,
all of us,
in our coats (some good, some bad)
and gloves and scarves
(made by estranged relatives).
"atonement", wide-eyed, trusting
wears bright yellow rubber clogs
and will slip into her pointy pumps later.
matinee idol still looks lonely
despite his coif and treated skin.
there are a couple of ladies
i swear are unitarians,
just the right combination of
hip and plain,
who discuss serious topics,
and Brittany,
between stops.
in a city of color
we are virtually spotlessly white
and i puzzle over this daily.
i sit soft and quiet, rarely reading,
wondering over and over,
how i arrived at this point,
riding the city bus
to the downtown highrise
when i was all settled into
my small town life.
a wave must have carried me
because i don't remember
taking the necessary steps
that brought me here.
i'm not even sure i'm complaining.
certainly on the bus
when the sun is shining
and the light bounces off the sleek windows
of modern architecture
and lands right in my eye,
the tear that forms
does not feel like one of loss,
but one of joy.
most days i simply try not to "think"
and see what i feel when i do that.

my bus companions sit in their own stories,
reading of life and love and tragedy,
worrying about the small things
that will come to mean nothing
in the end.
i wonder what "atonement"
or "john grisham" is thinking
on the ride home, tired,
filled with the residuals of office drama
and i hope, sincerely,
that their lives are happy ones.
2/11/08

Andy

2008-01-15T19:56:00.000-05:00

i am the wind made visible
blood running in the water
solitary searcher among the rocks
fingers frozen
ice clings in the white of my beard
and on the youth of my face
nature and gravity
undo
again and again.
i am compelled by something
you
cannot see or understand,
by form and vision.
i am a part of my own work
of this earth running through my hands
of the beasts in the fields
who do not notice me at all.
the wind blows
and i start over.
the rain comes
creating shadow
and i start over.
the tide creeps in-
i see it coming-
i start over.
my wife misses me and so do the children.
but i am a part of the earth,
of the trees and the granite
and the mud and water.
they cannot contain me and
understand what they can.
my work will not last.
i know this
because neither will they.
neither will i.
neither will i.

1.5.08

i had to stop dinner and say...

2008-01-02T18:29:00.001-05:00

kindred spirit-
i was thinking of
the sorrow in your eyes
and how it mirrors mine
so often.
i want to wipe
those years away
when you were rejected
or afraid.
you act tough
and then your glasses come off
or you awake,
wrapped small in covers,
and your soul is bared
and i wonder if anyone has ever
really
seen you before
and how they ever let you go.
what a joy to watch you open
as the grief abates a moment at a time,
only to return and suck you under,
and then you come back to me again.
the wounds may never fully heal,
but i will hold you like a small bird
gently in my hands
when this is who you are-
distraught, awakened by some night terror,
or simply quietly bereft.
and then i will rejoice and dance with you
as your eyes focus and
begin to see the glory in your world again.

who you are

2008-01-01T21:20:00.000-05:00

i know you for what you are.
i will not let anyone misjudge you.
though we were oil and water
and no amount of shaking and stirring
changed that,
you took me and cared for me
and saved my life.
let's don't examine the reasons why
you were there.
you were
and many others were not.
there were moments of real joy
and laughter and love.
many.
i surprise myself at how much
i miss you.
we didn't get to fall.
i was already down too low
and should have spared you.
but i had no voice, no vision, no self
and this is what i gave you.
please know, if no one else does, i do.
i know you for what you are.
i would not be here-
happy and safe today-
without you.
12-31-07
for cec

A nod to Alanis

2007-11-22T21:37:00.001-05:00

Sometimes someone else's writing just begs for the moment. I love this song.

Uninvited

Like anyone would be
I am flattered by your fascination with me.
Like any hot-blooded woman,
I have simply wanted an object to crave.
But you, you're not allowed-
you're uninvited,
an unfortunate slight

Must be strangely exciting
to watch the stoic squirm.
Must be somehow heartening
to watch shepherd need shepherd.
But you, you're not allowed.
You're uninvited,
an unfortunate slight.

Like any uncharted territory,
I must seem greatly intriguing.
You speak of my love like
you have experienced love like mine before.
But this is not allowed.
You're uninvited,
an unfortunate slight.

I don't think you unworthy
but I need a moment to deliberate...

