Ellen's Poetry

Evergreen Depths

2012-02-08T00:06:00.000-08:00

Robins chitter from Evergreendepth;

worms safe under snow blanket

at least from sharp beaks andrain.

Branches overwhelmed ricochet

day and night; departed fromtheir

growth position, they resideon crusted snow.

Partially entombed limbsmimic new growth;

ice warfare’s casualtiesscattered knee deep.

Voiceless victims fed into mulch shredders.

1/19/2012

Magic -- Poetry 2012

2012-01-18T23:13:00.001-08:00

Love the quiet yet powerfulelegance

of a substantial snow fall; freshblanket

of snow is due tonight… can’twait.

Smell the air prior to asnowstorm;

a recognizable crisp tangtingles the nostrils.

Then it falls - the firstflake… so peaceful.

Drifts, melts, finally more stickto every surface…

there’s the point; a world magicallytransformed.

You’d have to be a totalcurmudgeon to dislike

freshly fallen snow’s winter magic.

1/18/2012

These are the things that Iremember most when I look back… doing ordinary things in extraordinaryweather/times.

Gazing - Poetry 2012

2012-01-17T12:53:00.000-08:00

Lost in thought…

mesmerized by snowflakes

as bright as stars at midnight.

A thousand, million, billion

wishes drift outside the studiowindow

illuminated by incandescentspillage.

Falling to earth, they stackupon one another -

begin to compact, condense,crush individuality.

Window light’s golden glowescapes to romance

ice crystals to sparkle onelast time; blue white

frigidity remains once unnaturalradiance extinguishes.

1/17/2012

Obscurity -- Poetry 2012

2012-01-16T23:56:00.000-08:00

Bananas drippedself-consciously

from the wire basket whileformer

oranges were ignorant of greenmold.

Fruit flies abandoned therotting mass

preferring fresher produce; theyformed

temporary relationshipselsewhere.

Long hours had passed with noindication

of weekday title; televisiona mute witness

to streaming waves of heatmutating

air’s stifled stillness ripewith rot.

Sipping water, the grief fastwas not to be

broken by impending displayof neglect.

Shorn hair illuminated bysingle candle;

incense seeped into raggedclothing;

numbed lips chanted untilmirrored spirit

slipped into blessedobscurity…

1/16/2012

Writing on the wall -- Poetry 2012

2012-01-16T23:54:00.000-08:00

Never even ‘tagged” a wall -

that’s spray painting a symbol on

a public building – not for me…

but there was that stop sign –

young dumb teenager;

a speed sign once too - same age -

turned the 3 into an 8, so creative.

Thinking about walls in life…

some cause a change in direction;

force a circuitous route around them.

Physically many materials can create a wall:

wood, brick, concrete, bamboo, rocks;

mentally – memories built of pain, guilt,

anxiety, fear, love, jealousy, abuse form them.

Some walls are without a door;

some are without words...

most don’t have gates for egress.

Grew up with hand built granite stone walls -

stone upon stone separated pastures; dividing farm

from farm, farm from road, garden from rocks.

keeping animals in – protection from wilderness…

Hiking the overgrown roads, following

tumbled grey granite flecked with garnets,

exploring where families struggled

through each season – now nothing left.

Forest once cleared for livestock - regrown

framed by dissembled jumble leaf coated rocks.

Wordless witness to forgotten past.

1/16/2012

Fiction -- Poetry 2012

2012-01-15T23:32:00.000-08:00

Buried in paper bound mystery,

body curled protectively

around fine print characters.

Moving internally, theirforms

drift in and out of consciousness

reforming in succinct clarity

due to author’s descriptive proclivity.

Imagination burned thepresent tense;

lost again in acceptablepassivity,

real world was relegated to fiction…

1/15/2012

Mary Karr told the ParisReview: "Reading is socially accepted disassociation. You flip a switchand you're not there anymore. It's better than heroin. More effective andcheaper and legal."

Without Abandon -- Poetry 2012

2012-01-15T22:51:00.000-08:00

Abandoning dreams

Face turned down

Proceeding in mid value

Of a world neutralized.

Abandoning art,

Hands empty, restless,

Shuddering with out

Rush of color’s wheel.

Abandoning balance,

Life turned downward

Preceding creativity’s

Simultaneous dismissal.

Depression’s stealth

Stained vision opaque

Blocking light, turning

Outlook dark and meaningless…

1/15/2012

artist, poet, and punk rockerPatti Smith said, "In art and dream may you proceed with abandon. In lifemay you proceed with balance and stealth."

Slipping -- Poetry 2012

2012-01-15T21:25:00.000-08:00

How far away can one go

with wobbly legs and sorefeet?

Breathing cold air burnsheart

into calibrated flutter; a plan

for invigorating turns debilitating.

Fear - peaceful coexistence between

nature and an aging bodymight not

be possible – hear thewhisperings.

Wanting to shout louder –unfair;

crying out where has timegone?

Life work and ethic trickedby a body

following natural chronologicaldecline.

