back to the future

Remember those notes you passed in junior high ?
( yes, I said junior high. not middle school. )
( ages me, I know .... )
yeah, yeah .... those notes . . .
between girlfriends - boyfriends ... wanna-be-boyfriends. But some where down the line, one was always intercepted . nabbed by some saggy, scary study hall teacher ... and it was always a bad one ... either about making out, smoking weed, or cutting class. and shit hit the proverbial fan . .
those notes.
I am slightly uncomfortable with social media, and the forum it presents for discourse. particularly when it comes to those things that ... well, not-so-long ago ... would be done only face-to-face ... or over the phone for the passive aggressive approach.
we loose the nuances of expression, the non-verbal cues, the passion that lies underneath things .... and well. let's be honest .... I'm not one to shy away from confrontation ... I can say what I mean ... but am amazed how fucked up things get, and well, it's like those notes ... you just wish you had said less, more ... or said it better, not said it at all, or at least passed it thru Jordan instead of Karen . . somehow ... got it right.
but, every day , we see on blogs & fb ... the friend quarrel, the family squabble, the back & forth sniping between siblings or spouses.
we also rant from our sparkly pink unicorns ... pushing the visual or verbal envelope ... are we hoping to raise awareness, or are we merely strapped in on some virtual roller-coaster-mirror-ball-ego-ride.
I don't know ....
I like my pink sparkly unicorn ..
and
I think I can sometimes see a clear way to the balance, the clearest, brightest path.
but,
it has also bit me in the ass. words turned, and not heard. intent forgotten, or lost in the boiling of blood.
tonight, I am thinking about my father ... how he stood up to injustice & segregation. how he continually pushed me to be more, to take notice & pay attention. he was never a bully . . but he was Irish fierce with a poets heart ... a champion of the under-dog. a champion for me.
tonight, I am thinking about my daughter. she is not what she seems ... but ohhh so much more. she is beautiful, and irish-welsh fierce ( that's my mom showing up ! )
she is an artist at heart, and a champion of the under-dog.
tonight, she has grappled with a wing of the family over social media in a way that made me proud of her, breathless & stunned by her savvy, class & humor. she was succinct ... could not have said it better.
and i was simultaneously shocked, pissed and heart-broken over the way family continually allows their political or religious agenda to trump love.
I should quit being surprised by the behavior of people .... but I'm too busy riding my sparkly pink unicorn.
meanwhile, my daughter has become her own champion.

first-quarter-libra-moon

evening falls

and it carries upon it the barest chill & trace bird song

fleeting dusk it is ....

and it removes us from the coarse, narrow existence of our day ...

allowing us to 

breathe

breathe

as the chill settles about the green-growing-things 

and scarlet bruising of my knowing heart....

wait for me ...

just beyond that curious twisted tree ...

as i am meant to hold that hand

& tender your worries ...

slow your pace and

wait 

for me 

as i discovered the strength & ability to wait for you ....

One Lovely Blog Award

I love circles, and the swirling-nautilus of connection that can happen in a blink of an eye,  a turn of a page,  over the tic-tocking of a day …. I was tagged into One Lovely Blog Award by L. Dean Pace-Frech.  L. Dean's blog is prairie-sky-wide : in subject & heart …. leading one into true love & the silly, turtles & ruby slippers. & the dust of every day .
Read it in the morning, and fill up your heart.

Now, the rules for this are to pass this honor on to 15 fellow-bloggers … and to write 7 things about myself ,,,
do they have to be actual, real things … or can i invent some stuff up ??
Hmmm…..   
Almost every blogger i know is in the middle of some wee event ; some cosmic, personal shift or crisis ….. and i might be killed if i were to tap them in without first going thru some transcendent vetting thingy ,,,

so, i may add some of you word warriors at a later date … but let's get this 7 thing over  . . .


7 things … ok.

1. i write because i have to ,,,,  it's just there making my socks wet & my senses full.

2. i could exist on water with lemon, fresh bread & olive oil & escargot.  Oh, and beignets …

3. i have 3 dogs … stella, huckleberry & wylie (coyote) ….

4. i have one child …. daisy.  i love her to pieces -  to the moon & back.!!
she is so much more than i bargained for, and everything i could ever wish for ,,,,

5. i like : tattoos, johnny depp, bracken, beowulf, mr. darcy & tom robbins, the night sky, dear friends, the smell-you-get-in-the-moutains-that-fills-your-soul, i soak up stuff,  & i like coffee - rich, dark coffee

6. margaritas =  my summer drink.  on the rocks. no salt.

7. my husband ❤….  a cowboy at heart ….

8. it is a hot, wet-sticky-green, over-cast day ,,,,

Yes  . .  that is actual 8 things ,,, and maybe a wee bit more, because i tend to over-acheive on mondays.

stay tuned ….. 


1.  DiAnne Ebejer
http://ebbiesplace.blogspot.com/
and 
https://sites.google.com/site/diannesscribblespoetry/


2. Niamh Clune 
http://ontheplumtree.wordpress.com/2012/06/16/if-i-were-a-butterfly-why-why-why-the-butterfly-effect-by-niamh-clune/
and 
http://ontheplumtree.wordpress.com/
and 
http://ontheplumtree.wordpress.com/2012/06/24/the-launch-of-the-coming-of-the-feminine-christ/


of course … 


3. L. Dean Pace-Frech
http://deanpacefrech.blogspot.com/ 

new moon

opalescent sliver
fragility outlined by night
exquisite whisper of light
celestial tempest drawn delicately thin
barely substantial
yet ..
so there
hanging
in the west so piercingly bright
rising ... rising ...
seeming to magnify
from inconsequential things :
particles of dust, storms & days
sorrow, forgiveness & clouds haze
funny ....
how very almost-not-there
it is
yet ...
it remains always illuminated
gravity held
beckoning
waxing
waiting
waning ...
for
jumping cows & mischief makers,
storytellers & film-makers,
astronauts & huckleberry friends,
spectral visions, midnight riders
and
that love that knows no end

The Butterfly Effect . . .

