Monday, January 31, 2011

All in All -- Poetry 2011

All she wanted to do was
walk in the door,
breathe deeply,
be glad she had a home…
even if it was deficient.
Glaring disrepair
adorned every room;
a miniature home crap home.
Wishing she had a drink in hand,
she needed blinders to escape;
wishing she had money to fix something…
she desperately needed help.
Frustrated with earning so little;
frustrated that the little she earned was too much…
hot bath with lavender bath salts unstressed
muscle by muscle calmed her mind…
All in all it was a good day.


House Shopping --- Poetry 2011

Jangled by jingles for unnecessary
items misrepresented as must haves;
intimidated by “look correct” to fit in with
people she wouldn’t or couldn’t relate to…
she was intrigued by House Hunter International;
HGTV films people purchasing homes in
a foreign country…

often seeking to enjoy prospective
kitchens as big as her house
with stainless steel appliances,
with granite counter tops,
with Mahogany floors…

often seeking to enjoy prospective
bathrooms bigger than her bedroom
with separate showers and tubs,
with two sinks and a vanity
with toilet discreetly tucked away
with his and her closets…

had she been this motivated year's ago,
followed undisrupted dreams, learned business
skills, perhaps she’d be purchasing a modest
home in a sunny climate with an actual studio…
wishing there was a speed advice event where
you had a few minutes to get advice from each
person on your problem… How eye opening…
can you hear the sound of surf?


Caustic Ooze -- Poetry 2011

raw smelling…
Venus flytrap smile
snapped shut
trapping her protestations
in a slurry
dissolving disobedience.
Watching his stilted moves,
dodging his tenuous intentions,
tattered love liquefies
in acidic digestive juice.
In his iconic wetland,
jealousy oozes
rotting organic alliance…
not a place for her to survive
between spider webs, spongy
bog and carnivorous affairs…


Sunday, January 30, 2011

Inflation -- Poetry 2011

You inflate yourself… magnetically stealing wisps
of others’ spirit; they fail to notice your sneaky draw.
I would be better off if I had closure but apparently
communication only happens when your royal highness
allows it.... intentional sarcasm but the inference is about
how many times you were ready to amp up domination.
Overtly conceptual: ever thinking how to set things up…
casting your deceptive web constantly looking for anima.

I don't want to spend a goodly fraction of my life pursuing
unnatural goals that leave a body soulless and vapid.
I guess it's better to be a savory old bag lady ala cart,
or crazy old cat lady or a crazy bat lady! Because I have
been tempted to go crazy with a bat at times. Luckily they
have Midol for that… so ready to put this relationship
into its death bed without a mourning vigil or funeral rites.


Tenacious Hearts -- Poetry 2011

Falling into shadow dreaming of summer,
sun fell from the sky sinking into slate sound
to drown in phosphorescent mystery.
Languishing in dawn’s preeminent break,
ancient sacrificed souls cry out for hearts return;
feasting on subtle light rays vaguely illuminating
empty cavities where tenacious hearts once beat
until the world rejoices in their spirit’s rebirth.


Saturday, January 29, 2011

Waking Compassion -- Poetry 2011

Even with one eye open
the day was too heavy…
Pulling the landscape over her form,
she nestled beneath forested hills;
warm breath fog diffused morning light
coating ferns and leaves with prisms.
Babbling brook fed sunlit pools chanting
cleansing renewal; mantra rose and fell
with each remote inhale and exhale.
Sun burning off fog burst through curtains...
waking to her own voice mumbling, her
lips chaperoned Om Mani Padma Hum


In Tibetan Buddhism the most common prayer, found everywhere, is Om Mani Padma Hum, the mantra of Chenrezi, the Buddha of compassion

Friday, January 28, 2011

Serendoggity -- Poetry 2011

Second time an angel
came into his life…
happenstance sharing after
meditation group;
Mention of meditating moonlight walks
broken by doggie offering reality check…
mine Corgis – hers Chihuahuas
Mention of a broken promise years ago
to my comatose son – if you decide
to live, I promise to get a Chihuahua…
Here begins the seredoggity:
We rescue them; we have black and tan
Angel to place in a home;
John’s eyes light up exactly as when
Mercury appeared fifteen years ago…
One soul slowly departing;
another soul may fill the void.
Sorrow and joy intertwined- part of
endless beginning and endings.


Of Late -- Poetry 2011

Aura of life pervades
even the darkest thoughts…
gazing at front yard, she
glimpsed an unusual glow.
Mirage energy lines
engulfed every object…
natural of man made.
Blinking everything normal,
she questioned real or imagined
vision into the Universe’s life force…
trusting gave her belief beyond
the damming darkness of late.


Thursday, January 27, 2011

late bloomer cell -- Poetry 2011

dragging her brush
focus disconnected
blind to imagination
deaf to inspiration
mind relentlessly
self induced head banging
over persnickety deadlines.
rather make less
what made her happy;
mystified by procrastination
confounding her contentment.
put in the toil and the
so much endeavor and effort;
waiting to reap the rewards.
her epitaph would read:
here lies a late blooming artist who
made a trillion original Sumi-e cards…


Doctor of Cheer -- Poetry 2011

Sunlight melted
any semblance
for scheduled thought…
It was frolic time.
Blue sky, warm air,
birds even sing spring;
fooled crocus pop up.

Mercury’s feet splay;
restless wandering
tremors rattle frailty…
luminous eyes close;
asleep closer to death.

