Saturday, July 31, 2010

Crone Eccentricity -- Poetry 2010

I can tell myself the straight
truth about my aging form;
parts aren’t defying gravity…
elasticity is leaving crepe paper skin;
enlarged brown “freckles” decorate
back of my hands; eyesight is blurrier.
I shed as much hair as the Corgis –
except theirs grows back again.
I don’t care that its color changed
from a rich auburn to salt and pepper…
It’s the thin, thinner, thinnest…
more scalp displayed to sun and rain;
natural deforestation of hair follicles
that bothers me more than anything.
I suppose I still have my giggling cackle;
I suppose I still have my warped humor;
I certainly still have my forms of expression.
It’s the loss of my best remaining asset.
I’ve let it grow long, a last hurrah of locks.
My daughter is visiting soon, I’m planning
a pseudo celebration of crone eccentricity
and then we’ll shave my hair completely off;
no old man denial comb-over for me…


Friday, July 30, 2010

Wish You Were Here -- Poetry 2010

Eleven years ago I moved to the Pacific Northwest,
my Dad’s been in hiding ever since… a guiding spirit
tucked away counseling me from a corner of my kitchen.
He’s residing on top of the cabinets in the crematory box.
Nothing fancy, a hard blue Styrofoam box and plastic bag.

A favorite pastime of his was tinkering, fixing things,
making things right everywhere he could… a tidy yard,
things put in their place inside and outside, not compulsive,
but in a puttering, keeping busy sort of way, figuring
out how things worked by taking them apart… a working
meditation puzzling out and repairing broken gadgets.
A mile long list of repairs inside and outside my house
would have filled his day from morning to night…
I can imagine him shaking his head for picking out
such a lemon of a house; I so wish he were here…

My mother frequents my dreams; Dad doesn’t appear at all.
I wanted to retrieve Mom’s ashes, he had them buried…
She had wanted them scattered at Killington her favorite
skiing location… I was going to scatter them together but
here his ashes sit three thousand miles from Mom’s, in a state
he never visited, collecting dust while tucked into a corner.


Wheeling -- Poetry 2010

Riding Promise across the night sky,
dodging stars, circling the moon…
mane held tight with her strong hands
legs gripping the dapple grey
ears alert to Wind singing harmonious
ancient songs of gloaming fulfillment
until dawn casts dreams into shadow…
She awkwardly slides into her wheelchair
parked against her bed; releasing the brakes,
her wheels circumnavigate another day


Concrete Box -- Poetry 2010

Don’t bury me -
such an archaic practice…
confining a body
to casket and concrete box.
What a waste of materials!

Cemeteries –
park lands of the future
littered with headstones.
What a waste of land!

Plant a deciduous or evergreen
tree in my memory.
Something that will grow tall,
cast shade on hot summer days;
catch moonbeams on a summer night.
Wind will sing through branches,
birds will chirp near by where ashes
embed leaf matter and soil...


Refuting King Midas’s Touch -- Poetry 2010

The effect of turning everything into declining earnings…
It was apparent; she had an opposing Midas touch.
All she remembered from her twenty-something year old
self was never feeling like she fit where she was at the time;
her self-expression replaced self-destructive behaviors.
Now coming to grips with her buried passion, she fit in
producing art but crowded her living space with unsold heaps;
her material output filled with expectation met debilitating
financial intransigence… as an elder, she was broke and happy.
Self critics rode her back disgorging nasty comments:
fascinatingly bad, lovingly loathsome, and intriguingly bazaar.
She resorted to pep talks to personally admonish herself:
I can never settle.
I can never surrender.
I can never stop following my true north.
The things she put in or took out of her experiences added
golden hues to her life’s journey meaning more than popular
approval, monetary gain, physical beauty, romance or security.
She thought, “I will just do what I love today, tomorrow
and the next day, ad infinitum because I say so…

Wednesday, July 28, 2010

Last Four Sentences -- Poetry 2010

I read
and reread
the last four sentences.
I had to physically
hear the words
out loud
not rely on an internal
audio system.
your words exploded
in my heart

Your dreams:
of divorcing
of moving
of leaving the children
of plastic surgery
of altering persona
to be with him…

Life’s a mystery:
surprise and delight
extreme suffering and pain.
Cracking under the pressure
of normal family obstacles,
you are risking it all
for imperfect dreams;
you are inflicting emotional
trauma for so many;
you are stepping on many lives
to get what you wish for…


this totaly changes the perspective of the first "Four Sentences".
one is advice and this one is shocking news of running from normal to the wildly unknown & destroying many lives in the process.

Four Sentences -- Poetry 2010

I read and reread the last four sentences.
First to myself and finally out loud…
I had to physically hear the words
not rely on my internal audio system.
Your words came crashing at me from all sides.
I deeply relate, from multi dimensions....

You dream of trading locations but experience
has shown me that it doesn’t work…
one brings the baggage to the new place.
You dream of discharging your mate but experience
has shown me that one often selects the same persona.
You dream of changing your presence but experience
has shown me that while it can be coached…
it takes a miracle to really alter one’s psyche.
You dream of reshaping your body… experience
has shown me discipline and a schedule do work.

