Monkey bars and why I won't succumb

Remember the monkey bars?
I do.
I was tiny, short, shimmying up the pole
just to reach the first rung
I'd swing maybe two more before my palms
got sore, then I'd swing up and hang or fall
I would succumb.

Fatally overwhelmed by the ache of reaching
for the next bar, it's rough iron crust
too much for my tiny hands. My goal  felt forever,
impossible and possibly not
worth the ache, the blisters. I would try,
try some more, but truth is I was never willing
to hurt to get to the other side.

The palms of our souls blister too.
We find ourselves dangling from the rung, hurting
so we succumb. We hang around gripping something
that was meant only to be swung from to get to the next bar.
We weigh the pain but don't count the cost of letting go.

Lord, don't let me succumb. When another rung seems too far
for my short and aching arms please send a good wind, a good friend
show me the balm for the blistered parts sitting at the end.
Help me cross the monkey bars. Help me conquer this playground
of do and don't. There are those that don't let go, they are on
the other side of the monkey bars, where I would like to be.

a quick poem about the lake

Midnight on the Lake

When was the last time you sat alone at the edge of midnight waters 

Bare shoulders seduced by come-on winds? 

When was the last time you listened to the quiet smacking of 

the lakes satisfied lips lapping up droplets of milky moonlight? 

O the last time you sat still, alone enough to 

hear the fidgeting of nature's minutiae? 

Don't forget that midnight gives the most tender kisses 

Don't forget the perfume of the stars 

The way tall scruffy pines sweep the pale edges of the sky

whispering in their husky voices, "stay, stay".

Autumn sun

Autumn covers me like soft clean sheets The ones my grandmother would snap over Me at night as the lightening bugs dimmed, pink ones with white stripes Perfumed with lilac and moth balls a nubby chenille blanket stretched over me like white fondant Autumn blows in like that, like the snap of fresh sheets That land softly on sunkissed skin

Where fore art thou fall?

Summer has become possessive and pimp like Unkind, abusive, never really gone There is no amount of coolness that will get rid of him All my pride, dignity, goodness have been worn down by his scorching hold I'm like Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman Waiting on my Richard Gere, and it's you Fall. Where are you? Because My feet are tired of This Sunset Boulevard, this day in and day out hot. Breeze through like you do Drive up in your fancy colored leaves Stop for me so I can smell your smokey cologne. Cover me up and make me a respectable woman. You might be the third season for me But your the truest one, the kindest one The only one I'll kiss on the lips, all any other Season does is take something from me You, Fall, give and give. That's what makes me fall for you every time.

This is it. Tear down the towers

I'm the sorry architect of towers
Tall obelisk of deeds
Stacked toward heaven

I'm the high priest of bright flames
And spotted calves
A self-satisfied incense my praise

Tear down the towers.
Remove the alters and high places
Bow low and know
There is no good, no justice
Wrenched from your own blood.

Lay at the alter of His feet
Offer up your hopes
Your dreams, your expectations
Watch His fiery embrace refine
Watch the temporal flesh of your desires
Liquify, turn to precious metal

I'm the sorry architect of towers
High priest of bright, empty flames
Bowing low I know He hears my prayers.

Watch me jive, turkey!

Time is double edged
Finite and infinite
It heaves the living dust
Of life into it's circular spin
Like a hay baler

"Umph! She's in! Watch her
Dance, watch her spin!"

I'm stuck in an eternal
Square dance, Time calling the steps.

I circled round, I Followed
Time, dancing behind like a conga line

Time laughed at my clumsy feet
My vain attempts to repeat

I danced to disco, rock
I Rodger Rabbited, did the robot
Moonwalk, sprinkler, jitterbug
Bopped my head to the raps of thugs

I danced all the dances
Time taught me, danced like a fool
And clumsily spun around in time's typhoon

Uh-uh! Not now!
Watch this jive, turkey!

I move to spite your beat
I dance with two left feet
Anything to teach that square dancing Time
That the dance I dance is all mine.

Watch me jive, turkey!
Watch me jive!

Your stop watch beat leaves no room for grace
My dance card's full
So tick away Time, tick away.

1 of 3, poem from mom

You have to know her to know how funny this is but not to know how sweet it was :)

I tried to read a blog, I did
Hard for a person like me
All but 25 posts are hid
And what is this "feed" I see?
 
Is this a code for people your age
It seems confusing for your Mother
Is this just Yet one more stage
For a daughter and a Mom, oh brother!
 
I sit and laugh, it's late tonight
I tried to get up to speed
Wanted to leave a post to your sight
But how the he_ _ do I accompish that deed.
 
It's way over my head, I say
But it really doesn't matter at  all
Here it is, your final day 
A blog, you made it, you did not fall.
 
Well done on meeting this, your goal
It took a year, but you came so far
Every poem was a part of your soul
I give to you, another gold star.
 
Congratulations, I'm proud of you
But could you do me favor
Next time you write a blog, please do
Send me instructions, so I can savor
 
The works of the author, my princess.
 
I love you and am proud of you.
You did it; but I never doubted that you would.
MOM

Only one more day!!! Just to jog your memory

It's feet and pavement
Pain. Slow. Clumsy
Waning energy
More coffee! More sleep!
A sort of "tag you're it!"
Assault on my limbs

I hate the start, the way
My muscles and my mind
Collabratively coup.

I run for the ending
The nimble way
My legs concede
The delicious ache
Of momentum and limits
Going at it like Battle Bots

2 more to go!

Arid thoughts
Run across my mind
The rustling sound
Of dry scrubby grass
A quiet echo of my thinking
Thoughts, dead,dry
Heat stroked ideas
Floating around like
Lawn mower mulch

Day 360, dead like disco

He's dead like disco
Always ready for a comeback
Perched defiantly in the past
Lurking lava like in the distance

So that he becomes
Past, present, future, always.

Never! Not any more!

Still you can't look him
in the eye. Still you
Can't separate your loathing
From your want to be loved.

