Rain dance

Can you hear me?
My voice is quieter
after the storm
the windows shut tight
to keep the rain out

When the blue gets in
in spite of my weather-proof house
I pull up the memory, of
a day when the rain felt good

We splashed and danced
and thumbed our noses
at the soaking wet
knowing we could take the rain

wearing our
falling-in-love-again macs

Monday random: silence

  • I am going to say this right out, right now: I am uncomfortable with complete silence
  • The reasons for this are varied, but most come from childhood and are fairly evident by poetry regarding the same. Rephrased: enough said about that.
  • This week I was under the weather, mostly I think from allowing myself to become rundown
  • Plus after a particularly rough patch, I followed it with a great deal of sugary snacks, which we all have come to know are poison.
  • I did not go to the doctor, but I did doctor myself with water, vegetables, fruit, vitamins, sunshine, and colloidal silver
  • and sleep, which I am still working on.
  • I just can’t get enough, but I am trying

Continue reading “Monday random: silence”

Not a painter

for my children

I.
Then.

I’ll tell you now what you want to know
only lay your head in my lap first
and I will brush my fingers through your hair
while I tell you the story of why we are
who we are and why you are who you are
born into a whirlwind, your mother
a bundle of cautions, and your father
still trying to wrap up his own childhood

I had always wanted to be a painter
or a rock-and-roll singer
someone like Janis Joplin, leaving
her heart on the floor every night
and I’d sing in the bathroom, with
a hairbrush for a microphone

II.
Now.

I wasn’t blessed with that talent
with a throat that could create a masterpiece
I’m no Kathleen Battle or Renée Fleming
I am not Billie Holiday
I am that songbird outside your window
that does not shut up when you first wake
the one that gets in the last word

Blessed with words in my mouth from day one
I’ve learned to give them away
give the world something back
that it gives to me every time I open a book
or turn on the radio
each time I sit in a concert hall
how often in the museum
do I sit down in awe

III.
Posterity.

We all are given something, and this is mine
to tell you about your Father in Heaven
though I am not worthy to truly paint Him
I have faith that I will see him when I am done here
I have a voice to express my love to you
fully and completely
and perhaps if I am really lucky
to spread some words across the land

I have gifts in hand
I must give them away

and if I am very lucky

and I pay attention to the wind
when it blows
I might just get some of them back

grief in four parts

say what you like
if it makes you feel good
truth is still truth
and no one knows
until they do
but that isn’t what
I wanted to talk about–
it is about grief

I know how it is
how the big gossip
slaps you between the thighs
but you might be wise
to wait until you know
for certain
still that isn’t what
I meant to say today–
it is about forgiveness

you are repeating
yourself now
and I know how
passionate you are
but what if you are wrong
then you will have
to take it back
later
but this isn’t really
what is on my mind
it is about generosity

I remember how we laughed
over espresso and Earl Grey teas
oh please
we never argued then
we were too enthralled
with connections
and sugar packets

but that is breaking the rules
to bring up the past, when
this is really more about
beauty

Monday Random: love

  • It is a hefty challenge to stand up for what you believe without sounding like a pompous ass
  • In I Corinthians 13, Paul says that without love, I am I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal
  • Yikes, so much for thinking well of myself
  • I thought of this one day when I was in a disagreement in Twitter. It was short and sweet and ended well because we both respect one another and wanted it not to explode into worse
  • But even while typing my opinion / belief, I sounded condescending, even to myself
  • I don’t want to be that kind of girl
  • On the other hand, I don’t want to be a weak person that does not stand up for myself or my beliefs
  • Religion–politics–lighted matches in a paper factory
  • sigh

This song is lovely

Continue reading “Monday Random: love”

El largo invierna acaba

Attempting to leave behind all of it
the anger and the strife
the inability to forgive–
I bathe and put on something new
I purge my body of everything toxic

How do we live as if the winter was not?
how do I go on pretending we are not bruised–
so I go, so I sear with fire,
I cauterize the wounds
so I go, so I remember
how to let go of the list of wrongs

