Tuesday, August 31, 2010

Her Haunting -- Poetry 2010



Since she’s been
in this world
She’s tried to
avoid physical hurt
tried to get away
avoid discord
tried to find safety
avoid him

even in dreams, she runs
shrinking in size
as a particle, sinking into a wall
invisible at last
only to still
be haunted with terror
knowing her tormentor
could still find her
his energy preceded
his body
groping
menacing
till she disappeared

8/31/2010

Dawn and Dusk -- Poetry 2010



Predawn darkness
fingers of light rise
earth turns toward sun
rotating without caring
jaded civilization
daybreak is not celebrated
cynical civilization
underwhelmed by dawn
Earth’s movement
miraculous orbit
taken for granted

Sunsets gather response
resort advertisements
feature couple’s silhouettes
against a sinking sun
clinging to one another
romance equivalent
dancing into dusk
afterglow burnished skin

8/30/2010

Sunday, August 29, 2010

Loud and Fast is Best -- Poetry 2010



My aim:
to catch up to him…
Fleeing before time,
he races back and forth;
climbs every obstacle;
leap frogs over cement;
swings from branches.
Erratic pendulum keeping
irregular rhythm to life.
No wonder kids are thin.
If left to their imagination
and open spaces…
he constantly exhibits:
joy of running full tilt -
muscles develop strength;
exuberance in every second -
tossing waterfall of emotions:
happy to angry to frustration;
bombarding his curiosity –
asking what, why, how all day:
developing mind skills and memory.
Have you heard this phrase?
“loud is good, fast is better,
loud and fast is best.
That’s my four year old grandson…

8/29/2010

Saturday, August 28, 2010

Judge Subjectivity Poetry 2010



Rejected art work…
Failing a judge’s criteria;
Failed his or her individual agenda.
Judge subjectivity in action:
correct or incorrect technique,
design elements vs. personal taste.
Not dejected by a judge’s opinion,
an impassionate response from me…
more annoyed to waste time;
more annoyed for the long drive;
more annoyed at my inadequate submission
and disappointed in myself for lack of art production…
“Keep arting”, I tell my art class participants;
this rejection, a reminder to begin again,
get arting after a long dry spell…
keeping my eyes and my dreams peeled.

8/28/2010

Irish Proverb of the Week -- Poetry 2010



She’d be happy to be the light of his life.
Advice from friends, strangers and random
others consisted of - be wary, keep safe,
don’t get burned prescient warnings;
she seemed to be carrying the torch.
Poignant song lyrics and cookie fortunes
gave her plenty of words to live by…
And pound, and dig, and ache, and madden;
embarrassed that she didn’t take heed;
sticking it out in misery until in her defense,
she plotted ingenious schemes with two different
people; that's worth something - lush and layered
organic balance with harmonious undertones.
Someone else had to buy her rights, she had
arrived without cash, with the clothes on her back…
Something she should see return to her world...
the simple things in life - spending time with self.
She was making a choice between searching
for a loving relationship or a fulfilling life…
didn’t seem possible to have both.
She posted this quote around her room:
“Is minic cuma aingeal ar an Diabhal féin.
There is often the look of an angel on the Devil himself.”

8/28/2010

Friday, August 27, 2010

Wild Wind -- Poetry 2010



Aeolus gusts strongly
snapping nylon fabric
delta winged rainbow
rides blue sky coated
with fast moving clouds
taught string whistles
jackets spinnaker billow
waves crack the sea wall
spray jumping into wind
salt seasoning whips air
tormented advancement
string less seagulls
fight to glide overhead
joining kites blasted
by westerly wild wind…

8/28/2010

Thursday, August 26, 2010

Foibles Poetry 2010



He had foibles… who doesn’t.
She smiled graciously
at every faux pas
Patiently she guided him
Stood behind him
Supported him
Nurtured him

He thought he outgrew her
Loved his daring affairs
finally finishing her off with
Divorce not to acquire
a more loving partner
but to marry the company
President’s daughter
placing him in line for VP

Pulling a hostile takeover
his ex’s father turned
This new VP’s world 180 degrees
Right before the ceremony
his new love dumped him
Fearing retribution, no company
would hire him
He had returned to where
His first love had found him:
down and out,
alone and helpless…

8/26/2010

Song Bites Poetry 2010



Streaming through her head,
she sought meaning
from these random melodies
or was it just happenstance
that bounced inner harmonies…
her mind shorting out to release
a phrase or two of songs…
For diversion she decided
to track the particular phrases,
orchestrations, tunes, vocals;
Track what she was thinking
when the suddenly repetitious
sound bites occurred filling
her mind with bursts of music,
compositions, sounds, singing.