Cumulus bandages
sweep in from salt sea
dimming doctor of cheer
brushing thick dullness
pulling warmth from earth

Clutching his scrawniness
murmur soothing sound
old ears twitch; purrs hiccup;
rocked into catnap dreams
of better times; tears drip
onto lackluster black fur…


How to get out… -- Poetry 2011

Staring at the sign over her desk –
Mr. Opportunity meets MS Preparation -
remembering when we used to laugh at that line;
a foot high pile of “in” forms glared at her.
She had gotten more doses of bad news this
week than she was able to process with a smile.
Sucked into an arthritic black hole, she needed
strong subservient joints for a lucid launch out…
What if the anti matter anomaly was a localized
portal to a more habitable intriguing dimension;
as long as she had to have her glasses on, she
might soon be taking sips from the fountain of youth.
More optimistic once inertia subsided with laughter:
one co-worker responded practically with, I have a
ladder if you need help reaching the top of the pile…
the other remarked, forget the pile, bring me back a t shirt…
This is how they amped themselves up to stay motivated;
you guys just nailed what I was about to say about...
Now how to get out from….
Mr. Opportunity meets black hole of form preparation;


Wednesday, January 26, 2011

freedom of flight -- Poetry 2011

folded within an origami box
palms mime four corners
seamless paper interior
fingertips graze creases
breathing stale air
terminally still
held in place by design…

brightly colored exterior
dissuades idea of anxiety
cranes fly against cobalt pattern
wing tips creased at corners
graze box top and bottom
idiom of fresh air
held in place by design…


Tuesday, January 25, 2011

Suggestion taken… --- Poetry 2011

Furiously she sucked down her dinner
almost as fast as her dogs… consuming
without really tasting, getting the meal over,
definitely doing too much all day every day
always quickly moving onto to something else.
Whether breakfast, lunch or dinner…
not lingering or savoring flavors over her plate,
even the cats take longer to eat; they
wisely ingest modest amounts throughout
the day - delicately nibbling crunchy tidbits.
Purring during their after meal face wash,
they serenely move onto something else;
a catnap entering a meditative state…
relax in contemplation - suggestion taken.
Grateful for wise furry friends: dogs for walks,
cats for walking across the keyboard for a hug;
dogs for keeping feet warm, cats pouring supple
bodies into yoga asanas – another suggestion to take…


Another Slow Day -- Poetry 2011

Can’t get out of her way again…
interesting to note these lulls
in her creative out put; looking
past mind’s vacancy, she wasn’t
frustrated by another slow day.
Brush poised over white roll…
staring out rain spattered window,
clouds scurry across limitless view.
Projecting images onto billowing
moisture, her silent brush sweeps
across limited paper boundaries.


Monday, January 24, 2011

Parking Garage -- Poetry 2011

Phantom transient appeared at the corner;
surreptitiously she locked the car doors…
sidling between the cement wall and her car,
his bundled form bent over the cigarette trash.
Blankets and backpack bobbed in and out
of her rearview mirror; he retrieved a cache:
reusable cigarettes and a score of fast food bag.
Back out onto the sidewalk, he continued his
scavenger hunt cutting across the street to
the apartment’s dumpster; successful innocuous
creature scavenging working class leavings.
Rawboned and gangling, homeless vestments
gave him an obese proportion; dusk encroached,
his gray form fell into immaculate shadows…


Closet -- Poetry 2011

Needing a vacation from their vacation…
knowing the right silence can be a savior,
it felt like she knew how to breathe sitting
in the dark bedroom closet…
muffled sound attempted egress
shoving a garment against the crack sealed
slit of light, sound of his voice, their flirtation…
Sent into self regression, he had his hands on
anything curvaceous – hugs, touches, brushing
back hair, claiming platonic hanging despite
cologne in his underwear, leaning into whispers,
connecting longingly with wide eyes…
Not full of seethe at his display but sickened at his
behavior, she stroked her engorged abdomen.
Weeks since anything but scowls, what’s your
problem tart remarks as he distanced himself
from whatever feeling he once had – if any.
Humming a lullaby, erratic baby soothed;
grabbing her suitcase, logical step was to leave
for an undetermined amount of time…


Sunday, January 23, 2011

Watching Liquid Life -- Poetry 2011

Imitation life and visa versa…
saturated movie watcher
makes her all the more wiser
to involve a requirement to watch
a few real informative ones…
world is bigger than what she walks
on and unable to travel she finds
bliss in no-boundaries imagination.
Romantic comedy - "made up" movies,
watching TV sitcoms, reality shows,
how-to cook-organize-repair continually
filled her brain; she choose ignorance
potentially garnered from any source.
Experiences in her real life never
came close to the wonder and mystery
of what she learned through invisible flickers.
Sitting complacently, she soaked in frothy
solutions of reality and make believe
creating a disregard for any life outside…


Saturday, January 22, 2011

Sun Explanation -- Poetry 2011

The sun was out, her mood
thirsty and hungry…
Damn you, creative muse-
trying to feel inspired
does not create inspiration.
Giving up on scheduled art time,
she seriously needed to learn
patience; not trying to make it
something else less creative,
she was going to stay in the kitchen
cooking until artistic creativity
returned to a reasonable level…
but sometimes she forget knowing
the ending wasn't the reason
she listened to muse’s whispers.


Friday, January 21, 2011

New Habit -- Poetry 2011

That could be a problem;
already tired from a do-nothing day,
she fought her desire to skip class.
Drive down, drive up, drive down –
a yo-yo on a gasoline fed string –
downtown, home, downtown.
Not that she needed a nap;
not that she had other plans.
Too much time between classes,
reluctance to venture out, she
desired to hunker down; resistance
grew to acquiring a new habit.
Movement stalled by sitting, her
insufficient blood flow reduced
momentum chalking her fallible
formula across evening slate sky.