Can you hear the loving andhating

voices echo golden year’s frustration

when slipping into their graves

one breath at a time?

1/15/2011

mother’s clothes -- Poetry 2012

2012-01-14T23:15:00.000-08:00

Fed up with their rules,

she again failed to expressherself;

receding into her closet, shesank

into the barely perceptible scent.

Sitting in darkness, inhalations

opened death’s determined veil.

Mama’s girl resolved wayward

self-esteem during wardrobe respites.

Missing physical rumination, closeted

connection opened the spiritual partition

breath by soft breath into ethereal reality.

1/14/2012

The Point -- Poetry 2012

2012-01-13T23:10:00.001-08:00

Where was I?

Too much on my mind -

wandering back to the starting point,

trying to jog the thought process,

standing puzzled - run the list.

Waiting for the a-ha…

waiting to get back on point,

waiting for son’s laughter to subside.

1/13/2012

Teasing --- Poetry 2012

2012-01-12T22:05:00.000-08:00

Tired and worndown,

not feeling great;

icy stars whitelight

does nothing tocool fever.

Fever of dread…

writhing snake crossing

summer’s meltingasphalt.

No respite…

no escape tosafety…

desiring to quenchthirst,

wishing to heal burns,

your acid tongue licks

subcutaneouslayers

drawing abstractpatterns.

Licking, licking…

teasing soullessspirit forth…

1/12/2012

Adrift -- Poetry 2012

2012-01-11T21:20:00.000-08:00

Leaving not one footprint

in sand, mud, grass -

not one depression at all.

Nothing made an impression.

Destined to drift with the sun

on her face, the wind at herback…

there was no weight to herbeing.

1/11/2012

Exhale-- Poetry 2012

2012-01-11T21:19:00.000-08:00

Every step forward pulled

frigid temperature intolungs;

warmth exhaled shrinking

frost into liquid state

leaving a clear path that

documented movement.

Every breath in

lowered body temperature.

Every breath out

chilled cells.

Steps faltered…

muscles locked…

reception closed down;

sitting in consciousness,

spirit radiated outward.

Aware of every drip

falling to earth,

the frost returns

with the last exhale.

1/11/2012

Wayside -- Poetry 2012

2012-01-10T14:00:00.000-08:00

Driving asleep

thoughts fall

smashing against windshield.

Soundless drops…

prismatic orbs

push through ether

streaming by wayside

incomplete and wasted.

1/10/2012

Barely Breaking -- Poetry 2012

2012-01-10T13:55:00.000-08:00

Tumbling days

filled with stop and go;

too busy to feel when

accomplishing “to-do”.

Dusted and polished,

swept and mopped,

clean and tidy to the eye.

Barely breaking

persistent pain

pleasantly displayed

in clean glass frames.

1/10/2012

talented or time-waster --- Poetry 2012

2012-01-09T23:28:00.000-08:00

Shift

Mull over the shift

Realign

Shift again…

change things up a little.

Need one more 24 hour day

to catch up with every viable

alternative to solve a puzzle.

Eight days into the New Year,

it's all about moderation,

amazing shifts and progress…

talented or time-waster.

1/9/2012

Hopefully Naive -- Poetry 2012

2012-01-08T23:24:00.000-08:00

Do you try to avoid

the dark damp cave

in the back of your mind

because…

it’s scary back there?

What’s in yours?

A list of flaws,

secret grudges,

people loved and lost,

conspiracy theories,

experiences rather forgotten,

mistakes you can't admit,

fears that haven't come true yet…

all the stuff nightmares are made of.

Are you hopelessly naïve?

Think it would be relatively easy to change

or are you hopefully naïve…

knowing how hard it is to bring light

into dark sacred fears.

1/8/2012

Blank -- Poetry 2012

2012-01-07T22:53:00.000-08:00

Even white noise wasn’t empty;

sky rimmed with hemlock fingers

waggle in distinctive patterns –

residual for all practical purposes.

Reaching skyward leaves bird songs,

dog barks, or voices fading out

into meditation; prone to earth,

a blank stare penetrates ether

silencing constant distractions…

1/7/2012

Unique orbit -- Poetry 2012

2012-01-07T22:12:00.000-08:00

Random,

not predetermined…

scientifically impossible

sometimes warped

looping in on itself,

sometimes straightened out,

this unique orbiting world

of isolation to gregarious.

Hovering at times –

meditating on cosmic direction

to keep away from gravity

that could steal independence.

1/6/2012

Muszak? -- Poetry 2012

2012-01-05T15:44:00.001-08:00

Is on hold musicstill called that?

Noxious combination of Kenny G sounds are

not soothing in the ear or wandering out from phone handset.

Even the parakeet barking is less annoying. Yes, barking…

during its formative years, the old schipperke’s chronicbarking

impressed the blue budgie; dead and buried, the chronicbarking

lives on and on and on until the cage is covered for night’squiet.

Unless light leaks prevail!

