Sunday, January 31, 2010

Endeavors -- Poetry 2010

What a great day, I'm going to make it
the start of a good week and keep it rolling.
Although I’m contemplating being cryptic…
I need to enhance my artistic mystique.
Throw in some serendipity…
OK, I am seeking, make that, I need the phenomenon
of finding valuable things not sought for.
Do I throw a super-duper extra irrational tantrum
to the Universe – a shout out for recognition?
There is no better gift than this gift of a skill;
I have that artistic bent, I am following my passion.
I had spent my days lost in fragments of memory;
During collage years my creativity surged but slowly
crumpled to gift making or props and scenery for dance
recitals and school plays. That filled a need but a hunger
to produce was hidden in real difficult times in my life.
When I woke up from a lifetime of ignoring a precious
talent, I felt like I was awake for the first time… resembling
a patient recovering enough to value every second left to them.
I am finally who I was meant to be – an artist – totally myself
with a fierce insistence on being in the present…
Now to see if I can fund this dream with creative outpouring,
spiritual endeavor and never regret misplaced ability!


Saturday, January 30, 2010

Exams -- Poetry 2010

Am filled with self-doubt… It's that kind of day.
Why can't I have a day or night without that?
That little nagging voice yammering stupid things;
A hot ole' blast from the past, my ex smiling while
he said the most inane comments. Why did I listen?
Now there is this internal critic babbling - why listen?
Oh, wait, I still do but I try to forget - lost in dreams.
Maybe I would have been something you'd be good at;
Maybe you would have been something I'd be good at.
I passed up a second chance during counseling;
with gratitude and thanks, I clearly saw the real you.
A perfect example that life is full of final exams;
I wish there was a syllabus, textbook and lectures
or that I would've been given better instructions
or maybe I was already lost from the start.
How I wish this journey was graded on a curve.
In actual life, you risk sacrificing your heart.
But now I introverted myself… thrilled that Friday's
finally here, that all the deadlines have been met,
and I have the house to myself for the evening.
What do I do? Laundry, vacuum, tidy!
My life is so exciting, try not to be jealous while
the critic and I spar but I sacrifice my heart to no one.


Friday, January 29, 2010

Life Savers!

Freak sunny days in these rainy winters
are life savers. Fingers crossed…
might get another one today.
January has been warmer and drier than normal;
a relief from December’s daily inundations.
I'm actually starting to feel the love
of spring approaching so I won't complain
when the typical overcast skies return….
I couldn't get by without my Pembroke Welsh Corgis;
they make me laugh and love me just how I am…
The thing about dogs is that they're always happy to go;
my spoiled babies – in drizzle, heavy rain or fog;
gentle breeze to howling winds; chill to sultry heat
of summer, they bounce for joy whenever I’m close
to the front hall where the leashes hang by the door.
Sp’s the talker while Riley says it all with her big
brown eyes… two of the best things in my life.


Wednesday, January 27, 2010

Memories -- Poetry 2010

Full of memories this morning.
love how small the world is...
how old friends are so easily unearthed
from the most unlikely places;
I note a strange mirror image
between looking at where we are now,
how we got here, and speculating
about where we are going to reach
the buried magic lost upon reaching
adult status…
Do you remember that very playful,
interactive, imaginary place filled
with laughter? Where time seemed endless?
What is the purpose of this mental exercise
and will it succeed? That’s the left brain
talking – trying to put a damper on
play time and unnecessarily spoiling fun.
If you let go, drift back to childhood,
you feel you’re a part of this other existence…
make it come out, and you can go in and out of it,
this is actual creation of an effervescent world;
think of it as this serious world set underneath
others worlds that run parallel to one another.
You can kind of sustain your disbelief,
and still put yourself into this environment.
Based on our own reality but take everything
that we do wrong and make it right..
Keeping my fingers crossed that you’ll
want to come to play with me, renew friendship,
act silly and laugh until we cry and our sides ache.


