
22 Friday Nov 2024

22 Friday Nov 2024

14 Thursday Nov 2024
I see her, red hair aflame,
paint flying.
Swaths of blackest black,
gashes of scarlet–
blood, bone, ash, scorch,
ochre of marrow.
Enough words, make image.
Shock the system with truth,
Pandora’s box wide,
coffins nesting
and thrown open, skulls screaming out,
souls of generation upon generation of women:
This will not stand.
This will not stand.
No!
11 Monday Nov 2024
Posted in generations, human, poems, poetry
I’m puzzled by where we find ourselves,
puzzled, grieving, sickened.
When did hate root itself in our choices?
And divisiveness and defensiveness,
offendedness, opinion and othering,
fragile egos and rigidity,
become the stuff of a collective north star?
This illness snakes through my own family–
microcosm macrocosm–
its source generations back, before mental memory.
Remaining in body.
Remains,
a cemetery, until recognized,
named.
In this moment, and they do keep changing,
rearranging,
I see us collectively entranced
staring, a shadow Narcissus, into the dark side
of a mesmerizing mirror image
in polluted waters.
What are we watching? Reading?
Ingesting, binging, consuming online,
in media and from around us?
Which likes? Which feeds?
What groups, cohorts?
And who actually pulls the invisible strings behind?
Where’s the money go by addiction
to corporate feed?
We’re being factory farmed.
We are stuck until we can each awaken
to the worst in ourselves,
seeing there is no other, no
out there,
no them.
It is we. This is our sickness.
Which seeds will we water in ourselves?
In one another?
Hate?
Or love?
Pick up the phone,
talk with a friend, remember
sound of voice, warmth of body,
land holding us up,
and that breath
is finite.
06 Wednesday Nov 2024
Today, a darkness.
I turn on lights though they’re unneeded.
I pull up blankets though it’s hardly cold.
My mind moves out in dips and turns,
nothing compared to the torrents in the wider world.
No sense to be made, these waters wash over me.
Now, this is how it is.
24 Thursday Oct 2024
Sitting in a burgundy overstuffed chair
in the children’s library,
one of the most joyous places to be,
with an oval blue rug edged with smiling kids,
their woven images holding hands, underfoot,
a mom begins reading a story aloud.
A green spotted carved dragon listens in,
and the enormous bear and giraffe,
they lean closer from high,
cappuccino-colored corners.
I thank the world for libraries,
for books, for people behind counters who say,
Yes.
Once again, having no house key on my ring,
I breathe in while I still can,
knowing all this will continue on
without me.
23 Wednesday Oct 2024
Posted in change, community, continuance, poems, poetry
≈ Comments Off on Looking across the way
Looking across the way,
a sleepy two-lane mountain main street,
to the gas station-gone-corporate-pharmacy,
high clouds pinking in sunrise glow down
on four peaks, none yet dusted with snow.
One of the girls working behind the coffee shop counter
speaks of monks and warlocks,
mysterious doorways, to the other.
I glimpse over at the red traffic light,
a rainbow dashes straight into the sky.
Town wakes from swishing maple to diesel 4×4 truck.
30 Monday Sep 2024
Ever make a choice that lands you
smack
in foul waters?
The best made plans…
God continues laughing.
Somewhere down the dusky road
dotted lines passing softly in the rearview
will paint an unexpected picture,
shaking disparate puzzle pieces into place,
the pieces having been siblings from creation.
Keep looking ahead,
the unfurling story behind you,
rugged with color, disturbing in greys,
fuels what is to come.
And there’s no expecting
what that may be . . .
07 Saturday Sep 2024
Feels like sitting on a hip
at the edge of a pond,
circling a couple of fingertips in warm
greening water,
waiting. . waiting. .
waiting for the world to slow down.
But it won’t.
And you know it’s not going to.
Those singular fingers dipping
in the pool, though,
connect you to something sane, a rhythm
echoing through this swirling cosmos
of which you are part,
of which you are made.
While these days and nights
and days and days and nights and nights
are nothing short of the inside of a blender,
find where you and the water meet.
Somewhere within the movement, touch
and endless noise,
a stillness–
pull from that.
28 Wednesday Aug 2024
Egg rolls and IPA,
Agatha Christie, pop R&B and kids parading
in and out.
A strange and satisfying blend.
From a walk to the library to pick up,
among other things,
a copy of Winnie-the-Pooh
(multiple readings required) after news harsh enough
to melt one’s ears or harden one’s heart,
and stress enough to keep a person in bed,
I tip back my head to breathe in towering trees
and warm evening light.
It’s a funny world,
a funny, funny world we all share.
Awkwardly, magically,
and with plenty of bedevilment.
Keep laughter ever ready
in your blessed little back pocket.
It’ll never short-change you.
12 Monday Aug 2024
Driving along
and a sudden elevator drop in my chest.
Riding that familiar riversong of sadness a moment,
I understand–ah–
my old, precious friend
is holding a conversation I’ve heard countless times.
Now I can recognize her disguise.
Funny mask, dear one,
but a confusion belies those heavy, tearful eyes.
Stress, strain, the much too muchness of things
brings you here.
Rest, love.
Hide in your cubby hole and come out
whenever you would like to sniff
the riotous wind again.