Dichotomy

2007-10-11T18:37:00.000-05:00

you confuse all of my senses,
fragile and steely,
flavors as complex as foreign cuisine,
my tongue and brain wrap around
all of you, intrigued by
your moods and mind, and i
try to resolve the intricacies,
the unexpected.
my curiosity and passion are piqued
by these mysteries,
this newness.
one day yielding, the next rigid,
as much as it pains me
i still want to peel you back,
layer by layer,
and uncover the tender, the vicious,
the protected, the vulnerable.
i want to understand all of you,
knowing i won't, knowing i can't.
you ask me why, again and again,
and these words are all i have to explain,
that and the sheer pleasure
i know shows on my face.
you are uncharted
in the ways i want to explore,
not on my map before now
and only slowly does the
adventure of you reveal itself,
in trust,
to me.

Donne and Sarton

2007-08-11T14:36:00.000-05:00

the words fall hard.
i add struggle to the struggle
as i'm prone to do.
my throat is dry for your wine
and my stomach rumbles for your bread.
you have given what i've never received before.
quoting Donne over me, his seal, his soul...
does it matter?
praying his words over me as if i was a holy relic,
worthy.
forgive me if i find this unfathomable
and seek to confirm it was not just a dream,
that those words, with your eyes locked on mine,
did fall from your lips
with great care.
you are my muse these days.
the words flow out of me like hot honey
no place to land but upon myself,
may chuckling softly in the distance.
she knows. she knows.
my heart has grown too large too fast
and is shaky on its feet like a fat toddler.
but a short distance away,
that seems like forever,
in a world i can't see, you sit beside him
trying to give care.
trying to give time.
trying to do all for everyone and you.

forgive me again, love, for i sit in a house
that is dying,
so often alone,
my mistakes lying in clear relief
against this, against us
and i think and i think and i think so much,
about Donne and his words from your lips
that i forget your anguish your fear your work
to do alone.

i will write it all down for you.
when you can come back to me
i will read you what i wanted to give you now,
i will hold you in the ways i think of today,
i will soothe you as you heal
as much as you'll allow.

Walk in August

2007-08-06T12:36:00.000-05:00

it is stifling hot here, dear.
the walk is near misery-
dog tugging,
not doing what we set out to do.
things still live in this
unbearably thick air-
purple scrub flowers are suddenly blooming
in the spot i said a gazebo could go.
the alien purple (and such a purple!) clusters
still stand tall
as does the queen anne's lace.
i pick a few and a scarlet leaf
to hoard in a book to
remind me...
we turn into the field
crackling, crisp, the ground split open,
but still the only place
there is a chance
to catch a slight breeze.
there.
watching me long before
i see them
are two fawns,
so young, too young to be afraid.
dog does not notice and
we ease closer, step by step-
100 feet, 75...
and the spotted fawn moves closer too.
you forget until you are this near them
how funny they are,
with their too big ears,
their too small eyes and noses-
all twitching tail.

and my breath was a prayer
each step closer was a prayer
until finally they startled, turned and fled,
again in their humorous
bounding way
and we moved on, slowly,
in the heat,
breathing and praying,
no words ever formed.

2 on a night out

2007-07-27T13:28:00.000-05:00

1.
lady of the sad eyes-
don't you know we can be
any creature we choose?
i saw a horned blue man
play electric slide guitar
covered in ink, pouring down-
he looked like a devil,
but was someone's son instead.
seize this life-it's time to
let the blood flow-to dream
in saturated hues.
let your tears free
in azure, goldenrod, scarlet.
be still your small self, but be free-
there are new creatures born
every day.

2.
evolution of the souls.

cherry blossoms drip down your side
running berry pink color stripes.
daliesque images abound
as your romp with your fellow sprites-
demons lurk-green, envious.
lay down the cross from off your shoulders
and worship.
here is mary in technicolor-
patron saint of the forgotten-
fish fly through the air, jumping
riding currents.
a small boy in a party hat
holds the bright earth ball,
rotating, curious.
we are all so many at one time.
we are all so afraid to dream.

7/21/07

feet

2007-07-21T13:22:00.001-05:00

hands feet
Originally uploaded by slowism

some people don't like feet-
or worse-
are made nervous and ill at the thought
of a bare toe
grazing their calf accidentally
(on purpose? scandalous!).
i adore feet, but understand
that they are odd to love
like cottage cheese
(which should revolt us all
but does not).
feet are gnarled (not all)0
irregular, small toes are deformed
second toes TOO LONG,
nails bent broken yellow with age0
my heels crack like ancient dried earth.
feet are dirty and can smell.

