Wednesday, March 31, 2010

Words Take Flight -- Poetry 2010

words take flight
restless, erratic
riding the thermals
skimming silent
air currents
ruffled feathers intact

words take flight
not moored in time
not stuck in place
riding out storms
buffeted by sorrow
winging to roost
empowered by pain
coming to rest
endowed with mystery
on blank page

words take flight
ignoring precise direction
skipping rules of syntax
slighting sentence structure
disregarding capitalization
or punctuation to fit in
to become normal prose

words take flight
sage and secure
expressing one’s soul
in this unruly poetic world


Tuesday, March 30, 2010

Coffee Shop Part II --- Poetry 2010

Isolated in crowds
Washed with conversation
I wait disconnected
Observing movement
Observing connection
Between comrades
While some solitary souls
Attach to wireless cyberspace
Disconnecting to bytes
Holding tables hostage
with laptop binary code
others desire to naturally
communicate with voice
expressing themselves
I’m drowning in sounds
Ebb and flow of voices
Mechanical bistro hiss
Echoes across this space
I'm counting the minutes
between now and leaving
this missed appointment
escaping life’s commotion
into the gray gloom


Coffee Shop -- Poetry 2010

Pacific Northwest rhythm
Thunderous waterfall of babble
Speeding swoosh of conversation
Steaming hiss of espresso
Metal clack clearing the grounds
Rising levels of sound
Bouncing off ceilings
Ricocheting off walls
Spilling out into the downpour
Ritual to start the day
As caffeine hits morning
Defying gray gloom


Monday, March 29, 2010

Half Hour -- Poetry 2010

The first half hour of my day is spent lying in bed,
winning fake arguments in my head…
Fast thinking, succinctly I express my thoughts.
Not brow beaten or falling into old victim patterns,
I bravely, with out fear of reprisal, state my feelings.
I practice listening skills, focusing intently on response;
Holding back the urge to interrupt by chiming in
or thinking how to better relate my view, I observe.

Perhaps this practice without instructors or books
will mark the ending of this particular stage in a my life;
I take on new challenges; I am trying to stretch, to grow
beyond limitations imposed by ingrained abuse patterns.
Isn’t that half the battle, not being in denial?
I am so fortunate to be able to recognize that…
these thoughts springboard me into something else.
My art is my rite-of-passage; a ritual marking this change.


moment -- Poetry 2010

decided to just give up
hunker down
but the rain stopped…
the sun is burning
a hole in the clouds
before being swallowed
in advancing rampant
gray deluge…
diamond crusted waves
lapping white light
burns through closed lids
temporarily blinding in red haze
real time mimicking a dream
so many sweet bird songs
are flying through the silence
what a peaceful short moment


Sunday, March 28, 2010

what makes a case -- Poetry 2010

age-defying improvisation
discovering layers
takes life to new places.
what a person is drawn to
like the intention of an artist
is a phenomenal balance
but often missing something…
realized effort is re-purposed,
a seemingly simple interaction
of responding to each other
sometimes merely abandons
what we’re supposed to be doing.
now we're really aging ourselves
clearly the case
with entrenched perceptions;
definitely won't be able
to start something
and certainly never finish it.
that ends up looking to
already be the case watching
from the back of the house…
there is an ambiguity revolving
around relationships between two people
that's not to be believed
by playing hard to get
as a moon shrouded in moisture
is playing hide and seek.
look closely from eye-level
and be able to study and gain
relief from so many indiscretions…
always being told to walk the dogs to get to sleep.


Thursday, March 25, 2010

Questions on Survival -- Poetry 2010

What if it were all gone tomorrow?
Stripped clean tsunami style;
Your mind fills with a million
screams reacting to emotional havoc.
Chaos causes paralysis and hypertension;
at the same time, you’re mind is numb.

You have your memories…
What will you miss the most?
What is so important to your being:
Tangible items…
Physical forms…
Loved ones?
What is the core that saves your soul?
What do you cling to in this coming-
of-age experience till all hope is gone?

Without instructors or books, what in your
past revives your spirit, helps you overcome
the current trauma tearing at your world?
Animals of symbolic nature: the butterfly
as a reminder to let all things pass;
the turtle as a reminder to pace ourselves;
the fox as a reminder to be clever…
or objects that allow us to let go of the old
and recreate the new: never giving up hope
or being scared of the idea of living without.