So you gaze at the disco ball
The way it rolls glitter
Like over the dark.

It's a light that doesn't illuminate
It perpetrates his lies.

He calls it staying alive
But you know that's not living
Because you've never felt so dead

Day 359, watching him

He eats Mac
And cheese
He pushes
Orange noodles
Into his mouth
With chubby fingers

He doesn't know
the word
Delectable but
He is thinking it

He doesn't know
That I watch him.
Like fluffy cheeks
Pink puffy lips
And cheesy noodles
Are some kind of
Seventh wonder

He is thinking
Swords! Lightening McQueen!

He doesn't know
What ego is
But we guard it
He and I, like
A national treasure
We guard it

Yes you are big
Strong, tough
Smart, perfect.

Yes, you are.

Day 358, warm wax

My heart is
warm wax
melted just enough
to hurt and mold
to new shapes

my heart is
warm wax
melted just enough.

Day 357, the stale taste of history

Today might taste like
Brussels sprouts but they are
Farm fresh and good for me

Revisiting the past is
Like stale potatoe chips
Driven by some urge you
Pull open the crinkly foil
Hear its rustle and
Get your hopes up

They lack crunch
That's the past, stale, unfresh
Nothing new.

Day 356, laugh louder

Laugh louder
When it hurts
Laugh often
It really works
A time release capsule
Of sweet medicine
The healing touch of mirth.

Day whatever... That's not what I ordered!

I sat to dine
In Fate's cafe
And ordered Sun baked
Days with a side of bliss
The waitress smiled
And returned with a plate
Of Contentment marinated
in Salty tears
All I could think to say
Was, "I did not order this!"

So I stumbled out
Appalled at a place
That would serve me second best
Never realizing that without
Knowing the flavor of salty tears
I could never taste the bliss.

Day 354, utterly

Utterly
As in not a
Little bit
Not so much a lot
But thoroughly
And utterly
Exhausted.

Day 353, summer ends

Summer, you afford me time
Unstructured. I love that but you
Breathe down my neck, your hot
Breath makes me sweat. You are incessant
Like a Greek grandmother.
Your comforting and suffocating

Autumn on the other hand
Is like a beloved house guest.
Shes gentle, gradual
Refreshing. Her husky voice
Is soft like leaves falling
She is kind, merciful
And only leaves when the cold
Wet winter becomes too much for her

I turned down the bed
I set out flowers, I've got all of autumns
Favorite foods bought

Summer I'm not rushing you
I'm just ready to miss you.

Day 352, some, not all

Some times
Some way
Some how
Some day
Some say
Some do
All don't
Do you?

Day 351, hope is for whimps

Hope is meager and weak
While the world builds
Towers and sanctuaries
Hope offers no shelter

It is vulnerable like a sapling
Tender as green shoots
Breakable, fragile like eggs
Feeble and helpless like an infant

Stare at strength and you feel strong
Stare at hope and you feel weak

You look at Strength and wonder
What will it take to break you?
You look at hope and wonder
What will it take to make you thrive?

Day 350, the storm

No blip on the radar
The dark angel wings
Of mourning spread, span over

Not cloud cover, but
A wall between us and the sun.

Not a storm of wind and rain
But the arid, dry cocoon
Of a godless womb.

The inevitable birth of
Hope, troubles small child
The tiny wailing lungs
The siren for the end of grief

Day 349, 15 days left!!!

Be on the lookout, I'm going to be talking about a new, exciting, collaborative project coming in the fall. I can't wait. I'm all "poetried" out :) I'm also finally on a real computer today, thus the font formatting and image. As I type I still have no clue what to write about today. I'm happy and have the day off, girls night in a couple of hours with some good friends. Hard to feel angst or inspiration...


Once a ________ always a ________.


Who will you be when
you finish being no one?


You are you, you are Eustice.
scraping scales, you cry because
you can't stand the weight of your skin.


It takes a faith, a naked and raw certainty
that the you are not no one
that there is nothing
separating you from the salve and
ease of fresh skin. Claw all you want.


It will do no good. 

You are always you but you have

never been you.


It's the gentleness
of a lion's breath, the willingness to
face his wrath and mercy.


A simultaneous death and birth.


Where Never's voice is silenced
by the crashing, undulating always of infinity.

Day 348, who is she

She walks in a maze
Turn after turn looking
For an out, an ending

Dutiful and patient
She turns around
Starts again, always lost
But knowing right where she is

She is the epitome of
Modern woman, she has accepted
The twist and turns as her fate

Her secret...
She wants to be found
Saved, she hates the maze

She has this distant idea that
She was someone else before the maze
That that girl would know the way
She is certain there is an end to the maze
At least she needs to believe there is

She wanders, turns, prays, cries
Uses the soft green leaves for shade
Sheltered in her prison of what will be
Of a proper ending.

She hears the tinkling laughter of happy
Children outside the walls
She wants to laugh like that
Be with them, she stands still
Listens. Knows. There is no maze.

She has simply turned her life to walls
Ways to define and protect the insides
Of her being because

Outside the walls, outside the shade there is no shelter
No guarantees.

She knows. But she does not move.

Day 347, it's all about me

She's as honest as the sunrise
That dissappears on cloudy days

She's constant like the sea tide
High and low, on the go

She's forever and always
Never and sometimes

Forgettable but always on your mind.

Meek, mild easy to read
A curtained smile, a heart you can't see
Stubborn, short fused, hard to please

She's always the same in her contradiction
Contradictory with her sameness

Truth is no one knows but her
Truth is that's not totally true
Shed rather leave you guessing
Than guess what's known to you.

Day 346, no good word for it

I searched and
Searched
For a way to say
Just how hot it is
Every phrase I thought
To say contained an expletive!
It's desert like
I'll leave it there.

You'll find me air-conditioned
Because I do not like foul language
It's that kind of hot
Curse word hot!

Day 345, Charlies poem!

