Wednesday, December 31, 2014

mid-winter


How a day can be so bleak gray 
yet prism'd pierced with solace 
branches sway in a wind sent to remind us of our mortality 
thin-walled fragility of our shared humanness 
gold finches blissfully ignore all loneliness 
to savor seed & other feathered fluff company 
sun dips lower to the western horizon 
in measured cadence to the moon's promise 
winter ... 
bookmark this hour 
and 
light a candle 
for warmer days .... 

Sunday, December 21, 2014

turn of the card ...




the crone's bones become my own
raven-feather-black as december's midnight 
no gradual mutation ... no
it is now 
this ancient hourglass impact 
a single cello plays somewhere to the west 
and 
I tremble at the quake of the redbuds leaves 
quixotic felted breath of breeze
upon skin freckled & creased
where in furrows hide 
regret, loss & redemption 
pale knots of celtic myth & mingle 
as prism'd comes the day
brittle the knowledge of sacrifice
buoyant the joy of love
in these crone bones 



Saturday, December 20, 2014

one moment









i will grasp … 
hold on loosely - ( thank you Wild-Eyed Southern Boys
as if there is an equation for that …. 
the tattered ribbons of our human-ness 
fragility ruby-pink & dusty with forgetfulness
hold on 
as 
life 
is
flame-flicker-short
but brimmed with sweetness
the electric fire of our soul burns 
with this invincible thread of connection 
saffron starred & tender
smelling of fresh mown grass, sex and shortbread
pierced to the marrow of our shared quilted sorrow & joy
steeled, but yeilding
broken, but not
present, but removed to the blue of the coming solstice sky 
snow is in the forecast
bring it 
taste the snowflake upon your tongue
and
remember . . . 
this is life 

Thursday, November 20, 2014

eclipse into me


you
are why I sleep
you are why I sleep
rolled upon the blue
oh you are why I sleep

floral boots upon the floor
sun seeks corners more
choice bred of wired wait
time stands still and takes me away. .

pursuit
journeyed water falls
tempest of storms thundered call
secrets lie in waters white
as we run across the stars at night

time furrows story-lines wide
dreams take us close beside
warmth comes to those who seek
you are why I sleep
oh . . .
you are why I sleep

Thursday, November 6, 2014

the bittersweet notion


bare feet to gray concrete
motionless upon the sidewalk 
I stand 
waiting 
on 
this
November morning 
outlines defined 
by the slight tremble of 
yellow leaves remaining upon somnolent trees 
waiting ....
in this startingly-crisp-spot-of-sun-upon-gray 
I can no longer remember for what ....
but I can imagine 
the who 

come find me 

Wednesday, November 5, 2014

morning

seems I awoke on the left side of lonely
lines pressed to dreams folded tight
to respite's black night 
discarded wool socks hold shed traces of hope 
there against scuffed floorboards
painted in shades of spring-green 
once put on ...
expectancy warms a good 20 degrees 
rising this morning 
....  to the left of lonely



Tuesday, November 4, 2014

11-4-14

most days I ignore it
shrug it off 
remain wrapped in detached presence
able to push it back into the darkened corners :
that veiled punch to the southern cross
that leaves me smiling in some slightly wistful electric want
of all things hungry & driven
most days . . .
today
and I am fully aware that you are indeed no ghost pressed against my back
flicking open that spark
fully aware
and yet . . .
you are this golden reflection today
grabbing my attention & hurtling me into "going there"
causing my too feel beyond the borders of my skin
grasping that haunting shadow & submitting to
the golden weight of you

Wednesday, October 29, 2014

of two forty in autumn


felted
with the welter of deep winter waters 
swirling skirted surrender 
of this brilliant brillo ruby rub 
electric current caught 
between 
the 
layers
of
design
and 
delight 
oh tingled tender fire 
lay upon these shoulders 
with the roaring need of a thousand storms 
hold fast 
and tremble crimson under me 