Havoc Maker -- Poetry 2011

Daft, she must be mental…
why she always said yes.
Volunteering her time;
giving her skills for free –
Recognition fruit of reprising
the saint role, her halo and wings
guaranteed to achieve sainthood.
Redoubling her golden efforts,
undeniably resenting every act.
Inwardly she cursed her contrition
that was mentally tearing her apart.
Miss Goody Two-Shoes act stifled
her demonic nature; ultimate plan
to dance others into mistrust, dismay,
discouragement, back stabbing –
a havoc maker extraordinaire…


Re-Home -- Poetry 2011

Not wanting to look…
knowing what was there -
peering into the business files:
phone records, credit card reports…
she knew he was making the rounds.
It wasn’t her nature to cheat;
the children were so young…
she was ignored, berated, made fun of.
Recognizing the end, she researched
separation and divorce;
reconnected with friends;
reconnoitered her options.
Choosing plan A, she called her parents
retreating home with her heart broken…

Her parents knew what was there.
Noting his recent actions;
putting it all together,
they knew he was making the rounds.
It wasn’t their nature to interfere.
The grandchildren were so young;
they saw how she was treated.
They recognized the end.
Anticipating a divorce, they rearranged
the spare room; her friends contacted them.
Hoping she’d consider return as an option.
They welcomed her home nurturing hope…


Flavor of the Day -- Poetry 2011

Perched, the parakeet barks like a dog;
the cockatiel mimics its former owner’s microwave…
house of warped pets – psychosis in action –
their identity in question, they’re all disconnected.
Cat follows along on dog walks; dog tries to climb trees.
Topsy-turvy dysfunction in her mini world… trying on
personas, she hadn’t figured out who she was;
her identity in question, she was disconnected.
Walk-in closet of dislocated moods and uneven
temperament contained examples of hippy, Goth,
hip-hop, punk, and more clothing at her fingertips.
Delightful to demented, she wore them all with pride
declaring herself to be… her particular flavor of the day.


Wobble Cat -- Poetry 2011

Old ebony cat wobbled,
a furry weeble-wobble toy,
frequently tipping over.
Staggering down the hall,
luminescent eyes dilated;
blackened moon orbs
draw in little light…
searching by scent, he waits
under the office chair.
Dull and matted, she patiently
combs his emaciated frame
not even a vague resemblance
to his former healthy being…


Portal -- Poetry 2011

Hole in glass block
a portal to promise
allows sound into sealed area
walled to keep vagrants out
allowing minimum plundering
walled to keep workers safe
distortion’s portent
chance to view outside clarity
a place without walls
unsafe unsecure
dichotomy in choice
fallen apple to ponder
Grace in a bite of freedom…


Signaling Intention -- Poetry 2011

Desiring courage to change,
she required new situations;
Discretely signaling intentions,
she reasoned they would accept;
Drastically altering mindset,
she remodeled her attitude;
Driven by remote possibilities,
she reduced detrimental habits;
Determined to overcome poverty,
she rendered miniscule spending;
Developing new outlook,
she returned the back door key.


More than One Sitting -- Poetry 2011

Blinking right signal belies confusion…
errant driver sits under green light
blocking middle of the street
almost turning left on a one way.

Cranking – go, go, Go
What’s wrong with you…
Meditation results dismissed
vanishing back to impatience;
since post menopausal years,
true nature of her being
obviously needing more than
one session sitting meditation…


gift -- Poetry 2011

stagnant air stays potent
covered garage keeps habit dry
inhaling stale cigarette smoke
surprised drivers return to
cars seeped in fumes;
gift of second hand smoke
provided by tobacco devotees…


Retracted -- Poetry 2011

Stinger snapped off
into loquacious skin.
miniature sword ruptured
pumping poison
straight to her heart
weary without hope.
EpiPen thrown away
life’s magic retracted…


Thursday, January 20, 2011

Touch -- Poetry 2011

Laughing rain came down in
hysterical gusts till daylight…
awake for most of the night,
anxiety built up for a week or more
as side-splitting storms premiered.
Weird phobia – afraid of success –
dribbled into the few dreams she had…
looking at her financial status -
People tell me that money doesn't buy
happiness. It just gives you more options…
intersected dog walk meditations as
revolving umbrella sheltered;
rain boots swam through puddles;
ripples giggled waving down drains;
sighing, she was sleep depraved…
when it is sunny, I wanna be outside
instead of in the studio; when it is rainy,
I don't wanna leave my cozy bed and go
into the studio... but when I am in the studio,
I am always so glad to be there...
Chance to put off any big decisions until much
later, she plunged into one of her five senses –
touch – forming collage Valentine cards.


Arial-go-Round -- Poetry 2011

Bare twig ballroom
movable leaves flit
from branch to branch;
sparrow merry-go-round
mimic scattered wet
leaves caught in grass.
Up and down and around
full of afternoon chatter,
they jitterbug on limbs in
winter’s drizzle and soft wind.
Typical gray day ends…
blighted orb sinks behind
hill’s boney fingers sending
the flock to evergreen huddles.


The PC -- Poetry 2011

I suppose in dog years
this computer, aged eleven,
is old as Methuselah…
agonizingly slow to perform
simple tasks, it rebels when
asked to do more than one
thing at a time – reboot please.
Stubborn and thick in its dull
gray opaque plastic case,
it has selective amnesia,
sets its own protocols,
defaults to the weirdest options.
I’ve cajoled, screamed profanity,
pleaded and begged
to no avail…
its time is limited;
my budget is limited;
compromise between age and finances…


Madly in love -- Poetry 2011

love’s madness…
cancels thought
sense glazes over
haze converts flaws
insane hormonal rush
ignoring irrational behavior
consumed by his/her scent
“what was I thinking” is down the road
easily bored communication fails
headed down cut loss trail
attraction and unrealistic
running to another
love’s madness


Tuesday, January 18, 2011

Start Again, Begin Anew -- Poetry 2011

Raking the wet leaves,
weakness had invaded her body.
Small exertion - heavy breathing,
not just her advancing age
caused muscles and flesh to sag.
Sitting too much;
staring at computer too much…
surprised when midnight rolls around.
Tomorrow, always tomorrow;
everyday ended with a promise…
tomorrow some yoga;
tomorrow more dog walks.
Everyday started without a commitment…
first this, second that, spirals day
into sitting too much…
but there’s tomorrow, always tomorrow.