Saving us
I like that
he built this house
God is goofy
(Charlie leans back and yells,
Hey God! God?)
Him not listens to me
He not hear us
He dropped a rib on his head
That's goofy

I love Him singing
In the sky.

Day 344, what she wants most

It's not a greedy grief
Not flesh and blood longing
Just a craving, wishing, missing
Certainty that a soul
Is not a chalk outline
It isn't erasable

So she searches
In a strangers eyes
A friendly voice
She wonders and wants
To feel the prescence
Of that everything,
That miracle that used to
Be her everyday reality
But has now become her everyday
Fantasy, to see that soul again
she is a vigilante Sleepwalker
searching for Her stolen dreams.

Day 343, a tiny honest moment

Poem.
Bah.
There are Tufty
White clouds and
Bitter sweet sunshine
Calling to me like
Homemade chocolate chip
Cookies. I do not want to write
I want to swim in shaded
Lagoon water and float, eyes
On the tufty white clouds
Because they are spunky
And fun like Dr. Seuss was
The guest artist, he and God
Collaboraters , buddies.

That's how far my mind is from reality
My mood is panoramic and rose colored
And I am okay with that :)

Day 342, the unbearable being

Flesh adheres to flesh
Leather seats scald
And tug at sunburned thighs
Like zealous fly paper
It's the unbearable
being of heatness

Hot does not describe
The way this sun over stays it's welcome
The way the atmosphere clings to
It's warmth, the humidity
Like a fleece blanket
Wrapped around us.

Clouds and rain become
Our tawdry mistress
Her gray and gloom preferrable
To the suns hateful gaze

The unbearable being heatness

Day 342, motherhood never coordinates

It's clashing colors
Through and through
Twelve weeks of children
Out of school is no vacation
Everything we love is
Special like china
Everything we love is
Reckless and random
We sail across skies
To grab clippings of our loved ones
Plant them in our hearts
But that garden is tilled too soon

A mother totes toddlers
Into tiny cramped places
No ground to plant feet on

What we think and
What we know reverberate

It's fuchsia and chartreuse
The red muddy river
And bright blue skies
Nothing matches ever

Not in motherhood
Not in love
Not in God
It always clashes

So well notice it
Remember it
Treasure it

Day 341, eden

Perfecting perfect
The disease of
The dissatisfied
An ailing soul must
Find a way to
dream of more
When enough would not satisfy

Day 340, steamy drive home

It's an ethereal haze
This happenstance path
Proud trees and a dusty sun
Red clay roads meander
Off like tributaries
Somewhere a country song plays
On worn out speakers
A static bass of contentment
The gospel truth

Day 339, growing older

It's a crystal cut finality
This aging we call older
Acid tears that etch
The texture of our selves
From translucent and faceless
To timeless and worthy
Every joy and challenge
A new groove in the smooth faced
Perfection of ignorance

Without the shallow canyons
Of experience cut and polished
There would be no snare
For the fickle light to hide
And no contrast
Therefore no glittering reflection
To tell someone the goodness
Of this age
The wise, slow way that aches
Carve delicate the pattern
That makes this one wild life matter

Day 338, the unheard word

In between the anger
And tears lies "sorry"
"this is my fear"
Figuring fears takes
Matchless wisdom
And courage to admit
You are the fear

It's easier to stay angry
To deny how scary our scared selves are

Day 337, what mommy means

Mommy means
Instant dichotomy
Tactile insanity
As in
It's a crazy that
Feels super good

Mommy means
A hive full of
neediness, distracting
Alarming, honey flavored

Mommy means
The mourning of sleep
The birth of desperate dreams
Resting with eyes open

Mommy means
A buffet of things to
Taste and savor but never
being full
A satiated hunger

Day 336, waiting

Like glue on the ground
Feet stuck to it
Waiting
Anxious
Irritable
Waiting for a ride
A diagnosis
A second chance
The fusion of
Propulsion and resistance

Day 335, un burro sabe mas que tu

Oh Balaam...
The donkey knew!
He knew! He saw the
Mighty angel and you
Beat him silly, called him names.
But the donkey knew
Preoccupied you forged
Ahead in your blasphemy
Until it stopped you
At which point
You finally knew
What the donkey knew
The donkey that knew
More than you.

Day 334, the symphony of night

The river rustles in her sleep
The magnolia twitches nervously
The moon rotund, circles round

The crickets snore and slumber
The frogs gossip in their sleep

In the distance is the maestros
Tapping, ready to compose
Another evening song
The climactic climbing tune
Our dreams the nights encore

Day 333, ire

This has nothing to do with my dayit just is a good word.

Ire
Like fire
Without
The flame
It will still
Char and burn
You just won't
See it coming

Day 332, the playful light

My windowshade is down
There is a milky sheen
Of light whitewashing
Its chocolate hue

Behind my windowshade
Are all the living things
Big floppy vine leaves
Dancing quietly. There is
The fuzzy outline of a
Fluttering butterfly a
A bee makes an elegant
Path past me

All of it is soft
Easy, calming

Then the sun shifts

No more gentle suggesting
Of shape and space
But rather the uncomfortable
Stark silhouettes
Obvious contours

No space left for my
Mind to imagine and project
My wishes

I'm forced to accept
Exactly what's presented.

Then a cloud lumbers
By and my
Creamy light is gone

I'm suddenly very aware of how inside I am
Just how brown this curtain is
How much my heart wants to touch
Those velvet leaves
And hear the buzz of the bee


I watch with bleak
Fascination this disconcerting observation
A playful light on and off
I don't want the shade drawn up
I'd rather watch the cat and mouse of light and shadow
See the sun perform it's dollar fifty
Magic act pretend God
Is working out the stage lighting pretend
I'm not a mind in denial but
Rather an imaginative romantic
Content with seeing
But not knowing what's outside my window.

Day 331, if God were on facebook

I'd post on his wall

Jen Gregory: hey, know ur busy but I need to know what u want me to do, can u call me?

Jen Gregory: I'm really confused, its just a little thing not that big of deal but need your help badly! Please call!

