Friday, April 30, 2010
Minuscule dots moving before my eyes…
Retrieving glasses revels newly hatched
spiders translucent except for their bundle
of siblings… warmth on the enclosed porch
sends them breaking apart – a super nova
of honey arachnids explode from the center.
Perfectly formed legs delicately, nimbly
carry them across the vast white wasteland;
the more daring swing on spinneret threads
doubling the distance, tripling their exploration
of this neonate universe contained on a ceiling.
Thursday, April 29, 2010
Please excuse me while I kiss the sky;
barely missed getting rained on during
my moving meditation: midnight walking the dogs.
Washington weather was smiling at me tonight…
rains slipped away to leave the moon, stars,
wispy clouds, chill winds and wet roads.
And it had me thinking about reacting…
I'm usually too dazed and confused to realize
I'm annoyed until I realize that a maladaptive
coping mechanism came my way.
The mysteries of the silver box, re-releasing
Pandora’s uncontrolled anxiety causes me
to shudder, close down, overwhelmed
by things that bring fear; so many fears define us,
No one is alone... lonely but not alone.
My advice for today: don't be a bottom feeder
and don't mess with anyone who is no matter how
insistent you think “I’m nothing without you”…
there is the problem; slipping into old victim habits
where you can't cry out in joy but insert life-sucking
emotional pain instead; metaphoric hallelujah…
displacement is not an option for me anymore -
to be alone,
to follow a natural
a logical order
from polished surface
to expand senses,
serge torn edges,
to what is known.
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
A million tiny details: that is my life.
I have no idea how to keep track of it all.
I just somehow do my best. Sometimes it works;
sometimes it doesn't. One thing I do know…
I’m not the answer to the questions you still have.
You'll never turn my life around, because,
apparently, I like it upside down…
I do turn to toast doing too much and being
strong for everyone else while daily focusing
on a few things. OK, maybe several things.
OK, maybe I’m not very focused.
Apparently I am inadvertently repeating myself.
Is this a message which bears repeating?
I’m not very focused… due to my natural instinct
to nurture fragile people but you appear to be strong.
Am I forgetting that you are more at risk than any of us…
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
With no regard
For intermittent rain
Slosh on pavement
Torn jeans, t-shirts
Gauze skirts with leggings
Suits and ties
Mountain rain gear
Wandering between showers
soaked clothes and hair
Wind snaps at umbrellas
Dogs and kids in tow
Viewing art, hearing music
Watching street performances
Spring Arts Walk crowds
Pour through downtown
Olympia as entertaining
As tomorrow afternoons
Parade of the Species
Sunday, April 25, 2010
Clusters of ornamental cherry flowers
fluent in moonbeam bobbed a commentary
to night tide filling the air with soft scent.
Later soaked by evening squalls, the water logged
bunches brought heavy branches toward the ground;
curdled clumps disintegrated by early morning
wind gusts buried cars, lawns, sidewalks and roofs
under a capricious dusting of emancipated petal sediment.
A compact muscular form
appears out of space to land
adhering itself to my notebook;
permanently attached to the page,
the black and white dead weight
purrs kneading to prevent my scrawl;
a rubbing muzzle dislodges my pen
creating disjointed irregular words
that jut around her furry perimeter.
Wide double paws gently climb
my sweatshirt to caress my face;
sea green eyes animated with life
search my soul without a blink…
then this wee little beast retreats
into sleep curling onto my thoughts.
Moonbeams sear the night…
white light cuts through dreams;
dripping fragile fragments
coalesce into amoeboid forms
sliding beneath closed doors,
squeezing between micro cracks,
seeping beyond boundaries
to leave a glistening trail
of iridescent waste that catches
dawn’s pragmatic babble…
adhering the quarry in secrecy.
I drift silent
caught in an orbit
not of my own desire
reflecting someone else’s light
fading in and out of view
I dance companionless
above a fathomless world
a ship without a rudder or sail
slipping between stars and comets
trapped in perpetuity in a repetitious
unbroken co-dependant cycle…
Thursday, April 22, 2010
In a funk…
just want to pull
the covers over my head
and hide today. Too bad
it's not an option.
Some days funks are nice,
for resting, refocusing,
recharging low batteries
with a cup of tea and a good book…
funks are often a necessary
part of the journey –
just have to shift the bad mood…
to… funk-alicious to ride it out.
Dance and play with it…
Shake the funk to get up and go
with feel-good music…
embrace your inner George Clinton;
he get's me every time -
become your inner funk-anista;
We gotta have that funk........
everybody sing funky now!!!!!!