Wishful Day -- Poetry 2011

Too ordinary a life
tedious, trite, tired,
teased into temptation…
Where was excitement?
Dreary double duty:
family and work obligations -
tedium ad infinitum.
Desiring escape,
send doldrums away…
altered state of wishes,
slipping off the curb,
freedom found her…


Intact -- Poetry 2011

Pencil doodles distract
as if silent scribbles
interrupt discussions during
coffee house gathering.
Dancing lines take form,
graphite portraits stream;
hesitating conversation
filled page to blank stares.
Relinquishing pencil,
deliberately retrieving latte
eyes meet over the rim…
living in the creative moment,
appreciating it for what it is,
she questioned their consternation.

Biting her tongue,
thoughts doodling,
she swore some people
don't have any respect
for other’s artistic life style…
shields up, she waited for the deluge.
Blocking out hiss of viperous tongues,
maintaining eye contact, she swilled her
remains as torrents of harsh criticism
swept over her; without a word,
she closed blank book following
intact dreams out the door…


Monday, January 17, 2011

Reaper of Hearts -- Poetry 2011

Since her origami heart stopped beating
world crawled backward leaving her alone;
a Japanese take out box forgotten in the fridge…
dried out, tasteless, covered in mold.
Loves sticky web bound shredded passion
threads, cutting grooves into weary skin.
Cholesterol clogged heartstrings tied
in goulash knots of searing rejection.
Love was like the grim reaper to her;
past any chance of revival, she took to her mid-
waiting to be carted off to a crematorium…


Sunday, January 16, 2011

Trees Down -- Poetry 2011

Lights, beads and ornaments
decorate flat surfaces…
Christmas in disarray;
piles of meaningless dressing
jumbled within phylum order.
Annual love-hate relationship:
dragging boxes from storage;
shoving them back into darkness.
Tree-top angel stands above it all;
wings open ready for flight, she
overlooks chaos of wafting dog hair,
shabby furniture laced in tree trimmings,
worn subflooring, torn scatter rugs…
from her perch on high, left palm
draws in energy to this divine replica.
Holding scrolled decree, her eyes connect
to mine; disregarding clutter, words winging,
pencil to paper creates a sacred place
to honor words and fledgling voice…


Denise Levertov “I'm not very good at praying, but what I experience when I'm writing a poem is close to prayer. I feel it in different degrees and not with every poem. But in certain ways writing is a form of prayer."

When one door closes… -- Poetry 2011

Uncounted disillusion doubled the weirdness
of life. Sick of encouraging clich├ęs, she works
hard at avoiding advice wielding friends;
bruised and floundering in a wrathful sea,
dismal resolutions dissolved in salt solution…
detoxifying sun hid behind radical storm cells;
lashed innocence withered valiant inhalation.
Drowning mentally she found it problematic to
achieve self CPR to revive stagnated heart,
lungs full of screams, atrocious prophetic visions.
It’s instinct… It’s animalistic… finding refuge
in gift-packaged base charkra - portals to self.
Some intrepid soul… stir crazy? Winter blues?
Frosty view out in the street, she suffers anguish
of waiting for something… silently stewing,
gritting teeth feeling free to never do so again…


Saturday, January 15, 2011

Morning Rant -- Poetry 2011

Waking up on the wrong side of the Universe
beyond the nth degree of abnormal unkindness,
her own thoughts snarled and growled…
miserable outlook rankled even herself.
Funnel cloud sucked all pleasantness away;
useless stinking eyes - drought of tears
couldn’t flush her system of discontent…
all this work for a pittance – thinking once again -
better off chucking it all in the trash.
Sodden morass of uselessness blocked
out her dreams – not of grandiose wealth;
simple dreams of success on her terms…
not this worsening struggle to make ends meet.
Exhausted but ranting still a discordant echo,
her choice was to tame by sitting in nature’s downpour…


Friday, January 14, 2011

Surly -- Poetry 2011

Patience flushed, the boss’s antagonistic attitude
turned her past wanton weeping at home;
turned her combating a constant surly state.
Forlorn disgust was thinly disguised behind
the interminable countenance of the boss.
Acid rain discouraged freedom, tied in knots,
she shifted to neutral observing, making notes,
learning as much as she could…
Opportunity presented, she gleefully turned in her notice…


Schedule Due -- Poetry 2011

Temper tantrum aside, she sank into a
bleak mind set matching low ceiling clouds.
Hard to think of summer classes in darkness…
class proposals were due… what to think?
Considering winter term’s high cancellations,
she dragged herself protesting to set up more.
The half empty side said
Why bother…
The half full side said
Why not…
Indeterminate income – a rolling poverty –
Too much work for too little pay between
preparation of samples and handouts.
Flipping the calendar pages, she counted out
eight week blocks – there were no other options
but to offer twice as many classes as she
could possible teach each semester...
to survive, she must work till she dropped.


Food Bank Rainbows -- Poetry 2011

Sitting, watching TV,
she used yarn scraps to form
future warmth for strangers…
bright yarn bits knitted into caps;
her simple way to pay it forward.
Volunteering at the food bank,
her colorful options sat in a “free”
box discreetly placed by the exit…
It pleased her to no end to see bright
spots in dull gray winter gracing
heads returning for monthly rations.

Pushing a full cart to the door,
thanking volunteers, she spotted
knit caps in a “free” box.
It pleased her to no end that
someone would care enough
to make hats for strangers.
Pausing she lifted a rainbow that
caught her eye. Intrigued by bright
colors and unusual soft yarn combinations,
she headed out into dull gray winter light
wearing a mini rainbow crown…


Name Tags -- Poetry 2011

Several name tags
stuck to her car’s visor
reminding her who she was -
where she’d been.
None gave a clue to where
she was going…
markers of place and time.
Printed or hand written, they
peeled slightly next to clipped on
garage door opener… a turkey
buzzard feather was wedged between;
for a safe journey, a friend claimed.
Name tags rotated;
feather frayed;
door opener batteries changed.
None gave a clue to when she’d arrive…


