Monday, February 28, 2011

Scissors -- Poetry 2011

Disorientated as nightmares
deteriorating daydreams
left no safe escape…
avalanche dislodged
emotional stability.
Tip toe dancing
fails rebalance;
eyes meander
loop out of focus.
Chopping at hair
stolen scissors
glide over scalp…


Sunday, February 27, 2011

Last Nerve -- Poetry 2011

Woke up in time
to go to bed…
at least it felt that way;
a dark morning
with no garden
to reclaim sanity.
Rain drowns snow;
revealing raised beds
soaked to the core…
frigid soil,
upholstered mud,
rotting greens
rise from ice palaces.
A few sunny days earlier,
I caught an early case
of spring fever that first
froze and today dissolved…
Which one of you
stepped on Mother Nature's
last nerve?


Saturday, February 26, 2011

Nada World -- Poetry 2011

There is something magical about
early morning sun beaming through
the trees; turning from golden to white
as sun’s fingers poke at evergreen bows …
earth shifts - effect is temporary –
either way the early morning sun holds
a promise for a sweet day…
All I have to say is do not expect
ANYTHING of me for the rest of the day.
Wearing butterfly wings, a big flouncy white
straw hat, and carrying a gold purse, I'm
crawling into a hole and not coming out
until tomorrow because I’m too busy
disappearing into the void today…
This mirror of introspection makes me look
fat so I like the hole right now. Evil mirror…


Friday, February 25, 2011

Position -- Poetry 2011

Just sitting around waiting
for possible checks in the mail.
Ugh. I don't like this day – too cold.
It's not that I perpetuate anything;
although who knows what’s hidden
deep within the unknown universe
of the mind constructed of self-
destructing gray brain matter.
Usually I wake up and know what
kind of day it's going to be. OK,
maybe I am self-predicting the outcome.
Maybe I have to own up to undulating thoughts;
leftover worries seep into sleep, soggy dreams
permeate my daily mood, drain my energy level.
I'm just really not digging this New Year so far.
Whatever is this nonsense coming my way?
The day just kind of does what it does;
I glance off the edges trying to hang on…


Wednesday, February 23, 2011

Mementos -- Poetry 2011

Dad’s tangled suspender’s
hang among my unworn belts
taking a small amount of space…
mementos, physical memories,
tucked away gathering dust –
odd to hang onto unbearable items.
Neglected box of clutch purses -
formal bags - beaded, metallic, silk
leftover from Mom’s Eastern Star days.
Wonder if she was disappointed
that her shy daughter passed on
joining the Rainbow Girl’s…
it was fear of speaking in public,
memorizing parts for formal meetings,
dressing in ball gowns with features
dusted with powder, lipstick, hair just so…
nature called me outside: I’d rather
be out in the garden or fishing,
hiking, sailing, practicing archery. I
ignored the girlie stuff: clothes shopping,
fussing with hair and nails, drooling
over Seventeen magazine. Tucking
the suspenders back in place, still
not wanting to discard them or purses;
as if from within a closet, I could gain
lost support of either one of my parents…


Horse Anatomy -- Poetry 2011

Knowing anatomy would be helpful
to paint Sumi-e Horse legs; dismayed
mine had turned into crustacean legs.
Having ridden as a child would have
ingrained memories of structure and form.
Running hands over hide, brushing,
currying, washing – routine tasks –
every stroke memorizing muscle shapes,
fine details of eyes, nostrils, ears…
no such luck although I begged; no use looking
back now, my parents were on strict budget …
watching riders at 4-H demos and imagining
I was in the saddle was as close as I came
to my wish, prayers, dreams for owning a horse.
Flipping through animal anatomy book to horse
pages, I rescue legs slightly askew…


Tuesday, February 22, 2011

Desert Rat -- Poetry 2011

Declining in acrid landscape
far from water’s rush:
ocean saline solution;
rivers mineral bath…
dehydrating cells collapse,
implode to save organs,
flesh burns and peels
leaving pocked skinscape.
Contaminated from within,
perfume of decay,
scavengers encroach…
setting the binoculars down,
she was pleased with his decline
in the desert he loved.