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
I prefer free reign
to follow my muse
anyway that I can
but maybe I should
reconsider that premise…
you know the one
about the starving artist.
Barely earning a living
but in my situation,
the world was not willing
to stand still for a couple
of years to wait for me
when I was laid off;
scrabbling ever since,
I teach art independently
and exhibit my art frequently.
Whenever I apply for “real”
jobs, I feel the weight
of a 9 to 5 situation; I wonder
do I silently send out Morris
code to avoid entrapment
by confining hours…
so I live simply to create.
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
Coming through each spring
winging their way North
flocks pause to refuel before
moving on to nesting areas
spring is set by their arrival
or onset of fall by their departure…
yard fills with seasonal stopover chatter.
I imagine migration, part of a flock
winging our way seasonally
over field, forest, river, ocean…
landscape flowing beneath wingtips
feathers warmed by sun doused by rain
air currents hinder or support repetitious
flapping wing meditation mile after mile
a moving breathtaking congregation.
In childhood what did you imagine?
Pretending to be a dog, nibbling kibble,
circling three times before curling up
and barking responses when addressed…
Pretending to be a cat, scratching
the furniture, climbing up high
and meowing answers to questions…
or were you a cowboy all day long?
Riding the range, herding cattle,
fording rivers, all that cowboy stuff
while wearing felt hat, black vest, bandana
around your neck and blue jeans held up
by a leather belt with holster for your six shooter…
we made bows and arrows from willow and string,
hid in the tall grass to ambush the weary
living the life of Robin Hood’s merry men.
Other days, we wore those red firefighter hats,
rain boots, and raincoat all day saving people
from fire, rescuing the broken and damaged.
No one pretended to be elderly people
who bake cakes and invite you over
for dancing - soft shoe dancing that is.
We didn’t walk with canes, slowly and bent;
We ran, climbed trees, were constantly in motion
driven by our imagination, seeing the world
through play and living our dreams out loud.
Monday, April 19, 2010
The Corgis are mega shedding;
tornadoes of dog hair chase me
where ever I walk inside.
if you come for a visit
please wear old clothes
and don't check my floors....
Spring yard work is going well:
front yard is looking tidy;
green waste has been turned;
raised bed patch is weeded;
flowering cherry is trimmed back
and weeds are slightly tamed.
The Corgis are blowing their coats;
Leaving a trail of fluff balls…
hairy tumbleweeds lurk in corners;
drift under upholstered chair skirts;
attach themselves to any passerby.
I saw a sliver of moon while filling
the yard waste bin to the brim…
so I walked the dogzz earlier
to watch the barely visible crescent
glow stronger as the sun set…
replete with azure sky and twinkling
stars spurting out from obscurity.
If you come for a visit
please wear old clothes
and don't check my floors....
we can walk the Corgis
to enjoy the frog chorus,
stars blossoming, and breath
in the sweet scent of Spring.
Sunday, April 18, 2010
Liquid sunshine today squall after squall…
The gutter is deep and the run off is wide
sporadically racing down the street; it sweeps
fallen blossoms tumbling in the currents.
Rotating swirls of pink slip over black asphalt
leaving a trail of bruised and broken petals.
Sun bursts between downpours highlight
the soaked, bedraggled, bogged down caravan;
the juncture between elements... water and earth,
the antithesis of fragile beauty and destruction.
A relationship’s haphazard unbalanced dance;
The couple who can’t live with or without each other…
Friday, April 16, 2010
The stars are aligning in all the right ways…
I haven’t had any major collisions between
my head and any adjacent brick walls lately.
I take this as the universe's way of telling me
I have more important work to do. Though
I can't for the life of me see what is making
me so contentious… I don’t know what to say.
I have had the opportunity to reflect on life
and clear my skull so if I said that I miss you,
it would just be a lie. This means I only have
two more wishes before the genie goes back
in the lamp; I must be moving up on the world…
I contemplated scattering oatmeal cookie crumbs
up and down the long hall leaving a feasting trail
for the duration of my art reception. Camera ready,
I thought to see what insects would scurry from cracks
and crevices to recover the sprinkled bounty, an offering
or incentive for them for them to reveal themselves…
Since no one came to see my art, I imaged the wee host
dragging crumbs and raisins to feed the next brigade
much to the dismay of the building custodians striving
to maintain an insect free environment that doesn’t
include a traipsing conga line of crumb sustenance.
My fertile imagination absolved any feelings about
an art reception without guests being a waste of time.
Thursday, April 15, 2010
I often am puzzled... who wrote this script?