Hot vs. Cold -- Poetry 2011

Banging out art vs. withdrawn lull;
bursting with ideas vs. soggy dis-inspiration,
the story of her life
bursts and lulls
intense interest to nothing
whether sewing, writing, and creating…
whether exercise, diet and health habits…
either or
size and creativity
cycling every seven years
amazed at her reflection
small or large
amazed at her production
small or large
running the life mill
hot to cold
seven years
seven chakras
imbalance to balance
over and over
trying to end extremes
forward and backward
trying to exit self made maze


Future Consternation or Worse -- Poetry 2011

Signing the membership forms,
frenzied internally to admit…
I am an officially a senior…
paying the fee, selecting “clubs”,
she strode upstairs to the senior boutique.
Idly checking the racks, gazing at the shop’s
growing nick knack collection, she was
determined to unload her own burdens…
Envisioning her daughters consternation
at having to wade through Mom’s treasures,
a stop at the liquor store for boxes seemed prudent.
Picking up a few bottles of lift-the-spirits or sooth-the-
nerves or just-a-nip-to-help-her-sleep – this from
a former teetotaler, she amassed quite a collection:
gin, vodka, rum, tequila, let alone lots of liquors.
Imagining her daughter’s surprise to find this booze
cache made her think of other objects to discard ASAP
preventing consternation, surprise, and embarrassment…


Senioritis -- Poetry 2011

Senior activity center abuzz with
noise drove her back to her lair…
creature comforts in silence, her
own small space with cat company.
Exposed to prolonged disorganized,
larger spaces made her twitchy; this
wasn’t the first time she had bolted…
back outside, sighing relief;
back to green areas, breathing deeply;
back into her trusty Subaru.
Shaking off the discrete anxiety,
she returned home to peaceful quiet,
a soothing cup of tea and cats
ensconced on lap and foot rest…


Alien Invasion -- Poetry 2011

Rain soaked cat scrambled across
heaps of unfinished projects; her screams
only made the cat race faster scattering
sketches, paintings, cards, canvas.
Throwing up her hands, she was done
unlocking possibilities; following erroneous paths;
being swamped by “what if” distorted outputs;
sinking in unfinished creations of “why not try”;
scooping the cascade of visualization, she
unceremoniously loaded the recycle bin
with dreams, hopes, creative thoughts.
Pouring Bailey’s Irish Cream into her coffee,
she plunked down to watch the Price is Right
with an almost dry cat curled up on her lap…


Thursday, January 13, 2011

Wings -- Poetry 2011

Getting stuck in a snow bank twice was
not the best way to start off the new year.
Slipping under covers hiding from day…
reclusive times ten, she wrapped herself
securely in colorful dreams; she’d rather
stand in the wind and snow, anything was
better than moderating her fate in mirrors.
Wishing her dreamscape would be woven
into believable behavior, an evading stance
flip flopped her detached nature…
wandering between manifest reality and truth,
she worked an impossible toggle switch
living in dreams between random life events.
In every family there are rules about what you
can and can't talk about – ample dirtiness –
so much hidden, so many lies that blocked
instincts for fight or flight disabling her wings…


inevitable -- Poetry 2011

indoor winter air
dripping eyes
allergy ooze
red and itching
wheezing squeaks
midnight stalemate
sluggish synapses
built up plaque
slow motion dreams
pasted in place
sanity’s illusion
time lapse frames
flip stagnation
perennial darkness
debilitating images
loquacious silhouettes
black against black


No One -- Poetry 2011

Hello Ellen
Un huh she mumbled
dragged from deep sleep.
Who said it?
silent TV and radio…
doors locked –
Who said hello?
So clear to wake her,
a man’s voice
not recognizable.
Hello Ellen
Calm, warm,
clear greeting
from no one
from no one
of this existence…


Wednesday, January 12, 2011

Crepe Paper Blues -- Poetry 2011

regardless of snow storms,
sun flashes, blasting rain
showers or seasonal allergies,
today was a lost cause…
sitting mildly incapacitated
no discernable reason
sags spread greeting chair
girth expanded inordinately
discouragement flowed
creative motivation ebbed
in its place sloth,
fallow thoughts…
former pleasure burnt
faded ember to ash.
couldn’t paint a cloudless
blue sky while listening
to slack key guitar
but it's not the same
as my crepe paper blues…


Omen -- Poetry 2011

As beautiful as the snow was against midnight sky,
she woke to boring metallic gray with barren ground.
Magic sucked out of her as quickly as it had appeared…
childhood combined gifts of joyous spontaneity and curiosity
vaporized flushed away from mind with winter rains return.
Tenacious in her hope, she lingered with palms turned
skyward before sullen expanse pouring through spattered glass;
invoking heaven and earth… soft voice sent to the four directions
envisioning a glowing ball of sensitive love inundating her today.
Working it outward, light rippled from her center; a conduit
channeling interior sunshine as a good omen for the new year…


Tuesday, January 11, 2011

Out of Sorts -- Poetry 2011

Weather reports so accurate to predict almost exact
time when snow will start to fall takes some of the
magic away… surprised to see three inches of snow.
Flakes still blessing the ground… puppies again,
the Corgis prance and bounce thrilled with this
frozen confection adventure; their paw prints burn
to the asphalt below – perfect imprints down the street.

Streaming through black night, flake shadows
dance on pristine white surface under streetlights
mesmerizing me – the total opposite effect of driving
with millions of white bullets blasting a windshield…
positive vs. negative, white vs. black miniscule shapes …

The dogs grow impatient for more romp time dragging
me away from my out-of-sorts interior contemplation.
Back into the warmth, winter coats drip and the dogs dry
off by gas fire; the dizzying shadows against sparkling
opaque ground intrigue in replay - Yin and Yang…
energized from waltzing with ice crystals, sipping hot
chocolate still there’s the suspense of not knowing
when snowfall is going to stop…


new sketchbook -- Poetry 2011

falling into her blank sketchbook,
she closed empty covers behind her.
Images real and imagined surfaced,
illustrating bits of life snatched
from conversations; barely coming up
for air, she sank deeper into limited
blank pages as her mental sojourns
heaped with artistic license converted
graphite lines and shading into a divine
world free of misery and discomfort…
not even cramped fingers or “lights out”
made her want to stop; for her, the one
joy left was as simple as…
a pencil to paper.