Monday, October 27, 2014

was were am


I WAS THE GIRL 
chosen last because I was skinny & my knee socks didn't stay up
I was the girl who thought she could change the molecular pattern of 
objects and create snow 
.... or an apple
I was the girl who understand when ken & barbie started sleeping together, 
It was time to pack up the toys & turn up Led Zeppelin
I was the girl who knew every homeless animals name in the whole wide world
and if I thought hard enough, could keep them safe & warm
I was the girl who danced on her bed while singing Hey Jude & Henry the 8th I am I am ...
I was the girl who learned about music, weed & how to dance from the best neighbor boy in the world . He was 3 years older, gay, handsome & funny. He took me to his senior prom. 
He died of AIDS.
I was the girl who had a golden ticket to Camelot & a green Pontiac convertible
I was the girl sitting alone at the river knowing answers pooled there along the 
sandbars & reeds and if I thought hard enough - prayed hard enough, 
I would hear those answers and I could then fix things 
I was the girl who discovered James Taylor, 
Jack Daniels & orgasm in the same evening - while babysitting 
I was the girl who followed meadowlarks down rabbit holes 
I was the girl who married to escape only to be bushwhacked by the karma bus
I was the girl who found Wonderland under your hands 
I was broken girl; weary & afraid, missing pieces of bone & heart 
only to discover I had them all along
bound to my soul with a ribbon of goldenrod & blue sky 
I am that girl . . . 
And now I don't wear knee socks (or underwear)
I still believe if i think fiercely enough, I can shield animals from harm while changing 
Apples into Snow 
I am a mere 2 degrees away from knowing Robert Plant
So I sing Led Zeppelin with abandon from beds, bars & cars
I have always lived in Camelot 
and 
I have folded my golden ticket into a tiny origami sparrow
and
placed it inside a wee blue bottle on a thin silver thread
Marriage is ethereal &  a good escape plan. 
All the best stories have an escape plan.
I have been to Wonderland, and some of my best missing pieces are still there ...
Every answer to any question can be found in a JT song, a Beatle's song, or a river's song 
Karma bus - well , shit happens. 
Live like you are dying even when you are weary & afraid . 
I have stopped fixing things. 
And strangely, things fix. 
I am the broke-open-whole girl 
and 
I am goldenrod-blue-ribboned-sky &  a meadowlark's song


Tuesday, October 21, 2014

snapshot



captured stillness
echoes of childhood trapped in the morning's pulse
from the open window comes 
a breeze from 1964 
stirrring my freckled pale arm 
suddenly ...
am ageless;
socks soft upon carpet 
mindful of my wakefulness 
light lies upon gray 
soft 
fluid 
the rustle of leaves timbres 
still ageless 
and amazed ... 
that this is life 
just this one moment:
soft, gray
with senses buzzed by the light of always 

Friday, October 17, 2014

the gray

it lays on me
the expectation of words
mango butter melting
rich
then gone
seeped to cells
rolling beating pulsing
on the dust
of
my ordinary hours circling circling
tasting of powder sugar sunshine
and
October's sidewalk at nine o'clock in the evening .....

Tuesday, September 23, 2014

upon a black stallion in the woods ....


Show to me
your saddlebags of words & beautiful
filled to summer's sun with the demons of yesterday
today, the woods smell of verbena & dappled leather
and the light ,,,
Oo the light cuts thru chaos & tenderness
to call the clouds down from heaven's azure fate
weary is the wait, but sweet the story tells -
of a water weave between said heaven & hell 

Show to me
the cities upon your road ;
of silk & sword ,
fire & air
of . . there ... there !
I spy the apricot souls of the truth in your eyes
alongside
parsley & collected sighs
to parry & collide on a field between stones
locked in a stonecircle .... our apple-lined home 

Show me the storyline between surrender & strength
transparent now to the echoes we keep
prism'd ... ancient
Oh my brother to hold & stay
Oh my love .... to hold & stay
take my hand to the diamonds & dust of this day
to hold 
and
stay





summer cooling , , ,










the trace echo of our intimacy
folds me in two
with an ease of embrace that is tender & sure
swallowed complete by the journey lying behind your heart
I am there always
lingering, waiting & leaning into a new song to hum
catching your smell as I dance downwind where the trace is strongest
ribboned in dark midnight blue & morning fog
alone
I am use to it by now
that quixotic company of self & sun
dancing
to the hollow & the drum