1/5/2012

Sixty Plus Years… -- Poetry 2012

2012-01-04T12:48:00.000-08:00

Let go physically

Body trashed

Not from drugs or alcohol

Pure and simple neglect

No intervention required

Not a resolution either

More a responsiblereinvention

A chance to snap out ofneglect

End with grace and control….

1/4/2011

Year to Pay -- Poetry 2012

2012-01-03T17:06:00.000-08:00

Holiday gifts walk in thedoor:

shirts, hats, electronic gear…

even a Manga fuzzy cat tail

clipped to the bottom of ashirt.

Seems foreign to think of present

heaps stacked under a tree.

Gave that up years ago aftermom’s

death, Christmas just wasn’tthe same.

Financial decline enhancesde-heaping;

food seems more importantthan

extraneous expendituresselected

under pressure ofexpectations,

holiday cheer and one-up-man-ship

that takes half a year to payfor.

1/3/2012

Use it or Lose it -- Poetry 2012

2012-01-03T17:04:00.000-08:00

Barely able to walk,

physical reality of beingunfit…

not so grim a discovery.

What else could one expect

from sitting too much?

Lost in creativity,

unbalanced without movement

for muscle maintenance.

No need for ten resolutions…

Planning to steel Nike’smotto:

Just Do It.

1/3/2010

Dozing -- Poetry 2012

2012-01-03T17:01:00.001-08:00

Body physically exhausted

muscles balance sitting up asleep.

White noise – children’s voices –

a steady stream of sound

blends to nothingness.

Fluorescent bland light,

mind mercifully quiet,

zoning out to colophony tones…

1/3/2012

Summer Afternoons -- Poetry 2012

2012-01-02T22:38:00.000-08:00

Bones screamed with everystep

cracking under overweight frame.

Moving slower than a tortoise,

every step created a grimace;

feminine grace had disintegrated

to old lady waddle with every limp.

Flexible body lost - mind still supple;

residual romantic view remembers

telling lies about missing curfew,

grass stained clothes and leaf tangled hair...

1/2/2012

Blame -- Poetry 2012

2012-01-01T23:59:00.000-08:00

Picking stars…

filling a basket with dimensional

light that radiated back to blank spaces.

Night sky was not disturbed by wishes

gathered freely under dark cover.

Picking light…

desiring radiance relieved a hidden life.

Light reached into dark corners

disturbing childhood secrets forced

into silence as if she was to blame.

1/1/2011

Can you… Poetry 2011

2012-01-01T00:52:00.000-08:00

There are things that should be left alone never

to see the light of thought; insistent to spawn,

they crawl about winding their way into verbiage.

The off button malfunctions so the drastic release

of unregulated tongue simpers strategically.

Whine and pitch, another poor soul reduced to waste;

a selfish tactic to feel good standing on the weak.

Can you not do that?

12/31/2011

Self-control --- Poetry 2011

2011-12-30T23:21:00.000-08:00

Deleting morethan I'm typing…

is that evenphysically possible?

Head implosion;fingers exponentially

accredited withwarping contained spaces.

Spaces between slitheringsynapses

thrust thoughts mockingenthusiasm when

all I really wantis some space and time to write.

12/30/2011

Nobody is Watching

2011-12-29T21:23:00.000-08:00

My brain isholidazed out –

wish that were so;

it's a tragicthing…

exhausting eitherway.

The introvert inme is

feeling underwhelmed.

I wasn’t around

too many peoplethis week.

Life was busy, busy,busy

for others but tooquiet for me.

Guerillarepurposing – I shall

dance becausenobody is watching.

11/29/2011

aka circadian clock -- Poetry 2011

2011-12-29T21:21:00.000-08:00

Nap gone wrong…

2am…

hard timemaintaining a normal sleep cycle.

My dreams are sobig, they give me jet lag!

Either that or mybrain has a wacky

suprachiasmaticnucleus…

hoot hoot saidthe night owl

time to make someart.

12/29/2011

In mammals, the controlling clock component that generates a24-hour rhythm is the suprachiasmatic nucleus

For the New Year -- Poetry 2011

2011-12-27T18:44:00.000-08:00

Let’s have a virtualburning bowl ceremony.

Let go of thingsfrom 2011

or our lives ingeneral…

clear the lesspositive habits,

release burdens

from our lives orour hearts.

Who’s in?

I've gotmarshmallows, chocolate bars and graham crackers

for S’more snacking…

shaking the moneyat the moon for prosperity will be next

although thebills might get a tad sticky.

12/27/2011

Wiki How-To: It is unclear whofirst created this treat, but the earliest s'more recipe can be found in theGirl Scouts handbook of 1927. The traditional s'more is made with marshmallows,graham crackers and a few pieces of chocolate. S'more stands for "some more",as in "give me some more". So it sounds like "I wants'more!"

S’more –kid’s recipe

Marshmallows
Graham crackers
Flat bars of chocolate

With the help of an adult, toast two marshmallows on a stickover the campfire or grill until they are hot and gooey all the way to thecenter. Have ready a graham cracker topped with chocolate. Use a spoon to pushthe marshmallows off the stick. Squish the top cracker on. So good!