Onset -- Poetry 2011

Bowling pin cormorants
huddle in formation on broken pier;
Sets of odd numbers impossible
to roll a spare… dark configuration
outlined against swollen steel sky.
Suns pale pupil stares listless, its
cornea reflecting silver waste.
Day advances in twilight shades;
waiting storm rotates inland…
barometer calmness impedes inlet.
No wind breaks the slick surface;
no waves lap the shore;
still as after death’s last breath…
heavy heart against life’s pressure,
she emulated vaporized flatness
floating face down with barely a ripple…


Monday, January 10, 2011

Lowland Snow -- Poetry 2011

Dressing bare branches in winter white lace,
fat snowflakes drift silent instead of customary
pounding rains smacking earth’s surfaces.
Today’s snow wanders from soiled gray clouds
muting winter’s normal hissing clatter.
Cars and buses splatter damp world puddles;
studded tires rip across frozen watery asphalt.
Speeding past winter wonderland of inconvenience,
Monday’s surprise not deep enough to cancel
school, slow down rushing employees late for work,
or for short wild critters, cats and dogs to snorkel through.
Slipping from branch and blade as air warms, fluffy layer
disappears almost as fast as a shooting star leaving
a trail of wishes vanishing from ether into damp soil…


Sunday, January 9, 2011

There is Love -- Poetry 2011

Seems her life is still not her own;
ingrained beliefs of long lasting partnership
haunted her excursions in public places.
Six decades and counting, her extinct
social status needed resuscitation…
she thought she desperately needed one
or at least she needed a major overhaul.
Feeling as if she was out on a day pass
from the Adult-Relationship-Looser ward,
she was unable to make eye contact
especially with adult males; awkwardness
glued her to walls wherever she went
but even still, at the very same time, she
was filled with ambivalence about a partner.
So many years since being in a relationship,
her time was her own; she did as she pleased;
mistakes were her own to correct as she saw fit…
downside was no one to lean on or help her.
Some people manage to achieve a quality of love
whether in a relationship or not that emanates
into their immediate environment coating others;
that was what was missing, an open heart…


Saturday, January 8, 2011

Her Nature -- Poetry 2011

Wrapped in layers of colored acetate
a rainbow dusted with gun powder,
she was a bottomless pit of disappear.
Visibility censored by miniscule explosive static
particles clinging to her curvaceous nature.
All things being equal, her beauty was not her
fault, and it was not her only advantage…
grateful for wise friends, her commitment phobia
sat as thick as a heavy frost encasing her heart.
Open and honest with friends, she closed down
if love appeared on her horizon rising to crown
the day – primal in her natural and private spaces -
ever blooming flower full of scent and softness,
she squatted in fetal round clutching the fear
of being alone instead of standing resolved to trust…


Friday, January 7, 2011

Alive? -- Poetry 2011

Kissing death but still alive…
When did her spirit extinguish itself?
Shut down but observing the dance of souls
around her – she held back stuck in limbo.
Bricked up emotions built by event after event…
mortared incidents disconnected her from living.
A shallow protection she could see through;
a maladjusted fate, she relinquished feelings.
Coming to rest in an ice palace residence
due to her self inflicted chilling withdrawal
from an abusive relationship, her son’s accident,
family illnesses, none dealt with properly…
her father’s death stripped her of tears.
Coming closer to her own ending, she
worried about transporting these burdens to
what ever after freezing her soul permanently…


Chai -- Poetry 2011

Heavy cinnamon scent pervades
the car interior – cooling Chai
satisfied her need for warmth…
radio softly constructs images –
song’s words attach randomly
to interior visions while watching workers
arrive and depart the parking garage.
Waiting, the sky absolves gray
shifting to a pale blue;
Waiting, a front pushes a clearing before
dragging in the next swirling storm;
Waiting, emotions rich in variation settle
into neutral, a respite from gray frustrations.
Sun escapes the retreating clouds…
nature is always re-beautifying itself,
always new and wondrous in storm or fair
and it was very peaceful place to drink Chai.


Key Chains -- Poetry 2011

Measuring decades of her life…
Ms Piggy, a rubber yellow chicken,
two metallic books, South Park’s Kenny,
hello kitty in black…
bits of love dangle from key chains.
Marking stages identified by television
series or other events in the past, her kids
had presented most of these swinging reminders…

Only one was a miscue – blind to a man’s
attraction, caught up in the stress of her son’s
surgery, the gift of a dangling book key ring
was a reminder of their job choice – librarians.
Feeling foolish for not recognizing his interest
before he moved on to someone who noticed,
she lost the chance to waltz romantically like her
own crazy-in-love married parents celebrating
their fiftieth wedding anniversary…


Drainage -- Poetry 2011

Lancing swollen monument to pain,
visualizing pus of abandonment erupting,
spewing emotional discharge,
releasing the tangled investment…
packing belongs, tossing good and bad
times into a modern day River Styx
diminished the relationship from hell.
Walking away before death knocked on her door,
she dreamt of drainage from deposited abuse.
Loading the car with small treasures, she pulled
into traffic leaving a deep well of regret behind…


Microcosm -- Poetry 2011

Usually her mind was too overloaded
with words clamoring for permanence;
today’s backlog was encased and stacked
within glass blocks preventing escape.
A hum of discontent forgotten in observation,
she sat in a cooling car sipping herbal tea…
internal warmth permeates shy contentment.

Mind wanderings fail to latch onto meaning…
problems dressed as solutions stay in place.
No amount of determination makes a difference
breaking destructive habits seen in solid but
transparent walls – skating on black ice in her
youth, she remembered looking through a foot
of flash frozen freshwater seeing the aquatic
world’s workings clearly and due to child magic
it was also full of imaginative beings and creatures…
admittedly living most of her adult life saturated
in an imaginary unsophisticated microcosm.