Dementia -- Poetry 2010

People slowly fade
Loose touch with their reality
Sink into a stupor
Doze sitting up
Heads collapsed to chest
Communication lost
Rarely connect in real time
Wander inside a dream state
Locked in their minds
Bodies exist without guidance
Functioning long after any memory
Of self has evaporated
So odd to end life without ending
Housed in a deteriorating shell
Mute, disorientated, waiting…


Into Light -- Poetry 2010

Window shade refused to roll up.
Repeatedly, I rolled the bottom
and pushed it up towards the spring roller…
Like Sisyphus pushing the rock up hill
in Greek myth, I keep at it – over and over.
It’s worked before; I have done this often.
Not understanding the reluctance of the stupid
shade to retract – alone with no one to help.
My art desk was dark; it needed illumination.
How can I work in the dark? Frustration in the night…
running in a looped weird dream sequence.


Cranky Moon -- Poetry 2010

The Moon was pissed…
How could I tell?
A black cloud hung over her
despite a thousand tree frog
chorus echoing from vernal pools;
Despite her glow albeit
reflections from another source.
She seemed frustrated…
Is it the same old same old?
No break in her routine;
Endless eons of the same orbit,
Same rotation, same seasons…
Her age showing, weary of travel
Suspended in the night sky
Rarely seen during the light of day
Playing second fiddle to the source
of her surface illumination.
With no chance to shine on her own,
black clouds converged, she disappeared
taking her borrowed light with her.


Wednesday, March 24, 2010

Oily -- Poetry 2010

Almost gave my brother
my credit card number…
His son needed air fare
to attend our Dad’s memorial
“but… I could use your card.”
His oily voice reached across
time to our home’s basement;
my play space under the stairs
where I had my dolls and toys.
These words oozed from his lips,
“Girls are different than boys…”
What does a cute four year old
who trusts her older brother know.

I received a comfirmation today that I'm going to have this poem, Oily, published in their mid April publication.

Cute Hats – Poetry 2010

church pews filled
with bobbing flowers
wild combinations
a gardener wouldn’t dream up;
blooms stuck up at odd angles
in a variety of color and size.
Silk flowers attached
to pastel raffia bases,
satin pastel ribbons:
around the band,
tied to hold them on,
satin bows dangled,
the epitome of cuteness
purchased for Easter…
captured in photo album


reworking 50's cute

Bad Dreams Again… -- Poetry 2010

What is going on in my subconscious?
What is going on in my conscious level
that is causing unpleasant scenarios?
These horrors during sleep trouble me.
They’re just dreams… I know there’s nothing
to be scared of whatever their cause.
Is it the disagreeable spicy cuisine I ate?
Am I working through unresolved problems?
Not any real answers anywhere… there are
so many variations explaining dreamtime.
What do these intimidating visions portend?
Someone recommended keeping a journal
of these rude mental imagery night excursions.
From the moment my eyes fly open… within seconds
too much time elapses to record most visuals…
The heart thumping kind sticks with me a little longer.
Is it a separate world altogether with unnatural rules?
This woman with fierce eyes grabbed my hands;
A visible darkness descended over her forehead;
Trying to bite my hands, I spite in her face as her
companion glided toward me his eyes piercing
through that veil of gloom; I was doomed…
relinquishing my soul, I woke up profoundly sad
and breaking into tears this mundane morning.


Sunday, March 21, 2010

Out of the Dark -- Poetry 2010

Wasn't nearly as productive today as I was
yesterday but I walked an extra half mile tonight…
Why am I so stuck desiring a relationship?
In the first place it would interrupt my life.
How funny is that? But I work 24/7 making
art, trying to exhibit the art I make between
teaching, business paperwork and house chores.
All these thoughts tumble as gossamer clouds
drift over a sliver of moon doing its best to shine;
I know so few partners, who really care,
really support one-another for any length of time.
Rounding a corner, my gaze shifts to darkened sky;
The clouds bested the moon, swallowed her light.
The dogs pull their way down the last stretch;
Sprinkling their scent on fence posts or curbs…
It seems no one has patience anymore to work
through the clash of unique personalities
after the passion begins to fade in a relationship.
Once kids come into the picture that tends
to really separate couples fast, least that’s what
happened in my marriage – he was not father material.
The man bested me, swallowed my light and its
taken years to move forward out of the dark.
So why am I so stuck desiring a relationship?


