Thursday, September 30, 2010

State of Success -- Poetry 2010



Blanket season is right around the corner;
One last blast of summer sunny weather
predicted for next week.
Getting darker every morning but I did
wake up on my own at 6:15.
Nice sunrise yet my body is remembering
the comfort of my bed.

Sometimes my internal alarm clock
is programmed so well…
Other times, I wake over and over to check
the glowing digits or have dreams that I woke
up at the exact time I was supposed to be at work!

Wouldn’t be great to have a personal assistant;
or even better a PA and a fiscal sponsor…
Wait, I’d get a maid too… with no money worries,
with a PA to arrange exhibits, et all and a maid
to keep everything in ship shape order, I’d be
free to focus fully on creativity…
ah, blanket dreams of the haves I could afford
upon arriving at a state of success…
Reality sets in – time to comb the dogs and suck up
dog fur, fill the dishwasher, pay the bills….

6/30/2010

Finding a Way to Leave -- Poetry 2010



The stupidity of the human race
never ceases to amaze her...
Why did they think she wanted
to be handed back to that witch?
Merry-go-Round spinning in her mind,
“You better be really nice to me
this month, or else I'll… "
She wanted to say, Wow, you sure
made my day brighter, Mom…
so you tidied one room up.

Some days it’s hard to be an under
appreciated super hero – that’s the only
way she could get through each day.
Let loose her imagination, keep up
a super hero mentality to outwit dementia.
It didn’t take much to sabotage her mother’s
control while looking compliant; she didn’t
hate mom, she pitied her twisted sickness.

Her story is yet to be written – surviving
a hoarder’s infestation of garbage.
No easy way out of this disastrous situation –
she will never be one of those people
who cared more for piles of stuff than a child.
Walking into the guidance counselor’s office,
her best friend’s camera was loaded with images.
Waiting patiently to talk because her mother
choose not to simply release tons of junk…

9/29/2010

Wednesday, September 29, 2010

Passing Connections -- Poetry 2010



Relatives age and pass from this site;
Friends wander in and out sight.
A topographic series of relationships:
smooth bar lines tight together -
height of togetherness…
wider apart - the loss of connection.
Sometimes unfinished business
keeps a faint link blinking as a guide.

She sat there, not knowing what to post,
gazing at a blinking computer screen,
waiting for a post worthy of a comment
from her, how self centered is that…
It's a drink allot of coffee night – she had
posted a poem that turned out awesome
but she thought she offended someone
she cared about…

Her PC monitor flipped asleep, she sat
before it’s darkened screen disappointed…
no proof she cried if her poem offended or hurt
her friend - where was the shared understanding
that their poetry could save or inspire many…
that was their link - sharing similar experiences
that life had tossed their way; sharing their writing…
She thought they had finally found a niche.

Eternally sad that her poem will be around forever
but apparently her friend would not – she sat with
a hurting heart for a fellow cyber pal because it is not
about one but about all…

9/30/2010

Tuesday, September 28, 2010

Poet Friends -- Poetry 2010



Where have all my poet friends gone?
Are their words dredged with cement
or embedded in solid granite? Poems
indecipherable by the light of this day,
lost in cyber space, rerouted by life’s
tangled disarray… leaving sliced or deiced
phrases on the cutting board; or pureed
until the whirl of time elapses leaving
writers stunned and defenseless against
their internal critic, self doubt or forays
into risky reality of reading their toil’s results.
Under appreciated word artists seek shelter
in darkness or light; their voices collapse
into silence with pens down – notebooks shut.
A passionless half life hidden from public eye…
self bound and gagged, dismayed by rejection
with a determined tourniquet stopping vital flow
of thought to page ceasing life threatening spill…
which is worse… bottled up or heard by a few?

9/28/2010

Monday, September 27, 2010

Rainbows and Moonbeams -- Poetry 2010



If he were to let go,
she would float off…
He lives under a rainbow;
she lives under the moon.
She sings her sorrows
into his clothes;
surrenders her fear
while in his embrace;
together they do a
sun dance to shower joys…
when even breakfast seems
an impossible challenge.
Together they do a
moon dance to bring dreams…
when even sleep eludes her
body shrinking in pain.
She supposed love was
an act of courage;
She supposed death was
an act of valor - facing an
ugly monster – a tumor that
leaves no visible marks.
He walked to work today,
she noticed a rainbow overhead…
it's going to be a good year.

9/27/2010

Sunday, September 26, 2010

Clarity -- Poetry 2010



Wonders if she did something truly horrible
in a prior life to deserve the juice of life being
sucked out of her… accidentally she took a two
hour nap on the couch immediately after getting
out of bed this morning.
Out staring herself in the living room mirror,
she forced herself to look at life from a very different
perspective -- it's hard, but it's not impossible to
drill down into old details, ream them out, replace them.

She reread the birthday card with a handwritten
note from her long ago college roommate:
may your art sell splendidly in the coming year,
may you be happy, may you be well,
may you be at ease, may you live in peace

Apparently that will never happen to me…
the cynical side sintered a pot shot, a direct hit.
Goddamn she hated it when she found she’d
screwed something up four steps ago…
just might do me in, 'course the transition to
grasping action can make a bad situation better -
clarity such a great tool for wording the truth…
she knew it would help her get rid of the cynic.

9/26/2010

Saturday, September 25, 2010

What she saw? -- Poetry 2010



Too impatient…
How much time left?
Too stuck in expressing creativity,
it takes time to keep up a relationship;
Takes strong commitment to nurture
to keep it balanced between needs
of both parties…
Early morning person -
enjoying functioning at dawn;
Late night person -
wanting to sleep in…
She suspect false perceptions;
She saw running away excuses
driven by fear of repetition –
Maybe she froze her heart on purpose…
prior unhealthy choice of users…
she lost everything including hope.