Without letting go of the wonder, the miracle
as Spring takes over my house,
as love fills the empty heart chambers
still sore
and I weep for what is lost–this day

I tell you, this day is for weeping
for what could’ve, should’ve, and
would have been
without the despicable, with
something more noble
than good intentions

But tomorrow, tomorrow
the weeping will be put away, and
life allowed to flourish, love allowed to nourish–
tomorrow will be today, the anger swept up
and tucked away, put in the bin for the burning
the burning of the last remains of winter

Palms up

The storm is not coming
it is here
it is not on the horizon
it is in the backyard, and at the front door, and
we all share a piece of this body of work
the proverbial sex buffet called life
a smorgasbord of longings dreams
and anticipations

Sometimes selfish, keeping the good stuff
protected and wearing well over time
close to the vest, while others bear the burden
of daily sacrifice
born out of a giant clock
like a newborn baby dinosaur
all hands and teeth and craving
wind chimes at every window
small insistant cymbals
buffer, muffler, white noise

Let it not be said I cannot forgive
but to give
haven’t I lived on this bed of nails
for years–cycling round
I look to Lenore and Jane to save me once more
precious pages upon pages of the stalwart

At the door, always ready with Halloween treets
sending the costumed ones away
when they have had their fill
then locking up tightly
nailing the shutters
like weekenders
we put life up in the garage, on blocks

Every day is Monday now
and no break in sight
in the eye of the twister
in this alien land

Let’s

lets.jpg

Not go there
Never eat that again
Tell the truth
Talk to strangers
Be bold
Be afraid
Cry
Hug one another
Walk on both sides of the street
Lose it at least once a month
Play in paper mache
Try something new
Respect the past
Wear red shoes
Give away something cherished
Accept a gift graciously
Say thank you
Tie shoes twice
Wear sunglasses
Sing when happy
Sing when sad
Not be afraid to stub a toe
Get a tattoo
Find someone who’s given up
Tell him he is not a waste of space
Find a puppy
Put him in a big field with other puppies and cows
Eat more vegetables
Drink more juice
Forgive one another more often
than not

I am (from)

Someone said, “Don’t obsess about the past.”

I said, ‘I’ll give you that, if you promise to look at it honestly sometimes’.

It holds the keys to the future.

 

I am from peanut butter on bread with sugar
and spaghetti, faithfully, every week
I am from peach pies and pot roasts
With potatoes, carrots and gravy and leeks

I am from long days and hard nights
Alone too much and confused about why I am here
I am from disappointed promises
Cruelty where I saw comfort in the masses

I am from heated back seat kisses
Hot summer nights with mysterious men
Hastily made oaths that vanished quickly
Birthdays that passed over like eidolon

I am from babies’ giggles and late night stories
Dreams of success and inventories
Blue skies and flat lands that stretched for days
Winter ices and eternal summers’ haze

I am from apple pie with ice cream
Bruised arms and scarred legs
Long nights we learned about falling in love
Long days we dreamed of them coming again

I am from people that worship our God
Some in a loving way, some rough shod
I am from somewhere it is good to be from
I long for new horizons that I can call ‘home’.

(2015, prompted by George Ella Lyon)

Answer: never

Jeopardy question: When is it ‘too little, too late’?

In 1989 I met a family that a year later I would become a part of. I had come from a place and family from the mid-west U.S. and was about to enter a very American-European family on the east coast. I was insecure about fitting into a family. Put me in a room with 30-100 strangers and I was the life of the party. Put me in a living room with 15 folks that were about to welcome me as sister, daughter, etc, and I had utter stage fright.

I came from a family where I had not hugged anyone in years, except a side arm hug at the airport and a bear hug from my mother who had longed for that for years herself. I entered a house where every face was kissing me and every arm was hugging me. But I still felt outside. Why?

I didn’t know how to express affection that way. I wanted it, but I was afraid of it. I questioned their motives, I assumed they didn’t accept me. Didn’t like me.

Didn’t get me.

Continue reading “Answer: never”