BUT Oh! The delight of feet!
baby toes in your mouth,
each pad a small bean to nibble-
kittens with their paws pressed
against your face
protesting being held so close.
sensual feet.
a finger slipped teasingly
between two toes, or suckling
hungry in a most obscene way.
feet are vulnerable - unlike hands-
often invisible and ashamed-
the workhorses of the body
carrying 100,200,300 pounds or more!

i adore feet in all their complexity.
i like cottage cheese too.

what i would say to you here:

2007-07-21T13:10:00.000-05:00

listen-i think that's a cat bird. is there
such a thing?
listen-it sounds like rain but drops
are only falling from the wet leaves.
look at all the women listed as
"wife of".
see how the sun keeps spotlighting
stones through the trees?
there is a small tree pushing through,
between that couple who died
so long ago-i wish the headstones weren't new.
the corn surrounds this place and
i never noticed until today, because of you.
the mosquitoes are feasting on me,
after the rain.
it smells damp and fresh and the air is washed clean.
it is so quiet here and still so alive.
a plane is passing overhead - what kind is it?
i want to plant some of my flowers here.
i'd like to be buried under a tree here.
i love the lichen creeping up the stones,
don't you? i wish i had a magnifying glass.

we are so blessed, really,
don't you feel it?

i'd like to sleep here some night,
hold you close, hear the trees
and the corn sway.

i would say those things and you
would see and hear and know.
you would understand.

New (and not so) poetry

2007-07-12T20:29:00.000-05:00

Poems posted on 7/12/07 are from a variety of times. I just finally got around to posting them. Feels good to be moved to write again after many years of not.

my land

2007-07-12T20:03:00.000-05:00

compelled to write.
i choose not to write.
compelled to sink.
i choose not to sink.
compelled to concoct
sap sugar nectar honey
and feed them to you
slowly.
i choose not to seduce.
a life well lived
"right livelihood"
i'm choosing these
for now.
can i be punished for my thoughts?
can i not roll around
dripping sweat
imagining quickened pulse
breathlessness?
is my mind my own parcel
of land
to enjoy as i will
as often as i want.

5/7/07

2007-07-12T20:02:00.000-05:00

I am a balloon without air.
My eyes feel dull and dead
as if they had already
cried many tears.
I move forward, toward nothing,
without meaning as commanded by all.
The future is endless-not quick
and too fleeting like before.
I do not wish to stop time-
I strain to push it forward.

Madonna of the Evening Flowers by Amy Lowell

2007-07-12T20:01:00.000-05:00

This poem was a lovely gift from a friend:

All day long I have been working
Now I am tired.
I call: "Where are you?"
But there is only the oak tree rustling in the wind.
The house is very quiet,
The sun shines in on your books,
On your scissors and thimble just put down,
But you are not there.
Suddenly I am lonely:
Where are you?
I go about searching.

Then I see you,
Standing under a spire of pale blue larkspur,
With a basket of roses on your arm.
You are cool, like silver,
And you smile.
I think the Canterbury bells are playing little tunes,
You tell me that the peonies need spraying,
That the columbines have overrun all bounds,
That the pyrus japonica should be cut back and rounded.
You tell me these things.
But I look at you, heart of silver,
White heart-flame of polished silver,
Burning beneath the blue steeples of the larkspur,
And I long to kneel instantly at your feet,
While all about us peal the loud, sweet Te Deums of the Canterbury bells.

http://www.bartleby.com/104/58.html
Amy Lowell

unsure

2007-07-12T19:59:00.000-05:00

you are skittish,
eyes wild, afraid of being tamed,
broken. yet wanting the the connection
a companion provides.
i have found you here, like this,
want an endless pool in you,
boundaries defined (and not),
reaching in, pulling back,
reaching for me again.
so unsure and unsteady.
i am fearless when it comes to love.
a boundless creature,
knocking you down with enthusiasm.
i know how i affect you. winded,
sweaty, tired.
i will not pen you, will not break you.
wanting only to know you,
to see you as you see me,
i leave you to your quiet walks
except when you ask me to join.
i leave you to your time
to create, to explore,
to dream,
as necessary as the air
as the dogs
as home.
i only want to be a part,
to weigh gently in your thoughts
to inspire and console
to sit on the porch with you
in the quiet of the morning
to spy the indigo bunting.

despite the fear

2007-07-12T19:57:00.001-05:00

burning aching arching
still alive still reaching
this energy
could consume engulf enflame
it is everywhere
so focused so diffused
the air is heavy
breasts heavy
hands tremble
the mind blurred
hunger is all.
no lonely outlet sufficient
skin is required
hot damp
attacked devoured
these things cannot be done alone
fingers entwined
words gasped choked
how is this beast tamed
in any other way...
you fear waking the birds
shaking the trees
the need runs so deep
so unsatisfied for so
fucking long.
control lasts moments
how will it last an hour
a day
a week
i want again.
we don't know love.
we don't know anything
except this.
the want.

