Sunday, February 28, 2010

Omen --- Poetry 2010

“The disappearance of a cat
is a good omen” – not for me.
By definition an omen is a thing
or happening supposed to foretell
a future event, either good or evil…
The only thing a missing cat
foretells usually its demise
by night creatures or winged
predator as a midnight snack,
as part of the natural food chain…
so having had disappearances
of the little wee beasties, I go
with the evil connotation.
Where do you search for a cat?
Just like their wild cousins, cats
have a territory they patrol daily.
Mouser, a big black and white Tom
dragged himself home after being
hit by a car. I found him in a cellar
window well skinny as a rail…
but most of my missing kitties
{Toji Bear, OJ, Strider, Licorice}
never returned, no closure,
no farewell, just a heavy heart
at loosing a furry comrade.
Nature of the beast to roam;
Nature of caregivers to grieve…
that is the natural order.

Hopper by David Lehman
“The disappearance of a cat is a good omen,
He said when she told him that hers was missing
A week after moving into her new house.
Cats in captivity violate the natural order…”

Saturday, February 27, 2010

Compass -- Poetry 2010

I look forward to the wonders
that tonight will bestow upon me;
so much inspiration from night walks.
Spring is but a few weeks away;
Every day a few more minutes of light
formalizes something intangible
within my being…
I've become my own medicine woman
in the sense that I'm putting
these extraneous elements together
with a healing intention in my artwork.
What’s most important is the intention
of focusing with a good heart.
What’s most important is how my life
experiences in turn have driven
multiple reincarnations as an person
and changed my perspective on my art.
Powerful is the intention of the recently
excavated artist free from former tangles…
why get a compass for direction when
I’ve learned to go with my inner voice.
There is ambiguity but it makes sense...
in helping create new memories.
This a good night to work


Friday, February 26, 2010

And if We’re Not -- Poetry 2010

We're missing something; clouds have returned.
If this seems so clearly the case, we’re missing
the sun after a tease of turquoise blue skies…
after being drenched in winter’s rare sunbeams.
I picture you in the summer sun at my parent’s
cottage wondering what went wrong;
visiting the kids, you would often hang around
for a free meal rather than take them out.
In such a short time with only a few sessions
with a counselor… I was beyond falling
down on my knees asking for sympathy;
beyond begging you to stay with me;
beyond the desire to take you back.
After fourteen years of marriage…
I knew the extent of your true character;
I knew the extent of your transgressions.
Lying about situations or leaving out key
facts became common in your communication.
That pretty much captures our long-standing
dance and I was so sad about our children.
Funny how family always what's most important
That's what I was focusing on...
That’s what I always wanted…
but because you misrepresented the truth to make
yourself look good or innocent, family didn’t matter.
One does not always stay intact with a mutation
of intimacy; abusive experiences in turn had driven
me into shadow where even sunny days failed
to warm my spirit … memories began to fade;
the relationship between two people revolving
around some befuddling combination of naivety,
endearing honesty and vulnerability for me…
and you, a chameleon gifted in manipulation.
A marriage doomed from the start on a cold
winter’s day despite blue skies and sunbeams.


Dear Winter -- Poetry 2010

Dear Winter,

I need to address some issues;
Serious issues that have developed
within our relationship since our
Winter Solstice start on December 21st .
It's not me, it's you, you make me miserable.
Your gray skies, gloomy rain storms,
damp chill have worn me out, made me sad.
I have considered temporary abandonment,
a trip to sunny locations but lack the funding.
Then a recent week of bright sun, blue skies
with clear nights has brought this to a head,
I have to say… I am breaking up with you.
I think it's time I start seeing other seasons.
I don’t like rain and we have had too much.
I grew up in New England - rain belongs
as spring showers, summer thunderstorms,
and fall fog muting the sugar maple displays.
Its over heavy rain! I mean the trees
are leaning precariously around here.
One strong wind storm will send them
crashing into whatever is close to them;
The ground is so soggy, mud slides
are eminent. Thankfully it's not that cold
in the Pacific Northwest but Winter…
let's face it. We're undone by each other.
The call of tree frogs, actions of the birds
and blooming crocus and daffodils springboard
me into something else and I must discard
any thoughts of our continuance.

