Wednesday, November 30, 2011

filling ears before bed -- Poetry 2011

After walking the dogs chilled fingers

spasm  words across the keyboard in random

way on the last November evening.

Should learn to properly type saving neck

cricked to watch every key stroke which

doesn’t guarantee correct spelling.

Last of news with flashing images spew

details of horrid incidents, sordid events, trauma,

corruption and deception that trickles into dreams;

can’t recommend the habit of actually listening to

nightly newscast even if their word speak ends

with positive chitter chat and sterling smiles…

wonder how they sleep after disgorging it all?


Tuesday, November 29, 2011

Rain Taps-- Poetry 2011

Rain poured through her afternoon nap;

dripping fluid forms waterlogged visions.

Black and white with gray shades

via Singing in the Rain with Gene Kelly…

splashing and smashing puddles skyward,

confident and skillful in body and soul.

In reality - middle age quest to tap resulted

in being relegated to end of the line; vision

impoverished, overlooked, neglected, she quit.

Tap shoes collect dust on her closet shelf still

reluctant to give up tap dancing in the rain.


Monday, November 28, 2011

Thanksgiving Weekend -- Poetry 2011

Christmas begins on Thanksgiving weekend…

black Friday to cyber Monday

lights sparkle into descending darkness

from evergreen trees, house gutters, roofs, yards.

All aglow with colorful lights fighting

against early night,

against neighbor’s dark abodes,

against all odds for a happy holiday.

Twinkle lights temporarily push all darkness away…



Callback Poetry 2011

Words galloped across the horizon

away from the mouth forming them;

away from smart-aleck consternation;

far from reigning them back to pre-verbosity.

Ignoring stunned silence rippling across space,

this conceited, sardonic, insolent man

continued with self-proclamations.

Pretensions to smartness or cleverness

clogged people’s ears as their mouths

formed my it’s late and we’ll see you soon.

Last to leave, his aftershave slunk after him.

Against an eternal battle with forgetfulness,

this was one guest that was not on the callback…


Saturday, November 26, 2011

Again and again oetry 2011

Weaving strips of thoughts…

over under over under

exposing incomplete syntax.

Tabby-weave of guilt and longing

created broken semantics

due to loves corrupted meaning.

Significance woven internally without

ever verbalizing the affair to anyone.

Young, foolish, desperate, lonely…

twisted truth sits heavy  naively willing

to believe his story of a wife’s  neglect.

Wonder if there was another gullible soul

trusting he wouldn’t commit adultery again…


Thursday, November 24, 2011

Puddles - Poetry 2011

Lively chatter

pushes past cinder block walls;

overhead fluorescent light

pushes on the dull gloom.

Windows expose

storm cloud exterior.

Brushes skip across

blankness while rain pours outside;

watercolors ooze onto surfaces

forming interior rainbow puddles .


Tuesday, November 22, 2011

Under it all -- Poetry 2011

Nothing unusual,

nothing new;

life as usual

observed from windows.

Notebooks penned

neighborhood subtlety;

precise daily moments…

pages filled space,

binders formed piles,

notepads built tippy stacks.

Frail form floundered

under avalanches consumption.


Monday, November 21, 2011

Another day… -- Poetry 2011

Cold seeps into body…

stiff unable to turn

dreaming awake.

Locked on left side,

did soul depart?

Eyes flicker…

quiet heart beats;

abdominals squeeze

and muscles twitch...

given another day.


1 am -- Poetry 2011

Midnight slid past an hour ago…

eyes glued to internet applications

ignore proper proposal for rest.

Promising to lay off the caffeine,

Corgis tumble into the night reweaving

leashes through frost crusted leaves

breaking fall’s promise for an Indian Summer.


Sunday, November 20, 2011

slight panic -- Poetry 2011

Doodling has definitely reached

obsessive compulsive levels;

being surprised at its simplicity,

until unexpected cat leaping up

skids pencil to a heart racing stop -

irreversible purrs follow murumph.

