Friday, September 30, 2011

Critical disposal -- Poetry 2011

Too tired to read rules…

stifling yawns,

too tired to go to bed;

jaw clicks a larger yawn.

Worn from mental complications…

trying too hard to figure it out -

it – what was holding back

art production and  creativity.

Exhibits lined up, inspiration

departed, casket mind is empty.

Battling her delinquent motivation,

she sat mechanically watching

a rugby match too tired to read rules.


Our greatest battles are with our own minds ~Jameson Frank

Desecration -- Poetry 2011

She wished to switch off the empty switch.

Even the cat hopped off the PC desk just when

she needed a fuzzy cat cuddle. That empty

feeling came out of nowhere; an  invisible slap

in the face, her eyes stung but a blink or two

cleared away the mist while the emptiness

clung, biting her heart, tormenting her loveless

state with no affairs or even a sexless companion.

Sighing, sighing, inhaling breath to dispel the cold

dullness… sitting too long, a cup of tea was needed

to thaw this temporary desecration of peace.


Wednesday, September 28, 2011

Distributed -- Poetry 2011

Disturbed earth

exposes bones

tannin stained

rodent engraved

green moss remnants

once tucked in by leaf quilts

after scattered by carnivores.

Who were you?

Native or explorer?

Fallen among the ferns

in this wild place,

did anyone honor you?


Tuesday, September 27, 2011

Brewster Tidal Flats -- Poetry 2011

A hand full of breeze in your hair -

you run on mud flats at low tide.

Small legs churn splashing in and out

of reflections in low tide puddles.

Setting sun reflects off chestnut curls -

Granddad follows close behind

your darting form heading toward

a flock of Terns  and reeling Sea Gulls.

Shadows stretch toward sandy shore

coated with evening sky’s glowing tint.

A spring ten years later nearly stopped all your

forward movement; thought your granddad would

die watching the paramedics  pull you back.

Cane in hand, your small legs carry you forward

with a rocking gate - paralytic muscles fail to develop.

There was no portent of the future in the photograph

taken when you were two racing birds on the horizon;

you will always be my runner…


Monday, September 26, 2011

Looking Up Quotes -- Poetry 2011

Fighting late afternoon desire to sleep,

she wasted time surfing the Internet:

Face Book, email, her shops.

Restless, avoiding art deadlines...

maybe it’s the first heavy storm settling in:

torrential rains, dripping leaves, wind littering

the ground, roads, sidewalks with broken pieces.

Feeling broken, having reached an end,

an undeclared end to creative illustration.

This stoppage wasn’t due to lack of ideas;

a screeching halt was due to motivation.

There must be a switch but it’s too dark

to find it; sighing, she looked up quotes:

"Everything that irritates us about others

can lead us to an understanding of ourselves"

What if it was yourself that was irritating

yourself? Then what?


"Everything that irritates us about others can

lead us to an understanding of ourselves"

~ Carl Jung

Batten Down -- Poetry 2011

Roaring winds

Slashing rain

Reflects battened down

Internal seething

Chomping, snarling

Suppressed beneath fat layers

Weight prevents escape

Prevents damage to kin or friends

Pleasant smile

Clasped fist in pocket

Torqued mental version

Hidden beneath loving demeanor

Locked frustration

Denied demonstration

Silent roaring voice

Slashing nails dull

Batten down

Over and over and over…


First Light -- Poetry 2011

Dreams fill spaces

Where time leaves off

Invisible hours

Stars move

Sun rises

Too soon

Grasping threads

Undecipherable innuendo

Ragged nightgown form

In narrow twin bed

Shoved against the wall

Far from window’s intrusion

Restraint staring lidless

To a day’s opportunity


Next Shower -- Poetry 2011

Dogs are pacing…

shut inside all day while I was away.

Rain and wind whooshed sending leaves sailing.