Maybe she was in denial
Slammed the door shut,
Locked herself introverted,
Maybe she wasn’t selfish but wary;
It would take a miracle of miracles
to undo thirty years of withdrawal…
So far from touch – a loving embrace,
So far from feeling her heart singing,
So far from her reflection in loving eyes…

9/25/2010

Laugh out loud! -- Poetry 2010


There's nothing chicken
about this plan
, she commented
while eating gummy worms for breakfast –
actually brunch - we’re all misfits…
especially we creative-types.
Trust me, its a good thing.
We’ve got to learn to love that about ourselves.

Picking at wedged goo stuck between
her teeth, she mischievously smiled
to reveal the multi colored glop residue…
we need a magical space
where we can come to manifest ideas.

How can you ingest that crap so early?
replied the speaker via webcam

LOL - yummy for me tummy today but
I still feel like smacking somebody I’m so tense.

Maybe it’s the sugar…

Touché…
Let’s see if coffee in the afternoon helps
and you better pack migraine medication –
it involves chalk dust and the park downtown.
The misfits create innovations…


9/25/2010

Equinox Moon -- Poetry 2010



Oh harvest full moon,
you make me want to stay up
all night long…
abra cadabra....
I visualize something
great as I wander
moonbeam glistening lace;
snail trails that
weave back and forth
over asphalt and cement.

Disheartened at times,
I moped around all day
contemplating another year older
but that slips away when
moving in Luna’s white light;
That's an answer I recognize…
the healing power of light;
coming home in peace
after basking in her glow
my cells fully charged -
imbued, immersed, inundated
with glistening moonbeams…

9/25/2010

Instructor -- Poetry 2010


What an odd feeling…
Crushed ice blended smooth,
flattened nonexistent energy,
plain wrung out…
She woke up like that
exhausted at dawn’s start.
Discouraged in a sequence
of classroom encounters
where her mentoring,
her explanations,
her guidance did nothing
to improve the students
concepts or skill levels.
A major morning headache too,
she headed for over the counter relief…
reflecting wild grey hair and puffy eyes
as she swallowed a tablet of relief.
A very frustrating dream,
she questioned its weird outcome…
eye to eye with her mirrored image,
in real life am I that bad an instructor?

9/24/2010

Thursday, September 23, 2010

A Virgo -- Poetry 2010



Does anyone happen
to have a Virgo interpreter…
Old age is settling in and I question –
who am I?
Sure I should know by now…
Please note should is an “S” word…
sorry is another frequenting my sentences.
I'm still the same person I was ten years ago,
or am I?
I'm living my life, doing the best I can
going through variations of what everyone else
has to go through – ups, downs, sideways.
I’ve been a student; I’ve been a teacher;
Been in love and then cheated on;
After that - been alone too much for too long…
I write poems that sit in notebook;
I make art that sits in stacks - unsold.
I love to grow things…
I don’t smoke, I curse; I’m not a heavy drinker;
I need to exercise more and eat less…
Who doesn’t in this computer age?
I stay up late and sleep in;
I can be groggy and grumpy;
I prefer yard work to house work;
I prefer cats to dogs but have some of each….
I am shy, withdrawn, outgoing and silly.
I am positive, negative and smack in the middle.
I wish for someone special to spend my evening
with but can’t make eye contact with males…
I walk at midnight; shy away from the sun.
People watching is entertaining; I don’t go to bars.
I don’t swagger; some days I limp…
Poor but rich in imagination, I keep it simple;
I’m self effacing, humble, and full of empathy
just figuring out who I am… Never saw this
coming, I’m more aware than I thought…

9/23/2010

Frames -- Poetry 2010



Consuming pain
for breakfast , lunch
and dinner…
Her size increased
exponentially
to being ignored.
Curiously, the larger she was
the more invisible she became…
Embarrassed
family, friends, colleagues
barely contained their disgust.
In their realm of neat and tidy,
tan and physically fit,
her outer defense
was a mental threat…
Fearing loss of control,
they resolutely ate less -
twigs to her girth
flexible to her solidarity,
they maintained lollipop
heads on gaunt frames
seeking eternal youth.

9/23/2010

Wednesday, September 22, 2010

redundant -- Poetry 2010



Have to get
through life
any way
possible.
that was
her goal;
get through
endlessness,
get through
frustration,
get through
meaninglessness.
Her mantra:
just get by;
Her motto:
put in her time.
She had
no vision;
she had
no mission;
her passion
non existent…
she was
completely
lost in
redundant
repetitious
task
after task
waiting
for the
end.

9/22/2010

Another Birthday -- Poetry 2010



A loving goodbye
to summer.
Damn, it was
a good one.
Another first day of fall,
another birthday,
another year passed
relatively unscathed…
Somewhat stiffer
still too heavy
active in mind
incredible imagination
frenetically writing
stopped pushing my art.
silly woman…
older is wiser
age is perked
stalwart and sage
feisty and frenzied
outgrow blocks
complete a legacy

9/22/2010

Birthday -- Poetry 2010



Her eyes were overcast…
collagen depleted sagging eye lids
competed with delta wetland rivulets
surrounding her spare features;
stepping over side walk cracks,
her worn shoes squished rain’s residue
leaving a trail of bubble laded shoeprints.
Another neglected day of her birth…
another day of straining to be.
An osmosis of collapsing tissue
and depleted bone mass, she followed
a walkway to the open sound…
salmon were running, seals glutted,
gulls clamored for scraps, salt and
sediment scent wafted on the breeze.
Inhaling deeply the indelible soup of life’s
beginning, all is almost right in her simple world.
Closing her fading eyes, her breath gasped;
Slipping away, her body leaned against the fence,
motionless, useless, ignored; just another
ragged transient taking up prime tourist space…

9/22/2010

Insightful -- Poetry 2010



Realism has returned to her.
She painted this realistic picture
of where answers come from...
these answers are not in what
people commonly think of as words;
more a vision dream state.
She must have been channeling
to create an accurate illustration
of the Omphalos.
She must have been there before
she was born…
spinning deep into deep –
into a previous lifetime:
the circle, the depth, the imagination.
Perfect religious stone artifact and so...
stunning but where do the questions
come from?
She guessed from the same ancient
insightful belly of the thing that spins;
beginning and end intertwined,
question and answer source…
an even more complicated painting to do.

