Saturday, April 30, 2016

Day Thirty: Le vase brisé

The broken vase 

The vase where these verbena die 
from the softest blow to crack 
the stroke but a whisper of a brush 
no sound no revealing 
but a slight wound crept 
small crystal death of this day 
a slow marching line 
made always heavy this path
how her cream drips out 
of ancient flowers drained 
if you should doubt 
do not touch, it is broken 
often how the hand of my love
would softly caress my heart, that wound 
then that heart is split to all 
the flower of my love's departing 
always my eyes will see the world 
how it grows and weeps with sorrow 
this wound so precise and deep 
do not touch, it is broken 

Le vase brisé   by   
Sully Prudhomme

Le vase où meurt cette vervaine
D'un coup d'éventail fut fêlé ;
Le coup dut effleurer à peine,
Aucun bruit ne l'a révélé.

Mais la plus légère meurtrissure,
Mordant le cristal chaque jour,
D'une marche invisible et sûre
En a fait lentement le tour.

Son eau fraîche a fui goutte à goutte,
Le suc des fleurs s'est épuisé ;
Personne encore ne s'en doute,
N'y touchez pas, il est brisé.

Souvent aussi la main qu'on aime,
Effleurant le coeur, le meurtrit ;
Puis le coeur se fend de lui-même,
La fleur de son amour périt ;

Toujours intact aux yeux du monde,
Il sent croître et pleurer tout bas
Sa blessure fine et profonde ;
Il est brisé, n'y touchez pas.

Friday, April 29, 2016

Day 29: remember

I remember waking from a dream of you--removed-shaken--you clung to me the remainder of the day as a thistle tucked alongside my Vena Cava
(strangely unsettling and comforting that was)
I remember eating cherry pie in my grandmother's kitchen as the evening light trickled onto the yellow formica tabletop--shimmering the cherries to gold
I remember the pain that removed me from my body
I remember writing poetry on a bus ride from Denver to Spearfish--patterns of moonlight on blue snow
I remember the stolen delight each time I would sneak into my mother's room and look into her wardrobe--neatly folded lingerie, sweaters smelling of Tabu--a woman's things
(how distant that time felt--foreign & mysterious)
I remember the first time he kissed me--the fit of his lips--the linear steel of his body against my own fragility
(the immediate undeniable familiarity of this home)
I remember the smell of fresh cut grass and the press of him upon me with stars above and voices hollering our names on a summer night thick with fireflies & surrender
I remember the god-damn time that black Shetland pony bite me
I remember hunting for leaves down a treelined country road with my mother--I was five
I remember how otherworldly cold you were--that last night in your hospital room when I lay next to you watching ER--I tucked your legs in as I left. You were ice. You died the next morning. How easy that grief still rises--a swirling mass of fine-grained magma
I remember dreams of pursuit & captivity--skyscrapers, gray skies, the hollowness of displacement
I remember joy bursting thru every molecule of my being when the wait was over
I remember walks around the park with my grandfather--we spoke to one another without words
I remember losing myself to numbness, inattention
I remember forgetting
I remember remembering the vastness of my mind as I woke to my tattered & aged self
I remember the crimson thread of time--nonlinear quantum glass plains
I remember you & him & moments steeped in the azure violet hues of this day
This day--I remember

Thursday, April 28, 2016


It is sometimes hard for me to not be Overwhelmed ....
Overwhelmed by a kaleidoscope of sensations not entirely of this world, by unseen energies and colors that collide with my heart and seep into every particle of my being.
On April 19th, I was lucky enough to catch Mumford & Son in Omaha.
A rollicking, wild high-energy time was had by all: straight-up-standing-up-all-the-fucking-time-dancing ... words to every song known and chanted by this mostly hipster audience numbering 18,000+
And i thought, what GODS are these?
No mere mortals harbor our souls & lift voices in unison so ... only gods can bring us to our feet to dance & sing with such full abandon and soul. Only Gods ,,,

And then Prince died.