Lucky to come back to power with scattered trees

down heavy with rain and punished by gusts…

time to clean the gutters, pick up broken branches,

pile up the pine cones hurled in hissy fit squalls.

So different from storms back East, at least fading

memories tell me that it was so different.

Dogs quit pacing, brown eyes stare, sighing,

patiently waiting for me before the next shower…


Saturday, September 24, 2011

1974 Directions -- Poetry 2011

Lost again…

Simple directions

Trusted Google

But it led me astray

Like you lead me astray

Left me to wander

With two kids in tow

Thought directions were clear

Fall in love

Trust you

Checking my compass

Your iron will faked true north

Magnetic force pulled me

Wrapped in charisma that soured

Lost in abysmal chaos

The Reverend got lost

My parents were afraid to speak up

Google wasn’t around back then

Would that have made a difference?

Paper roadmap

Simple directions

Trusted you

Lost in “love”


Friday, September 23, 2011

Another Road Trip -- Poetry 2011

Another run to Portland to see my daughter…

two hours at high speed straight down I-5

brings me to her temporary quarters.

Staying with friends, we'll meet there, greet, wander the city

celebrating my 64th year on this level of existence.

The first visit was celebrating her move from Oakland to Oregon;

the first drive was fraught with heading the wrong way.

Worst driving directions I’ve ever downloaded sent me

away from Portland… intuition or innate sense of direction

took over – this seriously haphazard approach was successful

regretfully laced with some curses.

This second visit, I’m checking several map options…

I may even bring a paper map folded to the correct section.

Looking forward to establishing the proper route

without increasing blood pressure and cursing levels

as I navigate my trusty Subaru straight down I-5 at high speed...


Fumes --- Poetry 2011

In the short time it took this woman

to get out of her car,  perfume chokingly

sweet on the humid air seeped into my car.

Instantaneous reaction causes eyes to water,

throat to seize, nose to run, head to ache.

Why do people bathe in that stuff?

My car will reek for a while until open windows

plus speed clear the trapped fumes.

I can only conclude that she’s damaged her

scent discrimination from years of over spritzing

perfume throughout the day to freshen up…


Canning -- Poetry 2011

Two boxes of canning tomatoes,

eight pounds of Italian Prunes,

ten pounds of cucumbers,

dish washer full of jars,

high humidity...

what was she thinking?

She relished a profound taste

of summer during bleak winter.

Store canned tomatoes, plum jam,

bread & butter pickles were no

comparison to home canned versions.

Thankful for her home training

so long ago; hot summer nights,

steamer kettle going, jar lids pinging.

How often she thought of childhood

as she turned crone and passed on

canning lessons to her daughter.


Approval -- Poetry 2011

Incessant compatibility...

cat and dog tendencies

kept them together and apart.

She could hear grandmother's Irish brogue:

can't live with them; can’t live without them.

Times have changed and yet not at all...

she felt incomplete no matter what her

accomplishments brought her; the curse

of being a woman longing for a partner

to feel correct, to feel whole, to feel...

she hated that aspect of herself.

She hated wanting a man…

what could "he" provide that she

didn't already gain by self-determination.

That stupid true love - what a crock...

she wondered if her grandmother

would approve of her throwing him out...


Other’s Visions -- Poetry 2011

Looking over her checkbooks,

calculating when the next paycheck

would arrive her eyes stung.

Failure patted her back - good job!

You could only earn less if you were dead...

not going there tossed to the air.

Determination stuck its tongue out at failure.

Huffing in disgust, failure turned its back.

I'm going mental... imagining failure

and determination brattling like preschoolers.

Settling emotions, repeating begin again...

she had to trust the Universe to provide,

stop fighting the current, go with the flow.

All the practical but at times redundant

positive statements to lift one out of muck.

Library shelves of self-help indicated others

were making money from how-to-succeed.

Somewhere her common sense dictated

guidelines - if she would stop to listen.

Passing self-help, she headed to poetry.