Here’s my advice column:
1. You need to tell life what you want; it’s a mystery
unfolding, it never explains to you what it means.
2. Remember that saying, “be careful what you wish for”.
3. Life never fails to surprise and delight or cause extreme
suffering and pain…. don’t crack under the pressure.
4. Obstacles are things to step on when reaching goals…
OK, I’m done… pass the plate and say Amen!


Tuesday, July 27, 2010

Work Week -- Poetry 2010

Monday, you have failed to live up
to my expectations for this week.
Regardless, I put in a good effort;
I'm going to have to let Monday go…
can make it up to me next week?
Hopefully, Tuesday can take up your slack.
If not, I wonder where I could find another
day on such short notice. Maybe if I look
to corporate America for inspiration…
if I follow a Top 500 Company's model,
I fire Monday and spread the duties among
the other days of the week, thereby cutting
costs while maintaining the same level of output.
Of course no one gets raises for actually having
to do more work. Matter of fact, I think we may
have to let Thursday go as well…
Time for a new week ethic….


3:13 am -- Poetry 2010

Wistful words woke me up…
rattling around the inner sanctum
until reflexes automatically groped
for bedside pad of paper and pen.
Strung together – a rosary of phrases
clicked out onto a two-dimensional page
forming three-dimensional images…
Snapping off the bed lamp, darkness
enveloped misshapen scribbles;
freshly written ink spasms solidified.
Morning’s first light transcribed them
back into electronic impulses…
computer keystrokes liberated them
into cyberspace nooks and crannies…


Monday, July 26, 2010

Wandering in the Night -- Poetry 2010

Hello full moon…
You're looking good tonight
reaching your apex in clairvoyant sky
best time to take a moonbeam bath
stroll through twilight’s effervescence
listen for the rustle and bustle of creatures
moving through thickets and across fields
until the scratch of dog nails on pavement,
jingle of tags on collars, steady breathing
causes critters to duck for cover till we pass…
tomorrow your aged orb will slowly diminish…
a sliver that is dark will appear on your side,
nonetheless beautiful until your rotate from sight
as your monthly schedule demands concealment.
Then I will wait impatiently for you return…
to wander the night in your caressing soft light.


Sunday, July 25, 2010

Limbo -- Poetry 2010

If I told you who I was
it would spoil my mystic;
It would ruin my one chance
to be a mysterious woman
to leave you wondering who.
You’d know the what…
amidst noise I was lost in words
You’d know the where…
5th Ave Coffee House
You’d know the when…
10 am on a Sunday in July
You’d know the how…
intrigued that I was writing
you asked if I’d share.

I’ve got tons of anxiety right now.
We may never meet again
although this city is small.
I’m too shy;
I’m too afraid;
I’m destined to stand alone
rather than being blinded by love,
falling into another abuse pattern.
I take risks as an artist and poet
but not with relationships.
I am a secret box waiting to be opened
wrapped in a self-inflicted limbo…
a really tough thing to stomach.
I know what I really want,
I hope you find my business card
that I slipped into your book…


Imprisoned -- Poetry 2010

Spiraling out of control
mouth sucked of words
stretched to brittleness
lurched from her center
depleting more than voice
helpless she panicked
her throat constricted
no screams released
fear inundated every cell
frayed nerve endings
muscles without spasms
brain racked on a spike
striped of youthful skin
muscles dried and brown
eyes wide open to darkness
ears removed from sound
cadavers displayed intricacies
mystery of human anatomy
amazed people crowded past


Longing to Know -- Poetry 2010

attentive to danger
abandoned to nature
surviving independently
traveling alone
lithe doe
keeping to cover
keeping to shadow
keeping her distance
nourished by beauty
living by her wits
following common sense
observing others
longing for honest interaction
Sipping her coffee
Their eyes met over the brim


pieces -- poetry 2010

dreams fell away
out of reach
little pieces died
each day
less hope
rail thin
her form withered
collapsed inward
turning to char
gritty bone fragments
scattered among the roses
Whose beauty is replenished
Whose scent remained constant
Whose image burned memory
long after blooms fade


Insecure -- Poetry 2010

Once svelte
her body
her soul
trim and tidy
strong and fit
before the daily whim
called life took its toll
now she rolls
now she waddles
now she hides
behind rotund layers
repelling even herself


Saturday, July 24, 2010

Notch -- Poetry 2010

Don’t let me out of this kiss......
She could smell the sin now
Hot summer night hormones
Camp counselor transgressions
September’s unanswered messages:
press one if you like staying on hold;
press two if you want more options;
if you would like to be disconnected,
please press 3 - caller ID, screened calls…
If you wish to speak to an actual person,
hang up and call some one else…
She knew everything he said was a lie;
the only person who really understood
was her Mother… who knew somehow.
Being a girl is so weird sometimes…
she was totally crying about her encounter,
her embezzled heart, her wishing she
could look back through time to see clearly
his faux infatuation, his indifference
to her compliance…
she was just another notch on his jock strap.