Best to you and well wishes,
Ellen Miffitt

Thursday, February 25, 2010

Heard - Poetry 2010

Sound is a conduit, accompanying every
observation, every life event , every second
from beginning to the end of our journey.
I have heard the call of the whales
seen them breach and dive…
heard the wild cry of geese, loons
and hawk that send shivers up my spine
plaintive calls that renew my ancient soul;
their raw beauty beyond comprehension
carried through the air from great heights.
heard the sound of first peep frogs,
first red winged blackbirds territorial song,
first thunderstorm of spring to melt the snow.
heard cricket chorus, mosquitoes buzz,
June bugs tapping on window screens
during sweltering summer nights.
heard leaves rustle and scurry before a breeze;
heard the powerful howl of nor’easter bringing
blinding blizzard conditions inland from the coast.
Similar sound instantly triggers memories…
often vivid images with emotions still attached.
I have heard a plethora of music, opera to rock
that brings solace, elevating joy or sorrow.
heard the sound of my first born baby
suckling at the breast, content and safe.
heard the sound of myself wailing,
releasing pain of daggers to my heart
from a wound like no other – betrayal.
heard the sound of my father’s
last breathes, automatic gasping,
as his body shut down organ by organ;
cradling his frame, rocking him in my arms,
I wept in releasing his transitioning spirit.


Wednesday, February 24, 2010

Dialogue -- Poetry 2010

You ever have one of those days?
You know the ones where you try to figure out
what it all means, why this or that happens…
From the moment of birth we are immersed
in both desperation and determination.
I am having one of those lives…
trying to unravel the layers with cosmic
and philosophical musings pretty much captured
when I'm a mess;
when I'm my own worst enemy;
when the ceaseless birth and death
of an internal critic fills my head
with nonsense mutterings, rants and raves…
when writhing within emotional surges of confusion,
I freeze for a bit until brush in hand I paint
or with pen to paper, I write myself clear.
Then the dialogue is between me and the materials;
I process inner visions silencing negativity.
It’s an unconventional way of doing things,
but it works for me every time…
it’s just making myself pick up the brush or pen.


Sunday, February 21, 2010

Addendum to Life -- Poetry 2010

About to embark on an extravaganza
wondering sometimes at coincidence, synchronicity,
and a strong preference for epic over ephemeral;
staring at the sunshine between contacts
and deciding on the nature of the day,
I came away with the revelation that the only
limit to life was my own imagination…
A simple streamlined philosophy:
life is happiness and fulfillment.
Ability to create is happiness;
The finished piece is fulfillment…
a repository of life experiences.
My voice is so different because
my work is really my work…
a unique serendipity of materials and vision.
Every time I'm ready to give up, I'll
come back to this addendum to my life.
Without creativity, without imagination
I am lost without connection to spirit.


Amulet -- Poetry 2010

With night falling I recall
fighting back panic at the time;
early this morning
enveloped by a thick, moist darkness
terrified in and out of the last dream.
I can describe the ways in which
such experiences -
a heart racing nightmare -
shape an outlook on life.
For such a fleeting moment -
it's a reminder that change is constant trusting
in the ultimate benevolence of the universe.
An amulet can be worn for the purpose
of protection from evil spirits…
An amulet can help convert
a threatening force into a helping one.
Sometimes dreams, night visions, nightmares
make visible the invisible,
listen… observe attentively
maybe they open you up for love,
maybe they strengthen you as a warrior
maybe they make you aware of negativity
or the idea of not to hanging onto things.
Even things of beauty will be destroyed,
and from death comes new life…
Wear your dreams – dark or light -
they are part of your personal journey.
Conquer nightmares to absorb their strength…
an amulet becomes part of a universal journey.
shamans have been doing the same thing
in many cultures since the beginning of dream time.


Moon and Sun -- Poetry 2010

the difference between the moon and the sun:
the moon glows, the sun glares.
a circle inside of a circle
archetypal symbol
the most prevalent form
that organic life takes
a circle inside of a circle
whispered with a small voice,
symbolizing hope in the face
of adversity - dream’s spinning
origins of a puzzling idiosyncrasy
dreaming of witnessing the creation
dreaming of celestial guidance and direction
The whole idea that the universe is giving
incredible beauty that's iridescent
dreaming of metal, geometric pieces of metal,
filling the sky with their fascinating shapes
a repository of life experiences
celebrate delivery of the most troublesome
driven by an impassioned need
to process inner visions by finding
new ways to express thoughts and identity;
elements together with healing intention
this concept is to make life better,
to help reach full potential,
to be who you want to be
to finally clear up the new language
to believe in this lifetime
by recreating dream’s three-dimensional forms.
the difference between night and day:
the moon glows, the sun glares;
night is silent, calm, dark, filled with dreams;
day is filled with distractions, noise, color
interruptions, chaotic movement, light.