How the heck did I get to this place in my life –
Vision is a curse beyond my wildest dreams;
there are a lot of assumptions in that deduction.
At this very moment, I’m tethered to it mercilessly;
It drags me and beats me and curses me
and even mocks me, but if I believe it enough…
someday it will come true; it's an inequitable relationship.
A relationship between two ideologies… that can’t live
with or without each other; perhaps a role reversal
is just the thing. I'll step outside the circle and skip
dancing with muses for a short time. The real insight:
I have come to accept this; my spirit hasn't wavered yet.
I like that things can have so many lives, and can change
so easily once I’m willing to let it go… in art and in life.
A hard look through soft eyes at ideation, communication,
coexistence, synchronicity and feeling rather surreal today.
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
Lessons I learned today:
1) I can sleep through life
2) Daydream strategically or endlessly
3) do absolutely nothing helpful whatsoever
The time will pass either way;
Events and challenges come and go.
I can do anything I want to do but it's death
from within since art runs deep in my veins.
I can do anything I want to avoid paying
attention to the journey; there are a myriad
of destructive habits to counteract desolation,
fear, anxiety, success, depression, stress…
I can safely assume I've created myself
from my own subconscious image; if all
that sounds crazy, you may be seeped in denial.
Now I dream a dream that will truly fill my heart,
not what others expect my dream to be…
Wisdom finally learned… what other people
think of me is all about them.
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
Your eyes are the only ones
that I can fall into…
Elsewhere my eyes slide away
from permanent connection
Drifting in dreams
Rising and falling
Barely embracing facial features
Elsewhere I slip introverted
withdrawing worldly vision
letting all things pass
until the odds are in favor
of you coming back to me.
Firefly words light up my night
lifting from ground to drift
blinking across my mind.
Fields full of signaling insects
filling warm summer evening
with flitting thought pulse;
adding raw rub of cricket legs,
a steady rhythm synchronizes
against a darkening page.
Moths flap toward the sum
of their existence, the porch light…
So still you can hear the air
move under bat wings
swooping in to break syntax
into succinct symbols.
Monday, April 12, 2010
Just… Need… More… Sleeeeeep...
Do you remember those times when totally
careless with the prescribed eight hour allotment?
That's what being a teenager was for -
thriving on as little sleep as possible.
I used to exhilarate in it, I'd get so much done...
Playing catch up with an occasional full
twenty-four hour recharget for my batteries…
Wish I could still carry on at both ends of the day.
Unfortunately there's such a short window
of youth one hopefully learns to pace oneself…
saving exuberance to a slower steady release.
Sounds selfish to cut back on commitments,
I'm guessing my ears are burnt to a crisp
with “why did she say no” to frequent outside
demands on my time – I detest being dragged
from creation whether writing or art…
And if I die no wait… when I die, I'm lucky
to have come to terms with my hidden passion
before time, age and memory decline in lost meaning...
There was an element of grace about Aunt Chris
a lithe spirit shown through despite her age.
Moving with a sense of purpose, she hid
her shriveling sorrow beneath a cape of hope.
Against all odds, her life journey nearing
the end, she still portrayed indomitable spirit.
Head held high, posture straight, she sized
up the panorama before her… noting every
detail, consigned it a place in secure memory,
highlighted even the most insignificant thought.
Not a response, not one answer to a burning question…
What’s it like to have your body worn out and old
when you soul is timeless, strong and pure?
The cancer went unchecked, slow and debilitating
it accessed her body on her terms in her time.
She stares out from the photograph, from beyond
the grave, determined in her frailty, her eyes
connected to the lens through eternity.
It isn't bad to be a crone: I know, because
I'm experiencing it as my body shows signs
of wear and tear… undeniable portents of a cycle
coming to full term in an unknown number of years.
But I thought I'd tell you how I felt about it.
How I find my light of hope to continue against
all odds of success as a late blooming artist.
I often think that what makes life a powerful art
is the intention of the artist creating it; my intention
is to live strong, secure in memory and thought
like my family before me through eternity.
Sunday, April 11, 2010
I know that I am not myself right now.
Please excuse what I may have said
or might soon say…
taken advantage with words so sweet.
It was so easy; the guilt was not there.
Always placing the consequences on me…
killing me with an innuendo of kindness.
It would be more amusing if the remarks
didn't hurt emotionally as much as they do.
What would my life be like if lessons were
learned today? I'm humbled by this thought…
which means something in me needs to change.
That's the hard part isn't it?
Must admit, a part of me thinks friends
won't recognize me encased in a new image.
I hope to return totally together, more balanced,
happy, enlivened; that would be a good example
to project an alternate reality of strength.
