Wednesday, September 28, 2011

All in His Plan



















He was sitting, quivering on the
blacktop in front of my
doctor's office, feathers bedraggled.
I crouched next to him and he looked
up at me, unafraid. I spoke to him and
encouraged him to get out of the
driveway before he got ran over.
Head cocked, listening, he crouched
on his six square inches of warmed tarmac.
Speculating that he might be injured, I reached
out a cautious hand to pick him up and
relocate him to the grass.
He hopped away each time I almost
touched him, looking at me defiantly.
I finally walked away and let him be,
thinking of the scripture about how
God takes care of even sparrows and
wondering
what that tiny feathered angel might have
been trying to tell me on
His behalf.
(Posted to dVerse, Open Link Night #11, 9/28/11 and for
Poetry Picnic #10, "Nature et al", 10/24/11))

Tuesday, September 27, 2011

Those were the days


















"Those were the days, my friend."
When?
What days in my life were
so incredibly awesome
that I would be this nostalgic
about them? I try to live in
the moment, and don't wish
for the past or long for the future.
(Well, mostly.)
Listening to family talk about
'the old days', I wonder if
I even grew up with them -
I have very different memories
of some things.
A few years back, the sisters
decided to host an 'old-fashioned'
family Christmas and then proceeded
to plan out a vast itinerary of activities
and dinners that were supposedly
recreations of childhood holidays.
Let's see - everyone ate too much
candy, bossed each other's kids,
got drunk, and tried to out 'one up' 
each other with how great their
lives are, all while being mindful
that our mother was terminally ill.
I don't remember any of that 
from MY childhood Christmases.
I only recall the disappointment,
the punishment, the emotional neglect,
and the physical abuse.
Yep, that was Christmas - and those
were the days.
Now Mom is gone and everyone is
divorced. Things were great,
weren't they?

(Written for Carry on Tuesday #124, 9/27/11)

Monday, September 26, 2011

Poised



















Enclosed chrysalis,
waiting for spring to emerge
thankfully refreshed.
(Posted for Haiku Heights 85, "Poise", 9/26/11)

Expected chaos

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Disliking the roller-coaster of emotions and
change in making a life decision,
one day motivated and 'up',
the next the depths of despair and
mental paralyzation.
The desire for escape is strong, almost
overwhelming. I just want to 'jump'
from the ride, either off the side or
a year into the future, when all this
will be done and serenity will echo
through my mind once again.
No, those two options aren't equivalent
in outcome, but they are incredibly
equally attractive in theory.
(Posted to Poetry Pantry 68, 9/26/11)

Sunday, September 25, 2011

Freedom II

















I rub my mental hands together in delight
considering the possibilities of being soon
single and almost empty nesting.
What could I do with the suddenly open 
vistas of time and commitment and interest?
I could move. Anywhere. Wow.
Study Wiccan.
Go back to college.
Buy a new house.
Date? Sex??
Sunbathe naked. Or moon-bathe. Whatever.
Be a crazy cat-lady type with six Pomeranians
sleeping on my king-size bed.
Pitch a tent on the beach of the rest of 
my life. I can do it!
Muahahaha!!
(Posted for Magpie Tales, Mag 84, 9/25/11 and for
One Single Impression 187, "Amuse", 9/26/11))

Saturday, September 24, 2011

Freedom

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No more secrets
No more kooks
No more of his dirty looks.
The lies are over.
The hiding is done.
The horizon beckons.
The wind beneath my
wings lifts.
At last.
We won't grow old together
but at least I will grow.
(Posted to Poetry Pantry 68, 9/25/11 and
Sunday Scribblings #286, Plan B, 9/25/11)

Thursday, September 22, 2011

Mirror rain



















Each puddle a miniature world
a tide pool of possibilities
not just on the microscopic level
but the imaginative one as well.
Peering at the girl studying me intently
from the other side of the water,
we speculate about each other's lives.
Does she have a daughter, a dog, and
a weird husband and does she write
poems about ordinary, as opposed to
lofty, inspiration?
Do those dark watery eyes hide the
same depression and despair,
interspersed by contentment and joy?
I touch the quivering surface and
the wonder disappears in ripples.
(Written for Theme Thursday #67, "Rain", 9/22/11; also posted for
Thursday Poet's Rally # 52, 9/22/11)

Wednesday, September 21, 2011

Juicing

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One juicer.
Lemons, limes, and apples
Carrots, cabbage and ginger
Pears, berries, kiwi, and fennel
Mint, spinach, kale, cukes and celery.
All in one day.
A colorful cocktail of health
in a glass.
A bounty of health seeping
into the veins.