Feelings of Loss… -- Poetry 2010

Trickled into my mind last night; haunted my evening walk
so that even the bright moon seemed flat and stars dim;
Striding on the verge of tears; shivering with a fever of longing;
Wincing, I produced a gasp of discomfort in the darkness.
As in times past, nothing specific triggered the quick descent
that sank buoyed spirits to an emotional ache mindset.
I wasn’t even thinking about my negative pull down menu:
alone, lost friends, lack of relationship, past decisions,
feeling out of place in an odd limbo of wrong time and sequence.
Some fissure allowed what I stuff out of mind and sight
to escape stinging and burning – lemon juice to an old wound.
Others when hitting this wall of pain – I know it’s not just me –
Run to their doctors for mood altering drugs, or self medicate
with alcohol, street drugs… some rely on family, extended
family, friends, religion, consoling. I turn to right brain activity;
get myself lost in creation to smooth the wrinkles away.


Monday, January 25, 2010

Inner Travels -- Poetry 2010

When beginning
grasp the elements
feelings and memories
reveal the soul’s inner working.
along the way
unconscious inner eye/thought merge
to face the puzzling and dark channels.
results are often unpredictable;
each new endeavor explores
the hidden pathways of mind.
take on one or many twisty trails;
attempt to find the hidden gems
that hide elusively in the shadows.
long-suppressed inspiration,
treasure depths of psyche…
there are bumps along the way.
journey reaches its darkest
and most difficult point…
just out of reach
a torchlight reveals new images
along these translated passages:
propel onto a completely new course
or come to an abrupt finish.
work shifts and unfolds
together to create fresh
needs to communicate;
discoveries stem from inner strength
preparation resilience
perseverance to the end.


Beyond -- Poetry 2010

In out of the light
an expansive Universe
of my own making…
wobbling on a flexible axis,
I lean toward the night
away from the bright sunlight .
I prefer keeping to the shadows;
I prefer to observe;
I prefer to blend in totally inconspicuous.
I circle through my space –
tidying, reorganizing, creating –
ageless timeless
beyond the blue skies
beyond stars and moon
beyond the wind and water
beyond earth and fire
my world, my soul, my spirit
bound by my own manifestation
bound by my own choices
bound by my own threads
from form to form
attached – unattached
whole and free


Sunday, January 24, 2010

Excursions -- Poetry 2010

Washed in moonlight, I smile…
Since last May these night excursions
through dark, fog, wind, rain, clear sky
or moon phase follow a predestined route.
Pockets full of plastic bags for dogie
offerings - my least favorite part – I enjoy
late night retrospection between scooping;
Plastic bag swinging against the fast pace,
we log in yet another near silent mile.
Weather adds dimension and depth
to the Moon, Orion’s Belt, Big Dipper, Seven
Sisters, and Polaris seasonal position shifts.
The consistency is soothing; the night sky…
The one constant in my life; the night sky
viewed from depth of the Grand Canyon,
the height of Mount Monadnock; a Hermit
Island beach or Cape Cod shoreline –
whether by water or land; with family,
friends or alone, the silver white light
will draw me out into the night season by season,
year after year until my eyes grow dim, my steps
falter and my life time journey is completed.



Half moon rides a clear midnight sky;
The dogs pull at leashes impatient
for movement; traversing dark asphalt,
a flash of copper catches my eye.
Stooping to inspect the source reveals
a penny winking moonbeam semaphore
trapped in tar signaling an SOS.
The dogs sniff my fingers as I try to pry
it free… Lincoln face down, a spender
not good luck. In either case, the coin
abandoned from purse or pocket remains
until summer heat softens the pavement
and sun rays flash its call to be set free.


Friday, January 22, 2010


Once you have lost everything, you are free to do anything...
I want to be free but do I have to loose everything again?
How many times can you start over before being too worn down?
Life’s grit scrubs away layers of hope, grace, and sensitivity;
At times throwing you into a total survival mode just clawing
to stay above the flood of events cascading around every corner.
Under duress, barely sane, that core of creativity saves me.
Whatever the problem to be resolved, if I can lodge myself in right
brain – switch off the analytical harangue that screams and screams –
I turn down the panic thinking, release stress and answers prevail.
I think artists are the prophets and prophetesses of the world.
Why? because we weave stories and magic through what is created;
Through peril, recession, natural disasters, pandemics, wars…
Artists give hope and beauty to the world. At least I'd like to think so!