Jen Gregory: I sent you a message. Hope your ok. Still haven't heard from you...

Jen Gregory: all I wanted was your wisdom! U really should have called me! What if that little thing messed up something bigger?

Jen Gregory: seriously!!!! Nothing?

And then I'd stalk his page. See if he's commentedon anyone else's page. Then I'd read his last status.

God: I won't be on facebook much. I have a new blog, all about making good decisions. You can reach me through that. Shalom friends.

Day 330, right and wrong

The right words can't come
From an upright heart

Day 329, the hand of God

Imagine the sunset swarming
Swirling, pulsing in the dusk

The umber blue wind
Plucking up it's favorite fruits

Our day his harvest.

We bow, obedient, contrite
Ashamed of what we feed it


The pulp blurring, bleeding
staining the horizon night
Until a dim moon illuminates
The hunger of our souls

Rest becomes our refuge
From this godless midnight
Drunkeness a way to blur
The black to gray

We gnash and gnaw on what's left
Of our pitiful offerings
Until the hand of God
Places one more sun

Until dawn disturbs us
Shakes us from our sleep
Her tender breath
A golden glow that hovers

Glittering the darkest space
With her extraordinary light
Shaking the world to awaken, warn
Before day blazes in and burns our offerings

Day 328, grandmas house

Last nights electrical outage had me going to bed in quiet, absolute quiet.

A cool nubby cloth
Would touch my eyes first thing
I would stretch
Languorous beneath
Worn sheets fuzzy like peach skins
The weight of a crocheted
Blanket heavy on my scrawny legs
The damp cotton rag gently
Continuously sweeping over sleepy lids

Someone would flip on the tv
I'd step into the little
Restroom right next to it
hear the Yabba Dabba Do
Of Fred Flinstone

I'd come out dressed, sit and wait to
Be brought a small crystal glass
Morning in a cup, orange
Pulpy and fresh squeezed

There would be oatmeal
Bacon and toast
Coffee with cream
Fresh fruit, Jelly stains
Muffins all around a sharp cornered
Table made for four
And that was just for starters

Day 327, wishes

I can't dream more
Any wish beyond is
Pennies in a pond
Copper glinting from
Black water
Desire gleaming
In the water
Joy surrounded
Sinking under
All my blessings
Longings plunder
Just by tossing copper
In the suffocating water
That's all that's gained
When dreaming farther
Pennies in the pond
Sink quickly in the water

Day 326, Blood lust

Thudding
Pumping
Beating
pulsing
Longing
Waiting
Wanting
Needing
Knowing
Dreaming
Thriving
Lusting
Striving
Pursuing
Killing
Bleeding
dying
Living
Breathing
Loving
beating
Pulsing
Mastering
Conquering.

Testosterone.

Day 325, the inner voice

Here is an example of that little inner voice going on in my head tonight.

I ain't gonna write no poem
Because I'm tired of writing

But you have to write
You have made a commitment

Who stinking cares I am tired!

Describe your tired

Weary, worrisome, cumbersome

See, a poetic start. How does your tired feel?

Like sandpaper underpants,too close to my skin
I'm sick of it

Ummm... Sandpaper underpants?...

You asked poetry Nazi, I tried to go to bed!

Day 324, Sunday sun

This Sunday sun
Was a flood
Of winking light
So sure, so certain
Bright warm skin
Glazed with hot kisses
A one eyed golden vigilante
Blazing through
The muscled fiber
Of my thoughts
A sun dried
Servant to a Sunday sun.

Day 323, like a love song baby

I love you
Like a love song
baby
Disney is killing
Me-ee-e

It's been said and done
All the things that I feel
Already sung

They keep playing it

Until I go crazy
And they have to commit
Me to the funny farm

Where moms go when they've
Had enough

Of the Disney stuff

Little girls dressed
with just enough

To deny they do

What we know they do
Brainwash our kids
So they'll buy Disney stuff

I love you like
A love song
Bay-a-be
I keep tuning in
To the thing that makes me
Cray-ay-ay-a-zee

It goes on and on
And I hit repeat...

Day 322, the fig tree

Ideal for dappled shade
Tactile enthusiast
Though I doubt
Adam enjoyed its sandpaper
Velvet touch. No, I doubt
He liked it much.

Day 321, to Jack

Your brown butter
The same sweet
Thing I've always
Loved only More

This extra zest gives
Your sweetness a nutty flavor
My palette isn't accustomed to
And honestly I'm not sure
If I like it

But watching all of
Your goldeness mature
Cook fantastically
And become this other thing
This further thing

I think you might
Be too sophisticated for me
All I know is that I never knew
Couldn't know what time
Would do, I had no clue
This other you, thi brown butter you
Would be my favorite flavor in the world
If and when I quit refusing to taste it

Day 320, I wish soap could clean

The insides
The messy things
The neurotic thoughts
Swipe up the old aches
Gathered up discreetly
Like cobwebs in the corner

I wish soap could clean
The rash of hurting
Death can cause
Or bitter words
That float like dust

I wish soap could clean
These things and leave
Behind that ivory scent
Lingering, catching the breeze
The soiled bits gleaming
Soapy and clean

Day 319, the truth about him

My truth taste like licorice
His like egg salad
I'd never eat the two together
But the world insist they be reconciled
And wonders why they don't like the taste

Day 319, 4th of July

I didn't think this poem out but I don't like violence. Just like I don't like hunting and killing. I just like freedom and steak :) I'm so grateful to the people who do the things I find unsavory. Unfortunately they are sometimes necessary, at least until I take over the world! Bwahhahhaa!!!
Thank you to all the people dear to me and elsewhere that have and do serve our country, I stand in awe of you today!




White Space


I like the white
The empty space
the birth and death
of things
paused


what if that
is all we wore
today
no red
no blue
just blank slates


how long before
we'd miss the war
the saturation
the ambiance
of valor


I like the white
the empty space
a utopic corridor
the perfect emptiness
before red and blue
 and war.