Friday, February 19, 2010

mountain weaver goddess -- Poetry 2010

don't do this for me,
do it because you want
do it for yourself,
be a goddess,
aim high for Life
be strong-willed, fiery
entrenched on the summit
disentangle from the war of love.
Do it if you want him out of your life;
he will have difficulty taking it…
throwing extra irrational tantrums
a result of a pervasive mentality.
His life is shrinking
to a darkening world.
This is interesting
to not play his game.
Perceptions laid out,
warp and weft:
first, get what you want
second, enjoy it
third, stay connected to the world.
The loom is your lifeline…
Weave an octopus hiding
a very shy creature
a modern day hermit
avoiding everyone
in ocean’s depths
until the night
all of the love songs
make sense:
a dialogue between
mountain and sky.


Wings - Poetry 2010

Snow angels line the driveway
a honing device, a beacon to draw
them from their heavenly realm
to birth a soul from body container
into the ether of spirit flight…
their wings are fluttering.
You don't want it to end…
everyone’s life has three parts:
a beginning, middle, and an end.
On this powerful day,
it is about the process…
the natural process of aging
it is about the release…
eventually forgetting this journey
It is about death…
a new beginning.
their wings are fluttering


Meteor --- Poetry 2010

As big as the moon when low on the horizon,
the shooting star, meteor or space junk orb
sped diagonally down midnight’s indigo blanket.
As tall as a mature evergreen scraping the sky,
the tail scorched across space sending a trail
of sparks brighter than any neighboring star light…
I stood frozen in the crosswalk; I couldn’t continue.
A freak chance drew my eyes upward to view this
unearthly sight…a massive ball whiter than fullest moon.
Was I the only one who saw this while walking
the dogs on the return loop to our home?
I gazed around me… total silence, nothing stirred,
no traffic, no others seeking solace walking through
darkened streets or speeding in cars in a homeward rush.
Brain buzzed with the mental image of that moment,
replaying the vision over uTube style video clip.
The dogs whined and tentatively pulled on leashes
bringing me back to terra firma and chill temperature
of winter cloudless night as I reluctantly moved
with momentary thoughts back to ancient times
where such a sighting would cause panic or sacrifice
to protect the people from supernatural occurrences.


options -- Poetry 2010

options, always about options
sitting here enjoying a cup of chai tea
today has unfolded already
lost in fragments of memory
you were prepared to listen
if I were to tell you about it at length
would it really resonate
really pull at your heartstrings
be compelling during
a real difficult time in my life
but its your turn to receive
to see there is a comfort to them
comfort in creating these stories
about losing control of life in old age
when you start something and never finish it
when it takes every imaginable effort to get to sleep
when you wake up worse than before you napped
temporary abandonment
I do that all the time
I should never finish
simply be present for my loved ones
I have been all my life


Tuesday, February 16, 2010

Not Much News Here - Poetry 2010

Saw cows dancing in a sunny pasture today,
a respite from winter rain storms and heavy gray skies;
Sun shining and purple buds explode on our fruit trees;
Checking out our little forest... replete with winding path,
I am scolded by a hummingbird for interrupting his breakfast
at the rosemary blossoms - tiny Messerschmitt with rapiers
dueling for territory all over the neighborhood’s early blooms.
Your garden was so pretty last year and now I have some seeds
of my own from it to plant... I am so giddy to know I’ll have
a place to go to clear my head and for blowing bubbles despite
a lack of coordination… I’ll sit on my garden bench casting my wand
releasing malformed glistening bubbles skyward to thin and pop.
Maybe I’ll even dance - an eccentric older lady wearing ballet shoes
tripping the light fantastic through flowerbeds and woodland path…
Imagine how freaky it might be to the neighbors who never
much cared for musicals or choreography or little old ladies
prancing about with reckless abandonment in celebration of nature -
waving, blowing, leaving a trail of disengaged bubbles, laughing
uncontrollably while streaming soap from bubble jar to air,
over and over, to an internal rhythm... so much better than taking a nap!


