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.