2011 Status - Poetry 2011

2011-12-27T09:18:00.000-08:00

I had no promises to keep this year.

It was easier than holding a list hostage

knowing it would be relegated to unaccomplished.

Intent disrupted by calamitous nature of being,

I bungled along with odd well established habits.

Seeing that it was rare for anyone to really

discard the ingrained reactions, I have no guilt…

12/26/2011

Malcontent -- Poetry 2011

2011-12-25T14:23:00.000-08:00

Not one holiday song stung her ears.

Deftly avoiding any source of spiritual

rhapsody, the days were tuneless.

Free from blaring cheer.

Free from mystic wonder.

Free from religious fortitude.

Blind devotion had burnt a hole

through her heart severingrighteous

rhythms on self-destroyed ear drums…

12/25/2011

Past -- Poetry 2011

2011-12-25T14:20:00.000-08:00

Rumpled in tangles without sheets, the mattress

was more a shoddy nest than a proper bed.

Rolling around in the heap, blanket lumps flatten…

layers adjust to tuck around this reposing form.

Sleep brought blessed nightmares similar

to Dean Koontz’s fiction; the kind of residual

images that infringe on dawn’s transitive approach.

Wearing a thick mantle, the deep victimization

shrouds bind her scared soul in vivid daily death.

12/25/2011

Purpose -- Poetry 2011

2011-12-25T14:18:00.001-08:00

Pulling the plug on another Christmas,

the outdoor lights blinked into the dark.

The tree was next… a click sucked the light dry.

Repetitious repetition decimated layers of spirit

till raw detritus bled this last night of holy nights.

Sitting in front of the shadow tree now naked

of cheer, the evergreen scent was extinguished.

The dry darkened tree, purveyor of childhood magic

was unceremoniously hauled out of the house;

Christmas was left on the curb having lost its purpose.

12/25/2011

Winter’s Eve -- Poetry 2011

2011-12-23T22:27:00.000-08:00

Lighting the candles

summon the directions…

call the earth,

call the heavens.

Candle flames flicker

in frigid darkness

beckoning winter

to this place and time.

Silver chanting breath

matches stars subtle light

drifting across the void.

Soul sealed to those

that came before

chanting on solstice night.

12/23/2011

Quartz Fragments-- Poetry 2011

2011-12-22T21:22:00.000-08:00

Hourglass is turning,

spinning clockwise,

spilling particles in ripples

outward from the center.

Circumference ripples form

a quartz crusted boundary;

barely discernible air movement

scatters lightest pieces further.

What are you going to do?

There’s no gathering the spill;

no broom straw will find every

last grain; once the sand is gone

that moment, that memory,

that loosened fragment,

that fine precious breathe

is gone forever…

12/22/2011

art door… -- Poetry 2011

2011-12-22T01:49:00.000-08:00

A mentor tapped a longing.

Recessed, dormant, locked away…

expression erupted with guidance.

Gleeful exponential production

dominated former down time.

Sketching value increased observation

of light and color making the most

common object a thing of beauty…

transcribed in graphite, elevated to acrylic…

heart and soul sang coming out of isolation.

12/22/2011

Weaker Sex

2011-12-22T00:38:00.000-08:00

You two are fun and I really enjoy your company

which of course made me realize what I’ve been missing.

I am ending this self-imposed desolate isolation;

a new renewed "hope" wrapped with exciting possibilities

encompassed me while enjoying your company.

Our woman power of hauling in the flooring without

testosterone provided us with an odd bonding especially

when the workman across the street called us characters.

Silly men still believe we are the weaker sex…

12/21/2011

Warmth -- Poetry 2011

2011-12-19T22:12:00.000-08:00

Any touch, a hand resting lightly on the arm

during conversation manifested nostalgia.

Pausing to think of this elemental departure,

the devastation of losing physical connection

made it even harder to remember loves embrace.

Indifferent to being the committable old-lady-with-cats,

her one fuzzy friend complimented a humble home’s décor.

Found mewing, “My world is cold; my world is hunger”,

the wee companion was no match for human intimacy

till curled up purring,“You are my world and my warmth…”

12/19/2011

Moon restoration -- Poetry 2011

2011-12-18T23:30:00.000-08:00

Only part of the month,

only without cloud cover,

only without strength to walk

prevents moonlight outsourcing.

Wandering side streets sans moon

guidance, white light creates strong

shadow map for an easy trail.

Comforting quiet, salient stars,

moon’s restoring beams fill

aging crones softened vision

bringing peace to inner spirit.

12/18/2011

Simple words -- Poetry 2011

2011-12-17T22:24:00.000-08:00

Nothing as complex

as thesaurus reality

cleared the way

of curvaceous clutter

unused since

high school English.

Elementary words

preclude online dictionaries

and shorten sentences.

Simple words inhabit

clarity and convenience.

12/17/2011

2012 -- Poetry 2011

2011-12-17T00:03:00.000-08:00

New Year's Resolutions…

don’t even want to speculate

on thoughts for this newyear

coming at warp speed letalone

unconscious habitrehabilitation.