Thursday, September 11, 2014

west on highway 6









west on highway 6
along
fresh-mown road ditches
goldenrod fields
pierce cardamon daydreams
to
the
thrum-thrum of tires on crappy pavement baked in midwestern sun at 91 degrees
these dog days of summer will likely head-butt
into a near morning's early frost
silvering threads of conversation & memories
buried six inches & 12 months deep in soil
the color
of
coffee grounds & honeyed cigar smoke
thrum-thrum
sunflower towers catch dragonflies & remorse
petaled mile-markers randomly blown from Orion's belt
what design do they illuminate?
what trail of illusion?
thrum-thrum
it smells
of
green
the ageless green of this september day …
thrum-thrum


Wednesday, August 13, 2014

(R + h)^2 = R^2 + d^2















The space is built into the fabric of our passage
held like water calypso & zaffre
untamed in it's waning
waiting becomes the prayer of skin & moonlight
tattooed in silver & sand . . .
wind changes
scent is born
as the ship curves to earth & sky
distance is the ratio of risk to water
divided by
intention
waxing & waning
command & surrender
contentment rising to solitude
hold fast, hold fast
this thread golden in starlight & sorrow
voyages of amber-honey presence -
hold fast
waiting becomes the feathered prayer of fire & air
upon water calypso & zaffre
hold fast  . .



Monday, August 11, 2014

condensation & evaporation











as you
move throughout your day,
if we look close enough,
if we look hard enough
frame by frame
sublimation ...
each movement sparks and sky rockets particles of you
flakes, elements & fragments
of every
pain
every hope every desire every memory .....
float
cascading & tumbling into the air
pulled and drawn into the
blue
into
other fragments and pieces
mingling merging melding fusing
creating
quantum marriages
of indescribable
brilliance,
black veils of melancholy,
chaotic joy
crystalline darkness

and
infinite
lovely
possibility

Friday, August 1, 2014


















i am flattened between panes of antique glass
thin, fine glass - imperfect & undulating
sandwiched - pressed
held in place for some mysterious-mercury-reason
held  . .
in . .
place . .
feelings illusive & cloaked
laying pressed & folded-in
holding
yearning for air & the echo of happiness
able to quietly observe this august sky-perfection
but can not touch
or smell,
or breathe in
pressed as an ancient prom flower
cornflower perhaps, or stephanotis
with heather & violets
preserved & held captive
this bell-jar moment echoes of the empty
no scent & breeze . .
color seems distant, removed . . . faded
what contraction of muscle will tip the fragility ?
what contraction of will could free the light &  rhythm ?
do i rest or resist ?
when does  resistance create the glass boundary ?
rock, paper, scissors
pause, rest
await the shift
and prepare to shatter this crystalline cage


Thursday, July 31, 2014

July 31


THERE
are no marked days here at the end of July
no birthdays, half-birthdays, appointments, no anniversaries,
nothing stands out
no X on a calendar ....

2 weeks before my mother died
she
began randomly and with no explanation
marking days off
one X after another
X X X ....
she died 14 days after that first squiggly X
did she know ?
did she have some secret ethereal clue ....
or was she merely marking the days off
until i was due home for a visit ...
and
instead
she died

things shifted ~
love ; jammed & dammed
anger surfaced sharp & deep
cars kept driving, people kept working
and
no one seemed to notice
but me

my dad was in the hospital
recovering from yet another round
with congestive heart failure
the night before, we laid side by side in his hospital bed
watching ER
he felt ... cool  
( i can still smell his aftershave )
he woke the next morning
and while sitting on the edge of his bed,
drinking a cup of coffee
he had a massive heart attack and
died
he died

things shifted ~
love ; jammed & dammed
anger surfaced sharp & deep
cars kept driving, people kept working
and
no one seemed to notice
but me

those holes are looming
looming for no reason
on these marked days ....
of anger buried
love recovering ....
they died in October of different years
it feels so long ago ...
maybe
it is all this rain




Tuesday, July 29, 2014

the secret of summer. . .