Coffee Shop Premonition -- Poetry 2010

Glancing sideways at his windowed reflection;
there is nothing sexier than a man reading a book.
He came here often, sat at the same table, smiled
a greeting between sips of coffee and sips of words.
Her mind tumbled and spun dried a myriad of questions;
A series of impressions ready to hang out to dry…
Sometimes he even comments on my outfits but he's
never asked me out. He’s always alone with a book…
How to go about it? Should I ask him?
Certainly not – what about the weather… boring!
Definitely not – are you available? too blunt…
he appeared to be calm, relaxed, comfortable.
Hard for her to tell from his outside what was going on inside.
Toying with her business card, she could obviously pin
it to the bulletin board or drop it casually as she walked out.
Spinning a script, spinning working up the courage…
Maybe ask him for a restaurant recommendation before
that meeting tonight… she was just no good at this.
Sighing, pushing back her chair, ready to disengage,
“Do you have time for a second cup?” His soft voice
added, “This poem bears sharing, may I read it to you?”


You Never Know -- Poetry 2010

brought my sappy to the surface
don't you hate it when an unbalanced
sense of humor soars unbidden.
My mind wandered; I said out loud…
the universe must hate my undies;
cause I can’t afford new ones, I think
it wants me to go commando.
Maybe if I did go without, it would
change my whole outlook on life.
Fuddy-duddy people closest to me
looked aghast… I was brain tired;
they were gnawing on old bones:
Current aches and pains
Expense of medicine
Recent surgeries
Cost of health care…
Sometimes the thing I don’t like
about others are a mirror reflection;
how often did I repeat details
of a health issue or that surgery?
Time for a check in;
time to go commando…


Wool Gathering -- Poetry 2010

walking lost
over familiar route
partial to invisibility
night cloaks me
oblique energy
encased skin
not dark and sinister
Sun adjudicates
Moon endeavors
serenity being colorless
soft sound vignette
watching dogs
taste the air
light and shadow
dawn and dusk


Friday, July 23, 2010

Offline -- Poetry 2010

“Going offline for a few days”, she said...
“don't do anything stupid while I'm gone!
Well, on the other hand, those of you who
have made it your mission to make really bad
decisions, have a great time…” CW

Thus tragedy ensued when the M&M bowl
fell into the toilet resulting in a cataclysmic
disgorging of water and other things.
Strike two, the stench I smelled while
picking peas for my salad - bacon burnt
to a crisp coating my clothing with time-release
odor that I know will waft everywhere I go…
Strike three, walking out without my bag
packed for classes: materials, lunch, camera…
and that was within the first hour of the day!

I guess today I decided to take my “mission”…
with bad decisions and stupid mistakes.
Life’s process is really funny sometimes…
There's this really attractive man who works
downtown; he says hi to me when I work
at the parks and recreation, maybe he’ll
like the smell of bacon…


Emanation -- Poetry 2010

A wayward emanation of birds
elegantly skim over the moon
momentarily backlit before
disappearing into black space.
I will be with you shortly
because you're thinking;
you’re in the process of putting
a change in our status…
Likely you hit it on the head,
watching the mated geese fly…
Brought an understanding to our layers;
reminded especially what mating means.
First rule of friendship is for a reason;
second not rushing into things; third,
integrity and honesty woven with passion.
A series of concentric circles with us
in the center. Yes, the world really does
revolve around both of us… rippling
rings disappearing into black space.


Wednesday, July 21, 2010

Being -- Poetry 2010

Filled with so much love of life
just can't stop dancing today…
if you haven't seen me dance,
picture a body twitching loosely to a beat.
My outlook, I can't dance but I'm having fun.
A fierce full-bodied live performer
jiggling to sinfully delicious sounds
a rich soulful endearing experience
I have my heart, my mind and my soul
aligned to be me…


Tuesday, July 20, 2010

Teaching Art -- Poetry 2010

summer art classes for kid’s ages eight to twelve
I’m beginning the week exhausted
already watching the countdown 'til Friday
wish I had some magic invigorating drops
bet they don’t go home and nap for an hour
they are astonishingly lively, tirelessly
laughing and giggling for three hours…
I find that I'm happier, more together
and productive when art mentoring besides
I share in the laughter and giggles for three hours
wish I could bottle the students’ energy
for a spontaneous response to prevent getting tired


Monday, July 19, 2010

Listen Up -- Poetry 2010

For me there is that odd moment
between sleep and fully awake
where things I’ve been thinking about
or tidbits from dreams coalesce
bearing fruit in the form of a poem
or fully conceived art work design…
I have time to make it happen;
At least, I’d like to think so…
Maybe I will fall flat on my face
but if I do, I'll just get right back up
and say to myself,
"OK, Ellen! New plan! Begin again!"