(Written for ABC Wednesday, "J", 9/21/11)

Tuesday, September 20, 2011

Passing through


















Out of step with life, the mainstream passing
by like ghosts or shadows. I can see them
but I'm not sure I am real to any one else.
Their mouths move, but silence clangs in my ears.
Conversation with self makes sense
but is unheard by others.
Putting one foot in front of the other,
trying not to trip over the ones of
those who don't seem to see
me.
(Written for Midnight Snack #3, 9/20/11)

In the rear-view mirror

Add caption



















I should have seen it coming
The strange look on the face
when a direct question was
asked. His expression told
me the real answer, not the
words. But I chose to
believe the words, instead of
my intuitive sense of what was
true.
The internal knows better than
to trust the external.
(Written for Carry On Tuesday 123, 9/20/11)

Monday, September 19, 2011

The tree of good and evil

















Now the sorrowfulness comes
innocence and happiness
gone in a blink as
one takes the bite and
abdicates responsibility for
the choice.
The other is forlorn.
It's not the one you think.
(Written for Magpie Tales, Mag 83, 9/19/11)

Sunday, September 18, 2011

Easy

It's easy to get involved
hard to become disentangled.
It's easy to be a mother
hard to be a parent.
It's easier to stay sober
hard to quit drinking.
It's easy to fall in love
hard to learn to trust again.
(Written for Sunday Scribblings #285, "Easy", 9/18/11)

Betrayal

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Stalking in righteous anger
around the duplicitous and
self-centered evidence of
lack of caring about anyone
or anything but the addiction,
tired and tired of the lies and
shallow soothing and crooning.
How could you be so careless
yet so carefully beguiling and plotting
and counting on compliance and
acceptance from those you profess
to love, thinking you could buy us off?
Fraudulent remorse is nauseating.
(Written for One Single Impression 186, "Betrayal", 9/18/11)

Saturday, September 17, 2011

Ticket please
















I am a traveler, a runner, a 'geographical'
addict when there is trouble or turmoil or
no resolution or solutions to problems.
Standing in front of my mental train station,
agitated, I attempt
to decide where to go
next.
It does not really matter as long as
I am anywhere but here,
ass on fire.
Life is still so not about about the destination
but the journey
and some recent legs of this one
have been incredibly hurtful.
(Written for Sepia Saturday 92, 9/17/11)


Thank you to the awesome poets at
Poetry Palace
for this week's award -
I don't know what
you all
see in me,
but I like it!

Remember, child















Think back to when a cow was a
cow with a goofy grin and a
mushroom was a magic house,
and a duck, while being
teased by cheeky chipmunks,
could talk, scowl, photograph,
cuss in incomprehensible quacks
and not wear pants?
We giggled at that with
the humor of the young -
no pants! no pants!
Remember when skunks were
harmless and cute and
best buddies with fawns?
While everywhere were butterflies and
flowers and beauty and
astonishing colors that
seared themselves into innocent
memories to be recalled in older,
darker murkier days full of lies and
prevarication and
deliberate misleading.
Remember, child, and heal yourself
with dreams and love and the hope of
brighter days to come,
as you slog through
these times of despair.
(Written for Bluebell Books, Short Story Slam #10, 9/17/11)

Anger


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Emotion is overwhelming
like a five-alarm drunk -
I can hardly stand after a
few hours of my own
uncontrolled fury,
especially after so many
weeks of keeping that
rage damped down or
re-channeled into what
I had hoped were more
positive and productive
venues.
Now, I just burn and
burn and burn.

Thursday, September 15, 2011

Notebook

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Dozens of them lurk
around the house,
in the car
on bookshelf or
magazine rack
upon the bed headboard
tucked into the purse
waiting cleanly and
patiently for a pen
a pencil
a box of markers
a stubby crayon
or in rare desperation
a fat black sharpie
to be grabbed by the muse
and wielded upon them
words, images, and inspiration
splashing, jumping, marching
scrawling, scribbling
desperation, angst, fear
excitement, sadness, laughter,
simply covering
their pristine pages.
(Written for One Single Impression 185, "Notebook", 9/15/11; also posted for
The Gooseberry Garden PP Week 5, "Object" 9/19/11)