9/21/2010

An omphalos is an ancient religious stone artifact, or baetylus

Monday, September 20, 2010

Pressures Poetry 2010



She thinks she remembers when
she thought she could talk between
circumstances and stress pressures.
Some days she felt she was beginning
to sound like this again –
disintegrated…
dancing under soggy thoughts;
finding the transition from morning
productivity to afternoon productivity
surprisingly difficult.
She still tried to decide
if her money can spared for Yoga,
massage, hypnosis, Tai Chi,
meditation, homeopathic medication
to waltz centered through errant struggles.
Looks like a lot of cloud cover to disperse;
isn’t there a purported silver lining –
She supposed even that needs to be polished…
which circles around to nontraditional,
non Western methods of integration…
flowing not fighting, visualizing – all those
tools in her arsenal that she forgot to incorporate
until she can’t talk between circumstances
because of the pressures of stress…

9/20/2010

Hermitess -- Poetry 2010



No one wanted her…
physically or otherwise.
Not decrepit or maimed,
she was just plump and graying.
Writing saved her soul, she
madly scribbles sensitive content
wearing her heart on the pages –
It’s steady beat laced every word
in her expanding notebook.
More daring on paper than in public,
the world grew without her resources…
her world danced within creative realms,
her world cultivated serenity, provided her sanctity…
listening to her internal guru, she wrote herself
out of so many conceptualized corners, she was
no longer completely trapped but totally free…

9/20/2010

Looking Back -- Poetry 2010



Looking back, she realized when she gave up;
realized she was out of her league;
realized she didn’t have what it takes…
During the annual art walk cover review,
she mentioned her blank note card sales;
Earning only two dollars after commission
because the cards cost a dollar to make.
The art commission listener nodded but swung
around to congratulate another artist on her
San Francisco MOMA installation…

Looking back, she had wanted to crawl under a rock;
how embarrassing to worry about earning a few dollars
compared to traveling to set up large displays in museums…
Hating to even drive to Seattle,
she knew it was hopeless to proceed –
talent or no talent, something prevented her progress…
too many micro fears assailed her being; she wasn’t
cut out for the big urban art scene –
the knot in her gut ate away her potential,
sucked her creative drive,
she mentally washed herself up…

9/20/2010

Dreamscape -- Poetry 2010



When star dust settles,
where will you be?
Cursive dreams swirl
invisible in sunlight.
Lemon juice calligraphy
appears with heat -
light bulb warmth.
Earthy brown words
condensate magically;
Images from dream world
solidify coming to rest
somewhere between heaven
and sacred ground…
tangible to the senses;
intangible to make sense of…

9/20/2010

Sunday, September 19, 2010

New Insights -- Poetry 2010



I'd write a song and call it "Autumn Leaves",
but that has already been done…
I'm just reminiscing today about how fall is
an invigorating season for me even though life
seems to fade into a colorless landscape.
I appreciate the subtly glistening environment;
puddles and wet surface reflections mimic reality,
muted colors tinted with black fill surroundings.
The evergreens, holly and rhododendrons
and other seasonal needle and leaf stock
provide endless shades of green and blues.
Then the lichens and moss engorge swelling
to add depth and value to any non moving surface.
I'm on the brink of a breakthrough or several,
I believe… perhaps it’s the surge of energy
learned in the womb at the end of gestation…
I am a fall equinox baby birthing new creativity
in celebration of my approaching arrival date;
an annual reorganization and clearing away old
for new insights.

9/19/2010

Desperation -- Poetry 2010



She believed everything he wrote or said…
Took it as gospel truth, never wavered from
his opinions being structured from his life experiences.
She was gullible to the such a degree…
Almost worshiped the ground he walked on.
He was her first love but not true…
She couldn’t see the subtle shades of his stories;
She only saw the black and white clear contrast
of how shabby her thought process was compared to his.
Quoting literary or other free thinkers, he filled her
with angst that she wasn’t clever enough for him.

Her parents saw right through his facade
Age and life experiences aided their discernment but
they were incapable of transferring this realistic image
to her about the man she was deeply enamored with…
They had to stand by, waiting for his actions and words
to catch up with all the inaccuracies and half truths.
His garish ways, his inability to earn a steady wage,
his reflection wavered to mirror whoever he was near.
A true chameleon blending in with his surrounding…

Astonished – disturbed that her parents had him followed;
had his financial status checked; had uncovered his habit
of duplicity – stringing naïve women with his bravado -
a gigolo of disproportionate angles praying on the lonely.
She wheeled her chair to the window watching the gray
skies descend to leaden waters… fall leaves enveloped
in fine mist seemed far brighter than in the strongest sunlight.
It seems the leaves were changing before her tired eyes
swollen with tears; despite her poor judgment, she washed
away her grief just a little every day reworking her landscape
one sketch at a time…


9/19/2010

Saturday, September 18, 2010

One Cause -- Poetry 2010



Dissatisfied more than unhappy…
Missing my moonlight walks due to rain.
Walking helps clear my head; a time to observe
spinning gyroscopes of thought from all angles.
I do question false beliefs embedded during
various levels of age and circumstances…
its squeezing them out of mind that’s difficult.
At least a sliver or prickle festers until a gentle
push projects the coated pest from epidermis…
Maybe visualizing squishing misperceptions; seeing
them coated in attacking white cells will render them
inoperable; visualize projecting them into nether spaces
while barricading exits to prevent them sneaking back.