Speaking of Trouble -- Poetry 2010

Appearing from behind a clothing rack,
their nuisance customer approached mumbling…
The two sales associates audibly groaned.
If at all possible, they would have bolted for the door.
This pesky customer always popped in at closing time.
Rolling her eyes, she fondled silk blouses, rumpled
the sweater display and unarranged the scarves.
Never purchasing anything, she seemed determined
to sprinkle subtle mayhem wherever she went…
There was a definite pattern to her old lady sabotage.
Shenanigans visited upon the local shops all over town;
The various sales people were helpless to stop her.
They dreamed up schemes to derail her prolific
proclivity for scrambling displays and keeping them late.

Checking her schedule, she pulled on her jacket.
Every store once a week – that was her goal.
That way when she was dead and buried, she’d
be remembered, at least for awhile…


Feet -- Poetry 2010

Summer heat pours out open car door
Greeting its tired owner who stands
Cooking feet on searing asphalt

Sit in sweltering hot air bath
Stand and engorge feet already swollen

Muscle, tendons, ligaments, bones
Protest their long day

Swelter and rest feet


8 Signs of a Worn Woman -- Poetry 2010

She wandered aimlessly up and down aisles
forgetting where she parked her car.
She remembered the plastic fruit her mother
had attached to her car radio antennae so long ago,
as a child she had been embarrassed by its novelty…
Everyone else had plastic flowers to locate vehicles
in the huge parking lots of the new craze – mega malls.
Sighing, she understood her mom’s dilemma…
Sighing, she wanted to avoid her mom’s consternation…
Sighing, she found herself in the midst of “whelm”…
As in overwhelmed once her mom’s steady state of mind.
Life had worn her mother out – depleted her hope.
Now here she was inundated with the same stress…
she lost her keys constantly
missed appointments
put on mismatched shoes
repeated stories to bored ears
purchased duplicate items
forgot people’s names
could barely repeat her social security number
and now she had lost her car….


Sunday, July 18, 2010

The Hardest Thing I Ever Had to Do… Poetry 2010

Hooked up with tubes and wires
My eleven year old son’s small form
Reminded me of a Star Trek Borg…
Mechanical sounds surrounded him:
Beep Tick click beep Tick click beep
Air and fluids pumped through tubes
Bruised and battered, pale and naked
I leaned over and took his hand
I leaned over and touched his face
I whispered in his ear
If you feel you can’t do this
If it’s too much for you to endure
It’s OK to let go
It’s OK to die
It’s your choice


Complacent Fat Cells -- Poetry 2010

Visibility and invisibility, that was what she wanted…
Overweight to the point of landing on the obese scale,
extremely shy and awkward in social situations,
made her a wagging tongue target and socially withdrawn.
An odd combination of negative and positive attributes:
people in her family’s social circle ignored her as she
ignored them… her size put them off, her lack of eye contact
made them uneasy, made them distrust her motivation.
Wishing to distance themselves from their own fear
of loosing control, her fat repelled them into extreme
thinness, lollipop women… shrinking bodies, big heads.
This social strata she inherited was uncomfortable,
she couldn’t relate to the fakeness, to their self centered
life style, to all the glitz, glamour, to her to obligations.
Their expectations clashed, an incompatible soul
stranded with morally deficient shallow shades…
Her fat cells became her ally, her fortress against
inequity of status and place that she was born into.


Saturday, July 17, 2010

Final Notice -- Poetry 2010

She hated it when people didn't do what they promised.
She wanted to vent her aggravation into a wicked
guitar solo; rip at the strings for 20 minutes straight.
Rip till her fingers bleed; rip strings slippery with blood.
Unfortunately she was not that kind of guitar player;
strumming didn't quite have the same desired effect.
People were the leading cause of her drama daydreams;
Her frustration turned distortion and reverb to quiet wails.
Processing to snap out of it, she reminded herself
that she wasn’t responsible for other people's actions.
Feeling back on track from her absurd mental riffs with heavy
metal vocals, she drove home happy into a sunset blazed
with indigo and copper, framed in heat lightning, filled
with promise of deciding to put them on final notice.


Sailing -- Poetry 2010

Wish I could fill my head with wind
hear it whistle through the rigging
sense the vibration from taught sails
lunge over the ultramarine blue bay
ride the swells changing tack
shower with cooling salt spray mist
feel the sun or shadow on my back
bathe in bright light reflection from white sailcloth
smell sea remembrance of amoebic beginnings
return to salty gestation of wind, water, and light


The Cold War -- Poetry 2010

Hysterical, sobbing into mom’s shoulder…
She rocked me in her darkened bedroom, held me
tight in the Boston rocker and hummed softly into my hair.
Ed Sullivan show presented the animated “A Short Vision”,
I was nine; I sat mesmerized until the destruction sank in;
there was an enormous flash of light depicted;
there was an enormous ball of fire which grew and grew
into the ominous mushroom cloud and the fire storm.
The burning wind roared through my naïve mind…
Graphic representation of a nuclear explosion, images
instantly embedded, I ran screaming from the living room.
Nature obliterated and man made objects incinerated…
The threat of annihilation of everything I loved ripped
through my child frame searing the images deep into my being.
I shook sobbing myself hoarse; my safe world exploded…
welcome to the mid-1950’s, the Cold War and nuclear paranoia.