Horse Anatomy -- Poetry 2011

Knowing anatomy would be helpful
to paint Sumi-e Horse legs; dismayed
mine had turned into crustacean legs.
Having ridden as a child would have
ingrained memories of structure and form.
Running hands over hide, brushing,
currying, washing – routine tasks –
every stroke memorizing muscle shapes,
fine details of eyes, nostrils, ears…
no such luck although I begged; no use looking
back now, my parents were on strict budget …
watching riders at 4-H demos and imagining
I was in the saddle was as close as I came
to my wish, prayers, dreams for owning a horse.
Flipping through animal anatomy book to horse
pages, I rescue legs slightly askew…


Summer Mandala -- Poetry 2011

summer solstice sunrise
plants stand strong
flowers radiate life force
noon’s heat bakes the earth
wilting to conserve strength
deep roots survive in moist soil
cool night restores balance.
plants return upright…


Mittz C -- Poetry 2011

You’re cute, Mittz C – she said pulling the poem
out from under the curled sleeping form…
wishing for a magician’s finesse, the kind used
for leaving china and stemware upright when
yanking the tablecloth out from underneath;
she’d seen it done with such a snap of the wrists.
Pulling the papers out from under snoozing cat
was more a slow motion drag across the desk.
Disturbing mouse chasing dreams, she retrieved
words scribbled earlier before chores intervened.
Disgruntled meow followed with a huge yawn
displaying sharp fangs but girded with rumbling purr.
Sauntering onto the keyboard, kitty settled on down
preventing typing of any sort… You’re cute, Mittz C


Sunday, February 20, 2011

Shuffling -- Poetry 2011

I need to reshuffle my cards or at least count them,
think some are missing from my deck. Ha, I knew it…
I'm not playing with a full deck - that explains something.
Reality should look pretty good to me but I duck into
frequent daydreams suggesting weakened suits;
vital missing connections especially in hearts area;
male face cards have become nonexistent.
Replacement would end with mismatched designs;
refurbishment means I have to find the lost ones first;
relinquishing trust issues would take a lot of time;
rationalization I’m too old, too this or that for a mate;
ramification of waiting somewhere between reality or dream.
How much will a new deck cost? I’m on a tight budget
but I’m willing to keep my options open. I’m hoping
to find a new age design linked to love, beauty and passion.



Happy old lady or is she…
wandering under stars
following moonlight trails
on a brisk winter tipping
into spring dog walk;
following Corgis making spots,
same locations as every sojourn –
permanence in a dog’s world.
Collecting thoughts along the way,
her form of streaming meditation
while her dogs collect scents.
Closing in on the end or beginning,
depending on how one views death...
maybe we’re stuck in this body, an
outmoded form of transportation, to
realize how great it is to exist without it:
unencumbered, light, free as sun rays
or moonbeams moving in space and time.


Saturday, February 19, 2011

Ten Thousand Cards --- Poetry 2011

Well, I survived…
that’s not what I want to say
when I meet the grim reaper
or see the light at the end of the tunnel
or get greeted by my mother sans bar of soap…
or whatever happens after my last breath.

Well, I slacked off…
that’s not what I want to say either.
I claimed I was an artist and even acted like one;
striving to hang in better venues, producing
a huge inventory of consistent work; I thrived
tasting the joy of released creative energy –
a thyroid problem, major surgery, nation’s financial
downturn lead to a brick wall on meeting my dreams.

Well, my rhythm was thrown off…
physically, emotionally, mentally, financially;
I’m not dancing with despair, at least not consistently,
more a periodic slip and slide up and down the slope.
Less valleys and higher peaks have been achieved;
art sales are nonexistent but Sumi-e cards are steady.

Well, I created cards…
that’s not what I want to be know for but perhaps
it’s a unique recognition; I could set a Guinness world
record for making the most handmade cards…
my obit might read:
Ellen didn’t slack off or loose her rhythm while she created
ten thousand cards by hand in the last few years of her life…


Yarn Scraps -- Poetry 2011

It’s my new thinking cap…
retrieved from the Food Bank’s discreetly placed
free box that sat waiting to disgorge its colorful
contents to whomever exited with free food;
the color caught my eye nestled among more
serious tones of blue or storm gray. What luck
that I happened to glance down while shoving
the bulky cart over the threshold…
stooping lower for examination reveled tan and
brown jumping into rows of flamingo pink; easing
into a purple blend; a single row of turquoise moves
into velvet lavender ending in coffee browns flecked
with turquoise… I touched my cheek, so soft and warm.
My new thinking cap reminds me of life’s crazy colors;
events and incidents deemed good, bad or ugly…
small yarn pieces deemed useless but when knitted
with love into a hat… make sense.