Saturday, March 20, 2010

A Cat’s Sense of Entitlement -- Poetry 2010

You know how I feel about the cat.
Mercury always has something to say…
about everything – he meows complaints;
he meows good mornings; most meows
are feed me or just because he can meow.
He snores, belches and farts indiscriminately;
waltzes in and vomits on the rug, the chair or floor.
I have to stop reading, typing, painting… get up
and remove cat puke. He keeps me grounded.
It’s far worse in the middle of night, barely revived
for a bathroom trip, I skid through cat barf
with bare feet; cold clammy bits of crunchy cat
food entwined with a massive hair ball - dog yum
that's anti-grounding as in achieving lift off...
Definitely I’m in the now, washing my feet now,
scooping the vomit splatter in the night now.


Thursday, March 18, 2010

Twenty Questions - Relationships -- Poetry 2010

What’s with all these people that can’t keep
their pants on… male or female?
Its not just a “male hormone thing” anymore…
Has it always been that way and I’m na├»ve?
How many partners have been deceived?
Does nasty news of any kind travel faster?
Is it just whatever people can get away with?
Is it the carnal excitement of the chase?
Are couples so easily bored with each other?
Is it irrational to think that two people can
stay together forever… till death?
Is it archaic thinking pushed on us by religion?
Is it the romantic fairytale nonsense – waiting
for Prince Charming to ride in and sweep us away?
Is it the caveman scenario of women as the weaker
sex needing protection by the dominant male/survival
of the fittest?
Who benefits by marriage when the vows don’t
mean anything?
Are we in a "no commitments" phase again?
How can anyone trust anyone in a relationship?
Is it just lack or fear of a deep level of communication?
Is it a lack of willingness to ride out the crap, work through
different levels of a relationship?
Don’t couples remember what brought them together
in the first place?
Does anyone have the capacity to truly love one another?
Is it better to never love again?


Sigh of Relief -- Poetry 2010

Spring has inundated the land, air and sky
pushing back the damp gray fog shrouded morning.
Time elapsed; veils lifted exposing a bright clear day
teasing with the future glow of afternoon warmth…
tree buds burst visible from invisible rain softened capsules.
With a prolonged sigh of relief, the tightness of winter’s
chill and gloom releases earth - there’s no place for despair
or desperation or unhappiness with the restoration of light.
We all experience loss, but we need not lose everything
in the process of experiencing the state of human suffering.


The Move --- Poetry 2010

Thinking about hugs again…
I’ve amassed so many;
storing them up;
patiently waiting to share.
Depleted of immediate family
or long distant relatives;
lost to time and transition
or moving so far away…
Not without emotional ties
loaded into invisible bags
packed with other belongings.
Lost contact with some I care about;
lost contact on purpose with my brother.
Three thousands miles from birthplace;
Three thousand miles from him…
Slightly disconnected, relatively
hug less while renewing, recycling my life.


Skimming Poetry 2010

being succinct
skimming the surface
writing observational words
filling blank pages…
skipping over thoughts
keeping it light
no one wants to hear pain
staying away from lunacy
no one wants a crazy maker
keeping it positive
dancing around trauma
staying alone
missing connections
solitary soul
focusing recluse
blooming creativity
expressing enigma


Puzzle -- Poetry 2010

I’m a thousand piece puzzle
with odd interlocking angles of simple
yet intricately engineered pieces.
Add to that, an obtuse Op-Art pattern
of vibrating colors that cause
observers eyes to water and swim.
Convoluted from time and energy,
some pieces fight snapping
together resisting completion.
The balance between evidence
and lyricism makes the border lush
in an economy of style and sparseness.
Hinting at Zen concepts intertwined
with serendipity, my jigsaw fragments
celebrate life in all its mystery and paradox.


Winging It -- Poetry 2010

Winging toward morning, a flying dream
has me soaring over distant world below.
Minute beings go about their daily schedules;
ant size, they scurry with individual purposes…
Dots of color blur as they move to routine destinations.
Sun warms the earth – scents rise on air:
forest floor, evergreens, estuaries, fields…
smell of diesel, asphalt, neighbors’ breakfasts.
Descending to the sound of the garbage truck
moving down the street; its arms grazing to lift
and dump each cart into its cavernous hold…
Rhythm is established: roar of engine; squeal
of air brakes; hydraulic arms lifting; thump of bin
back onto solid ground; roar of engine; squeal
of air brakes; hydraulic arms lifting; thump of bin
back onto solid ground… over and over.
Rustling feathers back into place, I leave my warmth
behind to relieve my bladder, brush my teeth…
beginning my daily schedule…
moving to routine destinations.


