18 Sunday Mar 2018
And what are those skills
sitting,
unkempt, ignored, without mastery,
in the ashes
much as you’d like to abandon them there?
Only your gifts, the spells and support
needed, castable with no other’s voice or hands,
the workings for which you were born to suffer
and give.
Step, rich and slow, into your place.
A gyre of vultures, forty strong,
turns ’round at the base of the mountain
pushing remembrance of how small
you’ve been playing it, and
how large you now must be.
17 Saturday Mar 2018
Grabbing at her skirts with reaching manly hands
uninvited
toward a desired body-
not hers (the particular) but any-
that flipped the switch, dramatically,
from her naive Oh I’m Wanted
to the real He Thinks He Can Take Whatever He Wants,
and she wheels around, out of his greedy, cruel grip
leaps out the window onto a roofline she knows like a cat
and stops doubting her worth, while learning
to doubt his,
and smiles with bare feet hugging the tile crest
of a building she’s perfectly willing to leave, bearing
a trail of grief so light it brings only
a rush of relief.
16 Friday Mar 2018
A princess in the tower,
at a distance looking down,
wishing
and kept.
How to get out? How to get away?
Desperate for rescue, a puddle of tears
and fury.
Why me? This terror and despair.
But, one sunrise, a light switches,
the kaleidoscope shifts,
her untapped power surges
along with the sight that she is on the inside.
An inside most would never know.
Following the sun
with fingertips searching slowly
the walls that keep her,
Somewhere, like the chink in the dragon’s scales,
a crack in stone
will bring the first ray of wisdom,
and freedom for which she was born
hungry.
07 Wednesday Mar 2018
A frog in the front garden,
between snow storms,
has much to say:
First, forget the plans-
they were a ruse anyway.
Second, recall sunrise
and the songbirds’ melodious chittering.
Third, fourth, fifth,
forget the numbers,
holding on is holding back.
And then he busts into chorus
the whole warm night through
and a memory of what’s to come
sands a path deep into sleep,
wishing a good slumber
to one and to all~
06 Tuesday Mar 2018
Having lost touch with the beauty of chaos
a fogged vision sewn of fear
and the iron-grip of hoped for control
eventually forces bursting rolls of laughter, or
sphincters tight enough to pop
(not so pretty- quick, turn toward the pansies planted to your left).
If remembrance of having a tail to shake breaks through,
that romp, leap, roar and thirteen-step boogie
will plunk soul back in wild order
and life’ll flow naturally once again.
04 Sunday Mar 2018
Posted in adventure, change, discomfort, home, poems, poetry, transition
≈ Comments Off on Displaced, longing, spent
If displaced, longing, or spent
a gnawing twistiness of home
erupts
with an ugh, tug, a grrrrmph
and out tumbles a wish-
well, a need-
for a spot, covered nook, a nest or wee corner
stocked full of warmth, quiet, books
and visiting songbirds to the window ledge
but
an illusion of safety, the net many speak of
(what, again, is the fabric of that?),
mocks such steady states in a mind
abuzz with too much time
and hunting
for the next place to call one’s own.
02 Friday Mar 2018
Curses
Crashes, Stomps, and Sighs,
Why, and How, Blather & Spot,
Torsion, Inertia, served with all the goopy grey sides.
Grrrphufl and sniff!
Discomfort.
Course, without it
exactly what would- or could-
ever become of us.
Growth…who ordered this dish anyway?
Salt, Smoke, Water and Stone 