Caffeine and Gray Skies -- Poetry 2010

Measured out this week with coffee spoons…
Today’s surprise sunshine and clear skies.
Mocha + sunshine = temporary relief from leaden
gray grumpiness brought on by seasonal rain storms -
but it's cloudy here again. Oh fleeting endorphins,
and worse the caffeine effects have mostly worn off....
the next storm has thrown a cloud quilt over the sky;
the sun, stars and crescent moon are tucked in tight.
The rains will begin during the night disturbing sleep;
wind driven, the drops loudly slap surfaces; rivulets
of damp and chill easily slip and slide into my dreams.
Tomorrow I’ll try Chai + chocolate croissant recipe
to encourage the wild rumpus to begin… a dance
to find the sunshine hiding behind dismal layers;
I’ll promenade and sashay to make the light last longer;
Maybe a cancan will kick those clouds to smithereens.
If I can survive two more months, I will be surrounded
by new leaves, flowering decorative trees, birds raucous
singing to welcome new memories of present mornings.


Night Owls

Morning… unwilling to relinquish hard won sleep,
I linger shifting between drowsy and almost awake –
In and out of consciousness, I wander through dreams
or restlessness as daylight attacks my heavy curtains.
I’ve turned… night owl:
Focused on art work until early morning hours;
Walking the dogs at midnight briskly in pursuit of thought;
Returning to finish a project or even begin a new one;
And finally with regret falling into fitful sleep.
Other women my age complain of the same thing
although their late night excursions are with books
or eyes glazing over a television or computer screen.
Returning from walking the dogs, I pass their houses
ablaze with lights in our small cull De sac …
I should call them out; we could dance in the rain
or with moonbeams under starry indigo skies;
Have midnight tea parties; tell life stories until
the stars fade and first light kisses the earth
but I remain, like them, alone within a small house,
my lights slinking outside to illuminate the darkness.


Thursday, January 21, 2010

Yesterday and Today -- Poetry 2010

Yesterday there was a hummingbird on rosemary flowers...
today a bee! Air currents from California have brought
unusual warmth to mid January in the Pacific Northwest.
While they get saturated with our rain, the clear skies
bring cool evenings but delicious days – a preliminary spring.
The honey bee was working over an early flowering shrub;
saddled on its legs hung big panniers of white pollen.
The sun came out; the sweet box blossoms perfumed the yard;
the birds were going nuts... I guess it will be winter again tomorrow.



If I stood before you…
I could not hide behind misconceptions;
Your steady gaze requires naked honesty.
I would find it difficult to make eye contact;
I am trying to correct that disconcerting habit
that has plagued me during this lifetime.
My glance would dance to and from your eyes;
with patience, you would wait out my discomfort.
At this age, I seek truth in myself and dislodge
the crumbs of denial that keep me trapped
in a fa├žade woven from erroneous beliefs.
Crumbling the stale thoughts and relinquishing
daydreams for honest interaction is painful.
Its so much easier to hide introverted – alone
with wishes but no skills to reach out…
I stand before you…
recognizing who I am, how life has shaped me,
where I want to go and what I want to do…
my life’s harvest is visible to your eyes.

Based on this quote “I seek truth in myself and
my harvest is something I do not need to hide
behind as I stand before you.”

Monday, January 18, 2010

Unkind -- Poetry 2010

Luckily John’s short term memory
erases my occasional short words…
worry about getting by, worry about
his future, worry how to protect him;
He seems normal to me and I forget
how easily he gets confused due
to the grievous extent of past injury.
His quick sense of humor overrides
the limp, cane, and uneven gait.
How unkind to allow my frustration to erupt…
My son is kind and patient and hides
depression well since limitations
invaded his life; where they remain
proverbial thorns with daily discomfort.

Amoeboid Gemstones -- Poetry 2010

Wishing I could spend all my time reading;
I don’t know what to do with myself…
reluctantly crouched at the starting line
needing a heart transplant; this one is broken
and throbbin'. Metaphorically, you left me
on the side of the street bleeding profusely.
Granted it was so long ago, past history…
It's a phase, like the moon; one fades in and out
of this buried world; the emotional pain deeply
suppressed comes and goes periodically.
Blessedly my definition of "civilized"
is evolving once again. It's never too late
to have a happy childhood but the second one
is up to me and no one else can tell me otherwise.
I believe in intuition, being in the moment
when you listen and follow… although
following insight sometimes feels as if this sense
can keep splitting and splitting into more choices.
Before the end of mundane reminiscence, I head
outside; abruptly leaving the computer for the glowing
orb that hasn't been seen for months – typical
of a Pacific Northwest winter – gray introspection.