The secret of summer is to find your twelve ....
twelve at the feet of the possible, and at mercy of memory
to breathe in the heat
and
feed it to your soul as if it were the plumpest raspberry
and
time ...
well .... time lounges by a pool blue as Joni Mitchell
and as endless as
well ....
waiting
summer
is
waiting ....
perfectly, saturated & succulent waiting ....

Monday, July 28, 2014

11:47








I talk to you in meter
slow and measured
placing words upon some clock-work scale
3 beats to 7 . . feeling my way thru the labyrinth of weight
how do they feel upon my tongue ?
creamy, soft or tart, hard & jagged ?
are they too sweet, too used, to banal ?
are some too steeped in an ancient realm of weathered time, too faerie ?
some smell sophomoric & nervous, while there are others, hiding
amusedly
erotic & juiced behind a curtain of dark-chocolate velvet
i talk to you through the spaces of my days,
through the turning of the seasons ;
with the spark found mostly in the deep grass of summer,
the electric pause of thunderstorms & the still-quiet-brilliance of snow
which pulls at the fabric of the missing
open & naked
naked ?
what does that feel like against the harsh armor of the expected ?
i am red-onion-layered
intent on stepping aside from story
forcing a pause for just a moment
there ....
upon a bridge made from bird-bones & blue saffron sky
somewhere near the peony nebula
dressed in shades of forest-gypsy silk with
feathers of pheasant & tall red boots
wait .... there
& listen ....
is that a westerly wind rustling the curly willow ?
fierce & determined
clouds building, darkening
rolling, boiling ....
bringing blessed thunder & rain
to shake me loose from moorings of grey
on
this self-preserved bridge ribbon-hung on pink crimson stars
a measured hesitation...
3 beats to 7
it IS too soft, too tart & sharp
too jagged & real
too heavy
words have no place here
welcome thunder - come to shake me loose
from my fragile-avogadro perch
thrusting me to the brink of
the edge ...
a fall
a
spiraling
fall
a
fall
into the piercing light
of knowing
our wounded open
spark

rift . . .


to touch the bottom of the well
again ....
to get messy & bruised
to feel less than & taste acrid defeat
to hold the blossom that is days possibility
or
stroke the weariness of ignorance
and allow the amber fracture to vibrate
again ....
with the stored ache of a thousand years
to the breezed smell of a distant blue-salt-release
hands grasp the carbonate ego'd stone
and
cooling is required
trust & cooling ....

Wednesday, July 23, 2014

90 degrees













firework me across the sky on this cusp of gemini
smelling of coppertone skin & petaled iris
taste me in your mouth; grass green laced with summer's strawberries
firework me home to Jupiter via Mercury's streets
and
i will write your swan song disguised as an epitaph disguised as a limerick
'there once was a boy from the river, whose eyes shone with maple-sugar timber'
light the thread that sparks the burn …
golden-crimson sizzling & snapping across the divide
light the thread
and
firework me
feel the thump-boom in the pit of your soul
thump-boom thump-boom
i will dwell in the sky forever
falling
becoming
a raspberry fire-tail
or
maybe i will be an iridescent stone lying in a river bed at 12,457 ft.
… my wonderings will be of yellow pages ancient & bold,
orange cotton dresses and horses thundering across summer fields,
hands determined
hearts rich
thump-boom, thump-boom ….
light the thread




Saturday, July 12, 2014

300 ft from the top


sometimes the trick is in cutting the wire
allowing the fall
feeling the bone crunch of rocks & recognition
hearts ripped from viscera & the soul's moored memories
patterns of moonlight on
blue snow, blue snow, blue snow
can we be more then where we've been?
can we trace the patterns of forgiveness upon our wounds?
sorrow becomes the morning's stillness
as we hold dear the fragments of our being
sometimes love is in cutting the wire ,,,,.