Still trying to establishwho I am;

still hiding in comfortable shadows;

still dancing with irrationalfears.

Reneging on the proverbiallist,

the selection of one wordwill suffice.

A new ritual – one guidingword…

12/16/2011

5 o’clock Glass -- Poetry 2011

2011-12-15T22:00:00.000-08:00

Is it wine o'clock yet?

Close enough,

I won't wait…

it's 5 o'clock somewhere.

Well, bottoms up…

then without a doubt

waking up to bleedingeyeballs

cause my glass runneth over..

12/15/2011

Orion's Progress -- Poetry 2011

2011-12-14T23:17:00.000-08:00

Walking the dogs

to rethink

the whole idea.

Starting point,

what was I thinking;

next,

how to adapt;

then,

follow through

without struggle.

A welcome relief

to stifle the critic,

get some fresh air,

stretch the muscles

while scanning the night

sky for Orion’s progress.

12/14/2011

Wise Words -- Poetry 2011

2011-12-13T22:54:00.000-08:00

Murmuring silent gratitude…

an ongoing white noise

rides daily undercurrent

dampening other possible conclusions.

Enigma monitors wise contentedness

when considering extraordinary escapes

that keep appreciation agile.

12/13/2011

Wise words taken from a fellow facebooker: "If you can’t be contentwith what you have received, be thankful for what you have escaped."

10 to 9 -- Poetry 2011

2011-12-13T13:09:00.000-08:00

Jumped out of a dream

within seconds of scheduled departure.

Dragging REM clouds into clothing,

chewing a banana lost between,

driving the night coating into day,

encompassing corroded time sequences

with an exhausted nocturnal response.

12/13/2011

Only Option --- Poetry 2012

2011-12-12T22:54:00.000-08:00

Who escapes theirchildhood?

Maybe in fantasymemory

where the collectionof good stuff

outweighs thenegative events.

Some kids comewired wrong;

some kids becomewired wrong.

Some kids pull ittogether;

some kids self-destruct…

so subtle adifference from either

starting path ormultiple contingencies.

Maybe the onlyoption is to go

through lifedamaged….

12/12/2011

"The onlyoption he [Joshua Komisarjevsky] ever had was to go through life damaged,"defense attorney Walter Bansley said in his closing argument.

Risks -- Poetry 2011

2011-12-11T23:23:00.001-08:00

What have you given up?

Remember the risks taken,

you didn’t care what you ate…

rode your bike down steep hills

coasting without feet to brakes;

sledding down hills between trees

narrowly missing the stone wall.

Full of life and foolishness…

What have you given up this year?

Walking, reading, motivation…

lives that endured long past anything

a person would call living.

Running from Death by sitting still;

paying the price for being too worried

about dying when you were still alive.

12/11/2011

Hardest Kind --- Poetry 2011

2011-12-11T00:42:00.001-08:00

Didn’t have a mark on her

nothing that was visible.

Bruises, cuts, broken bones

repair over time, it’s the

invisible blows that sink deep

into cracks between cells…

hardest kind to heal.

12/10/2011

Back in the Day -- Poetry 2011

2011-12-11T00:27:00.001-08:00

Party monsters –

have an or-a-gee…

What’s he talkingabout?

Sleepless party nights,

carousing, dance macabre…

Pushing back the I’ve

never done that…

passive wall flower

lurking in life’s shadow

missing misbehavior

sticking to good girl

routine of saving rote.

Crossing line…

guiltily wrong once,

this dismal remembrance

that saved me from ending self

to secret liaisons mystic…

the other woman in love

so naïve, so stupid, so guilty.

12/10/2011

Lost Child in You -- Poetry 2011

2011-12-11T00:08:00.001-08:00

Where are you lost child?

Is there still time to find you?

Wrap you in golden gauze,

whisper honey coated words,

cherish you again as in childhood.

When summer’s warm glow increased

the sweet scent of mowed grass; day

dream clouds drifted across blue skies…

a time where rain was fun to dance in.

A time when skinned knees and other

bruises were kissed away by mom or dad.

Where are those sunny days?

Here I am trying to catch that child

one last time under winter’s dull skies

imagining past sun warmed days laced

with innumerable hugs and kisses…

12/10/2011

At the end of his performance Baby Gramps said he hoped hebrought out the lost child in you…

Baptized in Swamp Water -- Poetry 2011

2011-12-10T23:47:00.001-08:00

Cousins trickery…

Catch some frogs,

You’re quicker thanus.

Rowing away trust –

Hot summer day walking

through squishy muck and slim.

Their laughter lapped cross

the shallow swamp water

along with taunts if we cried.

12/10/2011

Phrase from a Baby Gramps song – baptized in swamp water

Walking -- Poetry 2011

2011-12-10T15:20:00.001-08:00

Daylight never stopped nightdreams;

softened fog blurring edges,

they skirted the brightest sunlight.

Invisible to others, theywere strength.