Devilish Sleep -- Poetry 2011

Twenty ounce Chai should push sleep away;
caffeine overload obscuring dream’s placenta
pushing them back into their bleak landscape.
Keeping the devils repressed that slip into night’s
subconscious to haunt daylight consciousness;
sharp canines bite into stupor’s flesh…
seeking a vacuous state, she sips herself into
warp speed; body shaking, tremors of deprivation
reveal fear of night terror stalking her sleep…
finally she crashes into dreamless oblivion.


Thursday, January 6, 2011

Conduit -- Poetry 2011

Resetting the radio tabs in her car to avoid
oldie but moldy music stations… the
disgorge of 60’s flashback fanned funks.
Visualizing the decorated gym for a dance,
as if crepe` paper streamers and turning off
overhead lights magically changed a cavernous
cinder block room into a palace ballroom.

Typical high school dance meant boys and girls
standing in clumps, trying to look cool, listening
to scratchy 45s; girls prayed for a chance to dance.
Voices hoarse from yelling over blaring music, she
never asked her girlfriends if they woke to soggy pillows.
No use going back in time to her deficient social skills.

Keeping radio set to current stations, watching
a smattering of TV sitcoms, she remained tuned
in to what was cool, hip, boss, fly, trendy… not foolish
enough to emulate clothing, hair styles or interior design;
she kept her tattoos respectfully out of site…
she kept to herself, to her life wrapped in tissue paper.

Landscape out her window morphed; seasons turned,
neighbors came and went, retired, passed away…
human figure deteriorates;
human mind degenerates.
Won’t be sad to greet the end of the life she has;
will be sad to see the end of the life she wanted;
her transparent imaginings were a conduit to love.


Wednesday, January 5, 2011

HBRCSP -- Poetry 2011

Wishing there was a Holiday Bender Recovery
Centre for Stressed People; a respite not from
booze but from six weeks of encouraged seasonal
overindulgence… at least a week to deprogram
holiday tunes, TV advertisements and specials,
remove family tension, induce calorie intake
reduction and renounce purchase pressure demons.
Massage, fasting, meditation, journal writing –
all to refocus - then it's back home for normal
wading through soggy gray winter storms.

The best she could hope for was a hot water bottle,
filled from the bathtub faucet with what turned out to
be just very warm water; tepid worked a bit anyway
to ease her aching back from hauling the undecorated
tree out the door to the curb… hot cup of tea to dunk
cookies gone stale… turkey bones simmering for soup
replaced sweet evergreen scent and masked muscle
ache cream… its a strange state of being to say the least;
empty and full of good expectations for this day and the
day after and the day after - grateful for the returning light.


Tuesday, January 4, 2011

Between -- Poetry 2011

Focus so intent,
she slips past
both school secretaries
in route to check mail…
A second pass,
proves she’s invisible –
no one looks up;
no one speaks.
Third pass guarantees
silently she glides
in and out of focus.
Without her glasses,
the world diminishes
to blurry mirages;
sliding between
visibility and invisibility…


Beginning Calligraphy -- Poetry 2011

Dipped ink nib sans pen handle
form chicken scratches;
fine metal quills snag papers.
Practice strokes form Italic
script alphabet; lines turn into
letters; single words seeped
with black blobs on sample pages
grow into sentences and doodles:
I feel like Harry Potter…
Me too…


One’s Resolve -- Poetry 2011

frost insights fog;
sugar dusting laminate
fortifying a crystalline world;
brittle grass blades
coated leaves
shatter underfoot…
bitter cold midnight walk,
frigid thoughts coalesce.
House warmth thaws
frost’s harsh resolve…


Monday, January 3, 2011

Living a Nightmare -- Poetry 2011

Clothespins snap releasing their prey…
floundering clothes brought to ground by wind gusts.
Running for their lives not a cute hokey pokey dance,
the jeans, corduroys, turtle necks, flannel shirts flail in
vain to stay connected to the trembling whistling lifeline.
Wicker laundry basket does a tumble weed impression
until becoming wedged in the shuddering shrubs.
Wicked wind violates cumulus tearing them to shreds
releasing strident horizontal deluge to batter the lawn.

The wildness of the day suited her dampened mood;
Feeding her abysmal outlook, the scattered laundry
pelted by hail, spattered with garden soil, decidedly
water logged gave her promise of increased rage…
building up for weeks this stress pressure frustration
violated her normally calm nature tearing her spirit;
releasing torrents between screaming squalls, she
squatted into a meditative connection exhausted.

Prescription bottle cap snaps releasing capsules…
floundering she was destined to be grounded by disease.
Deeply engaged in a life battle, she desperately wanted
to win; the discomfort was unstoppable - living a nightmare,
running for her life not a cute hokey pokey dance…


Stalwart -- Poetry 2011

Her eyes so open reflecting refraction;
sun on water whipped by wind.
Froth and foam advancing shoreward
lapping voraciously closer to feet
encased in ladybeetle rain boots.
Her children muttered far worse comments
than ridiculous at her age as in too old to wear,
too old to do, to old to be alone…
Buffeted by their long distance remarks,
she stood strong against their gusts of nonsense.
If she had a dollar for every remark that was
thrown in her direction about senility, she’d be
a rich woman; her Corgi waited patiently, as she
adjusted her focus to connect with nature.
Stalwart – a Great Blue Heron hunkered into an
ellipse waiting out the clearing squall…
Stalwart - she hunkered into an ellipse waiting
out her children’s dynamic rants…


Sunday, January 2, 2011

Memories Squared -- Poetry 2011

New Year’s first purging of the old…
going through bedroom drawers
tossing ragged stained clothing:
too big, too small, too faded, too torn…
odd socks lost without a mate.
Surfacing from the chest’s depths,
she began to clear flat bureau tops;
her eyes slide to depositories of unrelated items.
Not one but two jewelry boxes - a bountiful
collection of extraneous bits from her past:
a two dollar bill; a halfpenny; a silver dollar;
tangle of snapped necklace chains; broken earrings;
an obituary of a friend; a few baby teeth; parakeet
feathers; snips of her mother’s hair; an another oddity,
her wedding rings… the silver hand cast bands –
his and hers – smaller one stuck inside the bigger one…
solidly interlocked unlike her “last forever” marriage.
Her jewelry boxes were not a happy place to visit…
too heavy to wade through obsolescent keepsakes,
she closed the lid on the emotional weighty contents.