Circumventing some bad habits would help as well.
I read that it takes one hundred days to establish
a new routine and its best to tackle one change at a time.
Biggest decision I made since awareness’s arrival…
Prioritizing - which destructive habit or thought pattern
I so commonly hold to vaporize first…

9/18/2010


"There is only one cause of unhappiness: the false beliefs you have in your head, beliefs so widespread, so commonly held, that it never occurs to you to question them." ~Anthony Demello

Runners -- Poetry 2010



Hearing quite a bit of noise and cheering,
someones celebrating something...
she was all about going back to bed.
Peering out over the colorful street spattered
with gobs of morning people who like to run.
These are surely aliens because she couldn’t
imagine facing first light in athletic gear.
She wasn’t unfit but these marathoners
were different – masochist runners high
on the anticipation of their endorphin rush.
Desiring to open her window and scream –
You people are CRAZY!! Shut *@$#+* up!!!!
Imagining fitness freaks stampeding up the stairs
to her apartment… she didn’t need that many
chasing her; hardy enough to beat her, they would
certainly out run her to any escape route.
Knowing when to walk away without putting thoughts
into action and keeping words taught behind a smile…
that knowledge has been a lifesaver for her.
Digging in the drawer for ear plugs, she flopped
down into semiconscious state – neither awake
or asleep – an inspirational trance designing an oil
abstraction series based on congregating runners…

9/18/2010

Transcendent -- Poetry 2010



A good way to start - or end –
my day - holding my breath
during the last wisp of summer.
Today’s yummy quotient is off the charts.
Soon I’ll need a change of scenery…
I love my home but the omnipresent gray
transcends late night liars who predict
occasional blue skies… weather predictions.
I shouldn't be here if I want clear skies
in winter – daylight is defenseless against
infinite storms rolling in off the Pacific –
On goes my light box…
I can go on with my life now.
I know… which is worse:
hurricanes and raging Nor’easters
or walled in by gray dense barriers
of moisture - the part the devil put in
to the weather patterns of the Pacific Northwest.
I’m not a freakin' avant-garde weather genius…
I forgot to add into the equation summers without
humidity – Nature’s compensation for gloom…
these last two items are unrelated or are they?
Winters sow a lil' havoc with terminal darkness;
Summer reaps a whole lot of laughter with long
hours of bright light and stellar blue skies…
I love my location… in front of the mega watt
light box transcending grey glut of winter.

9/18/2010

Friday, September 17, 2010

Indecisive -- Poetry 2010



Not bored, that’s not what I feel…
More at loose ends, trying to get energy
to prepare for a class but oh drat and more drat,
tomorrow will not wait... I have an hour to prep.
Such a wacky schedule, I stay up late arting
and writing only to wake up between 8:30 and 9:30;
Haven't we all done stupid things from time to time;
Slowly I slipped into empowering my nights.
Now my mornings gone before I’m fully functional;
The afternoon bounces out of sight as I roar into
evening’s creative high gear. I’m a bit restless…
Last couple night’s rain complied with sore foot
have kept me from my mile.

Indecisive…
I need to prep,
I want to be painting;
I’m finishing my handouts,
I want to be talking to my paintings;
I’m packing supplies,
I want my paintings talking back to me.
I’m prepared to listen to my acrylic palette’s musings…
quiet, very quiet in my art room, drowsy hum
of the PC white noise doesn’t help… all gray,
rain finally stopped for awhile – wish it could
wash away the remnants of last night's
dreamless sleep… resetting my internal clock;
if my batteries recharge with a full night’s sleep
I’ll one day soon get back to my walking meditation
in my quiet, very quiet neighborhood…

9/17/2010

Thursday, September 16, 2010

Slap dash -- Petry 2010



Housekeeping skills…
overrated white glove
smiling women dancing through
immaculate deceptions
show case homes
where cleaning products amaze
permanently obliterating
chaos of daily existence
as if that will take pain from life events…
keep her husband from cheating,
keep her kids from sex and drugs.


Why does this miracle robo-tron
seemingly devoid of a soul
smile constantly while rushing
with product and sponge or towel
to keep up with – Oh My God…
another accidental spill.
can’t fool me… this isn’t real:
no signs of actual life,
no creative projects,
not one bit of clutter.
Where are:
piles of mail and bills
trails of clothes
overflowing laundry baskets
unfinished dishes
dog slobber
cat barf or worse

Slap and dash clean;
discard excess;
periodical tears disembowel grime;
organized for bursts of creativity…
Life is too interesting
to be spotless…

9/16/2010

Grabbing the Bull -- Poetry 2010



Does anyone have a bullhorn
I could borrow?
I want to walk around expounding
my poetry;
I’ll whisper excerpts as I wander
the streets of Olympia.
I don’t want to be obnoxious!
I just want my voice heard…
I want visitors by the dozens
on my poetry blog…
I’m not seeking praise or critiques,
although those are welcome…
agreeing or disagreeing.
I just want a response to my writing.
Not notoriety, not fame or glory…
Please someone,
acknowledge my existence,
hear my voice,
assuage my fear and doubt,
be intrigued by the rhythm of words,
hear with your heart and mind.
Share my creativity…
Even if just for a day.