Bedtime routine switches right brain

doodles to streaming dreams seeped

in feline sensibilities that fill creative pages…


Friday, November 18, 2011

Unnoticed -- Poetry 2011

Mouser, a torn up tomcat,

led the way…  this tuxedoed

best buddy slinked unnoticed

through ferns and underbrush.

Some urgent adventure filled

with rescuing, saving the day,

being brave and strong in the woods

and fields of imagination.

More dog than cat, we’d explore

the overgrown farm roads,

abandoned wells, stone foundations,

lattice work of former pastures connected

by granite lines disappearing into maple thickets.

Safe within the confines of family gatherings,

nothing unknown threatened disclosure,

tangled blood reliance slowed integration with others.

No need to develop external friendships

when cousins dotted the immediate landscape;

school friends were scattered miles apart

with only feet for transportation.

Genetic isolation disbanded as we finished

high school; cat acumen guided my expertise

slinking unnoticed through social obligations…


Inspiration: "I grew up in the woods outside of any social structures apart from those of my family. So I didn't absorb social structures through my skin the way many children do. If you grow up in a small town you instinctively know who is who and what is what and whom you can safely be contemptuous of." Margaret Atwood

Thursday, November 17, 2011

Parallel Lives -- Poetry 2011

Smashed flat by the flu

couched, bundled, layered:

jammies, wool hat, heavy socks.

Stuffed sinuses, Kleenex littered floor,

cracked voice asks for water;

ten year old son returns glass in hand…

Mom you just went wicked pale.

Hesitating – I saw you as young man.

After the accident, I always wondered

about parallel lives; somewhere my son was

whole without residual trauma damage

just like the morphed smiling adult vision

bringing me a full glass of water.


"All writers, I suspect — and probably all people —have parallel lives, what they would have been if they hadn't turned into what they are," she told The Paris Review in 1990. "I have several of these, and one is certainly a life as a painter. When I was 10, I thought I would be one; by the time I was 12, I had changed that to dress designer and then reality took over and I confined myself to doodles in the margins of my textbooks." Margaret Atwood

Who’s Un-housed -- Poetry 2011

Basted until ill at ease, sensitive types

tumble through inhospitable surroundings…

feel forced to lurk in imaginative pursuits.

Outnumbered they house themselves

in creativity: writing, creating art, playing music.

Looking for happier elsewhere, odd jigsaw dreams,

visions, words fit onto substrate that others

admire, purchase, read to catch a glimpse

of an alternate world where they don’t  fit in…


Author Andrea Barrett said: "I've never known a writer who didn't feel ill at ease in the world. ... We all feel unhoused in some sense. That's part of why we write. We feel we don't fit in, that this world is not our world, that though we may move in it, we're not of it. ... You don't need to write a novel if you feel at home in the world."

Tuesday, November 15, 2011

Casual Weather -- Poetry 2011

Funny how casual conversation

strives to stay safe;

most begin and end

without disclosing incidents

of deep discomfort.

Middle ground waltz

staying neutral…

say, what about that weather…

Dark cloud people drag barometric

pressure down; storm front pushes

drizzling cold words ahead of them.

An odd internal desire draws any sign

of happiness into a negative shredder

leaving a dismal trail in their wake…

glad that weather changed…


“When I’m with old people,

I inadvertently start talking about the weather.”

Said one of the teenagers in my ORLA acrylic class this morning.

Everything -- Poetry 2011

Control click,

select bucket;

control click,

select color;

control click,

fill in boundaries

with alternate color…

anything but gray.

Or maybe,

just maybe,

there’s a glitter option…

glitter like bacon

goes with everything.


Monday, November 14, 2011

Sanity --- Poetry 2011

Deluded or in denial…

but I’m a rational being!

I think things through;

check this pro versus con list,

it’s very detailed…

even anal retentive.