Found poem – when I read this account about the A-Bomb test, it threw me back to the Ed Sullivan Show and the short film “A Short Vision”…
A scientist who witnessed the test reported: "We were lying there, very tense, in the early dawn, and there were just a few streaks of gold in the east; you could see your neighbor very dimly. ... Suddenly, there was an enormous flash of light, the brightest light I have ever seen. ... It blasted; it pounced; it bored its way right through you. It was a vision which was seen with more than the eye. It was seen to last forever. ... There was an enormous ball of fire which grew and grew and it rolled as it grew; it went up into the air, in yellow flashes and into scarlet and green. It looked menacing. It seemed to come toward one."

Less is More -- poetry 2010

The way you say this:
“want less, suffer less”
making a spiritual observation…
keeping life simple instead
of unending empty desire
to fill life with stuff not spirit.
My goal is to keep creative focus…
Although I struggle wanting
An occasional movie, dinner out,
First hand clothes, a vacation…
“Want less, suffer less” mantra
is better than a litany of I can’t
afford it or just too poor...
Less is more.


Friday, July 16, 2010

Transient Sleep -- Poetry 2010

Sprawled out on emerald turf
Prone bodies litter the city park
Laid out in odd positions
Sky drifts across facial features
Cloud, sun, cloud
Dreaming the time away
Shadow, light, shadow
Sleeping the day away
Retreating light
Bodies stir to survive
Another night…


Thursday, July 15, 2010

Hallucinations -- Poetry 2010

What you were thinking was always virtuous…
or so it seemed to others who you impressed.
She had a good feeling about you;
things just fell into place naturally.
She didn't need alcohol to fall in love
but some people need alcohol in order
to act on it - that was you… a closet imbiber.
You implied that to be honest you need
to say everything you're thinking and not
to do so is dishonest; that was your excuse
for issuing cruel remarks when alone with her.
She couldn’t condone your language, images
on your computer and other habits that erupted
in a short time. She always had to drop everything
when he wanted and always be available to see him.

If I did a risk assessment every time I did
something I'd never get anything accomplished
but in their case, if she had listened she
would be found not lost in hallucinations.
Staring at the floor, pouting his lips, fidgeting
and touching his head as his recorded voice
blasted, “I’ll have you beaten to a pulp.”


Fortune Cookie -- Poetry 2010

Her fortune cookie at dinner said,
“You have tremendous power that you are not using.”
It’s the human condition to think you’re at 100%...
She felt a shift in momentum after taking his class.
While most artists enjoy natural light, she preferred
to dwell in what amounted to a cave, a womb of safety;
sound of waterfalls played from morning till night;
ferns and orchids covered a wall with faux rocks;
finch enclosure added to the calming natural sounds.
One of the things she learned from her cats…
Prowl in darkness using all her senses, she dwelled,
silent, centered in creativity, building her power…
eroding the damage he’d done with pseudo critiques
that slashed to the heart –“Who are you? I don’t
remember you in class. Everyone come look at what not to do!”
She envisioned a lion’s ferocity, a snake’s connection
to earth and sky and her power burst through her brush…

His fortune cookie at dinner said, “You will be
attacked by a beast with the body of a lion,
the tail of a serpent that speaks truth…” nonsense…
He’d been planning and scheming his whole life;
So far, his deceptions always turned out well.
In his office, he was surrounded by his memorabilia,
leather-bound books, swords, manly artifacts reflected in his
photo realistic oil paintings that mimicked the masters
with a twist of outrageous color and ignoble acts.
His spiteful remarks veiled in encouragement
Bleed truth dry without having guilt about damaging
the irrational and uncontainable enthusiasm of art students.
He vehemently undermined tremendous potential.
His manipulative nature fell pray to early retirement;
governing board’s spontaneous response to students’
thick packet of documented travails in his class beautifully
illustrated with a beast that had a body of a lion and
the tail of a serpent – her first outstanding piece of work.


Wednesday, July 14, 2010

One Who Never Stops -- Poetry 2010

Time to put away fairy tales and start
making some magical reality… she thought.
The fog rolled in from the Pacific engorging
her rustic studio in a mist of cool respite.
Summer dawn sun filtered through silver droplets;
Hovering rainbows coated herbs and flowers…
Pre-workshop anxiety dreams propelled
her to prepare extra samples in advance…
the downed two cups of morning coffee helped
jitter her way through the demo preparation;
jingling and jostling lines created new vistas.
Her staid and true, her oh so normal way of working
was left behind, shaken free in the caffeine rush.
Together, mocha and latte wired her mind,
ushering in an era of unknown creative output;
Catapulting her knights’ colors arching over canvass…
Capturing the fairy magic at her disposal through
incantations of brush, paint and substrate…
let there be dragons, winged and ferocious!


Comfortable -- Poetry 2010

I have on my favorite pajammie pants
and, right now, that's all I need to make me happy
keeping life to simple creature comforts
soft flannel against skin
loose fitting leaving room to move, expand
I can accomplish so much more when comfortable
Comfortable in my own skin
Even watching it age – spots and wrinkles
Hair going grey and thinning
Eyes needing help envisioning surroundings
Body growing wider and starting to sag
Time wears on, wears the body down
Walking – moving meditation – simple to practice
Chi Gong – standing meditation – simple to complete
Yoga – stretching meditation – simple to release
Ease of movement, ease of thought process
Happy in my aging skin cosseted in soft flannel….