I shut down the outside world,
just for a little while, and guess what?
My inside world came back to life
but I feel like there's something
I'm forgetting to do…
It's like forgetting the words
to your favorite song;
Listening I close my eyes,
I can almost feel the hot
sands under my dancing feet;
I can almost feel the cool
waters swirling over my body.
Sea breezes shift the palm fronds;
Soul shadows gracefully hula.
Dream journey over, all is mended....
and Happily Ever After is... where?
What is bad? I always fight with myself
right about now for not learning to interpret
all the brilliant color and breathtaking beauty
or understand methods to read the symbols.
What is a good thing? Keeping my dreams
alive, inside, safe from the outside world.
Saturday, April 10, 2010
An aura of white spring sun
radiated outward from their forms;
Granddad, tall and thin, talked
to Grandma, short and plump…
their shadows converged coating me.
I squatted on the white enamel pee pot
staring up at their combined contours.
Odd how that memory of them checking
the cottage after winter had passed
sticks with me to this day…
seeing their breath float between them
in the unheated cottage;
seeing how time softened them
to a delicate balance…
all that caring over a lifetime.
I was only three; they looked so permanent
backlit against the double kitchen window.
Friday, April 9, 2010
awareness is the first step
but I've got magic beans…
and masks have been made.
improvisation helps bring a mystical
afterglow that can't completely
lighten darkened anticipation;
counting hours between now, bad
and the beginning of new intuition.
I should never finish even the most
horrid day at work without a little
arcane creative process… breaking
to shake my snow globe unicorn;
catching ethereal visions of rainbows;
gazing at the universe's pastel sketches…
butterflies, dragonflies and swallows -
it is a great old world but a place where
skeptics attempt to shatter illusions;
with a wave of imagination, I test it
out in reality… they are not to be
believed when confronting nonconformists
who start something soaked in mystique.
At last an antidote to dullness
as a mechanism for coping…
anything stupid, impatient or thoughtless
radiates throughout our lives -
a funny reflection on current society’s
uncontrolled anxiety ridden atmosphere.
A more practical perspective
keeps coming up in my mind
and for this moment there's a hint
of stubbornness to reach out to others;
not that it is a bad thing…
it might be my age…
I've learned that nothing in life is free;
there are no rescuers… I go it alone.
I’m still thinking about this quote…
“Teach me about what teaches you”
on paper it sounds good so I might
as well dig in layers of my meaning
because I've experienced it; perhaps
my gained knowledge will resonate
with others as I keep pushing,
I have to follow my dreams.
“Teach me about what teaches you.” - M. P. Somé
murder after murder
raucous crows beat across
slate sky to roost
black against descending evening
skimming low, feathers repel rain
beat and glide,
wet wings pumping
beat and glide…
into deepening gloom
clustered tightly the rookery
waits out damp cold night
first light disassembles them
streaming through morning skies
to scour scavenged nourishment.
"Crow Observations" 1/14/2010 - reworked 4/8/2010
Mercury meows good mornings;
he meows complaints;
meows feed me or just because
it’s his sense of entitlement
to vocalize his state of being.
He snores, belches and farts
mimicking an old man…
When waltzing in to vomit,
he keeps me grounded
stopping to remove cat puke,
scooping up mouse remains,
battered birds or other offerings.
You know how I feel about him;
he shakes now… some sort
of palsy, thin as a rail,
shrinking before my eyes;
I memorize his meow…
revised from 3/20/2010 4/8/2010
Tuesday, April 6, 2010
to the point that literally one
couldn't think straight anymore
couldn’t remember phone numbers
totally in an abuse-caused head-fog
misfortune of marrying an abusive man
being "property" I had no rights.
it’s taken a long time to get the rest
of the world to see the awful truth
behind this cold blooded thinking.
thirty+ years ago, it was just
beginning to turn in this country…
I never reported the handprint
on the baby’s bottom…
I was in such denial; it can’t be.
I never told my parents about
the “rope burn” wrist incident or
the time he kicked me out of bed...
“so I kicked you a few times…”
Too far gone to see real reality
not my isolated existence reality.
When you’re involved in the cycle
of abuse its hard to see;
it’s hard to see a way out…
convinced that you are nothing;
you can’t make it on your own.
Disturbed behavior is beyond detrimental;
soul destructive, decimating to spirit…
after all these years I still struggle.
Don’t get low over this, it’s a satisfactory
feeling to work my way out of the mire.
Sunday, April 4, 2010
Coming home from grocery shopping
thoughts flew in and out of mind
winging their way to far and beyond.