Friday, July 11, 2014

condensation











jet trails of presence
rimmed & rhymed
each smooth movement amplified
by the hollowness of the missing
vibration vaporous & felt
captured in the fragility & textured blueprint
of cowslip spode
there, there
feel it?
how we trace the gap :
the felted folds
of
remembrance

rain comes,
grounding & fragrant
adding wash & weight
and
a knelling of the holes
so defined in the wrinkles of things
and
the smell of oranges ….
and
roses

Monday, July 7, 2014

treatise


I believe I deserve rice pudding with raisins
the handful of cherries
the scotch, bitters & rye

I believe I deserve marshmallow fires
determined kisses by moonlight
and stars in the sky

I believe I can swingdance long after midnight
while smells of October rise & twirl
I believe I can learn to love you like coconut cream pie
there in the morning
two bodies unfurled

I believe
I've not trusted my origin-instinct
nor felt the power of these hands & heart
I believe I've negated all feeling of plenty
in exchange for a treaty of
complacent tarts
I'll learn to love you in prismatic colors
that lean in & hold 
We'll dance often to harmonica coyotes
with tender blue tales of love ancient & bold 

Sunday, July 6, 2014

burst













the ticking of the clock
the passing of hours
the rolling of days and the turn of the moon
our collective purse of felted love hanging
merely wasted
or silk'd in some celestial cocoon

to understand the calling
to recognize the path
the structure of a life tethered to sky
to grab the trapeze with no fear of falling
as we look to the sun
to figure out why …

should we have borrowed the velvet of another
should we stoke the fire ignoring the night
should we have chosen the earth here below us
to steady our steps instead of to flight

the heart-seated sureness
the gamma-ray knowing
the manifestation of all that is true
corals the silk-tale of butterflied purpose
and
sings to the bones of love aqua-blue




the current takes you . . .













can there be love without sacrifice ?
and is the weight of the penance equal or greater than the weight of the love ?
whenever there is the amber-ember of soulfulness & connection breathed into mortal clay
sacrifice will be endured and suffering will be measured
whether it be that of lovers, brothers, mother to child
or
friend to friend
it comes hidden with thorns of mortal sharpness
that cut as death cuts a hole
red rocked and blue-river-lined with
an echo of witness & shine
can there be love, ever, without a debt paid to the
ringmaster
the ferryman
the minstrel ?
no.
there can not
and the price is heavy with
chasms song and bells of ireland
we pay and weep for our lost ignorance
our chained retreat from innocence
we are guilty
and through to the other side ...
we love

Tuesday, July 1, 2014

come to me …









Hold your breath coyote …
the path you choose may not lead me to salvation
sunlight drips from the beech leaves
as golden hesitation
divided by desire directly proportional
to
the
hollow of your neck
and
the
smell of pine & possible

to blue. . .



i am a child of the plains & prairie
tendered amongst open fields of golden wheat, milo & corn-silk
sky & earth i have always known
yet
there are times in the bleed of the day
times under the whiteness of the moon
that water calls me home . .
vast & blue
open smooth water
with winds warm & complete
aqua & infinite
or
rolling into sapphire wickedness &
bone-chilled surrender
bring me blue & leave me there
gloriously unearthed &
made fragile by wind & water
wounded by starshine & solitude
trust & strength collide in the
hours & bones
so
bring me blue & leave me there
with absolute bearing
capable & precise
rocked by the spray of the sea
so harden up
bring me blue & leave me there ,,,,

condensation on a June night













as you
move throughout your day
if we look close enough
if we look hard enough
frame by frame
sublimation ...
each movement sparks and sky-rockets
flakes, elements & fragments
of every
pain
every hope
every desire
every memory ..... particles
float
cascading & tumbling into the air
pulled and drawn into the
blue
into
other fragments and pieces
mingling merging melding fusing
creating
quantum marriages
of indescribable
brilliance,
black veils of melancholy,
chaotic joy &
crystalline darkness
....
and
lovely-infinite-possibility