Two days later at the age of 57.
Prince Rogers Nelson was merely 4 days younger than me, born in my father's birthplace of Minnesota. Facts & stats.
I'm not telling you anything you don't already know by now, even if you were not a fan prior to his death, we all have now been vaccinated with our purple-paisley serum.
Prince has become our international object of mourning--Purple has been declared his for all time, (though i do believe it is more about the paisley)
Everyone has something to say, something to write and i love listening to the voices of my writer & non-writer friends lament and expostulate. However, do not lay claim to his music, his artistic talent for your own generation -- Oh, No, no no! He belongs to no one .... and everyone.
No one and Everyone.
Prince was a God of genuine transformation--reaching into our bedrooms nearly 30 years ago--reaching deep, deep into the caverns of our true selves and waking us to that true self - nudging open our sexuality, waking us to our yearnings. He raised high the box of crayons and spilled them upon the floor--every color had a note, a tone, a rift and crescendo ... arranged and gathered up in patterns that lit our fierce souls on fire and quieted our discontent. In his lyrics, in his unexpected melodies;
we heard the cry of sirens ancient and forgotten, we heard and felt moved beyond mere notes on a page ,,, it was cursive to our kindergarten scribble ... and he called forth a response from our true selves with truth-creations of our own; words, music, fashion, feeling ... being.
And sometimes,
we just danced.
I felt, as a white girl from the plains of Nebraska, as if Prince were my very own secret discovery ...
No one else ventured here ,,,, no one knew what i knew ,,,,
I was singular in my passion and moved beyond the interests of my peers to hear things differently ... to look past the expected and step into the purple rain.
This. Factually untrue, but i believed it so.
The pursuits of my youth were cupped within his songs; each dance, each fuck, each romantic entanglement, each loss .... doves cried.
I have my list of favorites from James Taylor, The Beatles to Springsteen ... Prince didn't ever make that cut, that list, because he was something not-of-the-rest, he stood apart -- a God.
Someone who would always be there to outline the year, the decade, the emotion.
He was always supposed to be there; heralding in a new age, a new twist of perspective and a new rising of that thing-that-happened-in-ones-chest-when-listening-to-a-new-Prince-song-for-the-first time ,,,, that Rising.
Prince Rogers Nelson died on April 21st 2016.
I cry every day in some small, quiet way for his passing--this passing -- this sadness that so Overwhelms. But with that sorrow has come a vow -- to find and polish that genuine true-self that so long ago danced alone in her bedroom to Little Red Corvette.
Danced alone, and knew how to live and how to shine unapologetically.

Go forth and Overwhelm you Crazy Human!!
Time is short, Music lies everywhere ,,,
Go forth be Overwhelmed every-every single day by all you can gather to your soul ,,,,,
Be Overwhelmed with this Thing called Life.
Let's Get Crazy.

Day Twenty-Six: slipping

IF there comes a day when i do not remember you, please write me of adventures we did not take:
places where we held hands but never graced, sunsets we licked the last crimson from
lakes we swam in 'til the day was done--moon hung
tell me of stories we whispered from cozy nests, tucked alongside mountain summits--forests thick
recount our days walking river's edge as brine and earth fill senses brim
resplendent sensations trick--every detail's trick creates for me a life paintbox deep
have me remember foreign shores where we traced the steps of ancestors fiercely bold
fill my mind with vellum pages richer than the life i lead--filled with you and true love's bleed
point out the constellations we've traveled to--across the vast indigo blue
i can not imagine this day will come when your face is distant and unfamiliar to me
but if that should happen by crook, by trick or by unraveled mind please take your hand and place it in mine

Day Twenty-Eight: tamed

to call no more
nor say my name
at river's shore
to fold moon's flame
as a blanket for our heads
untangle darkness' thread
pierce the finger
your effort vain
i'm sorry
the goldfinch sings
to be the one who wears your ring
keeping love quiet--tart
love falls apart
while all the time
who holds your heart?
so be the one
my soul--it searches for balm's claim
bones ache with grace and pain
wings tire of this tattered life
wings itch for full flight
and i carried on
learned my part
from dusk to dawn
do you ever think you are enough?
do you ever bend or give enough?
without a fuss
than what you could be
asked for no more
painted the walls
hollowed the core
i smoothed the edges
devoid of touch and the girl i knew
i built myself anew for you
no laughter weighing down hearts try
no lie
no form
no circus tents
no fortunes told
tightrope's torment
no ebullient dancing ponies here
just fear
removed all trace of love's combat
trimmed the fat
cut my hair
dipped in remonstration
sugar-rimmed intoxication
the cost of you

Tuesday, April 26, 2016

Day twenty-six: Tor:Con 5

We wait for storms brewing off to our west
Roll on Thunder, in Rain do we Rise!