Maybe its getting organized,
caught up on paperwork today.
Which means her attention span
is wicked short and was in need
of lots of breaks that brought
impromptu serenades winging…

Maybe finding the quiet here
a bit depressing after her family
returned from a week long visit…
missing the sound of giggles,
running feet, and Grammy!

She summed up her current feelings:
foolish, happy, romantic, spent,
content, relaxed, tired, hopeful…
with Don’t Worry, Be Happy
swirling through her mind…

8/26/2010

Infirm Flesh Poetry 2010



What man wants
to face reality
of his own sagging flesh
by cuddling with decay,
experiencing faded light
of his old lover.
Holding onto eternal youth,
he callously dumps
reminders to years passing,
incarcerating anniversaries…
Fool to physical flesh,
seeking and finding
new-solid-firm love
despite the ravages
to his own aging frame…
Seeing nothing,
not even how finite
his infirm flesh is…

8/25/2010

Tuesday, August 24, 2010

Liars bug me -- Poetry 2010



We all embellish
especially in childhood…
maybe toss out a few white
lies during our lifetime;
nothing too earth shaking,
we’re all flawed slightly.

Liars bug me.
Dark fibs and fiction;
misrepresentations of truth;
gross manipulations of syntax…
giving everyone who fall
into their deceptions a hard time.

Liars don’t even remember
their fabrications…
given the opportunity,
they weave more complex
combinations as if no one
notices their recklessness.

A difficult situation…
we both might know someone
who has the means to turn
words into acid day after day;
no one deserves crazy makers
filling life with knots and rope burns…

8/24/2010

Mysterious Plan -- Poetry 2010



Going forth alone to find happiness,
fulfillment, self improvement;
making sense of the mysterious plan;
reviving hope and vitality;
surviving weariness and apathy.
Some parts seem to fit a consistent pattern;
Other parts are jarring odd bits so out of place.
I notice patterns have been repeated only
to give similar outcomes.
Maybe the parts that fit are out of place;
Maybe I learn the most from the jarring bits;
Maybe patterns are repeated until I let go,
shift the outcome and imagine myself free…

8/24/2010

NMI or DUH -- Poetry 2010



Life......don't talk to me about life…
I think this is called "reality therapy"
walking through Rorschach blots -
black and white
asphalt to moonlight
shadow to casting shadows
I think about the inane
I think that door just sighed
I think I'm a window without panes....
Localized incongruous notions
wind through mind while striding
quiet midnight streets…
nonsensical mesmerizing introspection;
delusional understated humor
NMI or Duh for short

8/23/2010

Sunday, August 22, 2010

Picking up while asleep -- Poetry 2010



Bending over to pick up completed puzzles,
I noticed that three pieces had popped loose
slightly hidden beneath a piece of white paper;
I slipped the blank paper with finesse under
the puzzle as the edges began drifting apart.
Looking intently at the negative shapes, I put
the three pieces to rest on the surface.
Two other puzzles were rigid; all interlocking
pieces fit snugly together… I used those to support
the first one pushing floating edges back into place.
I held a stack of three, a sandwich of puzzles…
curiously, the images were all the same subject –
Monet’s water lilies floating on his backyard pond –
scenes full of reflected blue skies,
luscious green pond vegetation,
scrumptious lilies in shades of pink…
a moment in a beautiful summer’s day.

Searching for meaning:
Why three puzzles?
two strongly completed, one slipping away…
top and bottom puzzles supporting the middle.
Why three pieces not in place?
I could see the floor through negative space;
I could see light glowing out from the seams;
I could feel the heat of the summer’s day
held in my hands
I could hear the dragonfly’s wings…
I could smell the oil paint…
from these dream puzzles.