Day 318, what I like about Eve

We would be besties
Toe nail painting
Tabloid reading 
BFFs 

She would tell me all about Adam
How withdrawn he seems
How ever since he turned
His back on his best friend at work
It's like he's working for the devil
And she'd tell me how perfect her life
Was before she ate and gained all the weight

I'd nod, like, me too
And yada, yada
But I wouldn't believe her
I mean nobody lives in Eden, ever
We just think we should

She would paint it in perfect detail
Her life before "the fall"
How sweet Adam was
He brought her flowers then, you know.

I'd pop a Hubba Bubba bubble
Inhale the acetone aroma of shiny
Metallic toenails, wiggle each digit and avoid Looking her in the eye. 

No such thing as Eden, who would do something so radically stupid as believe some snake like Satan?

I'd flip casually through the magazine noting which life was all Screwed up this week and which one wasn't.

Eve would keep fanning her toes but crazy how Funny she is, just a riot, so honest, Wise really. She's a girl who learns from her mistakes.

We rent movies about men and women nothing like real men and women, trying to plant some wishful thinking
Like magic beans or forbidden fruit

Wiggling our shiny red toe nails that we stare at hypnotized
Enchanted, and honestly I've no clue why But Eve stares at her candy red polish A little longer, like,

It's the prettiest and saddest thing she's ever seen.

Like she'd sell her soul for something
But she wouldn't do that
Not really, too good a gal and all
That's why I love her
She's all complex and 3-D
My kinda girl that Eve.

Day 317, why wait for inspiration

Why wait? Just write! That's the lesson I've learned this past year. Inspiration is great but perspiration brings the reward! For every 20 bad poems I now have a good one to go with it, that's like 18 decent poems in a year, compare that to maybe 20 over the last 20 years and that's improvement!!

Cicada song

Exotic, elicit
Undulating pulse
Mother nature's house
Band down south

Day 316, a quick note to you, the reader

I wish I had a million readers, I do, I admit it. But I'm glad I've got a few special ones. My time is winding up and I'm stressing out wondering what my next challenge will be. I need to push harder somehow. Life has not been easy this year, I don't expect it to get easier. It is what it is, full on adulthood, mid-thirties grit. The good kind. Thanks for reading, if you do! Your encouragement has been such a ministry to me! :) Now on to a poem for a day like today...hmmm... ala Whimzie and "Dry" God's got me thinking about what it takes to help someone heal and how much "healing" we try to do by our own power, we kind of get to thinking we can be the healers, least I do if I'm honest.

Pumice

We are the worst kind

of doctors alive

here, let me heal you.

we see wounds and rub with pumice stone

the thing that should have been left alone

the rough stuff is for the feet and the path

that must be traveled. not ever the salve

that heals the hurting places.

we scour on like zombie manicurist

scrubbing away the rough skin

little Jesus zombies, ready to fix, so ready to scrub!

hands out in thoughtless abandon

let me heal you.

let me heal you.

let me heal you.

Dry, chafed skin our miracle healing.

Not the baby skin of birth and newness

nothing that fragile left.

Day 315, that random tear

There's the tear
Like a summer storm
Sudden, certain
Hot and warm
Electric in it's honesty

Resting on a stubborn cheek
The tear stays long enough to speak
Just one thing and nothing more
"Stop and feel this crazy world"
"Stop and feel this crazy world"

Day 313, to my own co dependent heart

Why won't that flower bloom Lord?
I've coddled and kissed it's tender bud
And nothing, nothing if ever it was
you've caused me to love it
I resent that love because
I expect things I love to bloom
There, and that's the truth
I've coddled my love and want to
Produce a blossom by my own efforts
By my unholy will

Here's the spade and the hoe
And my tiny trowel.
I'm no gardener, but another flower.
Set to bloom but more satisfied
To Spend my energies discontent.

Let me bloom, Lord let me bloom!
And maybe then that bud will see
All the beautiful things you
Can grow out of me.
Maybe then that bud will bloom.

Day 313, not a soul to blame but me

Not a soul to blame but me
Where time meets infinity
Becoming same and always
A fantastic race of symmetry

This the same as those
big one shrinks, little one grows
A never ending constancy
And not a soul to blame but me.

Day 312, fever

Fever

Delicious fatigue
Warm shivers
The chill of deep sleep

Day 311, why not Minot?

Sorry the title is off of Veggie Tales :) I picked an interesting pic off of the news and thought I'd write about it. Motivated by my gal Tara who lived here just a year ago and the fact that I've never been quite so understanding of the devastation all this flooding causes.

Don't forget to play

the music, no matter how high

the water's edge

don't forget to sing

the song, no matter how loud

the river's rush

This is praise.

Praise for the flooded

and praise for the dry.

praise for the fuzzy

dividing line

and all the pleading

and all of the why

Play that darn cello

while you cry if you must

but play it so 

that someone sees a fool 

on the edge 

of disaster willing

to praise

Him who is master

over the water

over the rush

an all knowing Lord

ready to flood

even your heart if

you'll stop to sing

in the middle of disaster

while the waters rushing

Don't forget to play

the music, no matter how high

the water's edge

don't forget to sing

the song, no matter how loud

the river's rush

Don't forget that impossible trust

It will quiet the flood inside of your soul.

Sing to Him now, loud and bold!

Blessing Minot.

Day 310, Do or die

It's the living dead
I don't want to be
The slow death of
Becoming nothing more
Than a dreamer

I want to breathe and live
In that electric way
In the way that means
I am not only alive but being.

I want to be a living seed.
Something that grows
Somethinglike a rooted tree
A living, being dream that I can touch, see.

Day 309, gratefulness or the lack thereof

I'm a
Snail
Cursing
The weight
Of her
shell

A slug
Ensconced
In heavy
Favor.