9/16/2010

Sullen Season -- Poetry 2010



Hip hugger clouds
slung low over hill’s thigh
dotted with fall colors.
Steady gray mass sucked
light from weak evening sun.
Repressed drivel ferments
oscillating liquefied vapor.
Addicted darkness inhales
deeply expurgating discharge.
Electric lights burst into action
against sullen grumbling skies;
Reflecting unhealthy pallor…
Can we say relapse into a typical
Pacific Northwest’s dismal
winter storm season – pacified
by a few highly anticipated days
of Indian Summer…

9/15/2010

Wednesday, September 15, 2010

Forever Yours ‘95 -- Poetry 2010



His sentences dangle…
Hanging upside down from her hand,
she tenaciously clings to the words…

scissors snip savagely
metal snapping sabers
course through the pages
leavings indiscriminate ribbons
scattered over the floor
flustered, weak, contorted,
she crumples amidst cut syntax

Her scissors dangle…
Hanging upside down from her hand,
tenaciously she resurfaces to pull off
the engraved words – Forever Yours ‘95

9/15/2010

Away from Harm -- Poetry 2010



Cajoling – slightly slick
Demanding – stern voiced
Adamant – harder edge
Nothing worked to talk
her recalcitrant child down from her perch
high in the front yard Maple tree…
“Your choice…”

Top branches swayed slightly;
Mass of leaves camouflaged her well.
Returning to the fantasy pages,
she refused even to reply
to her mother’s current harangue.

“Obstinate little… you’re grounded!!!”
Her mother screamed heading for the garage.
Swiftly closing the door least her disobedient
child scamper in to gain access to the house.

Birds ignored her as she descended…
sweet smell of fresh cut lawn floated
around her in September’s crisp air.
Left to her own devices, she dodged around
to the back of the garage where the saltbox roof
made an easy climb to her second floor window.

She was ready:
School books left in class
Library books returned
Note was written
Necessities packed
Favorites boxed
Piggy bank emptied
Her father emailed

Her mother wouldn’t listen…
Didn’t want to know
Was in total denial
Repeatedly called her a liar
Her stepfather just oozed smugness.

Back pack on, she exited her room;
slid the box down the pitch…
towing the box, she cut through the back lot
to meet her best friend’s mom.
Piling into the running car, she ducked
out of sight finally away from imminent harm…

9/15/2010

Sheesh… -- Poettry 2010



The sun shone and the doves flew...
Smack!
Reality checks can be a bitch
can't they?
Oh, karma can be a brick wall
or a stumble off a cliff into rocks below…
that sounds ominous, she thought, but true.
Sometimes the best thing to do is get
some rest and try again tomorrow…
She wasn’t giving up on today, she just
wasn’t sweating the small stuff because
at least she had the sense to know…
it's all small stuff!
When is it my turn to be selfish?
She tried yesterday but realized she
was just being a total ass; instead of baby
steps, she’d taken inappropriate giant steps.
Cultivating patience is a toughie;
Cultivating self care is a necessity…

9/15/2010

Tuesday, September 14, 2010

Coffee and Cake -- Poetry 2010



Mouthwatering anticipation…
Vanilla scented kitchen;
coffee maker drips;
chocolate frosting waits.
So where is she?
Said she’d be here by now.
Wiping the counter,
fussing with cups and cream…
endless waiting for a call;
Same thoughts –
different occasion.
Timer chimed,
cake cooling.
No more assumptions;
No more expectations;
Last time to be strung on...
Flash of inspiration!
His house bound neighbor’s
face resounded in delight;
an impromptu visit replete
with coffee and cake…

9/14/2010

Stuck Workaholic -- Poetry 2010


She’d gone from doing too much
to not doing anything but lying in bed.
Having so much to do yet so little
motivation to do it with. Sighing…
staring at the ceiling stars glowing softly,
waiting for sticky doldrums to pass.
The more she cared about a project
the easier it was to get frustrated by it.
The image in her mind refused to rest
on the canvas… refused to relax
into being. She had an éclair for lunch;
maybe the sugar buzz overloaded her
system causing mind/hand imbalance,
furthered uncooperative ideas,
enhanced uncoordinated brush strokes…
Crap. She needed earplugs to shut off
the critic or loud music to drown him out…
The rain is gone, the grass is lush and green,
the heat is tolerable, the bills are paid,
but the deadline was looming; art sales were
down, she was fortunate for the commission
Wow and more wow…
Was it Retrograde Mercury?
Looking to feel alive again, she clipped leash
to dog collar; launched out the door into
fresh air to have a good night after all…

9/14/2010

Monday, September 13, 2010

ICU -- Poetry 2010



Discarded stars littered her pathway;
Blackened wishes consumed by plummet.
Hands outstretched into the darkness,
she stumbled by the last ember’s glow.
Blindly reaching:
her persecution
her forfeiture
her disfigurement.
There was no way back
from the pronouncement;
the good ones are sane, it is true.
Disorientated from living on forced
prescription drugs…
her clogged mind searched for a plan.
Prayers asked Universe for intervention,
to wash away disruptive remnants…
frenzied thirst for life propelled dormant muscles…
her eyes blazed
her lips quivered
her breath quickened…

She seems restless today, perhaps
we should push the call button…

9/15/2010

So Close -- Poetry 2010



No one wanted her
No one looked her way
Nondescript
Voiceless
She flitted between shadows
Even in full sun
A silent moving figure
Encased in nonconformity
Sucked into a separate world
Not by her choice
Passer-bys looked past her
Their eyes dancing precariously
Least they gaze on her countenance
Accidentally making a connection
Scrawny starved for compassion
Her eyes danced precariously
Close to their conscience