Looking at my world,

the reality is, I’m logically insane…


 According to David McRaney, "You may think that you're a rational, logical being who sees the world as it really is. But you're as deluded as the rest of us, and that’s OK, because it keeps you sane."

Sunday, November 13, 2011

Thin Domestic Walls -- Poetry 2011

So exhausted - mysterious, vague cause…

no - just  cranky sarcasm…

sounds like a party next door except

for the children screaming, laughing and crying.

Did I mention listening to their loud TV or video game noise?

Old windows and only ten feet separate these houses;

even the earth is carrying their exceptional vibrations.

Hot summer night and no respite to be found.

Perhaps despite the late hour, I should inform them

about the paper thin veil between our dwellings ; that my

bedroom is across from their congregating kitchen

but I'm just too tired sweltering this night.

A friend suggested a solution for thin walls, open windows,

or houses built on top of each other creating domestic domicile

infringement: develop a healthy and loud sex life.

Then they might hear me: running, screaming, laughing,

crying, throwing things in so many exciting ways.


A friend on Face Book was complaining about new neighbors

In her apartment building which brought up memories

of some of the wild neighbors who have rented the house

next door  since we moved in to our house 12 years ago.

Expired Lament -- Poetry 2011

Torn words…

pillaged fragments

form a final retribution.

Entities encircle accomplishing

release without sound;

squall’s scream scatters

rage to the four directions.


Dead of Night Observations -- Poetry 2011

Sensitive soul gets heavy at times

with or without mentors and muses.

Moon was so bright last night creeping

across midnight creativity –brush to paper.

Storm winds sang through clear skies

hassling leaves trying to hold fast to the present.

Earlier rain plastered the fallen onto glistening  

asphalt… golden  clusters locked to pavement

under overlapping branch shadows dancing.

A reality halfway between now and past present;

seasons pass with or without  dead of night observations.


Saturday, November 12, 2011

then -- Poetry 2011

Assumptions dwelt on…

rumination attempts to leave

them for dead every single dawn

before rising torture invades

mind’s nooks and crannies.

Holding chaos in unclasped palm,

an offering to indulgent choices

that seemed serendipitous then…


Friday, November 11, 2011

Aware… ---- poetry 2011

Your body heat

seeps into my tired frame;

moist breath tickles my neck.

Reaching for you,

I turn to embrace emptiness.

This phantom companion vanished

leaving the night much colder…


The relationship --- Poetry 2011

Lonely souls…

desperate eyes show

fear of being without

a companion.

Accepting  leftovers,

abuse is better than alone.


Thursday, November 10, 2011

Something Old -- Poetry 2011

Don’t have to look too far.

I’ve turned into something old…

not in spirit but certainly in chronological age.

Passing by reflections, I ignore mirrors dialogue,

marvel at windows multiplicity or puddle ripple’s

finite possibilities of crepe paper skin; very arty

especially with Albert Einstein hair replete with whiskers.

I’m just an aging science experiment wobbling about…


Wednesday, November 9, 2011

Can’t Hear me…. -- Poetry 2011

Inspiring inspiration…

who is my muse?

Where are the mentors?

Right now invisible

whispers can’t penetrate

a thousand bells jingling.

White noise ringing blocks

sound but directs to visual –

flipping through magazines,

turning book pages,

trolling the web,

searching without…

for what’s within.


Tuesday, November 8, 2011

Input --- Poetry 2011

Counterintuitive guessing the outcome

based on questionable perceptions.

Spent the evening rearranging furniture,

placing knick-knacks,  achieving harmony…

how on earth am I up right now?

Critic smirks waggling tongue, hahahahaha.

This isn’t good, still up, going to be exhausted

 tomorrow becomes a taunting chant…

Critic smirks waggling tongue, hahahahaha.

How on earth am I can I remove the self-criticism?

Since it’s always there, I’d be lost without its input…


Monday, November 7, 2011

Ah! There it is! --- Poetry 2011

I know I left an extra hour

around here somewhere.