More important than realevents,

a running loop of favorite sequences

kept running continually inplace

separate from actual visionor hearing.

Declining invitations,slipping away to

observe the moonrise, waitingfor stars

to poke through twilight, theimages were

ever stronger… specters imposedover reality.

Doing routine chores withinthis film, there was

never a thought for sharingthis inner world;

speculation of deteriorating mentalhealth

dogged her heels making itmore important

to wander through field and wood’sfamiliar

paths until the day she keptwalking…

12/10/2011

Steaming Cups -- Poetry 2011

2011-12-09T21:02:00.001-08:00

Temporarily over coffee houses

not that I can tell the difference

between a cappuccino or a frappuccino;

it’s not just the clank and hiss

that echoes on hard slick surfaces.

Perhaps it’s the cloistered laptops sitters

taking up all the tables or the feeling that

other people's boringness started to infect me.

Glued to their glowing screens, they barely

break eye contact to sip from steaming cups…

12/9/2011

Searching for pen and paper Poetry 2011

2011-12-08T14:43:00.001-08:00

Torrent of worry surging

with nothing to strain it.

No way to sift through the undercurrent

for drifting calm caught in tumultuous moment.

Separating the junk response from pure panic

with determined intentionalbreathing

prepares mind for a pronouncement.

You’re all clear, Dr.determined mass was lymph

nodes and there’s noproblem with them either.

12/8/2011

Powerful hold -- Poetry 2011

2011-12-07T22:39:00.001-08:00

Un-functioning , no.

Nonfunctioning, better

because “dys” has lost

meaning due to over use.

Here comes another holiday

laced with self-centeredness

where me, my, mine is prevalent

perpetuated by commercials.

Expectations ride assumptions…

glitter and sparkle heaped presents

gloss over sibling’s malcontent storms.

Looking back with fondmemories

denies the dysfunction buried deep.

12/7/2011

Susan Minot went on to write several other novels, includingEvening (1998), and most recently, Rapture (2002). She also wrote a book ofpoems, Poems 4 A.M. (2002).

She said: "The word dysfunction has, I think, servedits purpose and now has lost its meaning. Every family, like every person, isimperfect, after all. The idea that there is a Family somewhere who functionsis an odd concept. In my youth I was running from my family to try to find outwho I was — their influence distracted me. Now I see what a powerful hold theyhave, no matter what."

Circulation -- Poetry 2011

2011-12-06T22:00:00.001-08:00

Everything is fuzzy…

eyes aged quickly;

blurred surroundings

fade into soft tints andtones.

Ghosts of self-awareness

drift from focus as days advance.

Dissipation descends,

external senses close down

from overload to under-load

trapping memory circuits

wondering where time went…

12/6/2011

Falling between the cracks -- Poetry 2011

2011-12-06T14:04:00.001-08:00

Eight weeks and still several

student names allude me…

rowdy ones stand out due to

correcting them over andover;

other’s slowly leave theirmark for skill

or lack of skills mixed withtalkativeness.

Then there are the nebulousones;

the ones so quiet they disappear

within their work barelyresurfacing

after an hour to slip out thedoor.

Anonymity is their cover; speaking

so quietly, they are leerysouls preferring

to be unnoticed between thecracks…

12/6/2011

Writing Dreams -- Poetry 2011

2011-12-05T23:25:00.001-08:00

morning wisps

into real time

written dreams.

former threads

now de-gossamer

lace of inspiredgoals

replete withdeadlines.

12/5/2011

Goals in writingare dreams with deadlines."
~Brian Tracy~

Fortune -- Poetry 2011

2011-12-04T23:11:00.001-08:00

There are so many times when

And so it begins

announces itself during a day.

Could be the first sniffle and throat tickle;

perhaps a spontaneous opportunity;

recognition of past commitment

or a dangerous liaison to be avoided.

What fortune follows so it begins…

12/4/2011

Defaults -- Poetry 2011

2011-12-03T23:34:00.001-08:00

Resetting word default

Over and over

Not unlike habits

Labeled good or bad

Set as personal defaults.

12/3/2011

Dreams with Deadlines… - Poetry 2011

2011-12-02T22:55:00.001-08:00

Late again,

can’t find keys;

where’s the purse?

Tossing and turning

till fully awake.

Hey, I don’t work there anymore!

Soothing cup of chamomile tea…

smoothing out the twisted blanket,

memories advance of dad’s “late-to-work”

dreams related over many a breakfast.

Twenty-five years after retirement,

bosses and fellow workers

performed nightly work scenarios…

haunting his sleep, creeping into

the morning, invading conversation.

Wonder if they cling to his after life…

12/2/2011

mantra of the day -- Poetry 2011

2011-12-01T22:49:00.001-08:00

I am not a slave of my mind…

I am not a …. or am I?

So many reactions from rout’spast experience;

preprogramed to respond to similarstimuli.

Those blasted Pavlovian habitsrue this organism’s

behavior over and over - slipping backwards.

Tempted to believe a new updatedversion of myself

can handle anything –evidence of being lost in repetition;

I am a slave of my mind....

