I wouldn't know. . .

( this comes from a notebook dated 9/77. . . an example of when I first started writing words down, recapping, observing & listening. . . )

How sad it must be to grow up and realize it is not important anymore :
How many marbles you have,
How bright the stars are,
What time you all are to meet to play Cowboys & Indians,
And how much it will snow. . .
What is important is how much money you have in the bank
How sad it must to grow up and realize you no longer rise
Every morning sparkly & new, to run outside
To catch butterflies & grasshoppers, play in the sunshine and
Eat flowers for breakfast
Thatnyou must rise for a job you hate with a hangover from too much,
To eat carnation breakfast squares between the backdoor and the driveway to
A car that will never be a Jaguar
How sad it must be to grow up and realize that all people are not from Atlantis
And no one lives down the alley from a graceful old lady
With a fossilized Mermaid in her basement
No,
When you grow up you have pool tables, bars & tv's in your basement
How sad it is to grow up and realize you are gown up
Of course, I wouldn't know !!!!

gemini moon

folded & feather-hollowed
still . . .
pressed & slumbered golden
awakened to the crystal of the amber surrender
rising open & poured-warm
across forgiveness & scar tissue
to
discover a warriors heart & a cinnamon quest
awake now
kneeling to the edge :
ivory-pink & needing lingering whispers of truth & fragility
and the take & give of a crimson thread knotted & held
hold & linger in the sharpness until sharpness fades to soft
pressed & open-golden
softly captive
In your hands . . .
there is no risk
there is only breath and tame presence
life & skin illuminated
by
surrender
winged & willing

portrait

. . . still that girl who gets picked last
too tall, too skinny to be good or fast
 at anything
she listens to led zeppelin & csn&y"
too much of a perfectionist
to swing the bat
to take a shot
to discover a way
to untie indigo knots
deep inside
perfection had to be instant
too blond & too weird
so much fear
knowing i had landed on the wrong fucking planet
cat stevens, heart & james taylor were my companions
all the while peering over the edge of souls canyon
playing at sex & seduction
 . . dressing up as a playboy bunny in pink lace & a fuzzy-white earmuff bra
i served kings & polar bears, little joe & yogi bear
i heard the silent desperation of the lost & terrified
wrapping my heart in thorns & glass armor
but it was there on my sleeve for all to see
silent,  everyone assumes apathy
& emptiness
ice coolness
but it is a feeling pounding & profound that trembles the earth  - paralyzing
tapped into something bigger, brighter, grand
is there ever a master plan ?
too much of everything
perfection becomes the mask, the game
and it's not about who gets picked at all
but who finally stands alone with pink lace, heart & a white earmuff bra

dreamtale

A train platform
It's cold
Early evening, antiqued & sepia
Movement, noise--a hurried pace
Movement
Left & right down, to & fro on this platform
Suddenly.... in one snapshot moment
We pass by one another
From my dreaming place it is :
Jack & Louise, Laura & Yuri
and
Yes, Bracken & Rebecca : serendipity falling
It's lightly snowing now,
Big, surreal flakes
We stop, turn & enfold
You wore a dark blue uniform
There were silver medals & it was simple but refined, elegant.
We were younger
Our arms entwine, treasuring tender hungry kisses, touching
Slowly, we walk in the direction you were heading,
People and trains,
Steam engines and bright colors,
Sounds & smells ; jarring & constant... food vendors, magazine stands,
shouts & whistles, people with dogs, birdcages ....
Findings & losings, large trunks & suitcases everywhere
Movement & cacophony
Rather hazy & no longer vital
There was this window--long & infinite above us
Aquarium-like from inside the large, ornate train station
Black & mahogany woods, glass, gold & reflections.
We paused to linger in a kiss; laughing , your eyes shining
When
suddenly
thru the window
I could see 3 young children. They continually shifted or morphed ;first 3 boys, then 2 boys and a girl, 2 girls and one wonder-eyed boy
Pressed against the glass
Their faces concerned, their clothing odd; shades of brown, yellow, beige, loose and layered with sweaters & heavy boots & stockings
I pulled away slightly & held your face
knowing I had to let you go on
without me.
Such a brief, bright respite,
That time & space of reaching home.
Hanging in that together-space, sure & rooted, all longing & desire lit & knowing
Parting - intense, private.
I was swallowed whole by your love
I held on to your hand until my steps forced us apart
Heavy snow swirled in cold & dense
swallowing everything
A train whistle sounds...