The breeze is gentle as sparrows call to sky
Roll on Thunder, in Rain do we Rise!

Clouds stack against the Blue, Thick and Blest
Roll on Thunder, in Rain do we Rise!

Of Blue Jay, Mornings and Cabbage Butterfly
Roll on Thunder, in Rain do we Rise!

Breeze morphs to Gale as Gray steals Skies
Roll on Thunder, in Rain do we Rise!

Shifts in the Spectrum of Color and Light
Roll on Thunder, in Rain do we Rise!

Gray Darkens this Morning--Coolness comes Bold
Roll on Thunder, in Rain do we Rise!

Birds still their Song to Somber Quiet Flight
Roll on Thunder, in Rain do we Rise!

Of Weather and Welter on Prairies Vast Gold
Roll on Thunder, in Rain do we Rise!

The Budding of Leaves on Spring's Waking Sighs
Roll on Thunder, in Rain do we Rise!
The Coming of Chaos--Storm's Enterprise
Roll on Thunder, in Rain do we Rise!

Monday, April 25, 2016

Day 24: amuse

harpy scrondrel
resplendant in evergreen
bewildered tempests thrusts
to pandemic trinkets
to cherish
to adore
from gamin's lore
oh baffled candle bright!

Day 25: at the edge of the hole

"nothing between me and the white fire of stars"
from this height--this day's debris field
thick as marrow lies
exposed from shovel's bite
this refracted light
of Mercury and Mars

better to acknowledge the hole
the narrow line between darkness
and sighs
stars align with bone cold North
to wrap intention's truth
in love's velvet toll

heavy the verdant weight and shadow
knowing the tale's end of things
without the lace-crown prize
rest here well you noble thieves!
rest here amoungst Spring's glory
all bound in honeysuckl'd willow

of what and who is mine and ours:
this place where i sit
molded, formed of red clay--sighs
resolved, resolute and wise
stars at play in catch/release
this fairy tale spun and told
nothing between me and the white fire of stars

Saturday, April 23, 2016

Day 23: Sonnet MCMLVIII

Of Gods are born the crystalline harbored sighs
Chants joyous raised upon feathered lips
Nobly wild we dance to one who never dies
Eternal suns and moons play at love's mortal eclipse
Daring fragilities opal ego trips
To one Purple shade we bend--we pray
Might this foreshadow some divine apocalypse?
A pulling, a calling to the vast blue sky?
Yet, how we waken here--how open become our eyes
Now in truth we recognize one of fey
To know the wild rhyme, to understand the why
A God of tempest's symphony in a rasberry beret
How can magic ever reappear and restore?
This dark, metamorphic age pressed on Earth's orb
This world of Sorrow and Love we must now Absorb