8/22/2010

magical powers of persuasion Poetry 2010



I am feeling rather turple today -
Somewhere between torpid
with a feeling of the bizarre
and high spiritual level of purple…
perhaps sitting on the couch,
vegetating before the magical TV God
and decorating beetles with nail polish
will help find my way back from
searching for something missing in life…
or a return to the habit of casting Runes
and reading Tarot to keep me on track;
even my angle cards promoted daily focus …
maybe I’ll exercise my brain matter -
increase my powers to take a crack at finding
words that rhyme with orange, silver
or purple since none are in the dictionary…
the paradox is relationships can be painful deaths;
getting past the stages of hurt and despair to find
emotion is emotion, love and hate give off intense
energy that is labeled: good, bad or indifferent.
Come back little beetle, I need to do your claws…

8/22/2010

Bull in the tea shop -- Poetry 2010



Clothes are overrated, pajamas rate…
spent the morning using the computer
rocking out semi naked until lunch time.
I should probably put some clothes on;
I really needed this today – lounging,
hanging on to those good memories…
forgetting the bad and sorry;
forgetting too much stress,
forgetting combined act of chaos and calculus.
I'm hoping to miss the arguing-immature-
lying-self promoting neighbor; you know you're
not supposed “hate”; it forms an innocuous vacuum,
a negative energy that drains the system of feeling
anything whatsoever, dampening creativity.
The act of hating is nothing more than
the act of being a crazed bull in a china shop.

8/21/2010

Saturday, August 21, 2010

penny -- Poetry 2010



stepping off into space
blinded by life’s intensity
herself a dull reflection
worthless by most standards
taking up valuable room
cast aside, a forgotten useless coin
she was alone among a throng
invisible, unnoticed, uninvited
weariness proceeded her
stooping to pick up a wish
she pocketed the heads up penny
rubbing its poisonous metallic surface
between finger and thumb
a verdigris wish coated her heart

8/21/2010

she’s not normal -- Poetry 2010



hissy fits, major and minor tantrums
outbursts of sheer rage dogged her days
steaming raw emotion bubbled up
without a relationship to buoy her
without a commitment to steady her
without expressing her bottled love
her explosive temper replaced it
never directed at human counterparts
rarely hurled toward her cats or dogs
her focus was inanimate objects
computer programs, internet connections,
traffic congestion’s unexpected delays…
her language became more colorful
recalling the most foul vocabulary
spewing out merchant marine words
chanting her favorite blackened mantras
temple pounding, voice constricted
epithets echoed in her house, in her car,
through open window darkening neighborhood
this blighted consciousness revealed
deep pain of loss, mistrust, isolation
shrunk in upon herself, the bitter acid
ate her resolve to make changes
withdrawing further, she shuttered windows,
low light grimaces caught in filthy mirrors,
insanity had kissed her lips, rapturous waves
of hate rocked her body, orgasm of dementia…

8/21/2010

Friday, August 20, 2010

sweatpants -- Poetry 2010



a sign of defeat
accidentally wore
my grumpy pants today
getting up too early
getting dressed in the dark
in a rush to drive to class
eating a hard boiled egg
sucking down a plum
hitting all the traffic lights
stuck by road construction
kids were unfocused
fluorescent lights flicker
air conditioning frigid
long day reprimanding
opening car door
blasted by summer heat
wilted in my sweatpants

tomorrow:
a sign of success
planning to grab happy pants
fresh from the eco dry cleaners

8/20/2010

sound bites -- Poetry 2010



whispers in my ear
while in deep sleep
not dream dialogue;
sifting, shifting awake
holding my breathe
listening intently
undulating white noise
atrophied exchange
scarcely discernible
frail presumptions
fugitive analysis
of furtive murmurs

8/20/2010

Thursday, August 19, 2010

de-constructed -- Poetry 2010



their secret
a tenacious tapeworm
emotionally starving her
heart blanched
no sanity
no dignity
disheveled
decomposing
debutante

their secret
a paraphrased retribution
emulating euphoria
reprehensible love
cold hearted
despicable
immoral
maligning
misogynist


8/19/2010

Half Page -- Poetry 2010



so is the page half full or half empty…
Do I try to fit a burst of words into a
three by three inch square - round
thoughts spilling in concentric circles
working out from the direct center
snaking, slithering, sliding, slipping
clockwise till impeded by square edge
boundary having fulfilled circumference
squeezing the last few words Into right
angle corners, mitering them to fit tight
completely filling the whole to the outside.