of green holes & things ,,,,

there is no sign that he was here 

no faded band of white where the ring encircled
no token

no locket or braid of silver 

( unless you count that initial carved on my upper left arm when i was 17 .....)

( but it is an indistinguishable secret )
( well, and now ....  that other thing ... ) 

no welts or bruises of indigo blue & purple-black
though, there is this bruised heaviness sometimes 

there is no box of memorabilia stashed under the bed, in the closet

or at the cedar-bottom of a drawer

no outward trace 

exactly ....

but

as you peel back the folds

of peach, pink & bone around my heart ...

you will find a blossoming infinite hole that remains

marking - defining

the sureness ...

steeped in music, words, yearning & years

smelling of honeyed-moist-earth & green growing things

you can still feel the imprint of his finger-tip tracings

that followed the path of my blood & moonlight

i've grown accustomed to that shadow weight and you can stand in it's thundered fire 

and you will know.

holes

are

loves token

a perseid august-falling . . .

at a young age, I knew that scars were
best
kept
on the outside  . . rather than on the inside
it felt peaceful & ordained somehow
to bare a badge of injury - pain
to bruise
to bleed
to ultimately form thickened stretched skin
pale across that badge
webbed & tatter-woven
inside scars suffocated - binding tight to the hollow spaces
ringing with infinite sharpness
scar me up & lay me down
etch the line morel-black & paint resplendent
to elude the phantomn pursuit
THEN, we find
love ....
and the teeter-totter balancing act begins
love is discovered under bridges
-  the balm to our scars; inside & out
ending the requirement to bleed. . .
shining during the passage
Love :
the unbridled joy-love heard in a meadowlarks song,
the love of a grandmothers hand upon your back coupled by the smell of oatmeal
as captain kangaroo ping-pongs, the smell of summer coming from your mothers skin, the presence of a father sitting for hours at the foot of your bed watching as you slowly breathe yourself to sleep under his quiet vigilance, the soft ginger prickle of a baby's just-hatched hair beneath your lips, the easy comfort of a friend & the companionable love of men , , yes, men. where laughter, glory and the sky become tamed, and the rockem-sockem ghost-love of a man with sparkling walnut eyes that asks a willing surrender, a tacit understanding and to trust it's intimate quantum-rising.
the mark it leaves, the pain endured, the story told . . .
scars ride shot-gun on the outlaw love-trail
coloring us in aqua-forgiveness under a perseid night that lights the path home
Fehu
Love is the scar-divine.

moon in virgo

radiant pulse . . .
throbbing against skin
inside-out, yes
folded
yes
travelling sideways with no map
NO MAP !!
committed to finding action in a subtle flutter
soft
sometimes the movement is weak - fractured . . stored behind a
blue door locked with the weaved-golden-wound of twilight
locked tight in the perfection of turquoise love
open & believe
believe . .
light-cast out
cast out - trailing embers of possibility, passion & connection
the fire is lit
solitude is sought
and the noise & rustling of others is clearly marked by the grey thick-crayon-outline of wait
mercury retrograde . . .
sweetest nest hold me ;
swallow-feathered with nine-inch nails & frankinsense,
first-snow & lavendar : the ruby-boxed-ribboned-memory of the smell of your skin,
the surrender found in a kiss, your kiss honey-delicate, wet & warm
turn
shift
splash & be . . .
intellectually walking in love
emotions hot - fatigued - distant
action, non-action . . . the beating pulse of summer sun in leo
i will make my home between three planets trine
swallow-feathered & waiting