Puddles -- Poetry 2010

It was a nice midnight dog walk –
no stars but then no pouring rain either
and lots of puddles to stomp in!!!!
When did you last jump into a puddle?
The dogs waggle through every one
so I decided to join their sloshing.
Not unlike when I was in elementary
school walking home; I deliberately
and carefully walked in the drainage ditch
by stepping on the bigger stones.
Trying to avoid a lecture from mom,
I ran in the back door so she wouldn’t
notice the wet marks on my shoes…
hydroplaning on the red rubber soles,
I slide across the polished linoleum floor
crashing underneath a chair into the wall.
Winded, I remained prone listening
to her laughing; after all this was once
the girl that swung birches during recess…
that’s when you climb high up in a supple
birch - hanging off the tip, the tree
bends down to the ground; except
for the time, she picked too sturdy a birch…
everyone ran in with the bell leaving
her stranded in the biggest tree in the clump.
I haven’t had the urge to swing a Birch;
puddle stomping is what I’ll stick to.


Friday, January 15, 2010


Considering most people can’t figure
out how to live with grace – its apparent –
no one prepares for their demise either.
And how does one even prepare for death?
Thinking how quickly the end can come,
what have you left on your list?
Not the proverbial “bucket list” of things
you wanted to do before you die…
More the undoing of past mistakes;
you know those things you regret
the moment after they happen.
Think of all the unsaid, un-repaired,
and unfinished words, hurts, or deeds
left in limbo when death occurs.
Scattered in the wake of your departure,
floats a dearth of unkind moments, harsh
retorts, misguided connections that remain
emotionally stuck in mind for the receiver…
even if your list isn’t as long as the TV
character Earl’s is – there just might be
something to working out the Karma.


Crow Observations -- Poetry 2010

Murder after murder of crows beat
across the slate sky to roost.
I don’t ever recall seeing them stream
through morning skies with raucous
daybreak calls … black against
descending evening; skimming
low; feathers repelling the rain;
they caw encouragement to one another.
Beat and glide, beat and glide…
Wet wings pumping them forward
through the deepening gloom.
Waiting out the cold damp night;
clustering tightly together until
first light disassembles the rookery
to scour for scavenged nourishment.


Buds -- Poetry 2010

Mid January – short light days –
Low temperatures through the night…
Deciduous trees already budded up;
Silver sky, rain and fog – a haze
of color floats around branch tips.
Dim light casts an eerie emerald green
or iridescent green gray on trunks
and branches where moss and lichens
explode into being; life returns in bits
and pieces despite the dark winter days…
Natural or man made disturbance
to terra firma does not diminish
the primitive urge to grow and thrive.


Wednesday, January 13, 2010

Weatherman -- Poetry 2010

Fog... almost muggy after today’s rains,
I feel like a weatherman reporting current
conditions before a blue screen local map
instead of noting these observations in poetry.
Daylight doesn’t interest me as much as
the descent of twilight, evening and midnight.
The monthly moon cycle, weather patterns,
change of seasons are mentally recorded
during nightly walks with my two Corgis.
They on the other hand, would tell tales
from impute of various scents lifted off the air
or sniffed from the ground we traipse across.
Things I‘ll never be able to discern that fill their
dreams with muscle twitches of the chase
while mine are filled night skies and weather.


Madam Queen -- Poetry 2010

My mother used to call me Madam Queen…
She was going to name me Elizabeth, her middle
name and a reference to the Queen of England.
Thinking that it might be difficult to spell, she
named me Ellen – a derivative of Elizabeth –
which was the name of her favorite niece.
Wonder what actions and attitudes gained me
that childhood nickname; maybe I can rummage
around in memory to find that part that has gone
into hiding… “she who must be obeyed”
might be in order with people to fetch and carry;
a simple nod to send then scurrying at my bidding.
If mom was alive, I’d ask her what precluded
her assigning that grand title to petite me…
I am the total opposite of condescending
or demanding nature; I serve in my domain
not over it; I fetch and carry to complete
household chores and yard maintenance…
Painfully shy then and still to this day, when
out in public I retreat or become a class clown…
so perhaps it was a desire to have things done
perfectly to have control in an imperfect world.
Safe with my mom, I kept order around me.


