Monday, August 11, 2014

What will your verse be?

What will your verse be?
What is your passion?
What will you contribute to life?
Oh, fierce soul, you will be so missed.
I will create poetry always
in your memory
to capture that zeal for life
Strut across the stars
crossdressed or conflicted
despair or laughter
always in our souls.
Na-nu, na-nu, friend.

Tuesday, July 29, 2014

Starting again

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Surrounded by dusty dregs
of previous lives,
resolve emerges
come out of the cocoon
of detritus.
Life is different now
things are no longer
to buffer against
real life.

Sunday, May 4, 2014

Whatever. Just me.

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I don't believe in true love
happily ever after
I believe in me
what I can do
what is in front of my eyes
Words are nothing
actions are all
No excuses
No manipulation
No pretend

Reality is one day at a time
Not some make-believe
ever after, heaven, hell
or Prince Charming bullshit
once upon a time
never came for me

My destiny is up to me
my choices
my dreams and goals
not the bullshit
the lies
the fairy tale promises
the media crap
the controlling church stuff

Just me
I am what I can count on
I have the power
to be me

Pink "Who Knew"

Monday, April 28, 2014

Poetry still life

Perched on an antique footstool
from my great-grandmother's house
that was refurbished many years ago,
a pink flower-embossed
spiral brown notebook
has its virgin first page decorated with
prosy words from a
blue-ink pen,
recording new beginnings.
The Pomeranian presides
serenely over the proceedings as the
first faded fuschsia petals
slip noiselessly out of the
coffee table bouquet to
nestle on the wood with a
purple and silver belly-dancing scarf.

(Posted for the NaPoWriMo Facebook Prompt for Day 28, "Grab five things from around your house and write an ode to one of them/that includes these items." 04/28/14)

Friday, April 25, 2014

Dreaming, meaning

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The dream of the house
was different this time.
For so long, it was a dingy,
dirty, scary place full of
relics, broken furniture, ghosts
in the corners, webs on the
ceilings, basement blanketed
in damp, cracked and missing
windows and molding, molded,
unidentifiable greasy lumps of fear
and dusty indescribable terror.
The crumbling interior walls were now torn
out and fresh wall board was installed,
tape and texture underway.
The garbage and grime were gone.
I walked in and out of newly
framed doors on hardwood floors,
up and down freshly refurbished stairs,
wondering at all the rooms and
levels  and light
that had appeared, built by
my mind in anticipation of what?
Ladders and tools and raw materials
were neatly arrayed, though no
workers were present during my
walk through.
I wondered how soon the raw walls
would be painted, then peered out a
window at the yard yet to be
landscaped that was brightly free of
weeds, skeletons, dead trees, sink holes -
just reinvigorated dirt, waiting for
a green thumb and creative hands.
Relief slowly soaked my mind that
the past, the ruined, the disappointments,
the hurts had been cleared out.
The remodel, the restoration wasn't done
but it was well underway.
I could see the hope of fresh wood,
smell the dreams of fresh paint,
feel the safety of new walls and
boundaries and the shape of
the longed-for, slowly revealed.
Around every corner, I heard her
voice, but couldn't quite see her.
She hadn't been there before,
but her spirit was near now and
I sensed her physical presence
wasn't far away.
I listened, wondering, deciding.

(Posted for Day 25, NaPoWriMo, 04/24/14. I ignored the prompt because this idea was crowding my mind!)

Thursday, April 24, 2014

See you later

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He smiled and nodded his head
chatting about our same-age daughters,
their divergent educational and career paths.
We laughed about the girls' quirks and
their now-occasional hurricane-like presences
in our respective lives.
"See you later. Have a good weekend."
I wished him the same and watched him
slowly shuffle out the door, knowing his
mind was as full of images of his daughter
as a blond, singing, dancing child
as mine was bursting with pictures
of my hyper, brunette, gaming, reading
child, who never looked back as she
joyfully ran full tilt into her life,
rarely saying
'see you later',
never realizing that
one of those times might be
the last time
she would hear it or
I would say it.

Written using the NaPo Facebook prompt, "Write a poem using the last thing you remember someone saying to you.", Day 24, 04/24/14


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Brick by brick
bucket by bucket
of mortar
my life is being reconstructed.
For once, it is really all mine
to create.
I carefully chose the location
the supplies, the design
the tools, the attitude, and
the timing.
Each stone is gently, carefully
slotted into place and lovingly
but firmly
patted and smoothed with mortar.
The walls rise from the rubble
of my former life.
The shape is emerging,
classic arches and fanciful
Gothic touches, but no
ugly, scary gargoyles.
A cathedral
never before seen
of who I really am and
how I want to live and
what I want to do.
It's a basilica of beauty.
And it is me.

Written and posted for NaPoWriMo Day 24, "Write a poem that features walls, bricks, stones, arches, or the like", 04/24/2014