8/19/2010

Blink by Blink -- Poetry 2010



According to her
digital clock
Two more minutes
of her life
Had blinked past…
Caught between
a dream and a hard place
a dream of being a child
a child cuddled
back to her hard reality
no hugs
little physical contact
on her own
day by day
minutes blink past
independent, alone
with no reassuring
touch

11/19/2010

Wednesday, August 18, 2010

Succinct Binding -- Poetry 2010



Tissue paper conversations…
formality, tight body language -
Not totally quiet – his words rustled;
he uttered terse directions.
Not totally disentangled – his thoughts
dodged against displaying emotions;
he was a typical male of his generation.
Sandwiched in unreasonable coldness,
locked in by rigid social norms,
engrossed in the family business,
her father’s life was an incompliant book.

She longed for his transcendence,
for retirement of rules and regulations;
She longed for his affection,
for breaching his closed heart;
She longed for more than a whisper,
for tête-à-tête discussions.
She wished for gentle embrace
but he receded from her touch;
She was bound neatly with tissue
wrapped succinctness to his end.

8/18/2010

Western Demarcation -- Poetry 2010



The really cool thing was recognizing
the family was full of loonies; before, she
was unaware she wasn’t fit to do battle:
outnumbered, outflanked, outmaneuvered...
just plain out… outside their dynamic logistics.
She was trying to her cut her losses:
emotionally, mentally, physically, financially…
That's always the first step to getting out of hell
being aware of normality and abnormality.

They were coming to her house today so preparing
for that took priority over humidity and mosquitoes.
Her white board list stood ready, lest she forget
something in the throws of setting demarcation.
They would soon know it’s bad because she had
shipped her belongings, transferred funds, changed
mail delivery, packed her bags and car, turned in keys.
There was more but she knew to hold back specifics.
If worse comes to worse, she’d flip them the finger
and high tail it outta Dodge without looking back!
Her imagination pictured an old western full of blowing
tumble weeds glowing gold while she rode off into
sunrises of new days with new ways…

8/18/2010

Temporary Dissipation -- Poetry 2010



It makes me uncomfortable
for a reason I cannot pinpoint.
Stressing to keep my nose out
of other people's business despite
paper thin walls that ooze life;
fat slices of joy, sorrow, madness
rendered frying pan crisp…
greasing routine daily spectrum
when habitations overlap…
of course my nose is all up
in the businesses its supposed
to be in... holding my cloistered
thoughts without neighbor worry,
I’ve suddenly been drawn
to working with head phones…
lost in calming Nakai’s native flute.
I can breathe again;
I can focus again;
I can create again…
social congestion dissipated.

8/17/2010

Perhaps Another Time -- Poetry 2010



The perfect end to a glam shock day,
she really didn't know what to make
of this evening’s turn of events which
didn't turn out at all like she envisioned.
Already resigned herself to pajamas,
she made her way home - light blanching
darkened sidewalks – dark, light, dark.
Her birthday night plans sabotaged…

she lost all her friends to the bar downtown
where they could drink and party their way.
Needing to right her sinking feelings,
she trading her dress in for soft flannel P-J's.
At least she still had Internet, Hula and a guitar;
sometimes they're the only things for company
and her first step to getting out of a funk:
social software, grass skirt and strings…

8/16/2010

Sunday, August 15, 2010

In honor of Sara’s Pearls -- Poetry 2010



Mother used to dress up to clean house...
Harriet Nelson syndrome with full makeup.
Mother used to say that worn out phrase –
“Cleanliness is next to Godliness.”
To honor her Mom’s tradition within her rural
lifestyle, she started wearing her mother’s pearls,
red hat and lipstick when shoveling out the stables…
What would Mom think of me mucking out in pearls!

Steady rhythm of scoop and dump into wheel barrow
gave her imagination time to play with missed banter
that would have sprung up between them…
“That lipstick suits your coloring but those clothes…”
I've traded my dress in for flannels and jeans…
“You have great style but what about the shoes?”
"Tender feet, Mom, the style ends at my ankles…
“Pumps instead of high heels would be nice.”
“I could never cram my Earth feet into those bits
of fashion. I always felt silly wobbling in them.
For sure, I stab horse muffins with work boot heels.”
“My favorite velvet hat trimmed with rhinestones and satin
brightens up the barn and the pony tail looks cute…”

Shovel and dump, meditative common task,
pearls swinging, bobbing against ragged plaid barn
shirt speckled with missing-you-Mom tears…