Day 306, this is how I pray

No bowed head, not today
But vigilant eyes
A steady gaze
Now and then smiles
As they toddle about
A nod of my head
Small encouragements
"yay! You did it little guy!"
Oh Lord your light in his life

"Mommy, look at me, I so tuff."
Father make your love enough

This is how I pray today
My mothers heart splayed on the ground
Meditating on every movement
Eyes wide open, vigilant

Day 306, because God made me that way

What God doesn't do is snuff
Out that little lantern glow behind
Your eyes. I don't believe He owns one
Single silver snuffer in all of heaven

I bet when Eve began
She had the most luminous
Wonderful eyes
Eyes like pearly black stars
Twinkling, I bet Adam noticed them first

But the pity is the serpents words
Took the oxygen from the flame
Made it small and weak
A dim and distant glitter
A fraudulent light
And then Eve took a bite
No reflection, no glimmer
Dancing on the apples taught red skin
Just a juice stained chin

Then Adam saw into her eyes a dim and grim forever night
And knew that he was
Not as God made him
So they covered up
All that night waiting
Waiting for the light

Day 306, if I'm quieter it's all right

Lips in a lazy pout
A lolligagging bout
Of determined brooding
Maybe I'm depressed.

Scratch that.
My optimistic heft
Always wins that match
Doesn't it?

Sure it does. It slathers
On denial like sunscreen
Lest the bright, scorching truth
Redden my tendered skin.

My very favorite part
Of the show is looking
You in the eye, practicing
My most convincing smile
Both of us clueless as to why

I might be depressed
But depression requires commitment
Perserverance, a sort of
Sorrowed stamina I can't stand

I'm far too lazy to
Be successful at sorrow
Today I had the blues
But I'll be fine tomorrow!

Day 305, the way your eyes light up

Her mother beats her
When no one is looking
Right after she paints her
Little nails fuchsia

Her tiny frame holds the weight
Of hate and some sense of
Obligitory hope. She loves
To be loved but can look
You in the eye and lie
Her tiny doll face
framing glassy coal eyes

She bears the weight
Of cards stacked firmly
Against her, she knows
Her curse words inside
Out but finds it difficult
To recite the Bible.

She is seven and lost
She is seven and
She is seven
She is
She

Day 304, fathers day

If you have a guy you can call dad your better off than most!

One thing only
Do I wish for every
Child I meet
To know their Father
Loves them
A love that plants
Their feet
Most solidly
On higher ground
Than those
That scavenge for
A father's love
On the forest floor
Ferile and fatherless

Day 303, home-ish

Somewhere between
Some years ago and today
Many things have changed
Change that fits in my pocket
And jangles around
Change. Saved up it
Adds up to some amount
It's value summed up
By how much of it you can spend
Remembering.

But step a Ginger foot
On some forgotten path
And it feels like some sort
Of magnetized wishing well

All of the change seems to zing
Around, come alive
Shift some part of you

Somewhere between these many moons
You find yourself staring
At the same thing
So very different
So very distant

Yet, you toss a palm
Full of jingling
Coins of memory
Up in the air and make
Your wish

Some sort of odd gratitude for the old and the new
A simultaneous contradiction
Of old and new selves
Two beings who never agree
Where home is.

Day 302, my original title was the punch line of the joke, too dirty!

The Birth of a Little Thug


I told a dirty joke
when I was seven
to my kindergarten cousin
her mamma
called my mamma
and then I was the
little girl who told
a dirty joke


I got in trouble.
No doubt they
were concerned,
almost like the day
I asked my momma
if the "F" word was
a bad word. 


I had no clue
what bad was but
I liked the taste of it.
I savored the flavor of
shocked faces and the
smug pride of being
underestimated.


That's how little
thugs are born
except I never was one.
Too chicken I suppose.
I won't act high and mighty
because like I said
I kind of liked the taste.

Day 301, bubblebath

I lie here in a too warm bath, soaking in
The sound of crickets that sneak through drafty windows
I turn on the cold water
To cool off, to make this minute last
To forget about the impossible heat
Of a too warm day

And there is the rub
The irony of my desires

Using warmth to cool down
That stream of liquid heat rushes into
My porcelain tub like rapids
Filling up an empty place

Making me ever so aware
That if I don't turn on the cool water
I will have to leave so
I do turn on the cold
And only cold and dwell
In the way it swirls around the hot
Feeling the twist of each next to my skin
Loving the confusion
The way the water plays out
And delights me with my own ambiguity.
Cold and hot
But never lukewarm
That would never feel clean.

Day 300, this is the sorrow of no

Sorry for the strong language but the meaning of the word bastard simply means fatherless or fraudulent. The feeling that there is no hope or no more than what there appears to be is exactly that, so i kept the word...


The sorrow of no
Is it's finality
As in no more
Choices
Chances
Time
Hope
Children
Joy
No.and no, no, no!

Nothing left
But a bastard truth
That no one wants to claim

So we avert our eyes
Gnaw hungrily on denial
Anything but gaze at no.

Because it hurts in this
Wild Abandoned way
The way frostbitten
Skin aches even though it's numb.

No, there will never be.
No, there will always be
Until there is no more.

Day 299, the mother

I am
Mother
And mom
Mommy.
Priveledged
To be so
Ever weary
Of its hard
To swallow facts
Like stretch marks
Dark circles
Extra pounds

Harder to swallow
All of this vulnerability
Watching your heart
Piggy back ride atop
Two little boys
Who arent careful at all

But I get to stare
At their adolescent souls
A novice potter whose
Instructor allows me to feel
The silk and slide of wet clay
Let's me feel the pride of this
Vessels emerging form

I am mother most when
I know this clay
Must be fired
That the kiln will come
That there are able hands
To work this wheel
And they are not mine

Mine are only to feel the silk and slide
Mine are only there to to stare with pride

Hands that give the clay to him
Who knows the shape before he begins

Day 298, stealing my own time

Twenty minute timer
Just for me, no boys.
No "Mo-om!"'s
No too loud TV
I'm claiming these
minutes mine by
Way of parental threats
I'll sugar them with
An empty room,
A journal and a pen

I'll sit (here) and
Write to you my
Deepest need today
The scribbling of the
Pen the only sound
I hear as chaos
Locked within quiets
An overloaded mind.