Wednesday, March 17, 2010

Hugs -- Poetry 2010

So odd, I ponder this frequently,
the older you get, you seem to get
less hugs or maybe coming from
a large family that is now scattered
to the winds, maybe less is normal.
The reality of my experience included
plentiful hugs and laps for stories
as part of the immigrated McNeil clan
living in Rockville Connecticut.

My family was an odd bunch…
Three of the oldest were born
in Belfast Ireland… Christine,
Marion and Isabelle – in total, eight
children survived out of ten births;
in Ireland, the first was still born, the flu
pandemic took another one away stateside.
My oldest Aunt Christine was twenty years
older than the last baby, my mother.

I’m not in denial at all that they
were perfect in anyway; that they
got along all the time; that they
were equally responsible as adults.
No, they had their share of problems…
but they managed to support each other
despite quirks, differences and idiosyncrasies.
Weekend gatherings were held at Grandmas…
In the summer at her cottage, in the winter
at her little bungalow in town… no matter
where, they exhibited their feelings openly
and freely along with laughter and cuddles.


Tuesday, March 16, 2010

stages -- Poetry 2010

eyes are worn
spotted world
through dirty lens
diffused forms
blurred vision.
joints stiff
flexibility lessens
in a body’s life.
sleeping so little
restless dreams;
mostly adjusted
to daylight stupid time.
really aging
ourselves in reverse;
toddler type downtime,
naps are fundamental
but I'm living
the good life.


How Unsafe

lost the ability to love
misplaced my heart
or at least its preserved
locked away behind
a protective barrier
impossible to penetrate
one too many losses
caused devastation
such a good heart
didn't deserve
critical condition
won’t let it out
keeping it safe
where no one can hurt it
so ephemeral.


Monday, March 15, 2010

Travel Get-a-Ways -- Poetry 2010

Neighbor’s camper is parked in her driveway again;
She must be planning a short get-a-way….
My get-a-ways are only in my head, totally imaginary
escapades filled with beaches, sailing, swimming
or fond remembrances of past trips: summers
at Cape Cod, camping on Hermit Island in Maine,
skiing Okemo in Vermont, visiting friends in Florida.

Gave away the camping gear before moving out here
to the Pacific Northwest… since my son’s accident
he has no interest in the outdoors, especially swimming.
Unstable using his cane, it’s hard enough for him
to walk on asphalt let alone a sidewalk coated in moss.

I vicariously travel when people recount their trips:
Hawaii, China, Madrid, Aruba, Venezuela, Argentina…
What was your favorite food? What struck your heart?
I gaze longingly at their posted pictures on Facebook
or sent as attachments to catch-as-catch-can emails
when in the thick of their trip… I’m an invisible adventurer.

When I’m at the food bank listening to various dialects,
I can envision the streets of Thailand, Philippines or Japan.
My night walks, a ritual that marks the ending of my day,
will have to fill the requirement for my travel exploits.
One foot in front of the other, I note the shift of weather,
subtle colors, moon phases; during this simple interaction
with the natural world, my thoughts ebb and recede
in the dark stillness… completed, I wander home to dreams.


Sunday, March 14, 2010

Be 5 again, no… -- Poetry 2010

“Life is getting too complicated,
I wanna be 5 again…” A Facebook Fan page….

I don’t really want to be five again
despite the complexity of adult life.
What I could use is the gazillion hugs
from my parental units, grandparents,
aunts & uncles, older cousins –
I wish to listen to their stories told on hot
summer afternoons on the cottage porch;
One by one, they’d share a tale while rocking
in the big porch rockers – lazy relaxing days…
I would love to play with my cousins again:
cannon balls off the dock; fishing for Blue Gills;
playing board games impatiently waiting to go
back into the water; sleeping three in a bed
giggling late into the night; hiking around
the lake to stop at the country store for popsicles.
I don’t really want to be 5 again…
but I miss the weekend picnics with family;
I miss my Aunts’ potato salad, baked beans
and cupcakes that my cousin Ellen made…
the bench sagging under the clan’s weight
sprung up if someone went to fetch something.
Hugs and silly family things are what I miss the most
as life speeds past, they’re lost in a haze of memory.