8/15/2010

Lime-Lipped-Raspberry-Tongued Lizard Day -- Poetry 2010



I’ve named today….
Lime-Lipped-Raspberry-Tongued Lizard Day!
Another scorcher headed our way breaking
records as sun burns grass to a crisp.
Contemplating how to stay cool, I head
to the grocery store freezer department.
The frozen treats have been assailed by toasted
citizens trying to drop external degrees
by ice cream consumption,
by sucking on popsicle concoctions,
by standing in the isles letting chilled air inundate them.
Appearing after the main raids, there wasn’t much
selection… lime sorbet and raspberry popsicles.
Prepared thoroughly with a slathering of SPF30,
thermos of ice tea, cooler of frozen goodies,
I plan a safe retreat into the shade of an Evergreen;
Lips caressed with lime, tongue raspberry coated,
body reclined lizard like upon a chase lounge,
I’ll wait out the heat wave writing poems.
Odes to fallen heroines who have received
short shrift throughout man’s recorded history.

8/16/2010

Saturday, August 14, 2010

newest addiction Poetry 2010



sucked into cyber space
searching for context
requiring immediate feedback
neglected phone gathers dust
discarded address book in tatters
glowing screen pulses transmissions
twenty-four seven and counting
giving over to restless sleep
neurons shudder from withdrawal
morning sun pales against screen dpi
family barred from his locked office
he sits glued to monitor and keyboard
taking root to his office chair
vegetating he slumps, eyes glaze over
food particles litter keyboard and desk
he travels the world of bytes
without leaving the security of home
without cost of air fare, gas or hotels
resembling Star Wars creature, Jabba the Hut
his legs swell, his body thickens
his speech becomes incoherent and flat
self-contained in a 12X12 foot room
he was found silent, his body compliant
flesh melted into the space between keys
head bowed down before his Master
humming and flashing eternal light


8/14/2010

Nightly Star Gazing -- Poetry 2010



Craning my face skyward,
I try to catch peripheral flashes.
Determined to wish upon falling stars,
the dogs pant from our rapid pace;
Walking forward without looking
down, I drag them along…
waiting for a luminescent streak.
Walking the mile, craning a mile…
Disappointed without a chance
to speed longing into the darkness;
Disappointed without a chance
to ask assuage for a specific hunger;
Disappointed on a warm August
summer’s midnight…

Tonight I’ll dawdle –
saunter instead of speed walk.
Give the dogs more time to taste night
Give me more time to scan silent skies
Giving myself over to a childish habit
of casting requests to magically fulfill
desires of heart, mind and soul.

8/14/2010

Eyegasms -- Poetry 2010



A good sign for me on this Friday 13th
twenty-seven prayers, not wishes,
a non day-of-the-dead rosary
chanted in morning’s first light.
I was right - the day was to be mine.
Even black cats crossing the road
right in front of me will bring good luck...
It’s hard to be at work on such a beautiful day.
Another season is coming to an end;
summer seems to be winding down.
Summer, Oh how you shine! You warm
up Puget Sound so blue. You feed our gardens,
forests, and lands; plus eyegasms of natural
beauty are everywhere you look… your annual
visit is the best season in the Pacific Northwest.
A beautiful day in my neighborhood...

8/13/2010

Friday, August 13, 2010

Empty Belly Blues -- Poetry 2010



With every meowhowl
Mercury’s peculiar voice
inched its way into REM.
With every meowhowl
another section of dream
collapsed inward – vaporized.
Poor old cat wanting food
to fill an empty belly; his cries
erased a good night’s work.
What is the point of dreams
when with the first distractions
of faint daylight they completely
disappear…

8/13/2010

Falling Stars -- Poetry 2010



Do shooting stars make noise?
Zipping through space
Burning out in a blink
Almost before recognized
A streak of light hitting atmosphere
Scrapping the stratosphere
Enveloped in white hot fury
Passing unnoticed
As the world sleeps
As people fail to look up
If they made a sound…
A misplaced roar at midnight,
Everyone would burst out of bed
rushing to bedroom windows.
Excitement would buzz…
What was that? Call 911…
Without a thought
to making a wish.