Monday, February 15, 2010

Around the Planet in my Mind -- Poetry 2010

It’s so important to me that beauty is accessible;
That it’s recognizable in all its myriad forms.
My inspiration has a deep well for renewal.
It’s so important to fill it with even the tiniest gem:
a beetle’s iridescent black shell, a darting
dragonfly; rich organic brown compost;
observations of sunrise, sunset, rain, wind,
distant vistas and kneeling to pull weeds.
Head, heart, hands; vision, scent, touch;
recording texture, colors, smells of tangent world.
Crystalline dew or rain drops; snail’s lace trail;
spring leaf green to fall’s dazzling colors…
Images refresh my spirit, micro to macro;
everywhere in my corner of Earth there is beauty.
Without leaving home, I daily gather snippets
within my meager universe to replenish mind …
Art is the only way to awaken dreams, to run away
to other worlds, to make use of rampant imagination
steeped into every nook and cranny of my brain.


Sunday, February 14, 2010

Stale -- Poetry 2010

I feel stale…
day-old-bread stale
dried out
despite a protective wrapper.
sitting on grocery shelf too long
short life commercial product
plain white flour
to those that favor
organic whole grains.
What use am I?
duck enticements
mundane and ordinary
destined for the food bank
hours away from mold
stuffed in boxes
of other rejects.


I’m not depressed – a loaf of bread from the food bank
on Friday was molded by Sunday morning!

Saturday, February 13, 2010

Part Three – the End -- Poetry 2010

Our story has three parts: a beginning, middle,
and an end. This is the normal way that stories
expand amidst the who [that’s us], what [falling in love],
when [so long ago], where [does it really matter]
and why [why does anyone think they’re in love].
I still can't believe that ours didn't go on forever;
you don't know how badly I would have continued
to love you; if you had just said something to me...
not turned into a sad ego flattered by other women…
but I wasn’t worth it – that’s what your actions said;
It wasn’t enough to support you, to bring our children
into our world, to keep meals on time, house tidy
and all the hundreds of things that was never enough.
I have not forgotten that for a moment in all this time.
I didn’t have to consider the short term consequences:
heartstrings torn, family broken, a painful, sorrowful
end to love… uprooted and moved far away.
Apparently you had already made your decisions;
There was nothing left, the children and I moved away.

That seems a life time ago, I’ve moved again even
further away, reestablished myself, found my expression.
I'm in love with the endless possibilities each day unfolds;
I feel music in my veins and my feet are going crazy.
I'm going to have to do something about this fever;
This artistic drive that pushes me forward to make
the best of every opportunity except for one – love.
I never really came to grips with that failure:
The assumptions, expectations and dreams of growing
old together clustered with grandbabies…
the emotional, mental and physical abuse keeps
me wary of ever trusting my heart again.
Focusing on creation, my art expands my soul in peace.


Thick Headed

Not getting any work done today;
a miserable sinus headache
has descended making me immobile..
not too out of it when sitting but quickly
woozy with vertigo upon moving about.
I need to manage my expectations…
I can’t run at full speed twenty-four seven
and not pay the consequences for it.
This is the third day of this sinus pressure;
my eyes feel like they will pop out of socket.
Thick headed, not the stubborn kind,
but cotton batting replaced my grey cells.
Should maybe go nap at some point;
perhaps afterward, I’d feel like myself again.
Should is a real swear word for me.
It sits right next to another “S” word…
Sorry – which I say too frequently.
Would love to be that responsive all the time;
catch those “S” slip-ups before they’re let loose.
Advice and apology – should and sorry…
I'll assume I’ll live long enough to know…
people are happy to tell you when something
is wrong rather than praise your efforts for all
the right things you do.
I’ll assume I’ll live long enough to avoid giving advice
and saying I’m sorry for nothing I have done…


Friday, February 12, 2010

This Morning -- Poetry 2010

Full of memories this morning
dreams spilling into the dawn…
my night consists of two parts:
drifting in and out of awareness
trying to sleep;
drifting in and out of awareness
lacking sleep.
Snippets of one wakeful
Snippets of one sleepless
blend in a malaise
of unrest during the day;
Feelings impossible to shake
free when flashes ride thoughts
of mismatched dream segments…
for one cannot sleep
and at the same time
be thinking about one's work
or paying bills
or necessary repairs
or health issues
because they haunt,
creep into night visions
in the most bizarre scenarios.
Reality finds me thinking
this is interesting but I have
difficulty taking dreams
at face value.
At times, what I remember
really resonates
and other times they become
a jumble
of nonsensical stories.