Saturday, March 13, 2010

Natural World -- Poetry 2010

Very chilly walk but clear skies made
the brightness of the stars so intense,
diamonds against cobalt velvet…
Tonight we lose an hour of sleep.
It will be nice to have the sun
around awhile in the evenings though…
I watch from the back of the house,
in my 3rd bedroom art studio and office.
I watch my world spill onto sumi-e paper,
take shape in collage when pulling out
materials to see what I’m drawn to:
colors, stones, bones, foil, cloth, and more.
I watch my world turn into dimensions
when sawing copper, brass or silver…
when bending or soldering wire…
Imagery inspired by the natural world
is entwined with my spirit and my art.
My perspective on art and craft would
not be what it is without this validation;
visual memories of nature in all her power
and strength; changing constantly each season:
I am my work, my work is me; my life is my work.


Thursday, March 11, 2010

More is More -- Poetry 2010

Corgis were short changed yesterday evening –
A quick walk after super but by 11pm,
The wind was up and the rain was down.
Pouring down and whipped by wind…
Bouncing into puddles off of parked cars…
Bouncing onto my coat, soaking into the hood…
Just the loop of the cull de sac was enough for me.
Their “what” expressions didn’t deter me
from slipping back inside the house to listen
to rain splatter the window screens and panes
filtering the view to a warped world outside.


Vertigo -- Poetry 2010

Back to wind and rain
tease of spring evaporated
into torrential downpours
cast by heaving gray skies
shedding a load of Pacific Ocean
moisture destroying early blooms…
moisture building up dampness and mold.

Vertigo – seasonal allergies
affecting me earlier this season…
not taking their toll as my Dad’s bout
of intense vertigo, so intense he cried,
rocked, curled up groaning, whimpering.
My mother and I shaking in fear called
911 at this shocking demonstration
Especially in a person who never was ill.
Dad toughed things out, bounced back
from varicose vain stripping without
pain medication, walking sooner than
expected surprising the surgeon…
The vertigo debilitated him,
sent him moaning to the hospital
by ambulance as a quivering mass
of excruciating discomfort. Luckily
a one time occurrence for him.

Back to splashing through puddles,
seeing reflections on every surface,
water sounds dripping, tapping, running;
driving home from work, thinking reflections
while slightly woozy from vertigo.


Aspects -- Poetry 2010

Woke up with Monty Pythons “Always
Look on the Bright Side of Life” resonating
within the particles breaking up from the last dream…
somewhere during my shower it changed
to “The Galaxy Song”: So remember, when you're feeling
very small and insecure, How amazingly unlikely
is your birth; And pray that there's intelligent life
somewhere out in space,
'Cause there's bugger all down here on Earth!”
silly mind radio… mimicking the directions of a recent drift
to the past revisiting aspects from youth to the near future.
I don't have to, but seem compelled to rehash parts
of the journey…some decisions, some events, some outcomes…
working through to the ultimate transition from body to spirit.
One conclusion from all this mental memory wandering:
we get in trouble when we try to hang onto anything.
We kill it… smother it in over embellished statements.
The old woulda, coulda, shoulda ad nausea um kicks in too.
Back to the present, I focus well to focus well…
putting things in and/or taking things out of sequence
creates an imbalance between perceptions and evidence
ultimately intensifying the reminder to let all things pass.
“(You know, you come from nothing - you're going back
to nothing.What have you lost? Nothing!)
Always look on the right side of life...”


Tuesday, March 9, 2010

Receded -- Poetry 2010

Snow swirled
Cherry blossoms whirled
White and pink dusted the ground.

Spring receded before a cold front;
Frogs buried in mud, birds huddled…
Fluffed up, their songs forgotten in shivers.

Close enough to fact,
My clothes are out freezing in the breeze today...
to get the point across, I repeat, its frigid outside!


I Get By -- Poetry 2010

How little can I get by on?

that is what I exhibit
in my life every day.
Maybe that’s a secret goal.
Instead of being frustrated
with my income level.
Maybe I need to celebrate
Living in my own little world;
keeping it simple…

Which brings up the question:
What is really important?
I place importance on:
loving relationships;
seeing beauty in common objects;
accepting the world as it is –
often unpredictable,
filled with improvisational
magnificence and mishaps
letting go of control;
relaxing in breath;
finding Bliss – a state of Grace -
an knowing I will be safe.