It's working so far,
I don't hear them!

Busy, busy soul stop
And take a sip
Your so thirsty
You've forgotten how to drink!

Day 297, Dawn comes too early

Dawn bled through
The curtain cloth
A milky wash
Sulking, midnight walked away
Bored by his sleepy nocturnal friends
For a moment the world stands unguarded
Neither night nor day
My heavy eyes acknowledge
The changing of the guard
My heavy heart is torn
It welcomes this flux of dark and light
Issues out a prayer
In the silence of the early bird's waking
There is hope in this subtle breaking
That day's light will
Overcome the lingering
Shadow of sunset

A short haiku

Wanted to limit my words, need to get more concise.

When I stop to think
Logic runs and hides from me
Fears my bully heart

The Springhill Rodeo

Babies on hips
Dusty boots
The chatter louder than the lowing
Gravel churning under tires
Antsy hooves padding
The rust red floor
The rough warmth of concrete
Grown men, half cowboy
Half weary
Stand clustered behind
The concession stand
Barritone laughter and cigarette smoke
Waft a safe distance
From their mamma's
And their wives who are busy
Balancing idle
Conversation with
Busy searching
Eyes chasing wandering
Mutton busters
Who reach through
The rails trying to
Grab a steer's tail

Somewhere in the background
Garth Brooks croons
Over the pleasant static
Of arena speakers

The sparkly shirt girl
Rides out suddenly
Her silver horse galloping
Next to a giant waving flag
An announcers voice buttered
With coffee and cigarette smoke
Solemnly ask the crowd to stand
Straw hats rest on chest
From this non chalant stance erupts
A civic pride
A sort of dandelion seed
That floats on the wind
With every breath
Of the little town'sliving.

Day 295, Africa

If I were in Africa
I'd stop day dreaming about

Wondering what the earth feels like under my feet
Wether the dust on my feet would feel
Like powder or sand

I wouldn't wonder how the sun
Would feel in Africa
Is it bulbous and gentle
Or piercing and critical

And the air
Does it insight a greedy lust
Or make me want to reserve
Every breath

Maybe one day I will know
And Africa will not call to me
I won't hear the soft grasses sway
I won't dream of the excitable cadence
Foreign words dancing in my mind
Like fireflies, no place to land

If I were in Africa
I would not daydream about Africa

Day 294, the newborn

Welcome to the world Drew Steven Clutter!!!!

He flails his little paws
Jerky little arms move
Like Mohammed Ali in deep sleep
A little piece of wonderment
Takes a breath and does not
Like the feel of it
Screaming though, feels righteously good
So he does scream
And flail because they will not
Leave him alone, these strange hands
Poke, prod and this newborn
Knows he was happier in than out
His first buyers remorse.
Until finally
They swaddle him in stiff cotton
They lay him down
Gentler arms cradle him
He can breath and it
Doesnt burn, voices quiet down
Muffled coos replace
Gaudy speech, he closes his
Dove grey eyes, he opens
His dove grey eyes
Then he hears sounds he knows
Familiar voices
He feels warm breaths and soft flesh
This bright, noisy world
Just might be home
So he sleeps
And he suckles
And one day soon he will smile
He is a tiny lord
Ruler over hearts
Prince of their
affections

Day 293, all he wants is a thank you

Some dark angel
Slurps up
All of the light
His inhale
His exhale
A peek a boo
Black hole
Like honest eyes
That tell good lies
Wraps grief, anger
Like a prize
"Here!" he will say
All he wants is a thank you.
Thank you very much will do.
That's all the devil
Needs for dues.

Day 292, Forever

Reading love poems today, I can't help it but it brings out the romantic in me, sort of...

Forever
We. No you
No me.

It sounded blissful
This thievery.
I took you
And you took me
And the rest of our days
Are spent sorting
Out the wreckage.

More insurance claim
Than romance
Except for those moments
When we collide all over gain
Forever we.
No you.
No me.
Just the way
It was meant to be.

Day 291, achoo

Achoo
God Bless You
Achoo!
Bless You
ACHOO!!!
Bless it all!
ACHOO!! ACHOO!! ACHOO!!
Achoo to you too...

The exorcism

This wakefulness is an evil spirit
Inhabiting chubby cheeks
And puffy red lips
He pouts, smiles
Has to pee and is thirsty
All in one little minute
His feet tap, his nose sniffs
Eyes flutter and hands
Compulsively caress
Anything, so long as he isn't still
That demon known as motion
Will not let go of him
My spirit grows tired, my eyes are heavy
He smiles ever so sweetly
"There's a monster," he whispers
And I smell pickles on his breath as he yawns
Then turns his head
He is ready to sleep
But my heart is full
And moved, the motion
Has been exorcised
It has left him
And found me.

Bliss, life's nemesis

Bliss
Euphoria
Exaultation
Pure delight
Disaster strikes
Fate Chuckles
Dissapointed
Dashed
Shock

Bliss is
Life's nemesis.

Tallies

I remember
5th grade
Mrs. Barton
She liked to use
Tallies
Dangled those freaking
Things like carrots
Under a horse's nose
Always tallies
Clean, pert little lines
Arbitrarily defining
Some sum total meaning

Tallies and their chalky
After taste, that's the stuff
I think of late at night.

Day 287, the curve of the red

I know how she feels
The way the edges of her
Definition melt, the constant motion
A persistence her soft silt skin
can not resist
The way everyone else sees her
Only as low and high or
How much can be fished from her
She is a rapid force of inconsistency
Her giving, yielding soul colliding
With some unseen urge to just move
We are kindreds in that way
Me and the River Red
I understand some little bit
Why The eddies of her soul
Are unpredictable.