8/13/2010

Thursday, August 12, 2010

mood swing much -- Poetry 2010



ridiculously happy
incredibly relieved
just a little bit sad
having lost something
that wasn't really mine
in the first place…
force fed a lot of highly
sought after answers,
overwhelmed and pulled
in twenty directions.
I've got that feeling again -
I caution you -
an emotional roller coaster.
Just reading that surrounded
by unseen legions of clones,
minions, art slaves, house elves
or wonderful synchronicities
would not make up for the fact...
my time is short;
my list is long.
I wish for no ends to tie up
I wish for a lack of details to wrangle
I wish, a little late, but I made it in
life is vital
art is that vital
it’s only time
ask dangerous questions


8/12/2010

Wednesday, August 11, 2010

Swan Songs -- Poetry 2010



Some rush into death
as they have rushed through life
Taking it all in, making the best of it
Crossing the finish line with grace…

Some dawdle, dragging their feet
Wasting away into frailty and dementia
Caught in-between neither dead or alive
Afraid to leave not able to stay functional

Some suffer disease with physical set backs
Rally, slip, recover, fighting until losing the battle
Resigned, they make amends and let go

Some fall prey to crimes of greed or passion
Dumped by the wayside or out in the open
Mystery to find the remains or the perpetrator
Victims of wrong place, wrong time, wrong choice…

Others befall accidents taking a risk,
Ignoring common sense or at the hands
of another risking all with no care for their
actions consuming alcohol or drug induced
stupor equaling a vehicle crash or hit and run

Is this all written down somewhere?
Swan songs logged in as to time, place, age…
Alone or variations of comrades settling
for leaving the physical behind to escape to spirit.
Is it set in concrete?

I recall drowning close calls when I was a child –
my life from birth to present raced through my mind;
a life’s journey movie in nanoseconds… fascinating
but I thought NO just as the light went blinding.
I crawled and fought my way to the surface
never telling my parents what I had seen.
I would’ve shared but I was just happy to be held
in their arms, coughing up water, clearing my lungs…
It happened; I made it though and didn’t look back.

8/11/2010

Whiteboard -- Poetry 2010



You see, she said. It’s the same size
as the corkboard but you can write on it;
the bonus feature, you use magnetic “pins”.
I peered at words written in dry erase colors;
red, blue, green and black formed a phrase.
I concurred about how having this would
be great for my stream of consciousness writing;
Picturing myself quickly marker-ing the flow
on a large white space, I would have the ability
to enlarge these bursts of words with fast
strokes of various colored special markers.
My words would have color, size [height and width]…
Perhaps depth if I added a side line to create box letters.
Impermanence was an eraser away – by my choice.
I only wish I could remember the message
written on the sample whiteboard when I woke up…

8/11/2010

Tuesday, August 10, 2010

true friends -- Poetry 2010



genuine
unsolicited support
timely communications
times without speaking or hearing
relying on electronic messages
words coming together
but feeling weight of absence;
there was no space
between true friends.
separated by continents,
relegated to cyber pen pals,
reaching through binary code,
nanosecond responses flying,
reminiscing wit lots of LMAO
till fingers sore from key bouncing,
the hour grows late; their friendship
outlasting distance while both still
adjust to physical loss of touch…

8/10/2010

Monday, August 9, 2010

I'm Impressed -- Poetry 2010



Why do I still care if my house is a mess?
That damn that Harriet Nelson complex :
your house must be spic & span clean,
you must look all foo foo for your husband,
you must be waiting at the door to greet him….
after all housework doesn’t count as work.

How are those ideas still trapped in my mind?
My thoughts are still determined by a gilded
time span of faux domestic bliss…
I am racking my brain. This is going to keep
me up all night; Monday morning, the hardest
morning of the work week to get motivated
and here I’m stuck picking at a major sliver
embedded under my skin for all this time.
Never bet against me, no matter the odds –
I will purge the festering urge to be domesticated.
I am in the get-stuff-done zone as far as
mind clearing - I think I need a hint from sisters
who have been there and conquered the done that –
civilizations won’t collapse because of dust bunnies…

8/9/2010

Sunday, August 8, 2010

Connections Made Too -- Poetry 2010

I'll be deactivating, not deleting
myself soon from a busy summer
teaching children’s art classes…
adventuring with marine themes,
experimenting with media,
penciling cartoon characters,
penning Japanese Manga,
and teaching watercolor techniques.
Classes that help me brush up on all
my skills; play with new ways of combining
materials; and recharge my funny bone.
I teach by example, sitting down,
working side by side the students.
I'm just unplugging for a couple of weeks
before fall classes begin… time to tidy
house and yard before October storms
engage the adjustment to winter gray.
Crazy Pacific Northwest soggy weather -
downpour, then mist, then dry, then downpour -
When my heavy duty light box becomes
my best friend lighting my way to spring…
when I’ll make a decision about summer kids art.
That's been the tug....whether or not to unplug
the strenuous weeks of prep and presenting;
I’d miss recharging my funny bone…
My sides wouldn’t ache from all the laughter
from the 8 to 12 year old participants who
giggle their way through the classes…