Exposition -- Poetry 2011

It’s my dancing skirt…
swirling flared it into a bell exposing
her hiking boots and heavy wool socks.
Pacific Northwest style but missing the waffle
weave long johns and/or blue jean layers.
A sure sign that spring’s improving daytime
temperatures despite the grizzly gray mist…


Juxtaposition -- Poetry 2011

Lace prayer flags
machine cut precision
pastel colors against
stained ceiling tiles.
Peaceful thoughts engage
spirit’s invisible processes.

Rain dissolves delicate paper
releasing residual wishes;
composted by time,
wishful prayer for peace,
goodwill, health and happiness.
No match for finite reality
of greed, bias, hate…

Lace prayer flags
safe within four walls
from disturbing imbalance.
One gentle soul against tidal wave
of disparaging world attitudes;
healing meditation transcends
space and time…


Knit Cap -- Poetry 2011

Hacked a little more
hair off last night.
Bush whacking my way
to stream lined smooth.
Repeated statement of:
I think it’s time…
next week for sure,
shave it all off.
Gone are the days of
thick Auburn expanses…
shifting darker each year,
thin gray speckled display
awkwardly expires
shedding en masse
on every surface.
Wires of white embed
favorite fleece sweater;
cute knit cap replaces
ex-resplendent first growth
approaching a chrome dome…


Slower Pace -- Poetry 2011

Monkey mind won today
even though attitude
resolved to rinse it away
with gentle showers;
thoughts stampeded…
wild broncos thundering
hooves throw up clods;
irreverent statements
of no redeeming worth.
Swarm and trample all
attempts to coral them
into a reserve status.
Promising to revoke interest,
I envision glowing mist;
commencement encompasses,
mist infused light succeeds…
herd stands waiting for
resumption of free range.
Ringing bell releases
shrouded forms walking
to a slower pace…


Tea Leaves -- Poetry 2011

Grandma kept a frayed tea stained
pamphlet in her kitchen table drawer
resting among worn silverware,
pencils and scrap paper envelops.
Her tea so dark and strong, teeth and glazed
cups stained evenly with tannic acid.
Flossing was unheard of, baking soda cleaned
cup interiors and slugging back lemon juice concentrate
from a can probably wore away her tooth enamel.

Even though she favored the boys over girls, she
looked forward to my afterschool visits…
residual loose tea made lace patterns in cup bottoms.
Swirling the escaped leaves clockwise separated them,
we’d peer over the rim;
we’d peer at the pamphlet…
looking for meaning in swollen broken tea leaves.
A & P Orange Peko handpicked and dried that traveled
such a long distance to sink to the bottom of a chipped
white Woolworth’s Five & Dime cup in grandma’s kitchen.


Un-Gussy -- Poetry 2011

Apparently I have too much testosterone…
I’m officiating a male pattern balding experience.
Age of the crone with significantly absent female
parts: hysterectomy - surgical gift that keeps giving.
I wanted to croak with all my parts intact; keeping
all my dilapidating organs including gray hair was
something I hadn’t planned to renege on.
Now, I could make disparaging remarks about being
neutered, having heavy duty male hormones;
slipping to the “male” side, a former shadow of
my former femininity... except that I’ve always been
more of a Tom boy – hating to get gussied up;
ditching said gussying as fast as possible; well,
maybe I’ll be better able to stand up for myself…
let’s hear it for male bravado: sling me a beer,
let me loosen my belt buckle, hand over the remote!


Yoga Asana -- Poetry 2011

Bare branches stretch
skyward in supplication;
gray skies match trunk bark.
Grounding attachment holds trees
in place; tempting sun fools sap
to rise and fall prematurely.
Day’s warmth and cold nights
move steadily toward spring.