Connecting to other's visions helped

her to better understand life as she saw it.


Walk Away -- Poetry 2011

Emotions were held in check...

occasional stinging eyes marked distress.

Most often a smile hung on her face.

A sincere but dubious attempt to keep

a positive outlook, not bring others down,

listening patiently while others woe-ed the air.

Underpaid, under staffed, there was plenty to woe...

it was routine to commiserate spreading a thick

jell of despair from one to another.

They hated her smile;

they thought she mocked them.

She was the odd person out whose glass was mostly

full; the pack turned on her simplistic positivity.

Memos circulated, indiscriminate notes

accrued in her file, they became bolder.

Stunned, amazed at their response to her attitude,

she turned to Criagslist job posts.

Sometimes it was a given to walk away...


The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly -- Poetry 2011

life stopped being fun…

too much  distortion of ways and means.

poverty was not chic.

although "things" weren't important,

her want list didn't include the latest,

newest, most expensive this or that.

she just wanted to be comfortable,

be able to stop worrying about modest bills.

she disliked extravagance –

favored simplicity.

standing in the food bank line

distressed her;

it enhanced failure mode of thinking.

she never asked – “why me?”

looking back over choices,

they were what they were...

the good, the bad and the ugly.


Excess -- Poetry 2011

Her bedroom smelled stale;

stale old lady scent hung in the air.

Dead skin, flaking from her body

rubbed off on sheets as worn as she was.

Sheets soft with age, sloshed in the washer.

The linens spun dry as she tried to remember

the last time she bathed – waste of water

especially when her gardens needed it.

Puttering in early morning, she avoided the

heat of the day; she avoided her retired

neighbors who were sleeping in.

Contemplating washing her hair, she opted

for conserving natural resources by cramming

a sweat stained baseball cap onto her head…

tucking the wispy straggles under it.

Resembling a rotund Santa, she delivered

excess vegetables on neighbor’s doorsteps

without a jolly Ho Ho Ho, Merry Christmas…


Sleep -- Poetry 2011

Desperate lingering emptiness

a seizure of emotions

with nowhere to go.

Dreading looking in the mirror,

she let the dust coat them,

draped the bathroom mirror with a towel…

she wasn’t frozen in time.

She knew she was aging;

she wasn’t that image

in the high school yearbook…

not that she liked that either.

Everyone ages, wrinkles, droops.

Passé on the daily news too, she felt

powerless; her voice declined to a rasp.

Sleep, sleep is a dream, a utopia, 

and also miss out on life but she didn’t care….


Dormir, dormir, c'est un rêve, une utopie, et , aussi, passer à côté de la vie

Thursday, September 22, 2011

Optimistic -- Poetry 2011

First day of fall – my birthday…

I made it through another year

but am I any wiser?

Habits are habits…

long ago someone told me,

It would take a miracle to change.

I’d have to agree; for now so much older,

the same shyness and mini fears remain.

When I think I’m improving, old habits prevail.

The good thing is I realize that…

I realize who I am; I’m not hiding anything –

as an eternal optimist, I am who I am…


Idle Brush -- Poetry 2011

Music on while painting is great;

a good tune will carry right on through

to the end of the brush but I have no music.

Nothing inspires my brush to move…

not even the purring of my cat who

is draped across the studio table filling

a large warmed spot of window sunlight.

The birds are feeling the turn to fall; their

songs filtered through the window opening

seem hurried as they flit in and out of the

Japanese maple, fir tree and lilac bush.

The fall usually reenergizes me…

spring and summer were so spotty; the gray

drabness clung to the landscape only brightening

to cloudless blue skies a couple weeks. Teaching

art filled my time keeping me exhausted.

Rested now, recovered from hours of their giggles,

I sit without song, without giving my own vision

a physical voice  - my idle brush ignores a page…


Wednesday, September 21, 2011

Fall Equinox -- Poetry 2011


there’s small change.

