You wiped my eye from the tears,
Tearing yourself from the
paper poetry of your perfection,
Ripping my gaze apart.
wishful thinking April 4, 2013
I dream of easy affection
when I can celebrate you
without you analyzing my motives
and finding me lacking.
I dream of easy affection
when I can trust you
not to rip apart my offerings
with cruel and callous doubts.
I dream of easy affection
when you can happily accept
tthe best I had whether or not it
was good enough for you.
I dream of easy affection
but some days it seems
like my hopes bring me
a lot of pain
for nothing.
.
.
Sometimes it is so much easier to close up the heart, when you are constantly misunderstood, rejected, and ignored by those who should love and respect you.
dog music March 31, 2013
The dog barks
The harp sings.
Strumming dog.
Barking harp.
.
.
It’s a poem, but it’s also true. When the dog woofs, the sound waves he generates reverberate through the soundboard of the harp and cause the strings to vibrate. The barking yields a clearly audible hum.
Do your pets play your instruments?
cocooning March 30, 2013
I am wrapping myself ,
Twisting into taut threads of myself.
Coming in
Closing out
Excluding all.
No gatherings
No natterings
No blatherings
I am pulling the strings
and waiting
for wings.
.
.
The last couple of weeks I have felt many pressures to meet expectations, complete tasks, go along with plans, take charge of things, etc. I have a number of large professional obligations ahead this month, and I need to focus. I don’t want to be distracted by what other people think I should be doing. I want to be left to the work I need to do, in my own time, with the ‘down time’ I forge that is actually the time when the creativity is simmering on the back burner, working for me.
Do you find other people get in the way of your goals? How do you deal with it? Have you learned to say no to extended family expectations and imposed obligations to do what you need to do, whether or not they approve? How does it work out for you?
mistakes
It wasn’t one
to grab you so tightly that my fingers turned white
and to kiss you until my lips bled in bed at night.
It wasn’t one
to dream it could possibly be me and you
or to fight to make it true.
It wasn’t one
to fill every day with our love year after year
then to fight as days filled with fear.
What was one
was that your body betrayed us
and you’re riding off into the sunset
without me.
.
For David & Julia
I’m coming home March 26, 2013
I’m coming home
From far flung flings
and flailing things
like starfish arms, gripping rock, torn by tide.
.
I’m coming home
to truth tuned tightly
and played upon my harp
like melodies that echo in the wind
from unplucked strings.
.
I’m coming home
in isolated indigo tiptoeing
in Indian moccasins, like flocks I’ve seen
in creeping dreams.
.
I’m coming home
only you will know me
dancing past in dazzling light
and carried on the breeze
but you will know
when I am home.
tree time March 21, 2013
Centuries go by
in whirling winds, in rustling rains
in silent snow
.
Centuries go by
Moccasins tread silently,
worship towering boughs.
.
Centuries go by
Path’s pounded into road and
jarring engines rush
.
Centuries go by
.
Stout Grove Redwoods
beach haiku March 19, 2013
Ocean backs away
and denizens are caught sunbathing
in small pools.
.
Tidal pool at Seal Rock, Oregon
Can you see the Green Anemones” clinging to the rock on the left? You can see how windy it is from the ripples on the water! It was a stormy day.
Here’s a tidal pool rich in sea life! This one is the touch pool at the Oregon Coast Aquarium. That big anemone on the right grabbed my finger and numbed the tip with its anaesthetic. On the left are abalone, the black frill just feels like a satin ribbon. The star fish are rough.
.
Pink re-think? March 27, 2013
Tags: anti-bullying, bullies, hypocrisy, people of walmart, pink, prisoners, shirt
My shirt is pink!
That means I think each day about those wimpy nerds
who cry unheard in bathroom stalls
and that’s not all.
A pink shirt proves
I’m sensitive, to those less competitive
in this dog eat dog world of grinding cogs in
mean machines that devour
gentle flowers.
I wear a pink shirt
not to subvert the status quo
’cause don’t you know,
I hurt , too.
I hurt just as badly as you!
Those Wal-Mart bodies overflowing with fat
riding their scooters
Are too much of a hoot to resist staring at
and sharing to all five hundred of my Facebook friends.
Ha! Look at that
pathetic loser!
Why respect his dignity?
Why contain my bigotry?
Hey! I’ve been bullied, too!
I hurt just as much as you.
But that guy, seriously?
Why act so furiously at me?
Why are you lashing at my humour
I’m just laughing, I’m not some tumour
of society, I’m just a guy, so quit it with the anxiety!
Look, here’s a brilliant warden
who puts all his prisoners in pink. What do you think
of that? Anti-bullying, hard-labour, and bread and water.
I agree! I’ll share that will Facebook, see!
A prisoner should not expect respect
while serving time for their misdeeds, not rehabilitation
a trade, or improvement in his station. No, he should be humiliated
even if being affiliated with negativity destroys personal dignity.
They wear pink shirts and think of their hurts.
Just like me.
I think, in pink, that every day I have a choice
to promote or demote
to improve lives or remove lives.
To embrace what is different without mocking
to try talking with who’s different, in grace,
To show compassion, and kindness, and care
everywhere.
To keep my mouth shut, when I’m inclined to giggle
at the size of some butt,
not to repeat the smut.
Because, who knows?
Perhaps I’m peaking now,
and in twenty years,
my best behind me,
my butt expanding from hours at my computer.
When I want to shop I’ll be on a scooter at WalMart
still just as smart, ready with a kind remark
at bullies snapping my photo with their phone
mocking me, not knowing I was once just like them
condemned to future hurts,
by hypocritical displays
in my pink shirt.
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