Bare arms stretch
skyward in supplication;
Gray skylight envelopes Vriksha-asana.
Attachment held in place, tree pose
maintains balance on one leg.
Tempting sunshine encourages energy
level responding to day’s warmth.
Cold night practice guides physical
way toward spring.


Friday, February 18, 2011

Un-Gussy -- Poetry 2011

Apparently I have too much testosterone…
I’m officiating a male pattern balding experience.
Age of the crone with significantly absent female
parts: hysterectomy - surgical gift that keeps giving.
I wanted to croak with all my parts intact; keeping
all my dilapidating organs including gray hair was
something I hadn’t planned to renege on.
Now, I could make disparaging remarks about being
neutered, having heavy duty male hormones;
slipping to the “male” side, a former shadow of
my former femininity... except that I’ve always been
more of a Tom boy – hating to get gussied up;
ditching said gussying as fast as possible; well,
maybe I’ll be better able to stand up for myself…
let’s hear it for male bravado: sling me a beer,
let me loosen my belt buckle, hand over the remote!


Wednesday, February 16, 2011

Gray Mist -- Poetry 2011

Bright light assailed
gooey watery stare;
sun’s glare sealed
waterlogged surfaces.
Pulling on sunglasses,
stinging bleached eyes
infused her disadvantage.
Slickness soon absolved
by sneaking cloud cover.
Asphalt cracked seams,
roadside swollen puddles
slip into standard misery.
Forlorn nooks and crevices
turn dull; flattened light
sucks vitality dry despite
oncoming gray mist
dampening land’s aura.
Removing tinted glasses
fails to enhance simpering
wheels bearing her forward
consuming light in long-term


Watercolor Clouds -- Poetry 2011

Brush spills out sky…
pigmented water drifts,
backwashed edges tighten
cloud contours in place.
Imaginary landscape flows…
pretend hills, forest, brook;
foreground details float
settling in sentient place.
Longing to paint herself
into serenity, brush poised
momentarily before stroking
her form into middle ground.
Classroom disappeared;
bird songs filled the scene;
brook tumbled peacefully;
sun warmed her back;
looking up, she watched
backwashed clouds
recalculating how to paint
them better next time…


Tuesday, February 15, 2011

Explaining Everything -- Poetry 2011

Eggnog rice milk, a peculiar
tan color, washes over oatmeal O’s.
Cold cereal; cold gray morning
garnished with raisins tied in knots
unleashed upon an empty gullet.
Heading out the door without benefit
of warm liquid - coffee or tea -
proves that having Icelandic Viking
ancestors explains everything…
retro & futuristic at the same time,
myth filled daydreams row to drummer’s
strike and surge with wind filled sails.
Finding a balance between calm and
storm watch, imagination navigates
through worst work days; finding true
North, inner compass in dark or light
makes love to the chaos of the world.


Stars Overhead -- Poetry 2011

Tap dancing rain
shuffling off to Buffalo
on Plexiglas skylights…
hoofing through the night -
a regular Gene Kelly reprisal
splashing within winter storm
while I sleep beneath the stars
glowing fluorescent lime green.
Randomly riding my white ceiling,
static plastic forms send soft glow;
lighting my dreams with drier
nocturnal visions transcending
weather or season.


Monday, February 14, 2011

big deal, another day -- Poetry 2011

Got back from a vacation in Hawaii this morning…
sure, it was a dream but at least I still remember it.
Flashes of scenery dash before crusty eyes.
Dribbles of hot liquid cruise down my chin, caffeine jitters,
an aftermath of the second cup of coffee consumed.
I haven't been outside since yesterday around 2pm;
stuck to the Internet, I don't know why I’m here.
Can't help feeling like I forgot to do something today -
Wonder what it was? Oh, it’s Valentine’s Day…
No significant other – Maybe I’ll figure it out but time
is running out; for now its just another day to get through.
I've seen it happen with others so I know it's possible...
Evening plans: light a warm fire continued with a long soak
in the digital media bath curled up with a cat or two.


Sunday, February 13, 2011

Word Mandala - 2011

Taught a mandala class on Saturday and one project was stream of consciousness writing in a spiral...