The kind that jingles in a pocket,

weighs a purse down,

hides under couch cushions,

falls to the car floor…

collected when wallet gets lighter.

Fall Equinox draws nearer with its

shorter days, cooler temps, and a desire

for coffee gets stronger; I’m in love

with this crisp fall air! Makes me want

pumpkin everything but pessimist winter

rains are coming too. Time to dust off the

light box, pick up some Bailey’s Irish Cream

for hot chocolate, stack up books to read

once the yard chores are done…


Tuesday, September 20, 2011

Interjection -- Poetry 2011


from stool

to sofa

to office chair

to knees in the flower garden

to porch swing

to office chair

to sofa.

Daily rotation

parking body’s bottom

on various seats

far too frequently.

Paper check list -

reminder -

more walking…

electronic calendar



dogs need no



whines until

walked today…



Interesting exchange -- Poetry 2011

Thoughts interlocking…

racing across our individual experiences;

finding the common ground over tea cups

realizing how often our individual events

overlapped in content and intent.

Heart to heart

without excess emotion…

stating how we arrived here.

What, when and why plus wisdom of time

encapsulated past incidents into a rough unity.

Time will tell if afternoon’s interesting exchange

will strengthen from this loose bond.


Sunday, September 18, 2011

Observer -- Poetry 2011

She didn’t believe in anything anymore;

belief had convoluted her thoughts.

Past memorized words choked freedom;

past incidents cut deep evacuating trust.

A sullied soul drinking soured pain…

staying neutral, she’d take her chances.

Mid road walking, that was her new path

for dancing with life’s absurdity…

neither passion’s euphoria nor desperate

despair would fuel her quiet observation.

She was too old to believe in erroneous love;

lacking warmth was a matter of protection.


Doodles -- Poetry 2011

Almost midnight, my mind soaked

with caffeine wildly contemplates

the passing of seasons, the sun setting

earlier, another birthday approaching.

Remembering my father being

chastised by my mother when he’d

pronounce in July…  it’s almost fall .

He always had so many chores to do…

Now the months pass too quickly…

How’d it get to be September?

Thrown out to the chilly house,

the dogs barely twitch an ear.

The cat sneaks into my bedroom;

leaping onto my side, his purring

in my ear doesn’t help invite sleep

that the coffee has delayed…

snoring dogs… snoring son

fails to inspire the mind to quiet.

Grabbing pen to page for doodle

words scratching night’s white noise.


Friday, September 16, 2011

Propulsion -- Poetry 2011

Sad that when we're young

hugs and holding were the norm.

Least in my family - specifically

in Mom's side of the family –

I was lucky to have all the hugs,

comfort and empathy…

Dad's side was a reluctant to pass

hugs out freely without remorse.

I held or had my two offspring

constantly chest or back packed.

Seems there are two extremes now...

those that "wear" their children,

those that carry them in plastic buckets.

The difference is so pronounced.

Wonder if the non-holders let their babies

scream themselves to sleep...

or is there a middle road to ease

them into dream time without stress.

For all the advances, childhood scars

are still propelled into adulthood...


mark -- Poetry 2011

why did she even bother

so much effort

so much leftover

she sat with her dried imagination

crumbled for convenience.

whining saw spit brilliant refuse;

sawdust particles form

a mark on blankness.

it's a start...


Medication -- Poetry 2011

Toxins were laughed loose last night.

Parody of songs with total mimicking

of the original singer/band…

my sides still ache when I inhale.

Today a low energy day as body works

overtime to finish detoxification.

Laughter better than medication...


Pleasant Stories -- Poetry 2011

Lost the first thought this morning...

it had something to do with

remembrance vs. memory.

Both having reality as a base

but one colored more by emotion;

the other enhanced more by fiction.

Memory can discolor and fade;

remembrance engages those

rose colored thick glasses...

ignoring discomfort;

fictionalizing for safety;

turbo washed scars

leave pleasant stories...