As a wee seed of PluM TRee BooKS , I was asked to join in a blog tour for The BuTTerFLy EffecT , along with a cocoon full of poets, artists, photographers, storytellers, fortune tellers & roustabouts …. promoting those small ripples we create that can change the world . .  

I am perpetually honored, humbled & stunned by the craft & heart of this group … follow, dip, dive & FLY in … the time has come !!!

IN Summer's Solstice we pause & breathe . . .

recalling the thunder toil of Spring's release 

ordinary becomes the divine 

 we suck the marrow in every step 

and

reach for something fine , , ,

Nectar sweet lies under skin taunt & ripe 

indigo plum with a sparrow's bite 

hanging 

waiting 

in ego's surrender 

don't look down - only imagine the tender 

We 

touch . . 

we hold, we ponder 

plums & gamma rays

a hand, a heart

… a story 

and

the the cost to stay 

In Summer's Solstice 

we pause & breathe . . . 

awaiting thunder 

tucked under verdant leaves 

here

lies 

change, hope 

and 

possibility

taste the wonder of the plum 

and 

all of love's fragility . . 

Please visit our pages :

June 9th http://www.shevata-cccole.blogspot.co.uk/ C.c.Cole

June 10th http://deannnative.posterous.com/DeAnn Townes Jnr.

June 11th http://ontheplumtree.wordpress.com Niamh Clune

June 12thhttp://mapelba.wordpress.com/ Marta Pelrine-Bacon

June 13th http://ontheplumtree.wordpress.com Tonia Harris

June 14th http://deannnative.posterous.com De Ann "Native" Townes Jr.

June 15th http://nicolesmith.mosaicglobe.com/ Nicole Smith

June16th http://ontheplumtree.wordpress.com

June 18 http://vampiremaman.wordpress.com Marla Todd (Juliette)

June 21 http://sooziebird.blogspot.com/ Susie Bertie

June 25th  http://feetfirstbook.wordpress.com/ Beverley Ann Hoyle

June 27th  http://ontheplumtree.wordpress.com Niamh Clune

June 29th http://girlseeksplace.wordpress.com Brianna Solkowski

June 30th http://www. jlbcreatives.blogspot.com Janet Beasley

http://ontheplumtree.wordpress.com/

http://niamhclune.wix.com/plum-tree-poetry#!Home/mainPage

a sunday kind of missing

someday I will go to New Orleans

thinking  

of

you 

on this Sunday after CBS Sunday Morning  & 

Meet the Press

Sunday . . . 

Sundays were reading the funny pages together, pot roast & golf-on-tv-days

sleepy nappy days ..

when I was very small

I would steal away to your bedroom with some treasured book &  fall asleep  -

my cheek waffle-printed from that nubby white bedspread

that smelled of Canoe & cigarettes 

sleepy nappy days ....

and yet today, I am thinking about all the things you saw in your lifetime ...

things beyond pot roast & Sundays :

your childhood, illness & fishing and that big brother you idolized ...

the complete wrapping love of your mother, and the brutal Irish-Love of your father, fishing, school, excelling in every sport you tried your hand at, poverty, and going to war,

your love of New Orleans, more fishing, how you extended your hand & your friendship across lines of color, crossword puzzles & reading and 

golf -  the lives you touched, the stories you unfolded, the generosity of your heart.

I miss you  ... not just a Sunday-kind-of-missing

but an every day kind of missing

still 

it is a sleepy-nappy-Sunday-missing

that leaves it's nubby-white-waffle-print forever pressed upon my cheek & heart

someday I will go to New Orleans

canis major

.... if we were to sleep

in a bed of tangled amber silk or quilted hope

i would lie my weary leg alongside your steel warmth

rooting myself to your verdant masculinity

trying hard to not be knocked senseless from the regret .

if you were to sleep next to me ....

i would wonder as your easy warrior breath

fireworks into canis major

discovery lies in the strength of your hand,

the roughness & smoothness of you .

if i were to sleep

aganst your electric-blue ....

i would wear pajama's of pre-cambrian yellow

so as to paint some dark-dream canvas of drowsy comfort

evenings' elephants romp about

as we sleep,

content to still some cosmic time-piece

of our worthy love ...

nestled   tangled   rooted

sleep

vain-less & rumpled.

sweet night

moonshadow drawing #9

Stealing beside me
an ochre whisper
defines your phantom presence
a whisper . .
classically soft
slowly
erasing all negative space
blooming into darkness &
the quiet burn of a million stars . . .
"Make a strong line, don't sketch it out -
be sure when you draw", you told me that . . once.
"be sure"
drawn then . . .
sure
and
held strong
on a kiss that carries the paisley weight
and
spin of this blue rock
exquiste 

containing the 1939 World's Fair,
the soundtrack to Fantasia
& maybe The Partridge Family
calliope hummingbirds land on our tongues
flying into our stained-glass souls
as the 2:17 rolls thru town
a kiss . . .
stealing all measure of wound & rumpled sorrow
pheasant feathers & words are weaved into
patchwork succulence
skin is diffused, scarred & forgiven - effervescent almost
inconsequential to the heart of the matter
bloom

and
hold
draw sure …
and
linger into this slumbered ghost kiss

Jupiter

Tepid day - 

hanging garden of fissured possibility

inked in spaces left by who i was

and

who remains

fractured mist rising 

from 

an ancient cigar tin 

smelling of longer days 

and the pulsing iridescence of 

the coming rain  , , ,