Thursday, February 11, 2010

Whims -- Poetry 2010

I have considered temporary abandonment;
Throwing myself to the whims of the wild…
but in standing back, in reconsidering,
in really scrutinizing my life, I have always
thrown myself to the unfolding impulse.
The “why not” has been a steady excuse for goals.
Instead of selecting and pursing a specific plan;
Instead of directly influencing outcome via formal strategy;
Instead of applying myself to writing an outline;
life has swirled around me without schedule,
without jotting down an agenda…
spinning me clockwise year after year, I dealt
with what came my way – more or less successfully.
It is about the process, no? It seems like perceptions
laid out in childhood could just as easily be the result
of the willingness to keep on, keeping on… survival,
no more than… I never wanted to end it early;
this has relevance and meaning, its my way of being.
I could find another process but this one is safe;
I understand my weaknesses, doubts, desires.
Personally, I really don't want to lose touch with
my resourceful ways of coping since I have made
it so far through this trek of time, place and thought.
I just need to tweak a few things, moderate some loose
connections, surrender concerns to live life unlimited.


Wednesday, February 10, 2010

In Dreams --- Poetry 2010

In dreams,
I drift through Indigo skies…
past stars, planets, galaxies.
Floating in deep space
Searching for my people
lost to me;
Searching for the ones
who preceded me.
In dreams,
they call to me…
soft whispers of hope.
Awake, I miss them.
Awake, I try to recall their voices.
Awake, I desire dream time connections.
My people were taken from me;
One by one…
Until I was alone
with no one to comfort me.
In dreams,
visions of their forms
fill my mind;
Reaching for my people
lost to me;
Reaching for the ones
who preceded me.
In dreams,
I sing to them
soft words of love.


Monday, February 8, 2010

The Transition -- Poetry 2010

House sighed a comfortable sigh:
All its former inhabitants had gathered
from their distant dwellings…
Not to celebrate a birthday, graduation,
anniversary, or seasonal holiday.
They came to celebrate a life, to comfort
the one that was in transition: the family
matriarch, mother, grandmother, sister,
lover, friend ensconced in a hospital bed.
Frail, weak, rapidly declining in health,
this grand lady between naps gently held
court over her brood and extended family.
Quietly they came into her presence to express
with conversation, hugs, kisses, and tears
their love, loyalty, sorrow, and pay homage
to the one that brought them into the world;
nurtured them with kind word and deed;
supported them through the good and bad.
Snow softened the landscape; sunlight
and moonlight danced across the fresh ice
crystals reflecting a rectangle of light through
white lace curtains into her room; the assembled
took turns holding her hand waiting for the end.
House sighed a long forlorn sigh:
All its former inhabitants departed after
clearing it of content, a lifetime of belonging.
The rooms sat cold and empty and silent;
The air heavy as compressed layers of snow
crushing shrubs, flower beds and garden.
Faded wallpaper and pale painted walls;
Scratched and worn hardwood floors
are all that remains of a family’s presence.
Dust motes dance through rectangles
of sunlight reflected from compacted snow
or moonbeams streaming past curtain less windows.


Sunday, February 7, 2010

Sleeping Positions -- Poetry 2010

I bet if my various sleeping positions
were documented in time lapse photography
I would look like I was a crime fighting super hero.
Maybe as expert as Bruce Lee was in martial arts;
I’d be kicking and blocking in a free flowing dance.
Sequentially in my darkening world of deep sleep,
I would tirelessly run and leap among the bamboo –
Crouching Tiger style; manage to outwit bad guys
while disappearing into thin air a`la Batman devices;
imagine being Spiderwoman swinging from webs or
Clark Kent-esque… mild mannered correspondent
flying to rescue Metropolis’s citizens when in danger.
I seem to be lacking in female heroine role models…
Is it their risqué low cut skin tight outfits emphasizing
heaving or is that heavenly bosoms? Don’t forget
the tiny cinched wastes and boy thin long legs.
When I think about it, even the men have leotards
to show off their manly physiques cum rippling muscles.
Perhaps I should develop a dialogue between these
factions to find a common ground between blatant
sexuality which I’m lacking and testosterone laden
males which I studiously avoid when awake.
For now, I’ll continue my hero slumber parties replete
with action footage and daring-do escapades
until the night slips silently away to greet dawn.