Day 286, Maybe in May

The irony of the poem is that this is the last day of May and as my brain was trying to understand things I just can understand, like child abuse, a little girl dying, or the way we tell ourselves things that aren't true I just sort of checked out, like a hopeless math student. An emotional dislexic.

Maybe in May
I'll understand.
The easy math of
addition and subtraction
Elude my left brained heart.
So now in this
forever April
I stare at sums
Boggled by their
Lack of compassion.
The mess of odd numbers, remainders
And minute fractions
Seem ruthless.
Maybe in May
It will all add up.
Maybe then these
Negative and positive
Conclusions will
Equal up to understanding
But it doesn't today.
Maybe in May...

Darn little bug

Darn little bug
You pesky pest
Why must you invade at bedtime
Leaving me wondering
Where will you be at two
In the morning? How
Brazen is your boneless soul?
Darn little bug
Why do I let you get to me?
Why does your tiny self
Shrink me to a squeaky little girl
Every single time?

The theft of urgency

He is the thief of urgency
A lasidasical criminal
Never quite at the ready
Lazy fingers carouse, finger
And pilfer, favoring consistencies
Chiseled heft, pocketing only
Our best laid plans, casually
Sweeping good intentions into his front pocket.

The outdoor wedding

There's an Imaginary bridal march
Proceeding in their minds
Flowers covered in hot red dust
Sweaty hands shaking
Beads of perspiration
Dotting solid grins
A stringed quartet warms up
Their evening line up
A warm opening act
For the symphony of crickets
And frogs that will prevail at dusk

As wheat brushed the farmers ankles
He stood still and listened
A far away sound
Began to haunt him.
His weather beaten skin tingled
The wind dancing to the rhythm of this distant
Haunting, threshing of souls.
The sound of his scythe
brushing back and forth
a futile effort to overcome
An inhabiting weight.
His chest heaved
As if something sat on top of him
He felt the pressure of this new day
The distant thundering pulse of
A far away god moving in
A landowner turned sharecropper
By the cries of joy and mourning

I'm in the middle of moving. All poetry is being done on my iPhone. No proper punctuation, font choice or pics :(

You could hear the cry
For such a distance and you knew
Or you thought you knew
One person could hear mourning
One persons heard the exhaultation
Of victory, joy, celebration
As wheat brushed the farmers ankles
He stood still, this far away sound
Began to haunt him. His weather beaten skin tingled
The wind dancing to the rhythm of this distant
Celebration. The sound of his scythe brushing back and forth a futile effort to overcome
An inhabiting weight. His chest heaved
As if something sat on top of him
He felt the pressure of this new day
The distant thundering pulse of
A far away god moving near.

Out of time today, I want to make this a two parter and finish tomorrow.

Failure to launch

It was close
But no tomatoe
Got a good start
But did not finish
It just did not
Work out like I planned
And points for trying are like
Zero calorie coke
placebo for the ego

Dat 279, shut up and listen

Stop thinking
Stop talking
And listen
Why do we fill
God's ear with
Every infinite detail
Then not stop to
Hear His response?
Stop thinking
Stop talking
And listen
He is the one true
God. The beginning
And the end.
He has so much to say
But He whispers
Stop thinking
Stop talking
Just listen
loudly.

Why I can't hate you

My heart just will not let me
Hate you. I won't glorify
My own forgiveness, it's simply
A divine gift from someone
Who loves you better than I do
And the funny thing is
You treat that gift like a
Christmas fruitcake
Abandoned.

High heels

I wear high heels
To feel so tall
Five foot four, though
Is not tall at all
Just less short
Than I was before

Like sawdust

Burnt sawdust
smells like
kettlecorn

I don't know why and don't care today

I couldn't tell you why
And today I do not care
I am here on the other side
Of the wizards curtain
All the scary voices,
All of the intensity
Melted down like Oz's witches
I don't know why I traveled here
And I do not care today
All I can see in this moment
I'll miss you tin man, brave lion
Sweet scarecrow but I must go

I want to go home
I want to go home
I want to go home

the slowdown, Day 274

For the next few days don't expect to read anything but me hitting the writing gym for short brief spurts. I have no intention of any type of good poetry coming out of this. I am moving into my. own. home!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Bump

like when the car hits a pothole
you don't slow down, you just think,
"Crap! Fix the road!"

like when you put on new heels
and a pretty dress and more make up
and perfume than you've worn in a year
then you trip and slightly sprain your ankle
you just keep strutting and look to see who saw

like the bank account going negative
for twelve hours because the next day
is payday, you eat at home
and wake up rich and full again

that kind of bump
bad shocks
but the steady revolving axis
of life keeping you propelled
towards the future
a clumsy race of almost there

The first thing that came to my mind

I just said, "Self, what's the first word you can think of?" and out popped buttercup... No clue why I'm sitting in a skating rink!

Buttercup

Summers kiss.
your velvet skin
The softest green
Wraps your stem
And there you stand
Ethereal.

Frumpy Soul

No worries, had a frumpy day. I fear writing something like this and people feeling the need to cheer me up. I'm totally okay, just down and overtired. All is well but it had me thinking about how we all find ourselves in this spot, frumpy, wrinkled soul...

Frumpy Soul

Don't try to iron out
the divine. Leave it be, let it
rest. So I can't conjure up
my dreams, so what?

I'm wide awake and
fast asleep at the same time.
I've never felt more and seen less.
Or maybe I've never seen more and felt less...

In some great and good divinity lies
my purpose, some plan but I just
chase the cheese, that's all I know today. 

My ecclesiastical ego is deflated.

I don't have it down you see.
I don't "get it" at all. Some days I do
feel quite divine but that's not this day.
Oh for a good nights rest and a fresh sunrise
that would sustain me, that would refresh
the frumpy soul that lingers unwelcome.

hurry. wait Day 271

OY! Vey!

Positively too much
to do. No time.
No time. I'm like
Alice's rabbit chanting.
There is not enough time
or entirely too much to do.
OY! Vey!

Now I'm speaking Yiddish
or some such thing.
No time. No time.