9/13/2010

Sunday, September 12, 2010

"Thank You" cards -- Poetry 2010



Making "Thank You" cards
gave her time to remember;
gave her time to relive special events;
gave her time to create a lasting memory;
her list included everything she was
thanking a specific person for…

this one was for her funny Mom…
admiring her wonderful sense of humor
and style that got the family through
the tough times after her Dad died.

this one was for her brother…
who challenged her time after time to stand up
for herself and what she believed in.

this one was for her Nana…
a second mother, a built in font of wisdom,
always cheering her on, encouraging her
to give and to receive with humility …

this set was for her terrific friends...
the kind of friends who take the time
to ponder situations figuring out the pros and cons;
so much loving support extended to each other.

this set was for mentors along the way…
the kind of mentors that buoy one up when hardships
come along, celebrate achievements, empathize
during bleak days and guide impossible dreams.

each card contained her honest writing with advice:
enjoy life while you can; be sure to clear up misgivings;
learn to pay it forward and good things will happen.
Advice perfectly matched to each person’s situation.

Shifting her position sent her card collage scraps
slipping to the floor; piles of discarded snippets
ringed her bed; her list completed, her cards sealed
with love and neatly stacked, she gave in to the inevitable…
bowing to the monster that slowly devoured her cell by cell.

9/12/2010

Compassion -- Poetry 2010



Convince me of this…
that I should have compassion for others
when they cannot see what is obvious to you.
He grimaced… she thought it was good advice
worth sharing. Why she shared that crap with him…
she saw the quote on someone else's wall
and thought it was good idea.
Compassion – he didn’t get where he was now
with that wasteful sentiment.
However, he was smart, he was clever,
he formulated a subsidy of happiness with her.
She was simple and fell into his plan.

Convince me of this…
that I should have compassion for him
when he cannot see what is obvious to me.
She grimaced… her friends thought it was good
advice worth sharing. Why she shared her life with him…
they saw his comments on someone else's wall
and thought it was good idea to tell her.
Compassion – she saw where he was now
without that sentiment – ingratiating fool.
However, she was smart, she was clever,
she formulated a discerning happiness without him.
He was so oblivious and fell into her plan.

9/12/2010

Saturday, September 11, 2010

Drab -- Poetry 2010



Remembering more than she should; forgetting
more than she'd care to, maybe that’s why she'd
been eating way too decadently lately.
Tonight she did a meticulous and incredibly
efficient big ole delicious hot mess
in the kitchen trying to conquer the blahs.
Setting the dish aside, pulling her knees
to chest, her arms held tightly to herself.
Staring at nothing in particular, she waited…
Icons of cinema, people in news pieces, even
comics and especially advertising extolled
the glam sexy lifestyle – nothing she wished for.
Staring at nothing in particular, she waited…
As a grown woman she never felt like she was
the sexiest thing in someone’s world. Far from it…
Now her saggy faded nightshirt, scruffy worn socks,
exemplified her drab ho-hum wilted existence.
It seemed light years away since the hysterectomy
had transformed her into this nth degree drabness.
Gutted of female reproductive parts that weren’t
being used but were still a part of a whole package;
spayed mentally, she stared at nothing in particular
holding tightly to her small universe waiting...

9/11/2010

Madam Lafargesque -- Poetry 2010

Knitting my way through a revolution
not plotting a coup d’etat;
I distance myself from controversy;
it’s a personal mutiny of habits.
Each stitch a mantra for change.
Catching a mistake, I back track
to slip offending obtrusion;
to pull yarn catching and correcting
until acceptable pattern is reestablished.
Passion reigns in slight imperfections…
round and round
circular needles click
round and round
no noticeable beginning or end -
just one odd colored loop foretells
increasing dimension or cable row;
just one looped thread marking
time to begin again…

9/11/2010

Requiem -- Poetry 2010



No one can give you what you want…
Not one other person in the whole world
can satisfy your deepest desire
Layered in longing
Brushed with sorrow
Seeped in romanticism
You manage by negotiating navigation
Steering clear of commitment
Especially since your last attempt
Caustically seared your sanctity
Dislodged dependence
You wander the earth
Seemingly “foot loose and fancy free”
Except shards of regret
Emanate from your eyes
Thinly disguised with a squint
You turn to nature
Requiem for your soul

9/11/2010

Allotment -- Poetry 2010

Allotment

Reminder “to-do” list rolls over in a blink
renewed everyday with a click of cursor via mouse.
Electronic calendar finds me eating time;
A breakfast of continuance coats my mouth
as the seminal process introduces caustic saliva.
The first step to digestion of gummy thick broken hours
counterpoint rhythm to the tick tock of natural heartbeat.
Numerals need flossing their aggregate between teeth;
Masticated minutes do little to prolong life’s allotment.
Salt and pepper – basic seasoning- doesn’t relieve
bitterness and sorrow or enhance fulfillment and joy…
eating time; riding the second hand for better or worse
8/11/2010

Perhaps Forever -- Poetry 2010



Guys with greasy hair. they're everywhere;
they have families who love them no matter
what they look like! Sun reflecting off oil…
incandescent or fluorescent glistening grease.
Single bars seem to collect these slick types
although she didn't spend much time in bars;
in her day, dense smoke – lung choking fog -
She was like no!!!! I can't do that…
Not her idea of fun at all; at most, maybe
four or five times in total during her whole life…

She knew a year ago that she would still be
a person in search of loving partner – perhaps forever.
Oh, she knew that only happens in a small percentage
of relationships; the way the odds are and if she decided
she even wanted to dislocate the fear binding her heart.
Power comes from knowledge; she had learned a lot
about herself through some painful experiences.
She often negated her strength and courage but she
needed to cure herself; easier said than done…