Horizon Line -- Poetry 2010

Where does despair take you?
Riding the waves of emotion, surfing across
strong currents pulling you toward the horizon
away from solid ground; alone, adrift, clinging
white knuckled to the tsunami wheel of life…
Are you swept along helplessly or do you fight
succumbing to the vortex of hopelessness?
Where do you find respite?
In daydreams, in sleep, in relationships…
Art is the only way for me to run away,
to seek solace, to think without thinking...
putting vision to ground, rising above turmoil,
sifting through detritus to always be sure
which end of the thread I’m clipping to release
attachment and regain peace of mind.
Then I love it when I remember to stop,
look around once in a while and really
take notice of my bearings, so that, when
life is good, I don't miss the connection.


Saturday, February 6, 2010

Haze -- Poetry 2010

In a haze today…
another restless night
watching the clock
glowing glaring
1am, 2am, 3am
and in-between.
Caffeine? Sugar?
The midnight walk
normally relaxes me…
Neighbor’s spotlight
sneaks into a curtain slit;
its motion sensor goes
on and off, on and off.
I’m tossing blankets -
too warm… too cold…
rolling in and out
of a mattress valley,
trying to keep my eyes
from the red numeral
beacon blinking minutes
into a sleepless wasteland.
Dreams dusted with goose down
longing for flight but trapped
within cotton concealment.
Dreams dredged through mind,
heavy but shallow, skimming
between sleep and awake.
Clipped wings, unable
to achieve lift
into shadowy space
amidst unattainable


Friday, February 5, 2010

I'm Coming to Realize… -- Poetry 2010

There are so many disenfranchised souls-
no matter where, what nationality, young/old…
our world, although instant media closer
with constant bombardment of news from every
corner of the glob, seems to have left people clueless
about communication and relationship skills –
many flounder in an abyss
of misconceptions, assumptions, and expectations
that pass for an adult existence. No wonder many
people ache with "alone-ness" or are miserable
and struggle getting through each day.

I feel like I'm tapping into a Universal thought stream
not just my own contemplations that are senior angst;
I get caught up in pissing & moaning about how confusing
this crazy transition from birth to death can be!
my Mom and I used to hash things out and try to make
some sense of it all... boiled down to:
live with your choices or change what you can,
fix what you think are mistakes,

never regret anything,
find humor in everything,
express love with those closest to you...


Thursday, February 4, 2010

Nostalgic -- Poetry 2010

This was so not the plan but the plans
got changed and I'm on my own again.
One of the many surprises of this particular
journey I’m on… relationships left behind.
Not just the decimation of the marriage,
or the slow dissolution of family, or moving
from New England to the Pacific Northwest,
or the way friends cycle in and out of focus.
I miss company, stories and witty repartee.
If I unwrapped the contents of a time capsule
created 22 years ago, it is highly suspect
what I found so valuable back then…
would be exactly the same thing today.
The gift of loving relationships whether
immediate and extended family or friends.
It is the lifeline of so many people; the most
common way to stay connected to the world.
I don't understand this getting all nostalgic…
Is it the approach of Valentine’s Day?
The upcoming anniversary of my son’s
accident and years later my father’s death?
Spring is in the air, a time of renewal, rebirth;
Time to get out the wand and blow bubbles!


Ready to get on with Life -- Poetry 2010

I'm looking forward to whatever comes next…
but lately I’m pondering not only the rest of my life
but the what, when, why, how, of the beginning until now.
I don’t have to rehash what went wrong with the marriage.
I would say I was responsible for 50% of the problem:
naivety, assumptions of “if he loved me he’d know”…
All the Good Housekeeping, Family Circle magazine crap
that unfortunately indoctrinated me with expectations.
I had acted in good faith in our marriage; loyal, trusting,
I gave myself away for him and I'd been the best wife
that I could be with my background and knowledge…
Go further back, I was very shy and thin before
starting kindergarten… I wasn’t ready even though
neighborhood friends were – I just wanted to be home.
The catastrophic event…Afraid of the teacher with a rule
of one bathroom break for all, I wet myself – she made
me clean up the floor while the other kids laughed;
I had to sit in wet underwear the rest of the day…
My brother – always in trouble – preceded me by five years;
his reputation saddled me – what could I have done?
Sorting through shyness and other events, I am an archaeologist
discovering layers of meaning by studying my own artifact’s
seasoned with memory, laced with emotional response.
I am still shy… a modern day hermit - my world is shrinking;
Given a second chance at what life has to offer, I search
for understanding, opportunities to find peace; after all
this time, I long for spontaneous release from what once was.