Success -- Poetry 2010

Been thinking about success…
Usually measured by the phrase
“making it”
Worldly objects such as:
expensive house in a gated community;
designer clothes; personal trainers;
"beamers", "rolls", Lamborghini for cars;
summer houses on man made islands;
world travel, lavish entertainment;
rubbing elbows with society’s elite;
All the above define having arrived at the top.

My success is measured in
small gains…
paying bills on time;
keeping the pantry stocked;
affording medical or dental treatment;
filling the gas tank of the car;
No extraneous cash is available
for entertainment – lavish or other wise;
I rub elbows with the Corgis or cats;
travel is limited to necessary errands;
vacations are unheard of…

My success is measured
in growing vegetables and putting food up;
keeping the house and yard tidy;
maintaining a sense of humor;
being able to walk the dogs under starry skies;
working at making eye contact with people;
celebrating the sale of any piece of art
or card that I make… small increments…
All the above define having arrived at the top.


Monday, March 8, 2010

Winding Down -- Poetry 2010

As the day is winding down
PLEASE leave your face at the door!
That was a little over stated
but the better request to make to you…
how about a laugh to pick you back up
to release what seems to be crushing stress
and I’ll even throw in some loving bear hugs.

Give me wacky art, comedy or give me
(something hopefully better than) death...
that's the worst thing I've ever see, my dad’s
last breaths or next to that, my son in a coma.
Humor and love carried me past despair…
To understand dark humorous matter,
you have to have been through the worst
stress that life can conjure up; you have to have
been in the deepest emotional or physical pain…
At that point, after tidbits of Monty Python skits or
Mel Brooks comedies expanded into my mind,
the conclusion that humor even macabre can
get you through those excruciating events.

Another fundamental component of stress busting
is any loving relationship [family, friends, lovers] -
love – whose existence has never been proven…
how do you prove something like love?
This intangible, fleeting, ninja emotion disguised
in different variations based on mutual attraction,
companionship, nurturing support and so much more.

When tragedy comes into life, start pulling out
memories to see the validation of love’s healing
support shared amongst your closest connections…
When extreme events inundate the journey start
finding the humor, laugh until you cry, laugh until
your ribs ache and you can’t catch your breath…
this seems to be the soul of life – love and humor.


Sunday, March 7, 2010

It Feels like Spring - Poetry 2010

You could put a dead stick in the ground…
it would take root, soil is so warm moist;
seems everything grows so much faster
here than back East in New Hampshire.
Luckily born with green thumb tendencies
I relish the spring and summer season…
One can say my heart rejoices when
turning soil, setting out starts, sprinkling seeds…
seeing tasty looking colors of new lettuce leaves.
The bees dance on early blooms; birds flit to their
pretty nests tucked away in trees or under eves.
Baby birds, not so pretty – bald with gaping bills –
begin a raucous chorus every time worms dangle
or bugs drop from mom or dad’s beak…
Fledglings teach me what you know about leaving,
flying out the door, winging through blue skies;
I want to sing morning songs, gather at twilight
and settle in for the night – cycle of survival -
simplified natural existence season by season.


Wishing -- Poetry 2010

Is it better to wish on the first twilight star…
“Wish I may, wish I might, have the wish, I wish tonight”
or is it better to wish on a shooting star
zipping across the blanketed stars.
Which has a better chance of coming true?
Would keeping your fingers crossed help
the proverbial odds or is that just for fibs?
Think of all the wishes ascending to starlight,
crossing moonbeams and riding meteor tails.
Launched into space, where do all these hopes go?
Maybe that’s why they don’t come true…
Maybe sending desires skyward is wasteful…
Tossing a coin into a fountain is visual:
Toss and wish or wish and toss, either way –
physical item – the coin
metaphysical – the wish
made more tangible by body motion and actual object
arcing into the air, descending, splashing, sinking
into clear water - conscious to subconscious.


Saturday, March 6, 2010

Freedom --- Poetry 2010

Woke up on the way early side of morning…
My night owl haunting makes early rising difficult.
Why did I set the class for 9am on a Saturday
and have to drive 40 miles to get there?
Getting too old to burn the candle that way;
One or the other… early to bed to greet morning
or late to bed… in wee hours of morning and sleep in.
This is not a boring life. I confess I like the mix up.
I like the freedom of doing my own thing…
Not sure I could ever do a 9 to 5 again;
My odd hours are very helpful and invigorating,
for me anyway, plus there is always a nap option.
I like the freedom of setting my tasks for the day…
paperwork, artistic endeavors, throw in some chores.
Granted my income, well that’s another story…
but I realized it is my choice - so, I choose frugality.
OK, its more than being frugal - its downright poverty.
I prefer to think of it as living creatively, making
less of that carbon footprint that’s in the news,
recycling, reusing, and I am a low end consumer
purchasing only what’s necessary…
do I have anything that doesn't have paint or glue on it?
Bargains are to be found at the Senior Boutique;
the Food Bank is a necessity; growing vegetable
a joy, living simply… simply living to create.