Tuesday, July 13, 2010

Giggling -- Poetry 2010

If only mosquitoes sucked fat instead of blood…
That is how I started my day early this morning
What an odd thought … what an odd dream.
There was also a scene with three women standing
Around a clogged toilet that kept shrinking in size…
The toilet was in the center of a room not a bathroom.
A room that would be featured in House beautiful.
I leaned over and tapped the lever with my foot;
Water gurgled, stuff floated close to the brim…
Would it overflow or not – waiting, waiting…
As one, we turned and ran squealing from the room.
I woke up giggling watching the sun come up.
I'd rather follow my intuition, give it an educated shot:
the inhabiting characters are not constrained by facts
But for the life of me, what on earth was with that toilet…


Special Circumstances -- Poetry 2010

She waffled, nearly told an insubordinate something…
a really strong feeling told her to shut the hell up;
afterward she realized if she had said something,
it would have been devastating for both of them.
No regrets for restraining herself yesterday…
That’s the trick really, when to be restrained
and when not to; a weighed decision of when
to egress and when to hold up.
Honesty is the usually the best policy;
Sometimes silence really is golden.
It would be a case of her honesty and integrity.
She had taken a few deep breaths, smiled
and walked away from the situation because
she was so busy and figured his attitude would cure
itself as they were on to him and his financial deceptions.

He hesitated, nearly told his supervisor something…
a really strong feeling told him to shut the hell up;
afterward he realized if he had said something,
it could have been devastating for him.
No regrets for restraining himself yesterday…
That’s the trick really, making a decision whether
or not to lie or otherwise be deceptive; this weighed
decision would only be a case of dishonesty, a few
dozen semi white lies not to let himself get run over.
In this instance, honesty was not the best policy;
sometimes silence really was a golden opportunity.
He had taken a few deep breaths, smiled and walked
away from the situation thinking he was in the clear,
no one was the wiser for his calculating discrepancies.


Monday, July 12, 2010

Shutting the world out -- Poetry 2010

Slamming the door
She dropped her keys
Shed her shoes
Letting her handbag slide to the floor
Collapsing into nearest chair
Sinking into worn comfort
Her eyes closed pinching tears
Staccato drops spattered silk
No whimper – no moans
Red Crescent moons rise
As nails dig indents into her palms
Steady splat of teardrops
Coalesce into Rorschach blots
Filled with salted meanings
7 hours in an office with no windows
Sadly, the end of another fine workday…


Sunday, July 11, 2010

Dormant Passions -- Poetry 2010

Too many directions
Too many interests
Bogged down
Diminished sales
Diminished out put
Materials, brush, tool,
Ideas claustrophobic
Vision stalled
Waiting for ignition


Horseless -- Poetry 2010

Grounded unable to walk
She was rolled here and there
Stuck in front of a television
Unable to change channels
An equestrian jumper event jarred
A wish – this once fervent desire
Sent her visiting her childhood
Riding her bike to see jumpers
Her dreams of wearing English gear
Tall field boots, white breeches, fitted
Black hunt jacket, collared shirt
With a pin centered on the rat trap,
Black helmet – even now vivid in detail…
Astride a dapple gray with braided mane
Soaring over jumps amazing watchers
Reality returned… old, frail, chair bound,
Horseless, her only option to sit stalled
Sifting through A to Z wishes and dreams…


Working at the Coal Face -- Poetry 2010

Sometimes I say too much…
I see it flit through a person’s eyes
Their body tightens in response
They run away mentally in panic
Opening my book to past chapters
No titles – no headings
Forewarn a reader or listener
Arial font for the whole world to see
Small village effect on a global scale
Typed by my own hand from my vision
Spoken in a moment of recklessness
Experiences uttered by mouth spasms
Reside in conversation, email or poetry blog
Not so much confessions: misbehaving,
Indiscretions, illegal acts or pranks…
Just reaction to life’s blasts from the past;
Excruciating emotional results I’m working out;
Attempting to address habitual patterns;
Acknowledging life’s future uncertainties.
Simple surface connections are what
People are comfortable with – the rest…
A vacancy sign appears in their features
Their mind starts humming a soothing tune
Selective hearing prevails – deaf ear evasion
Eyes turn inward with disregarding neglect
My subject is not what they want to confront
Or bring into their pleasant fortunate existence
My coal face rubbings smudge perfect facades…


Friday, July 9, 2010

Mingling -- Poetry 2010

I am an awkward mingler
The thought of mingling makes
me nervous leading to socially
awkward states of expression…
though, as a teacher I'm fairly talkative;
I put on my game face and often am silly.
I'm becoming more and more comfortable
with my own awkwardness everyday
but its weird to be flawed most of the time.
Still, I rather hide out here in my studio
until inspiration and/or guidance hits.
Some times the universe has the strangest
ideas about timing, ideas about celebrating,
ideas that are distorting my memory.
If only I could have afforded metaphors
Instead of wish-you-were-here tickets;
any minute now, I feel like crawling in a hole
or running away to home-safe-home…
maybe it's better; I can only suspect what
I'm missing…