As a child I always watched the clouds. I made wishes on falling stars. I loved the night. As a child I always watched the clouds. I made up stories. I dreamed I could fly… as a child I loved to swim. I would float on my inner tube and watch the clouds and make up stories. Summer nights we would row out to the middle of the lake and study the stars… I would wish on the falling stars… As a child I felt safe. I could dream and dance and sing and walk in the woods. As a child I felt loved. I found strength in my parents arms. At night I watched the stars and dreamed of wishes coming true. I would watch the clouds and make up stories and sing and dance and imagine. As an adult I dream of wishes coming true… I try to remember to take time to watch clouds and make up stories and sing and dance and imagine a safe world where my dreams of love and health and no worries are not made up stories. I want real arms to shelter my doubts. I want to dance under the stars singing songs of hope and joy chasing worries away to where they have no power. As an adult I am alone without connections… I write stories and poems and paint to sooth my creative side. My muse brings joy to my heart. As an adult I am a creative soul with flaws about reaching out for help. I live in dreams of hope and renewal through painting and writing. As an adult I reach out through my art to share my creative spirit to help others express locked up joy and censor their internal critic. As an adult I make up stories and art to express myself, to connect my vision with others. As an adult I love the night. I walk beneath the stars and bathe in moonbeams to sooth my soul and keep my body strong. I compose stories as I walk – a walking meditation that sings to spirit expressing light and dark thoughts as I journey through this world to the end of my physical being who harbors childlike appreciation of the mystery of life, the good, the bad, and the ugly that flows through experience and teaches life lessons that fill our minds and body with sorrow, pain, joy, surprise, and laughter….


Saturday, February 12, 2011

Dislike -- Poetry 2011

Never good to see a pair
of eyes looking back at you
out of your kitchen cabinet;
little beady eyes catching
reflections from overhead light.
The cats are nonplussed
staring back at the wee beastie.
Sick him doesn’t stir their
interest in extricating the visitor.
Stalemate…disliking traps,
disliking cats playing with prey,
disliking mouse damage…
Thinking outside the mouse,
the can of air scattered
furry critters left and right…
which seemed to mystify it
enough that it popped back
down the hole... grabbing
implements of construction,
the hole was sealed to prevent
mice waltzing in the kitchen.


enjoys and prefers -- Poetry 2011

She liked to walk the fine line
between eccentric and bizarre
either one rolls over mundane…
her doctor noticed mismatched socks;
pointed it out like it was abnormal…
he was really uptight and boring.
Evening's a rather bright light,
it's a long tunnel but TGIF…
she’s going to charge blindly
towards it through a very hectic day.
Showing up to "super-important-meeting",
she had a stack of odd colored post-its
hanging off papers without-a-single-pen.
It’s good to be the owner/boss… pen please.
light at the end of the today was
to be enjoyed couch-potato-style.
solitude is enough to drive a man mad
but most people she knew thought she
already was mad…


Thursday, February 10, 2011

Sleep is for mortals -- Poetry 2011

The wind is whipping wildly;
I’m wallowing weary.
I dreamt of you last night,
my dear; it was nice to see you.
I miss your spirit fingers;
I’m still fond of them.
I miss your spirited laugh;
even your musical snore.
Difficult to empty closets…
so cleaning your desk today
is my biggest challenge.
Paper by paper, I keep
telling myself to breathe.
Cold and frosty this morning…
it was very funny to watch kitty
try to run on tippy toes. Vintage
kitty rarely leaves your pillow;
saved several sweaters to keep
your scent for her; I don't know
how old she is… the two of them
are such helpers. If I could truly
do magic, I would bring you back…


Wednesday, February 9, 2011

Apparition -- Poetry 2011

Rather creepy how she appears
within your space; an unwelcome
apparition, she drifts through solid form
eavesdropping, capturing snippets,
feeding them to unwary ears.
Whispering incineration, her flames
challenge noncombustible attitudes.
Rapacious remarks melt resistance…
her work done she sits on her glacier
throne safe from flaming madness….