Wild Places -- Poetry 2010

I find wilderness in bits and pieces:
Wonders of nature in a prism drop of rain
suspended from a branch tip or pine needle;
Wind surging through the Evergreens producing
variable sound dependent on force or strong gust;
Gazing at stars and moon against night sky’s
shade of blue black; seeing the pink haze of spring
buds on trees while driving to the grocery store.
I must keep wild places in my heart to feel whole.
Even minuscule backyard observations… an ant
carrying a crumb; a spider’s egg hatching a hundred
miracles the size of a pin head; a hawk being
hassled by a flock of crows; call of the geese
and the cry of a hawk fill my mind and soul.


Monday, January 11, 2010

Wonder -- Poetry 2010

Sometimes I wonder if its selfishness
rather than fear that keeps me alone
without a relationship or even close friends.
Introspective, introverted, invigorated
I value the time I have left. In the past,
I let life get in the way of creating art…
I have to make up for this lost time.
In the past are wasted hours reading
or being numbed by TV sitcoms;
Loosing myself in the safe world of fictional
characters in print or media…
stress stupefied and imprisoned my mind
into a sustaining quagmire;
now seems a fruitless waste - input dulled
my imagination to mediocrity.
I’ve taken a break from all that…
No longer pondering why events happen –
Maturity of “stuff happens”
That simple thought – totally not profound –
Finally sank in and released something –
turned a knob to acceptance;
no excessive lingering over learning experiences.
Here I am reorganized and ready to ponder…
my next creation and how to express myself
more fully in tangible space, direction, and form.


A Person’s Rubbish -- Poetry 2010

Rubbish to rubbish… trash to trash –
Treasure to discards – no monetary worth:
Odd letters, notes, cards, with parental
or other deceased family members handwriting –
that sentimental pile of photos, yearbooks and report cards;
All that weird stuff in the “junk” drawer… as soon as you toss
it you remember what it was from and resolve to label things;
Kitchen utensils, baking dishes – rarely used but taking up space;
And all the art supplies that flow from one room into another.
Teaching samples, extra materials, and sadly unsold art work
fill the ex-dining room, garage shelves and the bedroom studio/office.
A cleaning tear since Thanksgiving has extended into the New Year;
Has given organization to disarray; filled the recycle bin to the brim twice;
And set goals to give away more unused accumulated objects.
An energy surge speeds me through this mad cleaning and sorting.
Intuitively I know this will be a banner year – the excitement,
the magic of creativity in the form of “what if” and “why not” is back.


Tinnitus -- Poetry 2010

Seized by apprehension - about nothing apparent –
I wonder as I stir sleepless – is it telepathy?
Or a sign of living with the constant hum of civilization
buzzing in your brain – constant ringing in your ears
like how a hamster running on the squeaky wheel through
the night brings an uneasiness as every rotation
matches the digital clock blinking another minute away.
The red numbers reach across space with time;
repressed by innate discomfort of tinnitus, sleep alludes me;
beyond sound, beyond this high pitched whine
which intensifies in the quiet is the overwhelming fact:
life is going to change inexplicably forever with every breath,
with every thought, every movement, every choice until the end.


Expressionless -- Poetry 2010

Blank eye holes face the ceiling;
Black contrasted strongly against white.

A plastic expressionless face rests
on the concrete floor staring up
as I load the washer and then the dryer.
Glancing at the mask I notice -
Perfect complexion – no visible scars…
No wrinkles or sags indicative of age.
Too perfect a model to be true…
Life’s experiences have passed
and not left a trace or a hint of joy,
sorrow, anger and pain on that surface.
Blank, plain, empty, ignored, useless -

I left it where it had fallen from
a shelf onto the cold gray cement floor.


Friday, January 8, 2010

Fortunes -- Poetry 2010

Today’s form of rain: heavy mist droplets
suspended from flat gray sky; globules
of moisture cling to each surface coating
objects with a high gloss polyurethane finish.
I park my car directly under a cypress tree
although the parking lot is practically empty.
The cypress sprays collect miniscule quartz
crystal drizzle until mass and gravity combine
to shed a free falling drop to the surface below.
Not rain patter but thumps, splats, and thwacks,
assault my vehicle as a thousand fortunes
balance in crystalline ball form before smashing
onto my roof keeping their predictions to themselves.