things unsaid

2007-06-13T13:35:00.001-05:00

the drooping flowers
wilted from the roadside-
i only thought you ungrateful
at my spontaneous gesture
and not dead of heart.
i seek the moment-
the many-
where i was unkind or impatient,
the number of wounds
invisible
i inflicted
the fatal moment
i still don't fully see.
i think of poems unwritten
songs unsung
a move home
i wasn't really invited to make.
and yet i asked
could i love you more?
you never said.
you never said.
5/7/07

love song for diane

2007-05-25T07:37:00.000-05:00

so ordinary so not
you snuck out of a life
and into the visions
swirling and competing in your head.
you challenged us and we saw things
unseen
before.
what were your torments
so alien were you
to the norms of this world
seeing it removed
behind the safey of the lens.
i look for pictures of you
and am at a loss...you truly were unseen
even by yourself.
prostitutes, circus freaks, the crippled,
the stripped down and vulnerable.
who hasn't felt removed
and isolated as these?
these, your alter egos perhaps.
the pathos of those forgotten
or scorned
inhabited you.was it that isolation
or the futility of being understood
(are they the same)
that caused you to abandon them
and yourself
and those of us who wanted more,
who want to understand even now?
so little written
so little known of you.
the downtrodden join you
wherever you are, seeking out
their comrade and guardian
as you continue to seek them out.

conversation

2007-05-22T10:40:00.000-05:00

i didn't want to die i said.
i didn't want to live,
expected to meet expectations
or to feel hope where there was none.
met with the response
you must live.
who's requirement is that, i ask
when the pain carried me out
like an anonymous wave,
just gone into the sea,
(this is what i want, i say).
what about those who love you?
would they see me suffer without end?
no flavor no color no glorious smell
or smooth soft skin tinged with sweat
those daily comforts and signs of god
brought into question.
who's suffering is greater? i ask.
but that's so selfish you say.
it's true. i cannot defend that.
and in the end
that won out
that and the sight of the
agony, in the flesh,
that i would leave behind
on a boy now become a man.
i stayed living.

Feral

2007-05-17T23:30:00.002-05:00

feral and dirty
i do not want to bathe or clean
i want to hunt and feast, sleep and mate-
i am tired of timidity
being the observer-
of not climbing into the mosh pit and being torn apart.
i want the want in me to split me wide open,
the tornado to rage through...i want to spin like a dervish
chant into unconsciousness
eat blood oranges,wipe the juice away with my dirty wrist.
i want to pierce my skin, a sword right through my side.
i want a comrade, a mate beside me
slashing and burning this life to the ground,
fearless, lungs filled to capacity.
i want to sing bawdy songs
swim wild with ocean creatures
swing from the jungle canopy.
i want to live.

A Reminder

2007-05-12T18:30:00.000-05:00

I've saved this poem for years from an issue of Oprah magazine but one of the founders of Poetry Thursday listed it as her inspiration for writing again. I think it's worth putting here because, clearly, despite the heavy heavy emotion I often feel, this is the hope that I'm seeking.

Love After Love by Derek Walcott

The time will come
when, with elation
you will greet yourself arriving
at your own door, in your own mirror
and each will smile at the other's welcome,

and say, sit here. Eat.
You will love again the stranger who was your self.
Give wine. Give bread. Give back your heart
to itself, to the stranger who has loved you

all your life, whom you ignored
for another, who knows you by heart.
Take down the love letters from the bookshelf,

the photographs, the desperate notes,
peel your own image from the mirror.
Sit. Feast on your life.

2007-05-12T18:23:00.000-05:00

hope is hard to find when there is no plan b

and the future turns to mush when you know you have hit your peak

despite the cheerleaders that tell you it ain't so.

the absence and the work to fill it in

the work and more work on top of the work

you'd already done

and now you can't recall what you are working for.

you can't envision your foot hitting the floor the next morning

or grasp why it should but still

you feed the dogs and see that the seedlings you once loved

still need watering and so you do

you get the paper look at the want ads feel your heart

continue forward, sometimes faster, sometimes slower

light up a cigarette because it seems silly not to

when you know you are only waiting

for that next day to urge yourself on

a losing horse fallen so far behind

that he went and forgot what the race was about

and is now just killing time

until the winner finally crosses the finish line.

Blaze

2007-05-08T09:40:00.001-05:00

a mysterious scent drifts,
blazing a sensory memory
through me
that i can't clearly name.
is it hurt, lust, innocence...
i feel like i could touch the air
with one small finger
and feel a solid object
enveloping me.
like a dream, it soon passes,
difficult to recall, it feels like a physical effort
trying to reinvent the sensation
even as it sifts slowly through me
and away...

Poetry Thursday April 25, 2007