Circle -- Poetry 2011

Mirror clear ice patterns
crystalline dance changes
puddle water into glass.
I saw your frosted features
infused between layers
of freeze and thaw…
Refractions of light pierce eyes,
liquefying vision into muted
shadow forms; figurines in
shades of gray dominate
your forested landscape.
Howling to a blue moon, sacred
circle crunch frosted leaves
shattering winter’s labyrinth…


Tuesday, February 8, 2011

No more photographs… -- Poetry 2011

The image maybe who I’ve
become but its not who I am…
wishing the internal spirit had
manifested a better outcome.
Shying away from the lens,
she lurked within her home not
wishing to push her countenance
on anyone. Removing mirrors
or making collage over them,
kept her reflection at bay…
Wishing for more discipline
would be a waste of time…
no one in her immediate future
cared; she slipped from body care –
Years of being untouched
sealed her body’s destination.
How would this lump of untidy flesh
return to a semblance of normalcy?


Cigarettes -- Poetry 2011

Doing a somersault from a running start,
Dad would fly into the air off the end of the dock;
popping up to the surface, cigarette still clenched
between his teeth, smoke curled around his dripping
hair… eyes twinkling, he’d swim ashore.
One day, he up and quit …

something my mother couldn’t do… she cut down
to ten a day – several times totally stopping but
was absolutely beside herself coming and going.
The tobacco chemicals leaving her system put her
into a terrible state of craving; she lasted three
days before her screaming cells demanded relief…

My cousin and I would steal cigarettes… we were cool.
Sneaking off to the woods behind the cottage, we’d
light up and be so grown up. I politely puffed; he already
dragged deep. One time at home, I retrieved a hidden
one from the cellar hatchway. Walking around looking
cool in a twelve year old body, I puffed away until…
I accidently inhaled – gagging, doubled over, I vomited.
My last encounter of the smoking kind…


Blue Chaos -- Poetry 2011

Bloody nose dribbles
onto fairly pristine front yard…
another rock filled snowball connected
sending me stumbling for the porch door;
a hail of ice balls plagued every step.
Floundering through waist deep snow,
my short legs sought comfort in Mom’s arms.

Thinking now, how often she had to deal
with snow pants and jacket spattered red,
I wonder how she kept her sanity.
Consequences for my brother, don’t recall…
incorrigible, inflicting pain and discomfort
to his younger sister seemed to be his goal.
He rained constant chaos…

Adopting chaos, I’ve hauled it everywhere
lovingly packed with my personal treasures.
I attract these people into my life on purpose
so I can learn from them: NSCTTA…
no, sorry, can't think that anymore.
If I could have been this motivated year's ago,
I would have realized it’s not the only way to play...


You Know == Poetry 2011

Titillation of looking
into someone’s life;
poking in the embers,
looking for clues,
disturbing memories…
not part of your fascination.
you take people at face value;
studying their features,
steadily searching their eyes,
reading their body language.
Generosity is one thing,
to a voracious fault,
at your expense, is another..
Taking the high road burns
a little on the way up but
the view is much nicer.
You have nothing to prove;
you know who I am…


Monday, February 7, 2011

Mad, Mad World -- Poetry 2011

If she counted
all the sad days
pulling daily petals
she’d be buried
in white ovals.
The curse of an
overly sensitive nature;
pulling in world’s pain
weakens her outlook…
so much destruction,
so much hatred…
No evolution
of kindness
of respect
of acceptance.
She truly understand
the meaning of madness…


Sunday, February 6, 2011

Cyber socialite -- Poetry 2011

Fallen on deaf eyes,
she wrote her last post;
one soul specific in a
massive cyber world.
Fractured fingertips type…
million blurts cruise
this mega byte platform.
Within electronic framework,
she tried connecting…
dismayed cyber socialite,
she deleted her existence
lost in giga propulsion.


Wanted -- Poetry 2011

You were wanted
shown loving comfort;
not an accident
relegated to neglect.

Endless variations
birth to death journey;
unfathomable mystery…
what and why circumstance
and probability of choice

infinite combinations
create such odds of surviving
childhood unmarred
physically or by deception

throw away child
abandoned to devilish dance
smiling seizures attempt to block
gifts of sorrow and pain


Saturday, February 5, 2011

waking up empty -- Poetry 2011

snuggle spoons
wrapped in comfort
asleep holding hands.
warmth softly intimate
radiates into dreams;
rhythmic breathing,
syncopated heartbeats,
sunrise melts memories…
it's strange how the dead
can be immortal if you
are dreaming of them.