8/8/2010

Saturday, August 7, 2010

your condition Poetry 2010



she looked at life as an art project;
everything she did was
a different form of art…
embracing her eccentricity,
she rarely paused
to wonder what people thought
because they don't hear the voices;
not crazy talk…
encouraging voices
encouraging to break
established technique rules
experiment with fear, enjoy anger
plan new adventures…

her painting on the other hand
was a reflection of a multi faceted life;
she provided a place for others to reflect
on life’s variations away from their own lives;
Art is life...the absence of art, is death…
that was what she said kept her going.

each time I see a butterfly....sometimes
it'll even let me hold it, I think of her
indomitable spirit heavy with physical burden
showing a different perspective of living fully,
giving fully… fully embracing her disability;
fully living an artful life breaking rules
against dissenting real voices claiming:
you can’t physically do that in your condition...


8/7/2010

fallen star Poetry 2010



uncontrollable
twitching smiles
laden with regret
dance across her face…

dealing with his reckless nature
left her vulnerable;
carving his initials
eagerly into her exposed heart

ritualistically imprisoned
her impressionable youth,
she was an irresistible magnet
for his bad boy behavior

no antidote
counteracted his adverse
lethal abandonment

her eulogy
conscientiously avoided
mention of suicide;
lingered only on her
fallen star status,
untold potential,
kindness and service…

8/7/2010

Wall -- Poetry 2010



A dream hangs
on my wall
at eye level
written in script
replete with curlicues
white font hanging
onto ultramarine blue
occasionally my eyes
flit over
to Dream,
a minute daydream
mystique purveyor
idiosyncrasy jumbles
bound
with invisible threads
knotted
against slipping free
impossible
to untie

8/6/2010

Thursday, August 5, 2010

Awake --- Poetry 2010



Should not be awake at this hour…
I stare off into space with eyes glazed over;
Ohhhh please be gentle dear tomorrow.
Unaccustomed to greeting first light
with so little pillow time due partly
to incessant bathroom trips -
caffeine detox from too much ice tea.
Hot summer nights reminiscent
of childhood stimulate odd dreams.
I'd send you a photograph but no one
figured out how to digitally capture them…
Some segments are so realistic:
I feel the sun on my back,
I smell the earth in my skin,
I see the sky above me…
a practice day or a rerun with special effects.
I desire a stunt person to prevent injury;
I can’t afford the recovery time…
these midnight excursions frazzle me
into thinking they are divine retribution
for something in my past…
karma catching up making me uncuddlicious;
I dislike being a cranky blurry eyed mess…


8/5/2010

Wednesday, August 4, 2010

Nothing to Worry About -- Poetry 2010



Stepped on a rainbow shark
while wading in shallow dreams
sounds like a movie title or a country song
luckily not a bite for my transgression
tickling my toes he waggled away
swallowed into unfathomable depths
wobbling his dorsal fin in an Ultramarine sky

It rained on our tent... beginning to iron, I felt guilt
free watching episode after episode of a cool TV series
until I noticed that the TV had no plug, neither did the iron.
Heaps of clothing freshly pressed hung from tent poles;
some shirts played hard to get, I tried to lure them onto the board
with graham cracker some-mores dangling from a bobber

I'll probably be singing show tunes next while working
as a tour guide and bus driver to a wild group of flower fairies…
Breaking the laws of time and space my night is filled
with value scales – shades of grey – dream messages
from super subconscious, brief but absurdly imperfect
I guess that is as close to normal as I will get for today...


8/4/2010

Broken -- Poetry 2010



With the birth of her first child,
she became protective of her legacy…
His abuse rained on her as she
paid less attention to him, to his needs,
to his demands while she was fully engaged
with 24-7 parenting of a newborn.
He verbally salted her daily putting her
on a rack in the hot sun - nothing was right;
His acid comments meant to dissolve her…
A doting father routine made him a shining star.

A second child was conceived…
a miracle due to the lack of intimacy
Their relationship – her duty to him –
was compromised upping his resolve
to make her life more insufferable inside…
never outside in public view…
pregnancy problems lent support for him
with her parents caring for the firstborn,
after all he had to work, he had to party
while she was hospitalized in her home town,
far from their own climatic circumstances.