Wednesday, June 25, 2014

this late june morning










in the still, quiet thrum of morning . . .
it feels as if all the words have been written
there is no more cathartic revelation
no eureka-thesaurus moment where words & time roll into the place of always . .
nothing but the early thrum of the day
morning
stillness
a breeze barely rocking the curly willow
a dog curled against my back - pressing
a sky carousel-blue, unreal in it's hand-dipped perfection
but when the sunshine strikes my face
my eyes close ....
and we are laying upon a quilt of weathered-dried-in-the-sun
cotton patchwork
in a field of green-summer-golden
early
morning
stillness ....
a breeze barely rocking the curly willow
a distant thrum from a river wide & rushing eastward
pressing
it feels as if all the words have been written
there is no more than this ...
a meadowlark sings it's warrior song
claiming this piece of carousel-blue always
for it's own

Tuesday, June 24, 2014

of stasis & steps ...













i am moved by rainfall
and
courted by lilacs
discussed by leathered gypsies around campfires
fired up at dusk amongst aspen & age
embers burning the silk of our resistance
distance lies only in the disconnect
dormant is the dream in direct proportion to wakefulness
ease into this summer fire
ease into allowing the possible
love is only as small as your container :
dance with the morning
taste the rain on your tongue
and be still with me ….

Saturday, June 7, 2014

19 days
















these voilet-ringed hours
fierce & far-flung
missing becomes thunderous
needle
spinning
in direct proportion to the tangerine yearn
lines erase
the love remains the same ...


Monday, June 2, 2014

june 2 at 8 o'clock











sometimes it is hard to write from the flat places . . .
this braided morning of songbirds & coffee
light aligned with contentedness oaked & amber-mine
no lingering dream of surrendered cotton smoothness
no peaked & inescapable yearning
merely a leaning into a shadowed new morning
sure in the knowing
sure of the curve of the flat places
sure in the damp-dove-calling of these minutes
shining  . .


roundabout














playground ....
merry-go-round
spinning red, blue, yellow, green
cool to the touch
wobbling above
uneven ground
thrumming 'round
as this traveling window spins ,,,,
spins
twirls and
spins again
green-leafed trees, brown-dry earth
zoom past
faces, movement, heart-rate fast
hold on ...
don't look down
just
gaze upon this sparkling june night ,,,,
gaze & breathe & hold on tight
lean into the whirl or resist the curve
you are the force behind the spin
able to slow or push again
this tattered earth toy
this wheel of childhood
listen ?
feel that pull ?
that circle dance ?
you are the reason this tale is told
now hold on tight 
and don't let go   . . 

eclipse of the 3rd & 9th








it is but a fable,
a story told . .
of coyotes & jesters
thieves & killers
moss-agate paths not taken & turquoise held captive ....
ageless
the opposition of force & desire struggling across distance & the expected
sparks of jupiter leave their scar-trail in some long-forgotten map of home
while currents of air circle & blaze 
circle & blaze . . 
upon waking :  there is suddenly no sideways struggle
merely a cooling willow wind and
a knowing peace that rests with things you can not see
warrior-love exists there in the quiet places now
a bridge upon which worlds rest & spin
knowing chiron & the sharp pain of loss will find you
breathless & waiting & content
scents of olive & thunder linger in the air . .
fire - air - water
a fable
a story told under mercury's stars ....
a colliding dance down a topaz trail, deeply wooded-green & lined with a swan's feathers  . . .
no pressing of time now that the shadow of the sun has lingered here
breathe deeply of marigold & amethyst
hold fast
accept &
know you are exactly where you need to be
and where you are ....
is love



Thursday, May 29, 2014

the line









You
disarm me with your Sangre de Cristo attentions
divine connection
still threaded in azure across miles & miles & miles
knowing comes without beckoning …
forgiveness vessel'd in some seasoned understanding
hanging as it does here upon the cusp of summer
hanging as it does upon the memory of your hands
beauty locked in the acceptance of distance
to the
horizon line
disarmed? perhaps not so much ….
tender comes the high plains light
and
easy the moments
hello sweet night ...

awaiting the necromancy of the thunderstorms ....










how acutely i feel.....