Wednesday, February 3, 2010

Recession -- Poetry 2010

Tomorrow a fifth class will be cancelled…
Weeks ago only one student signed up – fatalist
that I can be – I knew another class wouldn’t fly…
It’s supposed to be a profit thing – independent
art teaching at various venues close to home
giving me time to produce and market my art.
Its only February 3rd; I scheduled six classes
to start in January - low or no enrollment
for five of them meant that only one ran.
There is no way to plan for a steady income
with this current inconsistent participation.
The recession is pulling many people apart
at the seams; I share their monthly struggle
to keep up with normal expenses…
my budget is so lean that any catastrophe,
even a very minor unexpected bill, will
bring me one step closer to financial ruin.
There is no better gift than the gift of skill,
of creating, of visualizing, of self expression;
There is no better gift that I can share
with others than this gift of art instruction,
of supporting self expression and ability.
I wish they could see art classes as a comfort
to them in a real difficult time in their lives.


On My Way -- Poetry 2010

On my way to work this morning,
I saw a shooting star scoot
across the pre-dawn sky,
I made a wish…
I want a great day,
the start of a great week.
Doubts roll in
with mid morning clouds…
It’s raining again.
On a positive note,
all this rain keeps the air clean.
It’s working already;
My coffee cup is half full.
I'm going to make it…
through this day,
through this week,
through deadlines,
through the present,
through choice.
Keeping up with opportunity…
I wake up
to a reunion with my dreams.
Blasting the past to pieces,
thrilled to feel like myself again;
the fun begins.


Senior Angst - Rarely an Ah-Ha -- Poetry 2010

Words bounce off the page
springing to question life’s journey…
Tossed out to the Universe I dwell
within: a record of self manifestation.
All things encompassing sorrowful,
joyful, dangerous or strange events
that come our way; bombard us;
reduce passion; create stress
and disease, aging one overnight.
Why? Why not? What if?
How to get meaning out of it all?
My mother and I would wax
philosophic i.e. talk about life;
that was before her stroke reduced
her to a toddler’s level of existence.
What a puzzle - odd shaped pieces
that make no sense; square
corners, misshapen, warped,
patterns and color askew…
That jigsaw poser of choices,
best intentions, family history,
environment, health, mental capacity.
Where is the serendipity when
most needed? The ah-Ha moment
where there is an epiphany,
a revelation before time runs out…
Pondering fate, kismet, karma
on another ghastly gray Pacific
Northwest soggy winter day.


No Words to Spare You -- Poetry 2010

I have no words to spare you
when grief floods your heart.
The pain chars your being,
numbs the colors of your life…
Experience will show you
“time does heal all”, its true.
Wading through thick emotions
sucks so much energy making
even the most common tasks
let grief happen,
Let it wash over you;
Inundate your every cell;
roll in it;
howl to give voice to it;
let the tears stream over
and over until they run dry;
your eyes feel like they’ll bleed
from releasing raw emotions…
one day the process is complete.
Its different for everyone but you’ll
know because only sweet memories


Tuesday, February 2, 2010

Patterns -- Poetry 2010

Hop scotched tree branch patterns…
black castings over asphalt grey.
Slightly past full, the glowing orb
danced in orbit, stars wilt in comparison…
the dogs and I weave between shadow
and shine on woodland path or sidewalk.
Earlier puddles dried up, temperatures
dropped, fog lifts hovering low in open
field or lawn; creeping out into the street,
it wafts in swirls behind our fast pace.
Illuminated moisture haze rotates around
streetlamps and porch lights forming
mini galaxies as far as can be see.
Our footfalls muffled on soft ground…
fluid night embraces our essence
floating effortlessly through space.
One has to first leave home
before one can walk…