Twenty-Four Cards to Go -- Poetry 2010

Finished six more collage Valentine cards last night…
Twenty-four more cards will complete the purchased packets.
The process fascinates me… it consists of repetitive cutting,
paper punching, and gluing hearts to substrates of card stock.
I marvel – despite using similar color, pattern or design papers –
at how each finished design becomes a true one-of-a-kind card.
Endless variations tantalize my mind; this stream of conscious
inspiration emphasizes the boundless unlimited power to create
distinct pieces using simple method, common materials and serenity.


Wednesday, January 6, 2010

Heart Meteors -- Poetry 2010

Once again shooting hearts shower my desk;
The paper punch crunches and clicks them into being.
Another day spent working on valentine cards creating
sixty more ways for someone else to say I love you.
Methodically with simplest tools – scissors and paste –
I keep to my task while the early January sunset brushes
grey herringbone clouds apricot ; meteor hearts float
through my space infused with optimistic wishes.


Tuesday, January 5, 2010

Lichen and Moss -- Poetry 2010

This prolonged Pacific Northwest rain season
with its shades of gray on gray; wet brown
to black bark; and evergreen needles in various hues
brings shimmer to all of nature and man’s objects…
that’s what gets me through these dark times –
being able to see the subtle beauty of this wet spell.
The series of winter storms vary in intensity from fine
continuous mist to roaring winds with horizontal deluge
that ultimately revives the pale lichen and emerald
green moss to catch the low light during short days.
After a dry summer, the October storms create a second
spring while the greening in December is less ambitious.
Swelling to capacity with water, lichen’s once crinkled
flattened forms expand decorating trunks, branches,
twigs, rocks – a solid land sea weed moving in air currents…
resuscitated moss coats deciduous trees, alive or fallen,
totally encasing the rough bark in a thick velvet pile.
Fog shifts the dynamic to even softer hues and tones
bringing mystery to forest, shrubs and trees in residual glow.


Cranky -- Poetry 2010

Can’t distinguish the water from the sky…
The world is a mass of even toned gray.
A good misty foggy morning to start my week;
The first “thanks-allot-dumb-ass” escapes
my lips as a driver doesn’t signal her turn.
I burst into laughter, I groan... a seven day sinus
headache is causing a major cranky attitude.
OK, I am very thankful that it hasn’t turned
into a three Kleenex box alarm cold but
its so insidious to have all the discomfort:
Chills, fever, compacted sinuses, body aches…
not bad enough to rest beneath the covers
but the low energy is slowing me down.
I’m ready to create not vegetate…
I implore the virus to do me in or go away!


Monday, January 4, 2010

Rain Jazz -- Poetry 2010

Waiting to pick up my son, the silver gray skies
unload their moisture in a free style percussion.
Incredible improvisation blends with rain’s steady patter:
Drizzle to downpour the undulations increase in intensity;
The volume changes from loud to soft; over and over
repeating in endless variations of tempo landing
and bouncing onto my car hood, windshield and roof.
Tree branches drip and overhanging gutters drop -
tapping randomly… not a repetitious accompaniment
but an unrestricted augmentation of thumps and splats.
One of nature’s fascinating musical compositions…
rain jazz flowed on uninterrupted by other sounds.


Christmas Undone -- Poetry 2010

Tucked most of the magic away until next year:
Tree ornaments are secure in their storage box;
Tree stand and candle-like-lights strings are boxed;
Silk poinsettias, candle rings, wreaths, and other
decorations have been gathered up for storage.
The living room looks so plain and uninviting.
Forlornly sitting on the curb and hitchhiking far
from the forest, the tree waits for pick up –.
Destined to be mulch, the remains will hold
in moisture and keep weeds at bay on some lawn.
I’m leaving the string of lights wrapped between
branches of the Japanese yew on the lawn; I need
to keep some sparkle in this dull gray rainy season.


Sunday, January 3, 2010

Mind Wanders -- Poetry 2010

Mind wanders as I snip, punch and glue Valentine
collages onto blank note cards to sell in shops.
I slip back to sitting at the Formica topped kitchen
table doing the same thing: sniping and gluing
Valentine Day cards to hand out in my elementary
school class… all the other kids had “store bought” ones.
Mom held the reigns tight on the household budget.
I was embarrassed by well constructed “home made” clothes;
no school hot lunches or package mixes for dinner;
all food was from scratch and most from our garden or put up
food… we even raised chickens for eggs and meat
and of course, those construction paper and pasted cards.
Do you see how I was missing the point desiring to fit in?
Their parents were in hock, they couldn’t grow a vegetable
or meat to save their lives; and their children’s clothes
weren’t hand fashioned with love in every stitch.