9/10/2010

Friday, September 10, 2010

The Presentation -- Poetry 2010



Oh look, everything just fell apart.
Some days she felt like she was just solving other people's
problems; releasing butterflies locked in their chrysalises...
a step back in time with life’s non-accomplishments
by paying way to little attention to her own challenges.
She wasn’t one to scheme and be not what she seemed.
Now to being unemployed, she was sure she wouldn’t have been
so gracious and professional about the potential for being laid off.
Wherever she went, she tried to spread kindness; her plan
was to totally womanhandle this minute, the next thirty minutes,
an hour, a day, a week… festering hostility was not within her.
In a society full of unreal body images and impossible standards
to meet, she knew instantly why she had been let go…
She didn’t earn that much more than her svelte co-worker.
Ever the consummate professional, this is not a metaphor,
she dismissed wondering what she could have said better.
Rising up to this new occasion, she emptied desk drawers
of personal accumulation while her escort looked on;
humming, she shed all the unfinished project worries at the door.
Guessing by the end of the week, there’d be frantic calls because
by then they’d have thoroughly f-ed up the project presentation.


9/10/2010

Thursday, September 9, 2010

Now -- Poetry 2010



Are you still waiting…
waiting for real life to begin
waiting for real life to end
always waiting for something
challenges come and go
some efforts are meet
some efforts are not
bad experience will pass
good experience will pass
there is no Never Neverland
there is no happily ever after

they sit waiting
in between life and passing
in some Never Neverland
I peer into still eyes
I hold hands
I babble about weather
some nod off
some smile and laugh
many sit and watch
reminding me to live in the NOW
reminding me to turn fears into assets
reminding me that this is not a dress rehearsal.


9/9/2010

Wednesday, September 8, 2010

In the Dust -- Poetry 2010



When he was alone, speeding north,
his thoughts wound round twisting words…
It's a bit of a dilemma, you might
think I'm crazy because I think I picked
up ambiguous intention…yeah,
and with my luck it will be me in trouble
for saying no thanks in the throws
of his family’s Hippy Christmas.

He was going on memories from his twenties
adding smell to irritate the heck out of others.
Life skipped a few chords here and there;
his melody lacked natural harmony…
Never fitting in with siblings’ silliness,
the dense heat sublimated his patience;
He thought everyone would be in a better
mood if it's not sticky and in the high 90’s.
It's a good thing to have – patience.
Especially when he least expected
to need it - celebrating Christmas in July.

The world is not prepared for all this
awesomeness about to be unleashed
or the rubber band expertly aimed…
his older brother Todd shot him in the eye
with a rubber band. There was an instant
chill in the heavy humid air…
When you stretch the rubber band outward
it comes back with a lot of momentum. Snap.
His car air conditioning blasted, tires crunched
over gravel as his family home disappeared in dust…

9/8/2010

Tuesday, September 7, 2010

Jealous -- Poetry 2010



Sticking to his first response -
I punched her. That was it.
just kidding around…
she didn’t duck fast enough;
true friends didn't care.
He was home now hibernating,
keeping a low profile;
he just loved it when things
worked out the way they should…
not that anybody in her family
bothered to tell him who
would be trying to get him.
I get what I want,
when I want it… bravado.
True friends don't blame him;
they thought alike...
would have done the same thing.
The weird thing is… a variation
on the whole absence makes
the heart grow fonder idea –
he actually missed her…
trying to counteract that smidge
of feeling with a six pack
and Monday night football.
During a commercial break,
he wondered if a dead body
bounced if it fell from a great height…


9/7/2010

Reset Button -- Poetry 2010



If life had reset buttons…
her imagination bloomed
visualizing going back in time:
unlocking choices,
replacing lost words,
repealing lost chances,
repairing lost outlook…

first in line… reset
her sociopath brother
stealing her innocence
despoiling her world

second reset…
parental awareness
knowledge of her danger
protecting her better

those two resets
would have deleted victimization
would have saved her self esteem
would have eliminated exploitation

reverie abated
reconsidering the past
she was stronger by challenges
she wasn’t unscathed
she still carried burdens
karma is real
it will take back what he stole

9/7/2010

Monday, September 6, 2010

Gooooood -- Poetry 2010



It is on.
It is SO on!
The creative juice
is getting squeezed;
it tastes gooooood
this morning…
woke up with images
screaming from mind
excruciating creativity
brush stroke tantrums
exuberantly smash
onto Sumi paper
spattering fluidity
sucking brush dry
exemplifying empty space
dancing in harmony
creative companion
state of Zen mind

9/6/2010

His Truth -- Poetry 2010



“The only time your hair looked nice
was two days before we got married…”
You’re responsible for any reaction to my statements
“After all I’m just being honest…”
“When you smile your gums show…”
Why would her true love say such a thing?
Looking at her reflection, she allowed
a grimace of a former smile…
my gums do show…
She stopped smiling seeped in confusion.

Concluding that she was ugly in his eyes,
She even outdid her previous efforts
at pleasing him…
nothing was correct,
dismissive remarks prevailed
disappearing beneath disparity
loosing her identity
to fear and doubt
separated from family and friends
isolated
unstable
she fell into wastelands
her shredded dreams
were distant mirages
impossible to retain

His devious divinity trapped her;
torturing manipulation kept her subdued
Did he think he was clever?
People looked like they believed
he was a fine man and father
because his performance
was flawless seen from a distance.
Everyone knew that she’s the one
who mows the lawn, weeds,
and cleans off the roof and gutters
plus the woman's work in his house.

What’s next, of course, philandering…
scowling at their children
growling his apathy unless in public
screaming disconnection…
hitting her – the last straw,
She fled with kids in tow;
A mother bear roused to save
her cubs from his controlling lunacy.