Friday, April 22, 2016

Day 22: Still the Brisk Sparrow Song

Senses alight to the once-removed sting of Winter's cut 
   Memories flood 
Wrapping bone to the black & white images of 1968
Smelling of gingersnaps & tasting of pink pistachio nuts
Held in my father's hands Irish-pale tinged bourbon-late 
   Stilled of tempest & storm in the wee after-hours of a 
      Borealis glow   
Held in that 
   Timeless arcane present glow of ticking clocks       
Dream breathing contained and measured          
   Tick tocking tick tock comes the snow ….
Ivory-taupe curtains part to curtains of crystals ice clear 
These moments captured, held and treasured  
  Oh Child! 
Sleep with Summer rain & the green of Spring growing 
      Oh Earth! 
Pause in night's space and hold to precious hope 
         Oh Love!  
               You will find me cobalt knowing
Pressed against a star 323 light years from the Sun 
   As seen thru a Celestron Telescope 
  On the first Saturday after the Winter Solstice      
       Find me, drenched in tiger's milk          
Wearing tangerine & ruby silk             
Ah!  How the Taurus moon transports thru 
   These walls to palace-pleasure
     To serve an ivory draught of sanity's mindful measure 
       Beginning's taupe  
Black & white become varied to the gray    
   Gray becomes the night as glow becomes the heart       
      Beat beating to the swirl of ice, glass, rye & whey
Why in such a kaleidoscope must we so soon depart?      
   Age & memory lie upon the pale hands beholden    
Silent child knows no demons on her tongue to sing
Sorrow & Mirth; sisters, knitting under moon-glow   
   As love lies waking ever-golden       
Art, beauty, music define 
   The deep amber spectrum sting          
How do we come to measure the lives we know?
Of darkest blue-indigo night, hearts beat & dwell    
   To tell of stories that rest in Willoughby's tomb
Holding onto secrets and stories under carnelian's spell
         Oh what wonders will there be to bloom?    
Tender are nights where all sleeps but one 
  One whose magic weaves between worlds of 
     Glow & Gray
One whose pale Irish hand 
   Knows how to steady the light    
Tender are the dawns of Cherry Blossom Sun       
Tuck me in and hold me tightly sweet to this day          
   Wake me to Sun & Snow bright 
      Spring dances in dreams on this night   
         Smelling of pine & blue-vanilla skies       
Tasting of malt, ginger & dream-flights         
As Summer waits steady and sure in myth's sugar sighs
   Rest a bit still, as pink becomes day
Rest in warm sureness and think of Springs clover
   Greet the day Oh Child Wise!
We are the Northern Lights
To the Sun, to Love we move ever closer ….  

Wednesday, April 20, 2016

Day Twenty: sky-faller



rain, rain go away
come again another day
days-gray .....

Tuesday, April 19, 2016


kiting fleeting spark
poised in the tree outside at two o'clock
aubergine drops from Jupiter
enveloping in seductions tangled expectations
perhaps i missed the coming of age
the coming of rage
delight mined from silver lips
ready for your tongue
ready for words unfiltered
and poured from the gods ....
presence pierces bones & light
this two o'clock gray pressing light
kiss me 

Day Nineteen: {how to} listen to birds in the morning

{how to} listen to birds in the morning
requires golden {pause} stilling
to the cirrus circling chaos
< sorrow's quaking fire
to root & nebula's core
lift up
to heaven's fog & blue
wait     for     it ....
the birdchatter of dawn
dew-gleaning green
close eyes softly
there ...
blue jays, cardinals, finches all
robins spring call
to our opening
stay where you are ...
be the sky

Sunday, April 17, 2016

Day Seventeen: parselene

abell clusters flickering
reflect moonlight's whispering
grism quarks spin casting within
cirrus cloud crystals
carbon flash mistrals
bound to the latitude
scatter elipse at absorptions edge
the taste of your fermion
your hadron rima
Valhalla's nebula
oh how backscattered the afterglow!
Achilles calypso
starquake shimmering
to the tidal friction
of your

Thursday, April 14, 2016

Day Fourteen: Divination

Now the wind has stilled, rain is coming...
Soon the coppery lifting of petrichors rise
Thunder vanquishes winter to April magic
Penisive green budded things thrumming
Wind stilled soothes the old maple's thighs
Morning shifts light to the glow of a gray-opal spring
Diffuse clouds take hostage thunders havoc
Waiting for nature's vast show this morning brings

Wednesday, April 13, 2016

Day Thirteen: fortune cookie

this too is part of what is going on right now

blue ink
blue jay
blue-alice sky
unmistaken candy talisman
revealed in
blue ink
blue jay
blue-alice sky
vast & possible
as i was
blue-swallowtail morning
at last

Tuesday, April 12, 2016

Day Twelve: Index of Ten O'Clock Morning; Sunny & Indulgent (an index poem)