Once safely ensconced back into his care,
mental tricks shifted to hazy physical acts:
pulling hair, shoving her, he dug deep
for an exacerbated repertoire pulling out all the stops…
Her parents were suspicious – finally confessing
mistreatment by him, his behavior, his threats…
They spirited her away – damage done –
She was a shell cracked apart by misguided
Love; she had given herself away until he hated
her emptiness, hated what he helped create…
She had internalized his disease, she was broken:
Never to trust anyone
Never to imagine a relationship
Never to love herself again…

8/4/2010

Tuesday, August 3, 2010

Working until the Sun Rises Again -- Poetry 2010



Quite fatigued for a Monday;
I feel like I'm under an avalanche
and have to dig my way out of it…
all my “put-offs” caught up with me.

What’s this you say?
Mutter Elfish phrases;
engage Gandalf consciousness;
strike firmly with an oaken staff;
scatter pesky problems with earthen
energies beaming from quartz crystal…
humming sound of a hundred bees
vibrates air particles causing a rift…

waking up from my own snoring,
sunbeams gleam upon drool drops
soaking into my pillows…
the sun is rising on another day.

8/3/2010

Scars -- Poetry 2010



She gave herself over to words.
Set aside her brushes and paint
to dig deep, cracking trapped
maladjustments stored underneath
her normal dawn to midnight routine.
Heavy weight scars that no one revisits;
internalized discomfort not spoken of;
dormant phobic injuries locked into muscle.
Silent in torment
Silent detrimental memories
Silent without healing release…
Left to reside festering,
in need of vitamins C & D
to sear their progress before being
eaten alive from the inside out…

8/3/2010

Monday, August 2, 2010

hear me talking to you -- Poetry 2010



Your head belies your thriftiness;
by studying hair growth, I could
divine layers of meaning…
but you study cool like it was a text book;
drop names and rattle off hip things
that you hear other people say.
Listen up, it doesn't automatically
make you cool or fit in with the popular.
It just makes you a poser…
Spending a huge amount of money
to dress like them, smell like them…
won’t replace your low self esteem.
It will only encircle you with piranhas
until their feeding frenzy is done;
battered, bruised and worse off
than before, they’ll be circling in a pack,
laughing in your face and about you to others.
I don’t think they make ointment for that…
you’ll drag yourself back to us, your real friends,
until the next time you decide to “better” yourself.
Hear me talking to you, once is enough,
no divination needed for that conclusion…
be forewarned, we won’t take you back.

8/2/2010

unheard -- Poetry 2010


silently,
I reread the screen
before the printer spits out
a freshly minted poem…
pushing paper into its maw,
crunching paper punch
inserts three spaced holes.
Thumbs depress binder tabs;
metal jaws prepare to devour…
snapping shut,
securing the page.
Another poem locked
away from light;
put on a shelf
for safe keeping;
unread,
undreamt',
unheard…

8/2/2010

Sunday, August 1, 2010

Next Door Neighbor -- Poetry 2010

Wondering if my next door neighbor is a hit man…
Can’t help overhearing statements when relaxing
in the sun; his voice floats over the fence saying…
"I've been hiding those things for years.”
Silence while he listens…
“Only one of them is dead, so you're all good for now...
He got the message; if this pleases you, email the funds.”
Or yesterday:
“I would like to off the designer who dreamed up
butt-crack-muffin-top-inducing-low-cut jeans. hahaha
And just this afternoon:
“You'll have that odor on your clothes for a few days... I love that.
I find myself reluctant to wash clothes that have that smell!"

Practicing kung-fu, he’s very adept… his gee snaps to attention.
Not greasy looking in that cartoon mobster sort of way, his
clothing looks expensive, his car is nondescript, he travels a lot…
Other neighbors are having quite a gag fest over this mystery man;
I do my best “Miss Marple” imitation observing this handsome fellow,
taking notes, reporting the news while serving tea with scones…

8/1/2010

Between -- Poetry 2010



Neither awake
nor in a dream state,
she looked down
through metallic air
heavy with fragments
reflecting myriad
prismatic beams
rhythmically pulsing…
A flashing mystical fallout;
A disco ball gone mad…
ravenously inhaling light particles
then spewing them into blank chaos.
Unable to close her eyes,
she succumbed to this irrational
whirling dervish movement.
Unachievable in reality,
suspended in dim space,
receding away from her crumpled form,
he pushed it over the edge
to the rocky shore below…

8/1/2010