Stomping -- Poetry 2011

Crunch of frozen leaves crumble is his wake;
steady accompaniment to her pounding heart.
Hemlock would taste sweet compared to his self-righteousness.
Refusing to bow before his deciduous inclinations,
he stripped her ring finger of any former promise.
Cradling her hands, she knew he wasn’t finished with her…
suspicious that her refusal was a reaper invitation, she
headed deeper into the forest till there was no more snow.
I'll not suffer his archaic mechanisms; a bit cynical and, yet,
optimistic at the same time, she considered to open the book.
Huddling beneath a graceful hemlock’s skirts, she noted…
its pages are blank. she was going to put her words onto them.
Existentialism anyone? Her mental review - a box of fading
snapshots that she was willing to part with – hindsight at best.
A tree falling in an uninhabited copse… silence was broken
by his stomping return, calling her name using that sick voice.
One final foray into Christmas land of evergreens...
wrapping her scarf about her mouth and nose, hid her breath.
From cajoling to rage, he inundated her with fear; reaper whispered
in her ear, silently flakes fell, she burst from cover slamming
into his crouched form - sailing outward, downward, flailing
through space to depths of no return… there at her feet,
a broken promise returned to her finger.


agenda -- Poetry 2011

Blowing sand has gotten into my brain, with any luck
grinding away the thick detritus in there…
built up after six decades, she hoped for clarity.
After searching on and off all afternoon and evening,
she finally found it where it had fallen behind the kitchen table.
Groaning... she'd hallucinated "putting" it someplace "safe".
What was sad…? “it” could be any number of misplaced things.
Do the clinics offer a brain colonic? Shuddering, she stifled
the “what if” this was early signs of dementia merry-go-round.
Family heritage lacked a genetic predisposition so stress was
an acceptable conclusion for her frequent senior moments.

Pushing for a move to a retirement community, her daughter
was tugging at her Velcro attachment to independent living.
Her figure once fierce and towering had softened and slumped;
her daughter sensing the weakness was poised to pounce…
often after a psych appointment, the confrontation escalated.
There was a secret agenda; what did her daughter expect to win?
At the risk of being foolish, she knew she was in danger…
documentation was secure; authorities notified; movers
engaged packing… 47 years of memories sorted down to
prerequisite requirements for her last stage of existence.
Independent living, gated community, 24 hour security,
an ever-flowing river of creativity, a journey of the purist bliss,
some new faces and her best friend living next door…
her daughter was all swords but she sported a gun and a smile.


Hard Eye Poison -- Poetry 2011

Acid eats through defenses.
Empty eyes churn carnal
offenses to everyday normalcy.
Vacant stare poisons;
frosted by wind chill his
freezer burn touch
numbs inadequate reason…
bites resolve to escape.
Bitter background tremors
shake angst sounds
from her parched lips.
Chapped skin rips a smile;
metallic tang of blood
precludes his taste or scent.
Stench of fear overrides all
in her descent to his hell…


Saturday, January 1, 2011

Heaving the Old Year -- Poetry 2011

Clutching the bowl, she heaved the old year
out with a purge but nothing would stay in for awhile…
stupid flu bug – what a time to lay her low!
New Year’s Eve and the flu were not compatible…
here she was ringing in the new emptying her system
literally and figuratively; shaken with chills not joy,
she crawled back to a bed already cooled by her absence.
Third time is the charm she hoped. Ugh – she ached…

Ringing phone jarred her awake, she wasn’t used to
afternoon naps… automatically fumbling for the receiver,
his voice filled her ear – watcha doing tonight?
It was her mooch – she hadn’t heard from him recently.
As if on cue, his persona sprang to life in her feverish mind:
an 800 lb gorilla in her life whose name was "Why?" that kept
asking for seconds and thirds any time she fed him dinner…
his root motivation: someone to just be “friends” and feed him.

Anyone else coming over? I can bring a movie I copied recently…
Not even pausing for response – So what time, I hope pretty
soon, I only ate breakfast…
As if on cue, she put good use to her bedside bucket.
Hanging up the phone, she resolved several things:
to stop rescuing people who take too much;
to stop giving too much of herself away;
to embrace the words “no” and “not now”;
to focus on integrity, honor and grace.
First order of business as 2010 slips into oblivion, pampering herself
with some well needed rest, peace and quiet…


Ms Night Owl -- Poetry 2011

Skulking off to bed before midnight,
succumbing to desire for darkness,
curling on one side, she tried to ignore
the New Year’s fireworks exploding.
Against a pristine clear star studded sky,
neighbors near and far welcoming
baby 2011 with rockets bursting in air…
echoes of explosions bounce across
frigid air through windows and drawn shades
to eardrums buried under comforters warmth.
Her immediate plan was on owning this next decade.
Safely ensconced in drowsiness, she muttered
solutions to unwritten resolutions…
taking her mind to the extreme she began to note:
Next year she would dress up like a sugar plum faerie and do her own rendition of their dance for her friends.
Next year because she’d fallen out of love recently, she’d figure out how not to be dependent on someone else for her happiness or ego fulfillment…
Next year, she’d not be afraid to look one another in the eye. Then shoot... keeping in mind it’s always best to aim at her target.
Next year, she’d recognize a gift horse when it’s punching her in the mouth.
Next year, she’d remember to put non-breakable ornaments on the bottom half of the tree…
Next year, she’d tell these cats that if they don't straighten up, she’d take them all back to the pound… and do it.
Definitely next year, she’d get a big tattoo of puckered lips on her right cheek adorned with Old English
- Kiss My Arse