Notes -- Poetry 2010

Note to children…
If I ever get put into a facility,
Please do not allow them to apply nail polish-
Honestly, no manicures please…
There’s nothing like someone with dementia
adorned with bright red finger nails, fake nails
at that, who doesn’t remember who they are.
It seams callous to me, are they billed
for this service that they didn’t ask for?

Note to self…
Make an appointment with a tattoo artist.
My desired design strategically placed on my buns.
Big lips resembling Mick Jagger’s mouth on one side;
“Kiss My… “ with a smiley face on the other cheek.

What got me thinking about the senior facilities?
I’ve been volunteering at a retirement home.
It is so sad to see someone drift into oblivion;
Their body maybe relatively healthy but mind is gone.
I may be shy but if dementia sets in, I want to be
ready to raise hell before all my marbles disappear…
I’ll agree on the awful part of loosing your mind slowly
but being afraid to live is far worse a fate…
too long have I been complacent;
too long have I been withdrawn;
too long have I thought, if I only do the right things,
then nothing bad will ever happen to me.

Note to self
Thanks for beginning exploring the artistic experience.
Over the last few years I have stretched my wings,
focused on expressing my soul visually and with words…


Friday, March 5, 2010

Without --- Poetry 2010

Everyday I am shocked by how much I can communicate;
despite being an introverted hermit most of the time…
despite my delinquency in studying,
I once learned magic to make my husband smile.
With the white hot intensity of ten thousand suns,
his spells managed to take hold like plaque
in the deep recesses of my brain…
some became very intense and some became very subtle
and some have lasted since I left him twenty years ago.
Here I am again less than serene these days remembering
what I thought had been blocked out – resurfaced by a link,
a connection I thought was broken and thrown away but I was
not prepared to realize this when I got up this morning;
you must be his doppelganger, a clone of himself.
Sometimes it's just impossible to not be a baby about it…
Sometimes I am so scared of living, imprisoned by fear
that I will make the same mistake again… create
the same reality by blindly falling in love being needy.
You have sent some lovely tunes my way but I am leery
for good reason; red flags are appearing – ever so thankful
to recognize them while still being in the “friends” stage.
I withdraw without creating a story of obsession, love, denial;
I withdraw before forming a relationship with you, another
chameleon, a teddy bear demeanor with idiosyncratic habits,
chaos surfacing in bits and pieces - my grandmother used to
say in reference to men: you can’t live with them
and you can’t live without them…
I choose without.


50’s Cute -- Poetry 2010

polka dot printed fabric - fashion cute in 1950.
polka dot full skirt dresses with white collars…
my mother’s made me dizzy… Dots swam before
my eyes when she dashed about doing housework…
No one wore “jeans” and rarely slacks.
Women wore dresses – period… the end.
Cute white gloves decorated with buttons and lace –
a sign of a lady… worn downtown in the smallest town or city.
I protested, they made my hands too hot in summer heat;
Reluctantly I was let off the hook as long as I wore a dress.
Cute hats – especially a new one purchased for Easter…
The church pews filled with bobbing flowers attached
to varying shades of pastel color raffia bases, ribbons
around the band, ribbons tied them on, bows dangled;
wild flower combinations a gardener couldn’t dream up
stuck up at odd angles in a variety of color and size.
Cute shoes… heels of some sort for my mother…
definitely sneakers were not wore when shopping;
Mary Janes for me – paten leather for special occasions.
So there it is…a new Easter outfit combined all the attributes
captured in photo album pictures – the epitome of cuteness.