Sleeping with...the television on















Technology and the internet
have been wonderful additions
to our world and lives but
at times, I'm torn about the
value of them. On one hand,
I have new friends internationally
and an astonishing amount
of information at my fingertips.
I love traveling the world and
going to school from the comfort
of my own recliner.
On the other hand,
it seems everyone's face (even
mine, often) is stuck in a device
and no one in the real world talks
much and interacts even less
with those they profess to love.
Some days, I feel blessed by
these conveniences, others
lonely as all hell.
(Written for Thursday Think Tank #66, "Glass Houses", 9/15/11)

Tuesday, September 13, 2011

Cleansing














Water and night and outside threat:
the great equalizers and uniters
of persons of all origins.
What you can't see or separate
yourself from, you can't discriminate
against.
Children and water are always
an amazingly colorblind combination.
Their enjoyment and lack of self-
consciousness should inspire their
parents.
(Written for Midnight Snack #2, 9/13/11)

Monday, September 12, 2011

Looking for the future















Keeping my eyes uplifted to
my recovery program
the horizon
the moon
the daughter
the next poem
or
any thing that might engender
new hope and dreams
because when I look 
into your eyes
there is only fear, pain,
distrust, and betrayal that
is reflected back from my gaze.
(Posted for Carry On Tuesday #122, 9/12/11)

Sunday, September 11, 2011

Being little



















Those sweet young smiles
so innocent and happy,
your sister's arm proudly around you
timelessly captured by your mother
while your father lurked, mired in
alcoholism and depravity.
They tell me you forgave him before
you died.
I wonder how it's going in heaven
or wherever a diverse trio such as
you three ended up.
Is it possible you are all together on
some alternative plane or timeline?
A Mormon, a Catholic, and an asshole.
What a combination.
I suppose if God's involved, it's a
tea party every day, though I hope
he's drinking mud.
(Written for Sepia Saturday 91, 9/10/11)

Revenant of love



















So this is who you really are
and always were, you insist.
You also demand acceptance
and affection as
this, your true self.
All I see is the
body of the person
I loved, animated by
something or someone
so repulsive and unreal
that I can barely gaze upon you
without revulsion.
Go climb back in the
grave of our relationship and
haunt me no more.
(Written for MagPie Tales, Mag82, 9/11/11) and
also posted for Poetry Pantry #66, 9/11/11)

Saturday, September 10, 2011

Meditation













The near-full moon gently
beams on my upturned face
listening to my quiet thoughts.
Very aware of the hardness
of the sidewalk I am sitting on
cross-legged, my
hands rest loosely, palms
upward, on my knees, mental
mantra smoothing the wrinkles
from my turbulent mind.
The trees tickle the wind
in soothing whispers as
the dog reclining on the grass
next to me alerts me
with a quick glance to the
presence of a buck deer,
studying us from the shadows
of the apple trees.
We all hold our breath in
peace.
(Posted for Poetry Pantry #66, 9/11/11)

Thursday, September 8, 2011

Dreaming of...

















Freedom beckons
through a slightly ajar window
the loosened hook dangling
invitingly
palm trees peeping back
tropical sights and breezes
whispering through my hair
and stroking my skin.
I lean out, longing for the
peace of white
sands and salty water
drying on my toes as they
dig into the beach
taking deep breaths of
solitude and singleness.
(To be posted for Thursday Think Tank #65, "Windows", 9/8/11)

Wednesday, September 7, 2011

Out of this world

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Hooked up to monitors and IV,
drawing blood, saline drip
inserted, blood pressure cuff
wrapped snugly around the
upper arm, nearly making
the head 'split'
every five minutes
with inflation,
the doctor explores
my interior world,
a landscape
rarely considered until
pain drives the body
through the doors of
the e.r., hoping for
explanations
and relief.
An x-ray proves the heart to
be clear of blockages, a
physical exam with gentle
pokes and prods
 reveals no masses,
repeated blood tests uncover
'spanking clean' cardiac results,
while an EKG with
numerous little sticky mouths
placed strategically over
pulse points discloses
no beating irregularities
or abnormalities.
He peeks in eyes
and ears and throat and
palpitates nearly every inch.
Amazing how with only one
piercing of the skin,
the chemistry and
status of this
inner outer space
is mapped out by
an intrepid internal
medical explorer.
Gastritis is the diagnosis.
(Written for Poetic Asides 147, "Out of this world", 9/7/11 and
posted for Thursday Poets Rally Week 51, 9/8/11)

Forgiveness

Image credit

You tell me I have to
forgive you
when you have not
really apologized for
wrongdoing.
Certainly no remorse
is in evidence - only
that you didn't read
me correctly.
Trust is the
bigger issue.
I don't have any
of that either
for you.
(Posted to Poetry Pantry 67, 9/18/11)

Tuesday, September 6, 2011

Don't forget your light












A sleepless night,
mentally packing the boxes,
turning over the thought of
self destruction as another exit.
Emotional baggage of memories,
hopes, dream, despair
so much more
burdensome than the physical
ones of books, clothing, gadgets.
(Posted for Midnight Snack #1, 9/6/11)

Monday, September 5, 2011

Homeless













Another night of
despair and fighting.
We do not have the
right words to
communicate with
each other and
so cannot
understand the
other's problems.
I wish I lived anywhere
but here
tonight, as home is
where the
heart is.
My heart has
no place
to live
here.