when i was very small, i would stand on my little bed at night for hours & hours - gazing out my bedroom window at the world as it was - i could see our street, davis avenue in gering, i could see our neighbors house, and the side yard between.  our neighbor's had a daughter named brenda, and i would think about brenda and what it as like in her head. 
i would worry about brenda. 
i would gaze out at the sky and think about all the hurt & pain in the world.  lonely children, hurt & lost animals, the long forgotten causes & missions of long, forgotten people.  i would pray back then, for all that hurt to go away; to be replaced by sunlight, hope & love.
we moved to north platte and i had a beautiful pink & purple bedroom, a french provencal canopy bed over which another window peered out into the world.  i would kneel on my very girly pink bed, and pressing my elbows into the glass,  again feel - NOT merely imagine, but FEEL the world's hurt.  animal & human alike.  they were all the same - same despair, same loneliness and pain. 
by this time, i stopped praying, and just 
hoped. hard.
friendships were felt easily too.  every nuance, every slight, every joy - every moment that was true & perfect like we were gods, happening to land here on earth for 
some brief lifetime.
some moments shone with a timeless brilliance, as if placed under a bell-jar.
sitting on slames brothers bunk-bed, singing along to yellow brick road, eating brownies laced with weed.
all of our little gang, playing down on the river with the sun shining hot, and the taste of june on your tongue.
that night across from the party, laying amongst garden & grass: discovering sex, discovering him & a part of myself.
release under stars and the smell of grass mingled with the smell of us ...
i was home.
i think every moment is like that.  standing apart from the rest, each is perfect in it's chaos and possibility.
time, of course, sometimes was just time.  rolling along with it's own agenda, careening & dashing around the barriers & walls people put up to shield themselves from the truth.
pure, golden moments though raged on always.....
when i was 8 months pregnant, we ran over a rattlesnake on the way to golden from boulder - i cried for 2 hours about that snake.
i felt that snake. 
touching daisy's bristly little red hair as it stood up on her month old head, i could feel every hurt, every pulse of life & hope and it terrified me.
everyday news was approached with caution, and fortitude as sometimes the details were too grim, the reality to harsh to bare ..... or so i thought.
heartbreak & unhappiness, pain & loneliness  -  as i age, they seem to be countered with a measure of wisdom, hope, trust & well,  love.
.... biting into an apple = you anticipate the taste, the feel of the skin upon your lips and your mouth might salivate a bit, yet you hesitate becuase the cold against your teeth will be shocking & hurt.  your eyes shut as you sink your teeth into the flesh,  the juice trickling down over your open lips - it is bracingly chill and your a mess
really, but 
that apple is tart, crisp and filled 
with an early summer hope.

Wednesday, May 28, 2014

New Moon in Gemini


tenderness comes at the end of May
petal'd visceral pink, helped along by the tiny pull of tiny things
fluttered ants of forgiveness
purchased at such a cost ....
yet, how familiar the scar tissue now
tight & full
restrictive
unyielding
how we learn to bend despite
to feel contentment despite
to love through to the other side
to open and not be defined by the brokenness
but
to define
by
the
fragility & lightness of being
so alive
so pink
at the end of May

Tuesday, May 20, 2014

two o'clock in May


Maxfield Parrish
whirling dervish
of mustard seed
and
monarchs
as
moments resurface
tiled
and
tempered
in goblets of grace
darkness to sunlight outline of days
vinca vine trailing along the clay brick
noticed by no one
it's tendrils it lays
circular, intricate patterns abound
wind whips through boughs
as
love tattoos the ground
trails; whirly-gig-maple-pods ... twigs and wood-green
tell the tale of all the gray space between
surrender to no one
surrender the fight
surrender the hollow
of
white-birch
in
moonlight ...
illustrate these wind-swept hours
perceive beyond this swirling morning haze;
color the space
darken the line
with
mustard seeds
and 
monarchs
to
define these nearly summer days


direct to allium royal









writing comes syrup'd between
the orbit
of
right
and
mercury ...
pulsing
with the ever-present need for the taste of
honey-salt-sun upon my tongue
and …
the beat of the ordinary 
contrast contrast
of violet anger to sublime all-rightness
contentment voids the hand of ancient immediacy
pull of moon
weight of blood
life held in delicate fierceness
as knowing erases the solitary lines
gravity inked with sureness bold
folded in, rolled in … to me 
whole
ahh . .  the wind breaks the one o'clock hour to mark the repair
 … the recovery
sun direct
whole:
hole-ness
holiness 
pull of moon
rise
of
sun