12/1/2011

filling ears before bed -- Poetry 2011

2011-11-30T23:46:00.001-08:00

After walking the dogs chilled fingers

spasm words acrossthe 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?

11/30/2011

Rain Taps-- Poetry 2011

2011-11-29T23:09:00.001-08:00

Rain poured through her afternoon nap;

dripping fluid forms waterlogged visions.

Black and white with gray shades

via Singingin the Rain with Gene Kelly…

splashing and smashing puddles skyward,

confident and skillful in body and soul.

In reality - middle age quest to tapresulted

in being relegated to end of the line; vision

impoverished, overlooked, neglected, shequit.

Tap shoes collect dust on her closetshelf still

reluctant to give up tap dancing in therain.

11/29/2011

Thanksgiving Weekend -- Poetry 2011

2011-11-28T23:43:00.001-08:00

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 darknessaway…

11/28/2011

Callback Poetry 2011

2011-11-28T00:00:00.001-08:00

Words gallopedacross the horizon

away from themouth forming them;

away fromsmart-aleck consternation;

far from reigningthem back to pre-verbosity.

Ignoringstunned 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 myit’s late and we’ll see you soon.

Last to leave, his aftershave slunk afterhim.

Against an eternal battle withforgetfulness,

this was one guest that was not on thecallback…

11/27/2011

Again and again oetry 2011

2011-11-26T23:27:00.001-08:00

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…

11/26/2011

Puddles - Poetry 2011

2011-11-24T00:22:00.001-08:00

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 .

11/23/2011

Under it all -- Poetry 2011

2011-11-22T23:48:00.001-08:00

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.

11/22/2011

Another day… -- Poetry 2011

2011-11-21T23:23:00.001-08:00

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.

11/21/2011

1 am -- Poetry 2011

2011-11-21T00:58:00.001-08:00

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.

11/20/2011

slight panic -- Poetry 2011

2011-11-20T00:00:00.001-08:00

Doodling hasdefinitely reached

obsessivecompulsive 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…

11/19/2011

Unnoticed -- Poetry 2011

2011-11-18T22:35:00.001-08:00

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…

11/18/2011

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

Parallel Lives -- Poetry 2011

2011-11-17T23:43:00.001-08:00

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 wickedpale.

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.

11/17/2011

"All writers, I suspect — and probably all people —haveparallel lives, what they would have been if they hadn't turned into what theyare," 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 beone; by the time I was 12, I had changed that to dress designer and thenreality took over and I confined myself to doodles in the margins of mytextbooks." Margaret Atwood

Who’s Un-housed -- Poetry 2011

2011-11-17T11:32:00.001-08:00

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…

11/16/2011

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

Casual Weather -- Poetry 2011

2011-11-15T15:42:00.001-08:00

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 weatherchanged…

11/15/2011

“When I’m with oldpeople,

I inadvertently starttalking about the weather.”

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

Everything -- Poetry 2011

2011-11-15T15:41:00.001-08:00

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.

11/15/2011

Sanity --- Poetry 2011

2011-11-14T23:10:00.001-08:00

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…

11/14/2011

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

Thin Domestic Walls -- Poetry 2011

2011-11-13T23:11:00.001-08:00

So exhausted - mysterious,vague cause…

no - just cranky sarcasm…

sounds like aparty next door except

for the childrenscreaming, laughing and crying.

Did I mentionlistening to their loud TV or video game noise?

Old windows andonly ten feet separate these houses;

even the earth iscarrying their exceptional vibrations.

Hot summer nightand no respite to be found.

Perhaps despitethe late hour, I should inform them

about the paperthin veil between our dwellings ; that my

bedroom is acrossfrom their congregating kitchen

but I'm just tootired sweltering this night.

A friendsuggested a solution for thin walls, open windows,

or houses builton top of each other creating domestic domicile

infringement: developa healthy and loud sex life.

Then they mighthear me: running, screaming, laughing,

crying, throwingthings in so many exciting ways.

11/13/2011

A friend on FaceBook was complaining about new neighbors

In her apartmentbuilding which brought up memories

of some of thewild neighbors who have rented the house

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

Expired Lament -- Poetry 2011

2011-11-13T20:16:00.001-08:00

Torn words…

pillaged fragments

form a final retribution.

Entities encircle accomplishing

release without sound;

squall’s scream scatters

rage to the four directions.

11/13/2011

Dead of Night Observations -- Poetry 2011

2011-11-13T13:27:00.001-08:00

Sensitive soulgets heavy at times

with or without mentorsand muses.

Moon was sobright last night creeping

across midnightcreativity –brush to paper.

Storm winds sangthrough clear skies

hassling leavestrying to hold fast to the present.

Earlier rainplastered the fallen onto glistening

asphalt… golden clusters locked to pavement

under overlappingbranch shadows dancing.

A reality halfwaybetween now and past present;

seasons pass withor without dead of night observations.