(Posted for Carry On Tuesday #121, 9/5/11 and Sunday Scribblings #283 Tomorrow, 9/5/11
and ABC Wednesday Round 9, All Hail the H, 9/6/11)

Sunday, September 4, 2011

Magic















The crickets chorused almost musically.
A gentle wind blew through the
rolled down windows.
The old car rolled to a stop from its
slow pace across the prairie
to our place,
a hill overlooking the town,
sparkling with lights in the dark, dark evening.
You turned to me and pulled me closer,
smiling, your eyes touching my heart.
Later, when we headed back,
the car somehow found a mud hole
that it had missed on the way out and
became irretrievably stuck.
We walked home, arms
around each other, laughing,
stumbling over sagebrush and
road ridges, startling at scared rabbits
darting away into the night,
singing, kissing, fearless, young.
(Posted for MagPie Tales, Mag 81, 9/4/11)

Friday, September 2, 2011

Do you know?















What are you waiting for?
Where are you going to?
Who are you longing to be?
How many years will you stand
at the shore's edge, looking
for something or someone to
come to you?
(Posted for BlueBell Books, Short Story Slam #9, 9/2/11)

Love letter

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Dear Current Self,
You can do this.
I know you can.
I absolutely believe in you.
It is possible to survive
without wheat, sugar, caffeine, dairy.
Try to love yourself enough and
try to quit being mad about what
has happened. It wasn't your fault.
Strive to see these changes as
honoring your health, yourself,
and the precious people in your life.
You are not bad if you fail, and
you can get back up and try it again
and hold your head high.
Every day.
Strive for balance
and a sense of humor about
stumbles, rather than shame and
self-destruction.
You did this before and I am
rooting for you to do it again.
Don't you feel better now than
you did even four days ago?
I know you do - be honest.
Even in the midst of cravings,
your body is at peace instead
of being twisted and tormented
by food that is harmful to it.
Soon, you will be able to walk
daily for exercise and I know
you remember the positive things
that does for your attitude and form.
I believe in you.
Please believe in me, out here
waiting for you to arrive!
Lovingly,
Your Future Self
(Posted for Free Write Friday, Love Letters, 9/2/11)

Thursday, September 1, 2011

Autumn strolls














In my college days, I loved to
walk to class in the cool fall air,
wading through piles of leaves,
peering in people's yards to
check out their flowers, landscaping,
small children, and pets, especially
cats that needed a nose-to-tail stroking,
taking note of what I wanted in my dream
home, some day.
It meant I needed to leave early
enough to detour past the old junior
high school to peer in the wire-embedded
windows, wondering at the offices and
businesses now claiming that space,
though it looked just as it did  - and just
as institutionally ugly - when
I did my brief time there between
the parents' moves from town to town.
Walking past schools and old shops
and even older stately houses was
always fuel for imagination, dreaming
and scheming of lives and ghosts and
history, I sauntered these streets of
my father's childhood, looking for the
memory of the little boy that was him
near his old house, walking
round and round the old football track
across the street, picturing him as
a child, a teenager, and a young man.
(Posted for Theme Thursday, "Curious", 9/1/11 and for Poetry Pantry 65, 9/4/11)
(Also posted for Poetry Picnic #3, "Free Linking", 9/4/11 and for
Free Write Friday, "Celebrating Autumn", 9/11/11)

Color of change














By mid-August
my long steep driveway is lined
with black-eyed Susans, waving
brightly before they once again
turn towards the sun in the east.
Their sisters grow all over my property,
enfolding the motorcycle shed in
sunniness, guarding the pump at the
irrigation pond, tantalizing the mules
by growing just outside of their neck
reach through the bars of their pen.
By early September, the yellow is becoming
dusty and wilted, bowing to
burgeoning colors of
autumn.
(Posted for Thursday Think Tank # 64, "Sunflowers", 9/1/11)