Abstract, more aligned to reality than we understand or will admit may be thoughts
Apples, while walking through the forest we came upon a meadow of watercolor 

Blankets, she beckoned across the vast field of zinnias and forgotten 

Cadence, when writing you I fall into silent 
C-words, finding such tactile and implicit innuendo in every 

Decidedly, how can one take a flight of stone steps to the unknown so 

Ephemeral, the times between our interactions are long but seem 
Eros, of stars and light rise 

Flight, transfixed upon the rock he stood staring at the pelicans ready to take 

Gambol, watching the two 

Hidden, nothing is as sacred as that which is for the moment 
Hijacked, someone pulled up the circus tent--high wires and crows

Iridescent, and, their bodies lay in a spot of sunlight 

Jambalaya, childhood rests brewed and bothered until it boils up 

Keep, a, silently and sacredly we seal up our dreams as though locked within 

Lips, tongues dance within our 

Mystery, we soar as others fail to fly remains a dark

Nonsense, of cupcake rabbit holes these words morph to 

Opossums, she holds a remarkable fondness for 

Pearl, every human form becomes upon this blue rock a fierce but fragile 

Queer, pressing my body against your wall naked and intent feels suddenly 

Root, where home no longer serves as our 

Sacred, licorice and peppermint tea served alongside double-stuffed oreos becomes 
Scarlet, dreams exist against the fibers of the ordinary moments painted 

Texture, smooth to rough shines 

Uncovered, sunlight catches us 

Violet, transcendent and together we are 

Wildly, thunderstorms nourish the longing tempered
Wings, improbable construction these things of feathered 

Xyris difformis, yellowed-eyed grass found on bogs and pond shores is 

Yesterday, of such intangible forgotten hours waits

Zinnias, with proper care magnificently bright will grow the western sunflowes 

Monday, April 11, 2016

Day Eleven: cathartes aura

every night
large dark birds begin their sky-dance
thick bizarre numbers
swirling concentric formations
these buzzards glide
in search of ... carrion? chaos?
not ceasing
'til darkness comes ....
for our spent hours

Sunday, April 10, 2016

Day Ten: from the shelf

on the road
higgelity piggelity pop!
South, North, East & West
life is a verb
Finnegan Wake
At Hell's gate
Still Life With Woodpecker
Blackberry Hollow
This Explains Everything
The Road Home 

Saturday, April 9, 2016

Day 9: drive all blames into one

"today, i would wed you"
unusual--boldly wild that comes
the blow of it--
blame rests with the wind;
blustering so fierce
relentless pressing of grass & grasping
blame might lie on the abundance of flowers;
sun-bright punch-drunk tulips
daffodils lemon-blonde
hyacinth noble & heavy
of karma's sentence
(those fucking uptight
passing my hand across the surface of things
texture & temperature
allow the release
allow the leap
easy--to lay the crime on things
easy to surrender to the bliss of the thing
for one x one moment--

more than likely
it is the wind

Friday, April 8, 2016

Day Eight: The Tale of the Amethyst-Blossom Spring

there is a shrub that grows
thirty feet from my door
across a narrow street
its pearly psychedelic purple hue bursting
redolent and refined
a portal to another time
somehow out-of-place
amongst waking ferns
and concrete
it beckons with shadows dark
light defined by goldfinches
and blue jay's riches
unknown its species--its name
thirty feet from my door
no less no  more
to discover where it goes
becomes my secret
becomes the story
rhododendron bursting

Wednesday, April 6, 2016

Day Six: Fragaria vesca

the first time comes back
transported in bursts of pointed captured memory
wind bold unrelenting flash;
first whiff--fragrant wildness
first touch--sticky promise
dimpled berry
wee yellow seed-dots defining opal evermore
summer's portal to childhood divinity
and savor
the Sun 

Day Five: Hopi Pink Flour Corn

...of dark amaranth gems
polished by prairie winds
and neglect
forgotten in the back of a dresser
made by my grandfather in 1924...
what silk comes from loss?
nourishment pulled from sun
tucked and turned
to tendered earth
to rise
cerise sweetness