Change of state -- Poetry 2011

weekly meditation
shallow breathing
mind tarantella
shifts to waltz
regained space
clutter clearing
slowing time
deeper breathing
relinquish babble
effectual being
pervading calm
state of change
art of tonglen


Who’s Older -- Poetry 2011

Ignored by youth
eyes so full of their now
not future sags or bags.
She smiles inwardly…
just because
her frame,
her width,
graying hair
shout old age
doesn’t mean her wit
was wrinkled or worn.
Internally a youngster,
her humor remained as
warped as any adolescent’s;
even her daughter constantly
rolled eyes at mom’s banter.
Don’t forget life’s absurdity
needs a coping mechanism:
laughter works in any situation…
Monty Python continues
to save your mother’s soul
but I worry about when you
grew so old…


Pushing words out -- Poetry 2011

exhale, bear down
salt sea laps phrase
ancient accompaniment:
shifting sand,
tumbling pebbles,
brine bath polish,
wearing edges smooth.
retroactively longing
to sail into mist
dependent on canvas
and shipbuilder’s skill;
catch breezes,
ride swells,
into and out of danger,
strategically self reliant.

Fear of drowning
binds her to land;
dry dislocation
staring at horizons
infinite line…


Interior Space -- Poetry 2011

A moment of anxiety
precedes connection;
awkward and stilted,
breeze dances with fog
relaxing in natural form.
Twirling, high stepping,
fog leaves the ground;
drifting among trunks
playing hide and seek
around lichens and moss
coating branch and needles.
Descending back to ground,
coalescing on grass and shrubs,
fog drips onto sodden earth.
Crows riffle fallen leaves for a
last snack before heading to roost.
Drops collected on dog romp
are shaken free to splatter walls;
far from its natural element,
ex-fog transfers to interior space…


Friday, February 4, 2011

read her fate -- Poetry 2011

weirdest cup ever…
double lip drifts
at 45 degree angle
causing chin dribbles.
Chai snail trail runs
down swelled bell…
dribbles on saucer
to print circles on page.
Cinnamon leopard spots
dot foamed cream;
indiscernible connect-
the-dot fortune floating…
waiting for interpretation
can anyone read her fate…


Tradition's Cafe -- Poetry 2011

Tradition’s Cafe

Hanging in an Olympia coffee house,
hustle surrounds lunch or snacks
served… cappuccino machine hisses
over dish clatter and chair rattle…
isolated in middle of life around her,
consciousness streams onto paper;
logging steel observations in silence.
African chants fill in lapses of
surrounding people’s communication.
Rhythmic males chanting in background;
rhythmic lilt and flow in the foreground.
Windows frame Capitol dome draped
in fine mist; edges vibrate as drizzle shifts,
the brave walk dogs despite rain’s insistence.
Magical gulls and crows ride the current
in and out of visibility; solid sky comes to earth.
Latte warms inside out… African chanting fills
gaps against chattering speech patterns;
Tradition’s melody of the day…


paper scraps... -- Poetry 2011

Pencil unsharpened; it’s
blunt kiss misinforms page.
Denying clarity formation,
soft wide graphite smudge
ruled out desired precision.
Without sharpness in sight,
doomed consonants and vowels
struggle to express content.
In disgust, fearing lost threads
due to conceptualized illegibility…
attempts to write faster as if that will help.
Twisting pencil to capture angled edge,
wood casement lifts bits of sizing.
Surface scrawl and scratch…
words drift out of focus;
mentally and physical infirm, she
leaves a barely discernable trail…


Self critic ate her dreams -- Poetry 2011

Natural inclination
inhibits thought;
frustration rises…
self limited access that
slips past future moons
to unreachable bio-landscape;
static floundering forecasted
mentally defeat and her
passion put up little resistance.
Chilled mountain cast rock slides,
buried beneath boulders of doubt.
faint light slips within rubble’s
interconnected air pockets;
her moist breath condenses,
red garnets match blood splatter…
chicken pox pattern protrudes
from sheared granite slabs;
fingertips search garnet Braille relief
wishing for redemption from apathy
to seal out self mutilation…