Thursday, July 8, 2010

Flies -- Poetry 2010

Swimming in viscous night
Dogs panting vigorously
Tongues wagging each step
Scorched earth releases
Soaked sun residue
Dog deposits made and gathered
Tomorrow’s heat will draw flies
Irresistible scent of dog droppings
Stroked by sun’s insurgency


Wednesday, July 7, 2010

Sweeter -- Poetry 2010

Having this brain
that's etiquette enhanced
listening to concerns expressed…
generates Practice of the Wild:
Buddhist reverence for all sentient beings;
setting rules which seem unreasonable
to hear and smell the countryside sans humans.
That’s what I had…
in very demanding dreams:
capturing imagination across time;
capturing creatures of earth and air...

because they’re beautiful, I want them
to step safely throughout earth’s landscapes
because there’s a wealth of inspiration
rarely seen without risk or danger…
all life smells the sweeter for it.


Tuesday, July 6, 2010

Dawn’s Tickle -- Poetry 2010

woke up to a rude spider marching down
my arm - tickling hairs – stomping his feet
twitching arm in reaction sent his silk flying
into creeping dawn – he never knew what took him
through space at warp speed arcing downward
spinneret thread glistening in dim dimension
eight point landing severing slim bungee cord
scurrying over rough terrain to hid within a shoe


Where are my Sunglasses? -- Poetry 2010

Summer heard us whining and moaning…
Everyone and their uncle wanted hot weather.
Record steady lower than average temps
made a downright cold miserable spring.
Summer finally decided to arrive
with a vengeance…
I was content to have it be overcast.
The rest of the country has been sweltering;
wearing my winter wardrobe was getting old…
having to turn the heat on in June – ridiculous!
This twenty degree jump has addled my brain;
I can't work in the heat of the day, not me.
I know, waa, waa, waa
But I have so much to get done...


Monday, July 5, 2010

Dawn -- Poetry 2010

Wondering why there is no clear answer
from the dawn recently; she seems rather
standoffish in our social interactions
staying gray and foggy until almost noon.
Who commissions her to appear or not are
based on natural world’s unwritten rules.
No amount of inquiry studying layers of meaning
in the guise of weather charts, wind currents
and such will create a dialogue needed to draw
her out of her reluctance to break into shining
imagery that asks all eyes to be drawn to her.


Day Off --- Poetry 2010

So what do normal people do
when they have a day off?
Her Google calendar reminded
her this morning that she had
an appointment today…
to take a full day of rest but a little black
four legged alarm clock and a little brown
one woke her up at 8AM on the dot. How do
they do that? clever little dogs learned to tell time.
Normally, she didn't have an issue living alone,
today though, she’s not doing well with it.
So now she’s in her girl cave dancing
around in her underwear with the dogs
bouncing off the furniture. Thank God
she is not in politics because this folly
could really come back to haunt her.
Oh the irony, she’s geared up to go somewhere
and nothing to wear… to misquote an TV ad.
Giggling she threw on jeans and t-shirt.
Hello old friend, she took a break to strum
her guitar for a while; tried to read a book;
Internet was out… not to mention her phone
is off too; enough of this “me time”…
Into a downpour without a jacket, she sprinted
for two blocks to reach her favorite coffee shop.


Thought Stream -- Poetry 2010

Sometimes thoughts float
against blue sky
Some thoughts are pale and weary
Some sink into despair and darkness
Others drift downstream reflecting
sunlight into shadow
Sighing produces cryptic observations
I wish I did
Rambling in the background
a steady monologue fills empty space
Bombarding each other, overlapping,
until jumbled into an interlocking
meaningless mess
Clogging the moments until sleep
brings respite from droning words
of various caliber and content


Sunday, July 4, 2010

At the coffee house listening… -- Poetry 2010

Her table was kitty corner to a bunch
of old men exchanging cute kitten stories.
Amazed that the lot of them were doing the male game
of topping each other with extended tales of cuteness.

My darling gray tabby kitten...she makes a darling
noise that made me call her "Cricket..

So I am upstairs cleaning.... start vacuuming
In the corner and a sparrow flew at me… remind
Me to give Abby a special thank you for the second
live bird she has snuck into the house through the dog door…

Sue-Z-Q glares at me until I turn the television off;
Then she races upstairs, waits for me to lumber up,
Then waits on the bathroom counter before leaping
Onto my pillow kneading it until the goose down
Floats out… then she sleeps on my chest.

Jasper shares my scrambled eggs and bacon every
Morning and even drops some for the dog… Buddy

Round and round the table, the cat tales wandered
Till cups grew empty, the old men nodded a farewell
With “see you tomorrow” – a daily cat klatch with coffee.


