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