I guess I'm lucky that it’s found;

definitely luckier than most

because I got one last week  too

and everyone asked …

is it something you need

or something you really want?

Checking out from their inferno,

I never even felt a twinge of

"you'll feel terrible tomorrow" .

Guess there's a difference between

feeling empathy vs. too much sympathy.

Heck, I’m long overdue to feel anything

at all about anything or anyone…


Moon Phases -- Poetry 2011

Shuffling behind trotting dogs…

their noses picked up tantalizing scents.

Worry dogged heel to toe trudge…

nothing intriguing filled my nostrils

except the frigid midnight air tang. 

Eyes flitted over crumpled leaves, moss

tinged asphalt and Corgi feet rhythms;

no answers came despite dancing dog feet.

Looking skyward – not for plaintive pleading

but because of moonlight bleached patterns.

Lunar iridescent awe froze me in place.

A double aura ringed the waxing moon; impatient

dogs pulled me forward leaving behind this particular

periodic perturbation… insignificant insufficiencies.


Sunday, November 6, 2011

From a child’s eye -- Poetry 2011

He told fibs:

said things could crawl out of the toilet.

I was afraid go…

He told me:

                Santa wasn’t real – I cried…

                I still see the smirk on his face.

He lied to me:

                so many lies…

they crawled into adulthood.

He tricked me:

                he’d run off  laughing leaving me in the woods…

I stopped following him.

He tortured me:

                flashlight beamed into sleep drenched eyes…

                I woke screaming.

He stole my money:

                sniffing out the scent…

                I’d find my savings box empty.

I loved him for a while:

                kept believing in inherent good

                tucked somewhere in his form.

He still creeps in:

penetrating my dreams…

brother,  leave me alone.


Incandescence Incantation … Poetry 2011

Stepping into moon aura,

chill night addresses breath…

Natural release, silver mist

indicates labor’s passage.

Leaves glisten with dew

soon to be frost’s undulation.

Ancient reflection severs it’s

brief ties with thin clouds;

the holy glow dissipates

to a common denomination.


Donation to a Good Home -- Poetry 2011

Not sure if I’m really living my dream;

please define that for me… fulfillment?

I work and work and work some more;

finding bits of passion to embed in worded vision.

Captured from some irrelevant prognostication

based upon thinking one can actually make sense of it all.

Spilt onto a page from brush, pencil or ink pen…

the results are carried from venue to venue and back again.

In final desperation to lighten the load, the artwork

leaves by way of  donation to every fundraising event

request without filling my wallet with remuneration…


Saturday, November 5, 2011

ASAP -- Poetry 2011

A simple complication…

an unknown probability and that’s that.

Undetermined evacuation of sense

fails all of a sudden and you’re looking

backwards hindered by  déjà vu  again.

Thinking whatever…  

thinking certain moments are right now;

wishing this complicated stuff goes away…


Friday, November 4, 2011

Woes -- Poetry 2011

Tears well up over new clips:

a child holocaust survivor’s story;

a mother’s angst  over gang related death;

a relationship partner taking the partner’s life…

children abandoned, neglected, abused.

No tears are left for personal situations;

all that’s left is empathy for another’s woes…


Wednesday, November 2, 2011

Decomposition -- Poetry 2011

Leaf rain

Broken wings

Surrender to dank earth

Fleeting cycle

Shorter days

Longer nights



Tuesday, November 1, 2011

To break or not -- Poetry 2011

Here are the rules…
there are no rules.
ridiculous yin yang.

When given constraints,
strive to break them
or worry to follow.

Softness and strength…
to break or not.


List -- Poetry 2011

Contemplating a crumpled

preference, spinster hands

held a list written long ago.

Buried in a desk drawer,

decade after decade passed

turning both yellow with age.

Dried and withered by time,

an old maid’s impossible list

labeled my ideal man…