11/13/2011

then -- Poetry 2011

2011-11-12T22:30:00.001-08:00

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…

11/12/2011

Aware… ---- poetry 2011

2011-11-11T13:04:00.001-08:00

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…

11/11/2011

The relationship --- Poetry 2011

2011-11-11T13:02:00.001-08:00

Lonely souls…

desperate eyes show

fear of being without

a companion.

Accepting leftovers,

abuse is better than alone.

11/11/2011

Something Old -- Poetry 2011

2011-11-10T23:35:00.001-08:00

Don’t have to look too far.

I’ve turned into somethingold…

not in spirit but certainlyin chronological age.

Passing by reflections, Iignore mirrors dialogue,

marvel at windows multiplicityor puddle ripple’s

finite possibilities of crepepaper skin; very arty

especially with Albert Einsteinhair replete with whiskers.

I’m just an aging scienceexperiment wobbling about…

11/10/2011

Can’t Hear me…. -- Poetry 2011

2011-11-09T23:33:00.000-08:00

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.

11/9/2011

Input --- Poetry 2011

2011-11-08T22:55:00.000-08:00

Counterintuitive guessing the outcome

based on questionable perceptions.

Spent the eveningrearranging furniture,

placingknick-knacks, achievingharmony…

how on earth am Iup 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 Ican I remove the self-criticism?

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

11/8/2011

Ah! There it is! --- Poetry 2011

2011-11-07T22:32:00.000-08:00

I know I left anextra hour

around heresomewhere.

I guess I'm luckythat it’s found;

definitely luckierthan most

because I got onelast week too

and everyone asked…

is it something you need

or something you really want?

Checking out fromtheir inferno,

I never even felta twinge of

"you'll feelterrible tomorrow" .

Guess there's adifference between

feeling empathy vs.too much sympathy.

Heck, I’m long overdueto feel anything

at all aboutanything or anyone…

11/7/2011

Moon Phases -- Poetry 2011

2011-11-07T15:38:00.000-08:00

Shuffling behind trottingdogs…

their noses picked up tantalizingscents.

Worry dogged heel to toe trudge…

nothing intriguing filled mynostrils

except the frigid midnightair tang.

Eyes flitted over crumpled leaves,moss

tinged asphalt and Corgi feetrhythms;

no answers came despite dancingdog feet.

Looking skyward – not for plaintivepleading

but because of moonlight bleachedpatterns.

Lunar iridescent awe froze mein place.

A double aura ringed thewaxing moon; impatient

dogs pulled me forwardleaving behind this particular

periodic perturbation… insignificant insufficiencies.

11/7/2011

From a child’s eye -- Poetry 2011

2011-11-06T12:13:00.000-08:00

He told fibs:

said things could crawl out of thetoilet.

I was afraid go…

He told me:

Santawasn’t real – I cried…

I stillsee the smirk on his face.

He lied to me:

so manylies…

they crawled into adulthood.

He tricked me:

he’d runoff laughing leaving me in the woods…

I stopped following him.

He tortured me:

flashlightbeamed into sleep drenched eyes…

I wokescreaming.

He stole my money:

sniffingout the scent…

I’dfind my savings box empty.

I loved him for a while:

keptbelieving in inherent good

tuckedsomewhere in his form.

He still creeps in:

penetrating my dreams…

brother, leave me alone.

11/6/2011

Incandescence Incantation … Poetry 2011

2011-11-06T12:10:00.000-08:00

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.

11/6/2011

Donation to a Good Home -- Poetry 2011

2011-11-06T00:26:00.000-07:00

Not sure if I’m really livingmy dream;

please define that for me… fulfillment?

I work and work and work somemore;

finding bits of passion toembed in worded vision.

Captured from some irrelevantprognostication

based upon thinking one canactually make sense of it all.

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

the results are carried fromvenue to venue and back again.

In final desperation tolighten the load, the artwork

leaves by way of donation to every fundraising event

request without filling mywallet with remuneration…

11/6/2011

ASAP -- Poetry 2011

2011-11-05T23:35:00.000-07:00

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 momentsare right now;

wishing this complicatedstuff goes away…

11/5/2011

Woes -- Poetry 2011

2011-11-04T23:57:00.001-07:00

Tears well up over new clips:

a child holocaust survivor’s story;

a mother’s angst overgang 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…

11/4/2011

Decomposition -- Poetry 2011

2011-11-02T12:14:00.000-07:00

Leaf rain

Broken wings

Surrender to dank earth

Fleeting cycle

Shorter days

Longer nights

Decomposed.

11/2/2011

To break or not -- Poetry 2011

2011-11-01T23:27:00.000-07:00

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

When given constraints,

some
strive to break them
or worry to follow.

Softness and strength…

to break or not.

11/1/2011

List -- Poetry 2011

2011-11-01T22:59:00.000-07:00

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…

11/1/2011

Racing -- Poetry 2011

2011-10-31T23:25:00.000-07:00

Does a falling star

know its dying?

Lost its place

in the galaxy…

it plummets out of synch

racing towards non existence

coated in wishes from below.

10/31/2011