Stupid Junk Messages -- Poetry 2010

It takes every imaginable effort to
see it, dream it, make it happen
without instructors or books…
making a general observation
how work can overshadow creativity;
the need to pay your keep as a purpose
seems to lack soul but one has to survive.
I've experienced joy, pain, sorrow, betrayal,
I can always sense it somehow in others,
even without them saying a thing.
walking the dogs at night, I always feel
like a stronger, smarter, way more together
woman after that good mile work out; plus
moonbeams have everything to do with my day.
needless to say, I am now wearing completely
different thoughts after last night’s moon bath…
daydreaming, I hear the call of magic money.
I imagine dancing through a truly epic week;
I conspire to find ways to top these surreal ideas
after all, as a mature adult woman moving into
an elderly age, I often hear this stupid message…
I am sorry; that is not an option; I am sorry;
at your age that is not a selection; I am sorry;
that is not an option; I am sorry; at your age
that is not a selection; I am sorry; that is not
an option...
my message…
overnight success takes years of preparation…
my option…
I have the wisdom to achieve the impossible.


Locked in Time -- Poetry 2010

Maybe that’s why relationships fail…
One or the other locks their partner in time,
a special enclosure created to prevent change.
One or the other wants them always to stay
as they were in that first moment of exhilaration.
A moment sending love vibrating through every cell:
When all the world stood still as if holding its breath;
When all that mattered was touching skin to skin;
When all seemed perfect residing in a golden glow…
Before reality surfaced throwing challenges;
Before hardships ignited gut wrenching tests;
Before each unique individual clawed its way out
from the suffocating box because life is growth…
because some cherishing is smothering;
Because they’ve out grown each other
in a desperate attempt to stay the same…


Lovers -- Poetry 2010

She never had extraneous lovers, just a before
marriage and her marriage partner… such opposites
in attention to detail, one good - one self indulgent.
In her naïveté she almost fell to forced coitus but
never a one night stand induced by the cloying scent
of hormonal pheromone thrill destroying moral objections.
Too late for that now, only in contemplation
She concedes her lost chances to boogie down;
Irrationally throwing caution to the winds;
To fully experience her untapped sexual nature.
Sighing she shifts in her chair waiting for her time
To expire, making a to-do list for the next time around…


Saturday, July 3, 2010

Crisped -- Poetry 2010

Fever toasted words to a crisp
Somnolent –
Morbid thoughts interwoven
Nausea held back - will prevented
Discomfort falling into endless
Wandering around virus corridors
deluge of wicked
Harboring ill will until
Perspiration cleared all sequences
Breathing, thinking and movement


returned Poetry 2010

enjoy escapes
to be
held by the land,
warmed by the sun,
moved by the wind,
freed by the river...
connected to nature
released from melancholy moments
before the madness starts
and motivation usually fails
complicating things in my mind;
I stand willing to embrace anything


Friday, July 2, 2010

Monthly Resolutions -- Poetry 2010

I'm going to get back on track.
Skipped a couple months…
must come up with my new
month’s resolution for July.
Time to redeem myself
gray skies don't sell well;
time to speak to people's aspirations
not their dark times and gloom.
I'm too tired to think straight today;
I think I'll come up with them tomorrow.
Friday, you've been a real disappointment
to me all the way around thanks
to a terrible headache.
Time to decompress with mindless
entertainment – mystery theater…
It feels so good to be home but
sucks that I'm totally out of Advil…
everything happens for a reason, right?


Summer Virus -- Poetry 2010

Shuddering chills
Tingle nerve ends
Muscles twitch accordingly
Intense internal cramps
Intestinal disruptions
Headache from hell
Sun light sneaks
Into darkened room
Curtain slit brings color
To aching eyes
Inundated body
Bruised with virus
Taught skin burns
Until fever pitch bursts
Melting the disease
Soaked in cleansing sweat


Thursday, July 1, 2010

Is Cleanliness next to Godliness? -- Poetry 2010

In bright light with strong glasses
layers of dirt and grim are revealed
Whether in my car, enclosed porch,
Or hunkered down in my art room.
My surroundings are distressingly
Anchored with heavy list of chores.
When I was ill, I couldn’t sequence
To start or complete necessary tasks.
Since recovered and renewed:
If I get the yard work squared away,
The house suffers…
If I take the time to super clean the house,
My art work suffers…
If lost in a world of creation writing/painting,
Then the house and yard suffer…
This is a non white glove existence
Pursing rampant creativity…


All within Ear Shot -- Poetry 2010

Cigarette smoke wafted toward her
Dogs picked up a less obvious scent
Assuming duo nose detection indicated critter
Surprised by a Hell-o floating into her night
A deep resonate voice launched from between
A large rhodendrum and a small azalea…
Filtered light flitted across curling shoulder length
Blond hair, edging recessed facial features
He sat leaning against a shadowed fence…
Unnerved with this unexpected encounter,
She returned a quiet hell-o to the reclusive form
while urging her dogs forward, questions
Filled her mind starting with “who are you”
All the way to “How did you come to sit
With shrubs for covers and stars overhead”.
He had broken my nightly meditational walk
With a voice meant to tell tales of heroic
Adventures mesmerizing all within ear shot….