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.