Impounded -- Poetry 2011

Regrets –she road them hard
without self empathy;
despised her every choice
even when deemed correct.
Spitting mistakes…
venom closed her throat.
Self righteous dementia
narrowed the world;
eating spirit at every meal
impounded her desire.
Bound by inadequacy, she
starved from permanent lock jaw…


Ex-Toast -- Poetry 2011

Soggy white bread
tossed for birds
turns to dripping clumps
lost shape and form
unappealing mush
beyond toast repair
beyond original elements:
flour, salt, oil, water, yeast…
sugar to feed multiplication -
rising, falling, rising, shaping -
all past history;
driving rain melts slices
reducing to worm food…


Thursday, February 3, 2011

Cold and Frosty -- Poetry 2011

Roaring down, a stress avalanche
swept whimsy crashing into ravines;
buried under opaque crushed crystals
too compacted to make a snow angel…
Do you really want to lie in this snow?
Chill yourself to the bone for what purpose…
winged forms wriggled out of frozen particles
won’t whisk entombed humor free…

A small amount of wit came in after several
hours of digging through the snow; imagining
snowballs the size of limes hanging from it’s
'under carriage' – returning silliness shakes off
bad news. Sipping soothing herbal tea, internal
ice despising warmth came to a dripping demise;
smiling she promised her humor tiny snow boots,
snowsuit, gloves, hat, scarves....


worry -- Poetry 2011

heart shivering
tears sting
without release
stationary in fear
not willing to ask
“what’s next?”
pushing bile
rocking to sooth
worries vibrate
inner sanctuary


Sinking Oblivion -- Poetry 2011

One breath at a time
wheeze and squeak
lungs work over time
who cares carelessness;
pet allergens wreak
body in ill repair
matching humble house
sinking into wasteland.
Harboring no ill will…
sunny persons
dance in light
while grim clouds
obscure hers;
mini failures,
mini deaths…
eating away hope.
Ribbons of black,
dawn’s shroud,
shrink wrapped form;
airless compression
floating specs
aberrations in mind
state of emergency.
Locking her doors,
drinking all her milk,
eating all her bread and eggs
not coming out until it's done…


Wednesday, February 2, 2011

class -- Poetry 2011

oddly fills
room’s corners
volume rises and falls
dialogue ebbs and flows
whispers rub cinder blocks
concentration waxes wanes
seconds build ticking minutes
stacking neatly with graphite on paper
unnoticed - time begins to run out
reminded – folders pile neatly
materials return to storage
students push in chairs
shoulder backpacks
door opens out
slams shut


Destine -- Poetry 2011

running full tilt
leaving puzzled muse
far behind me…
cleaning closets,
folding laundry,
straightening drawers,
clearing counters,
washing floors.
major house cleaning;
heart needs major healing…
hose down, mop up
flush out procrastination
heaps of unsold art
flush out discouragement
destining low self esteem
throw back the curtains
sun or gray - clear out vision
laughing in the light
she catches up
I begin again


Bonbon -- Poetry 2011

Well this was the worst sleep of her life;
it had her swearing off caffeinated beverages…
going back to bed after a third staggering round trip
to the bathroom – revving thoughts speed around
lists of business related things she needed done today.
It was already today by the red eyed digital clock display;
she was clearly believing the people who tell her she should
stop inviting favorite mermaids and unicorns to workshops
so of course they'll be there waiting for her at work.
Bleary eyed final destination… taking a fully clothed shower
as employees waiting outside glass door stall told her to hurry
up… wet t-shirt boss san fins and flippers but really sweating
from a technical nightmare… almost two whole hours without
internet access... but here was morning reality - scary sarcasm.
So happy for you that you got here... just in time -
Slept late, mind slow, what’s coming from madam director?
Not a nightmare; not a daydream but sheer horror –
a Valentine’s Day pink slip topped with a chocolate bonbon.
Security actually helped her pack her fantasy beings; clearing
every trace of magic from her ex office, she left the bonbon…