Wednesday, March 3, 2010

unRant -- Poetry 2010

I am the same today that I'll be five years from now…
How do I know? I came across my morning pages
from ten years ago; totally appalled… similar rants
but thought I would challenge myself to un-rant.
What if I did release those concerns that keep
me running in this perpetual hamster wheel squeaking
incessantly through my mind, locked in plastic tubes
that go no where, sleeping the days away, stuffing
my cheeks, hiding snacks in every corner…
What do I want to let go of in my life;
what do I want to enhance;
what do I wish I had that I don't have?
I believe I am doing what I’m supposed to be doing
in this lifetime but I need to tweak my accepted standards.
With my innate aptitude, I would have been over the moon
but for a weakness of low self esteem – a real curse.
My art successfully satisfies all the rules of fine design:
repetition, variety, rhythm, balance and proportion…
so where is that manifested in my life?
I’m trying to solve with certainty the one question that
certainly is insoluble, namely, whether I can pull it together.
All the loose ends, odd habits, introversion, a search
for understanding and a spontaneous response to what is
the focus in this body and this mind… my truth…
to reflect my spirit which is youthful, light and free.


burnished -- Poetry 2010

weight of sky
pushed gray water flat
with out a breeze, silence
shore reflections stretched beneath fog’s blanket
sunlight diffused through heavy vapor
burnished the surface to a blinding white
tension broken only by Cormorants fishing

So in that spirit, I am too…
pushed flat by things that I need to do
diffused because of squeezing them into my day
burnished thinking about the ways that I tell myself
I’ll have time later to do the things I'd rather do
Tension builds while I long to be painting


Tuesday, March 2, 2010

Rules -- Poety 2010

Gauze wrapped full moon
dementia diminished;
just the reality of it…
fading, fading, fading away;
through the ages
an object of ritualistic processes.

Mother’s memories began
with meaningful images;
along side of her
eternity has been arrested.
Each seemingly simple thought
merely abandoned the “rules" mentality.

See what a person is drawn to…
moon’s muted elegance still aglow;
age-defying luster coating everyday objects.
The spinning sphere
successfully satisfies all nature’s rules;
a graceful sculptural form standing out
in relief from midnight indigo sky.


seems unnatural -- Poetry 2010

A rite of passage
ends up
molding our face,
sometimes contorting us physically.
We might get hurt…
And it had me thinking
sometimes, that's how it is.
Things, particularly ones that are
a little crooked or quite charming,
or clever, or diabolical…
things that completely erode possession
undoubtedly would be subjected
to wandering around our world
always searching…
for the door to leave the room;
for the exit ramp off the superhighway;
for a release from whatever binds them.
I remind you how late you are
but it’s hard to find the way home
once you’ve left for good.
Is this the door for discovering a new transmutation?
You know when you’re done doing nothing;
someone's not responsible... that’s what we tell ourselves.
Its about the way people work their way into my life.
The reality of how little control I have over events.
Afterwards I recover from the harmful words
directed with such specific intentions,
I created a symbolic mask of nature,
a ritual marking the end would allow us
to let go of the old and recreate the new.
A rite of passage
ends up
seeming unnatural.


Monday, March 1, 2010

Illusive Rainbows -- Poetry 2010

A rainbow slips in and out of focus;
So pale so fugitive so fleeting…
a nagging thought, partially forgotten,
something important, temporarily lost,
patches of sun blaze against sturdy
rain makers drizzling another arc of hues.
Snail traffic, stop and go, an accident impedes the way.
A momentary distraction, slick roads, high speed…
Slipping in and out of focus – seconds in the making.
Lovely spectrum display - horrible monstrous wrecks…
Steam rises from damaged engines; metal and glass
litter the concrete lanes. EMT’s, firemen, state patrol…
blue, red, yellow flashing strobes sizzle into the moisture,
man-made colorful distortions, an imitation rainbow reveling
the ending of a particular stage in the accident victims life
and if lucky, the beginning of a new one with or without scars.

Understanding troublesome life events is as Illusive
as trying to find the Irish folklore buried pot of gold.


Dancing Languidly -- Poetry 2010

Through wisps of clouds today’s sun resembles
last night’s moon dancing languidly across the sky
peering from time to time from behind a veil.
The only discernable difference -
the amount of light vs. the amount of dark...
One from a direct source and the other reflections of light.
Day the colorful narrative; night the mysterious tale.
My perceptions laid out could just as easily be the result
of revolving around an orbit – affected by rotation.
I used to be a morning person up at first light
and to bed early; now totally reversed, I sleep past first light,
darkened curtains hold back sun’s prying fingers.
Am I missing something?
Whatever this stage might be, I’m able to study and work
in my studio without interruption, totally absorbed…
so at peace, its taken my creative life to new places.
Meaningful images from a lifetime of experience come
to light in the dark of night dancing languidly into expression.