9/6/2010

Sunday, September 5, 2010

Vicarious Vacations -- Poetry 2010

“We are awake, fed and headed
to the swimming pool.”

“I think I like Rome about as much as Paris,
but Prague is still where my heart lies.”

Facebook uploads, faraway lands…
She closed her eyes,
Tuning into her imagination
Embedding herself into scenes
Greece, Wales, Italy, New Zealand…
Rural scenes, seascapes, hearts of the cities…
walking through friend’s digital landscapes
vicarious vacations –
mind/body connections....
electronic impulses…
Who said what is or isn’t possible...

9/5/2010

Saturday, September 4, 2010

Creativity in Wool -- Poetry 2010


All I want to do is sit and knit.
Total zone-out-through-knitting mode
has taken over my life since my daughter’s
visit and a trip to the yarn shop.
Suppose it’s better than staring at the PC
screen for hours with no sign of accomplishment.
Suppose it’s better than daydreams or long naps
for hours with no sign of fulfillment.
Suppose it’s better than writing poetry
for hours with no sign of attainment.
Soon I’ll have a wool poncho with hood replete
with double cable and moss stitch panels;
A pattern I made up from a cable book
to change a boring repetitious plain knit.
Creativity is my mother of invention turning
my boring repetitious waste of time into
a warm wool accomplishment…

9/4/2010

Choices -- Poetry 2010



Wrinkles, crone lines
reflected back;
bright lights exemplify
signs of her aging.
Peering closer
into eyes gone soft
she whispered…
What is the point?
Touching the glass
warm fingertips left prints,
dots of moisture on cold glass.
Touching her face
the coolness permeated
her soft pale skin…
resembling those who bore her
long since passed over
she straightened her posture.
Aging is not all bad …
unless you choose
to make it that way.

9/4/2010

Another Request -- Poetry 2010



Another request for donation
I give freely
One less art sale
Another please-give-to-our-worthy cause
I support non-profits
One less piece of unsold art from the stack
Another fundraiser having a silent auction
I never ask what my art received
Denigration of my worth
Last gala, my pieces sat waiting;
there were no bids…
it seems I can’t even give it away.
Never say things can't get much worse,
because they can…

9/4/2010

Friday, September 3, 2010

September’s Warm Days -- Poetry 2010



Weatherman says to enjoy
this last day of summer.
Already Labor Day weekend,
rains predicted every day…
not cold edged with bitter bite.
Warm rains with soft degrees
easing into fall’s transition;
Slipping between clean sheets
soaked in summer sun and blue sky
before dragging out comforters
and warm flannel nightgowns.
Second spring brings green back
to the parched Pacific Northwest.
October bears the last warm days
with shorter hours of daylight;
SAD light box brings bright relief.

How fast the seasons turn…
Racing into another winter’s bleak grey,
a time of introspection,
a time to revisit old thoughts,
a time to revise habits,
a time to renew relationships
time to break things that hold the future black…

9/3/2010

Thursday, September 2, 2010

Mundane -- Poetry 2010



It seems that’s the same dumb
answer she always received:
“Those that can get anything past
mundane, come forward…
Life is too short to do otherwise”,
Her professor intoned.

How seriously she took her life…
She’d forgotten serendipity
What will she do… more mundane?
She’d misplaced risk taking too.
Forgetting to ask “what if” and “why not”
made her stability boring and claustrophobic.

Bring it on though, she mumbled. “I'm ready...”
September is going to be one crazy month,
she didn’t know but whatever it is,
its going be GREAT…
nothing seemed impossible…
she stepped forward

9/2/2010

Mood-Shine -- Poetry 2010



She wasn’t feeling as hopeful today
as she usually did. Looking into
the mirror, she concluded that its
probably just a temporary funk.
Odd to wake up with a dreary cloak
draped around her shoulders…
No real reason for it, just a feeling
of unreasonable sour weight .
A creepy resonance sounding a bit out
of this world; the opposite vibration
is feeling completely blissfully happy
and that even scares the crap out of her!!
Longing to be somewhere in between:
funk and euphoria;
living instead of existing;
independence over dependency;
enjoying day Vs night.
She decided on a bit of mood-shine…
a little music and a hot shower might cure it;
maybe add to that a walk in the sunshine.

9/2/2010

Wednesday, September 1, 2010

Snapped into Giggles

Awoke to the sound of rain dancing
down the drain spout, parched soil
sighing in relief and the sun burnt
yellow grass singing along…
I laughed when I watched unseasonable
rains from thick gray skies unloading
record breaking amounts of moisture.
I have ALLOT of coffee in me. I'm also
in an awesome mood, I think I snapped…
I want my own helium and solar-powered
air ship. I also want a 40 foot mechanical
walking elephant with a house inside it.
Imagination perfectly imperfect - just like me…
Maybe I just need a long walk with rain’s
pitter-patter to release this caffeine overdrive…

9/1/2010

Grandmother’s Habit -- Poetry 2010



Saving old envelopes to write notes, shopping
lists, card game scores, phone numbers…
No sense wasting money on a pad of paper.
Carefully, she pulled sealed edges free
revealing the blank white expanse inside…

After she died, my Mom and Uncle Blake
took on the tedious task of going through
stacks of clippings, notes, old letters…
Waste basket stood sentry between them;
Silently looking at each paper
Silently dropping one by one
piles of wobbly words, notations, recipes
drifting useless into trash…

I was standing there when they found it:
a handwritten will…
Without a word they perused the text;
Without a word their eyes briefly met;
Without a word their find slipped from hand,
suspended briefly,
before being layered between
clippings, notes and scraps of paper.
Without a word they continued sifting…
Their mother’s handwritten words
drifting harmlessly into trash…

9/1/2010