Tuesday, May 13, 2014

shelter


shelter of blue & salmon sky
shelter of questions
and
the thunder of why
shelter of wounds as deep as lore
shelter on white & rocky shores
arms raised fierce into the night
as wind whips the artifice of light
lean to the heart of those you know
lean to the salve of bowers rain-glow
spring shelters expectations true
awaken to a day
electric alice blue

Sunday, May 11, 2014

Ceres




structure of
ice mantle and rocky core
lying between Mars & Jupiter
contrast, orbit ... presence
no prose, no poetry
no sentimental sparkling bon mot bouillon 
to warm heart cockles
How do you define an art, a science full-to-bursting with
compassion, contrition & complexity
hands hinged to hold
to cradle
to tender
and with an innate sensibility 
thru and despite a sparkling-fierce-hope-filled insanity 
pushed pushed 
honing spirit & light
catch and release ...
craft of ice and rock
simultaneously everything
and
nothing
dwarfed 364 days a year to the whorl & chaos of the ordinary
the temperance of tempers & time
weighing weighing weighing
heavy
struggling to find the funny, find the light .... to love enough 
to tap the spark
the rendering of sorrows cut upon expectation & fullness
the gravitas of choice
acceptance unconditional
love's price to mother
everything and nothing 
no prose, no poetry 
merely …
ice
and rock ...

higgs boson


I have this strange attachment to things ....
it has been there always
as if I could recognize some part of myself buried deep within
the downy fluff of a stuffed rabbit,
 or
along the fragile pastern & cannon of a 3 inch glass horse
something ...
and
I have this strange knack of losing things I didn't know were of value;
my grandmother's quilt
left in a kappa delt house,
a naked rabbit clock tucked behind a forgotten somewhere,
a spanish guitar left behind somewhere,
an austrian crystal necklace of tiny glass shells & flowers - the first spurge in a new town,
a picture my mother embroidered, over 50 years ago now, of a deer with a fawn, forgotten in a corner of a severed family branch ...
somewhere
is tucked a painting of dragons & orbs ... still in it's thin black frame ...
"I keep your picture
Up on the wall
It hides the messy stain
That's lying there
So don't you ask me to give it back ..."
well, I digress and you're beginning to get the picture. ( pun intended ...)
just recently I realized a green tufted footstool of my grandfathers is missing ... not where it has been.
for 8 years.
gone .
it is more than obvious to me that we leave pieces of ourselves with those we love at every coming together and at every parting
but
it is the pieces that exist there in the inorganic ... the inanimate that stun me :
the pieces of myself I have scattered to the corners & shadowlands,
into hands I know not
the piece of me that dwells somewhere I can't see
is anything truly inorganic ?
are we not everywhere ?
in tiny glass flowers, in the soft forgiveness of a quilt,
and the pastern & cannon of horses ?
tufted, missing, fragility .... found & connected .

petricor



















sometimes it's easy to abandon all musings
on
cosmic folly & rolling hills
to take up a fist of soil & work the earth thru the passing of the hours
to battle amongst those who can look sky ward and see no stars
see no force there
but blue
to rumble along ignorant of ardor & fascination & truth
merely to delude oneself into thinking that this is how it should be;
hard work and sleep make up the days 
habit follows habit follows habit 
follows
into the yellow chalk-outlined box of tomorrow
until 
something slips,
something tilts ....
into a particle of possibility
perhaps it is a smell on the wind
a song on the radio while strolling thru the frozen foods looking for 
bright green peas and razberries
something awakens in the pit of your chest
the bone of your thighs


the spaces in your heart 
the burn stirs
and you hope and want and yearn and breathe
in
him .
.... and 

all events and passions and senses
collide to entice you to rattle the bars of your cage
to stomp and shout and
mark your scent upon the piece of 
sky & earth
that calls you
home