Driving in the damp darkness, streets
glisten from sporadic rains; tires
spin through connecting puddles
hissing and throwing water askew.
I showed my son where I almost
was run over last night by an errant driver.
Returning down our quiet side street,
I had shortening the dogs’ leads
when I heard the whine of the engine…
I was standing on the grass not the road.
He came right for me causing paralysis
and hypertension at the same time.
Splashing through a long puddle, its water
arching into space… I jumped pulling
the dogs just in time as he roared past
slightly correcting his aim; barely stopping
before launching out onto Division,
my scream of jack ass was absorbed
by churning ties against slick surface.
Dogs expect their walk, following me
watching every move, willing me
to grab the leashes and put on the
reflector vest as I stow the purchases.
Hesitant… unfortunately, thinking about
my close encounter with a screaming car
last night… that's the sort of randomness
that makes me question the why, what
and wherefore of my choices mixed
with someone else’s choices. The reality
of how little control we have over events.
Saturday, April 3, 2010
If I turn the notebook
that I grabbed to scribble
poems into this morning
right side up, would
the words change
or tumble off the page
to dance with dust bunnies
under my bed?
Tarot cards mean
the opposite when inverted,
but what about
upside down poems…
My pillow at times seems to be my best friend…
It listens to my morning mumbles and my nocturnal
musings; it does not spill a word about any crazy thoughts,
ambitions or dreams. It cradles my head every evening,
when I’m under the weather or occasionally during afternoon naps.
Always prepared to offer support with nothing desired in return…
fluffing restores it fully and a clean pillow case suffices
for a wardrobe… it soaks up tears, can be hugged when
depression rears its emotional head, can even be pounded
when frustrated without fear of complications or remorse.
An extra cover contains pillow making it more resilient
and keeps dust mites at bay; it easily rides in the back seat
to travel; it does not require seat belts or nourishment…
A perfect companion who does not shed, require clean ups,
or tune out my conversations sorting through life’s complexity.
Sun light poured onto the small oil cloth covered
wooden kitchen table; granddad’s tall lean frame
bent diligently over his task: a massive fish line
tangle created by his impatient grandchildren…
So small I barely came even to the table edge,
I leaned against his knee fascinated with the process.
He patiently worked his magic to untangle this newest
challenge that he found impossible to resist.
His shock of white hair blazed bright with light reflected
off the lake; an intricate pattern of sparkles glanced
onto his gold wire rim glasses; a five & dime white tea
cup filled with tea so dark it could be coffee sat off
to his side cooling… his long fingers gingerly unraveled
the mystery of a Universe of knotted filament…
Persistently restoring order from impending chaos.
Friday, April 2, 2010
Circling buzzards over my head
drawn by wafting scent of financial decay
mirage of paradise writhes in the distance
walking faster I pursue palatable success
my mantra… eventually it will become real.
What I need to find is some peace of mind.
Its easy to be depressed about destitutehood.
I refuse to acknowledge those gliding vultures
desiring to pluck my eyes and eat my innards.
Sounds kind of harsh but it is true... yes,
a perverse truth, horrible, lovely bald monsters
picking my abandoned dreams clean to my soul.
I only see now how the rhythm really changes…
Painting and more painting... the more I paint
the more alive I feel! I ignore rules that others
follow… I consider it to be righteously crazy;
The lovely miracle of prosperity suddenly becomes
closer to realization despite how little control
I have over many events and the false beliefs
in my head that really are the cause of unhappiness.
Thursday, April 1, 2010
One year of mile long night walks;
Almost 365 evenings of stars,
moon cycles, clouds, rain, heat…
Facets of weather cause
periodic balks due to fierce
horizontal rain, screaming winds,
bone chilling temperatures
or exorbitant heat…
Designated “lost” mile commitments
bring occasional second “walkies”.
I find strength returning to a body
savaged by “routine” surgery.
Still with all this routine mini treks,
I am a shape… just not the one
I feel in spirit; surprised by mirror
reflections, I cringe viewing myself.
Testing the waters… trial morning
walks have the Corgis dancing
in anticipation of two walk day.
Helmeted bicyclist glides silently;
Miniature handle bar moon
courses over the landscape.
Pedals push him forward
through darkened streets.
The Corgis prance with joy
pulling me forward to absorb
silver refracted moonbeams
gilding my appearance.
Drenched in glistening light,
the afternoon espresso regret
fades… replaced with ecstasy
walking our midnight mile.
The golden full moon pierces
ground anchored evergreens
whose silhouettes scratch sky.
Extraordinary night, my heart
sings feeling connections
to earth and celestial space.