Saturday, January 2, 2010

Vibrant Dream -- Poetry 2010

Usually my dreams have subtle color if any…
Appearing in shades of gray, the people, objects
and settings ride the 10 point value scale.
Not last night’s dream… based in the childhood
house on Hartford Turnpike in Vernon, CT,
the dining room walls were sun-glasses-on yellow;
Just as vibrant, the kitchen floor linoleum
exploded with intense forest to grass greens.
Walking through familiar rooms the vivid colors
blazed into my mind’s eye… I marveled at how
incredibly intense the spectrum emanating from
everything: walls, floors, furniture, woodwork…
As if the energy was manifesting in rainbow
brilliance with luminescent radiating auras.
There was much discord in that house due
to my brother getting in all sorts of trouble.
My parents agonized over his behavior;
His antics cast a damper on us and added stress
waiting for the next outbreak or disclosure.
Thankfully that has faded; I remember the love
of my parents, the silly times playing board games,
gardening and putting food up for the winter.
Perhaps the dream is self fulfilling;
The final release of the problems he caused me…
a healing of mind and spirit due to time and distance.


Friday, January 1, 2010

Feverish -- Poetry 2010

Not a way to start the New Year,
dizzy, sluggish, headache, body aches…
No excessive partying in the hours before midnight
caused these symptoms to manifest like a hangover.
Just yesterday’s tickle in the throat, feeling of sinus’s stuffed,
and the need for an afternoon nap that went unheeded…
So today after a three hour rest tangled with fever
chills and sweats, I wobble about sipping juice laced
with a vitamin C packet hoping to stave off the inevitable.


Encapsulated -- Poetry 2010

Floating… bathed in mist,
I drift upwards, sideways, downward
within shifting currents of harmonies.
Muted percussion – a steady beat keeper –
engulfs the fluid melodies vibrating,
resonating, pulsing through the night.
Images slip in and out of focus;
Images slip in and out of memory.
Dreams imbued with actual hard
rain pelting on porch skylights
persist to lodge in the amber gloom.
Unfathomable drips – an oracles aura –
mythical mutations carry on till morning
brings dull light seeping into curtain cracks.


New Year's Eve Mile -- Poetry 2010

Drawn like iron filings to a magnet…
The Corgis splash through each puddle
sending ripples racing across the full moon.
The pale orb dusted with thin fast moving clouds
wavers and coalesces back to a perfect reflection.
Misty moonbeams tiptoe to earth; distant
fireworks mark midnight as we log our first
mile of 2010 on this waterlogged New Year’s Eve.


Art My Way -- Poetry 2009

I have a friend that always asks…
“Is there a way for m to ART my way out
of this?” and there always is.
The trick is to let art inhabit you;
Breathe until it breathes with you.
Create because you have to…
This compulsion, this passion,
This gift of expression is a secret
super power – mysterious and ancient.
Use everything you’ve learned to express it…
Lost in right brain activity, time passes swiftly.
Left brain twiddles thumbs impatiently waiting…
Creative burst is down time for monkey mind.
Until sitting back from production –
Awareness of a subtle shift in perception;
Creativity meditation sparked a synapse…
You’ve figured out a way to orient your path.
You’ll art in the right direction and fly as high
as a kite in summer’s breeze against azure sky.

Revised 1/1/2010

Blue Moon -- Poetry 2009

Only this New Years Eve replete with a Blue Moon,
no less, could inspire unusual resolutions…
possibly the most life altering changes of thought.
Unraveling preconceptions that have dogged
this path through life from childhood; coming
to grips with what is and perhaps why, there
is still time to resolutely follow a new course.
Life is wondrous and weird… nothing makes sense
one moment and everything falls into place the next.
Tonight for the first time in years, I feel the magic;
That serendipitous child energy of first times filled
with adventure that often deteriorates with age.
Reawakened, my spirit dances in grace adorned
with hope through midnight shades of ultramarine.