lap dancin’ poets

poets
cannot be trusted–
give them a few nicely formed words
and the next thing you know they are
sliding into your lap
I can dig it–
a few notes of inspiration
and perspiration
baring my soul, heart,
body, and my mind
to the world–
but when you end up in my face
I find it hard to think straight

hell if I know what
poets are thinking
one day they are crying
and the next they are drooling
over some flower
that popped up in their garden
or the sun rising and falling–
I suppose that is
to throw the rest of us off
in this odd, huge world community
where I can’t even trust
the dangling participles

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Windy city, bleeding heart



I could be anyone, any girl in a coffee shop on any street, in any wayward town where people are glad to be from and hope for other shores with higher waves beating on the beach

I might have been any woman in the art gallery, gathering dust for inspiration among the dead and the painted

Some shoes squeak, my shoes speak, every mile I walk throughout this glittery city, telling me how I know nothing after years of sweating verses

Watching paragraphs walk by, their stanzas on bicycles looking fit, and I can’t find the words

Stunned by the sight of all the stories placed just so, each letter splendid as Rubens or soothing as Monet

Seeking out shadows as the heart on my sleeve begins to drip along the sidewalk, the drops collecting into a puddle, following me as a stream through this mighty place

Giving me away, and

Screaming at me that I have not yet written anything

Hold on, hold on

I was there (I am here)
right where you were – teetering-
over coals I danced
putting all the words in Times New Roman
in a fire-proof box
pithy words – funeral plans-
and watching someone
romanticize your end
makes me sick (I wish
we were friends)
Ginny, why dammit
(hold on, hold on)
did no one tell you not to go
or was your mind made up-
if we had been friends
(I wonder)
could words be enough
would we
have stopped one another
from making the decision
to end the dance

Monday Random: Words

  • Words matter, and to me they matter probably more than people which is wrong- I know it’s wrong, so I’m working on that. I do feel guilty for saying that.
  • Words get propers from me because they kept me going between the ages of 10-20, and now they are saving my life.  I have to be grateful for that.
  • I was in the best, coolest conversation this weekend and I interrupted at an important juncture, taking the steam out of a good story I was hearing. I still feel badly about it. I would like to say something now to the storyteller and apologize, but that’s weird. I recognize it’s weird to agonize about it now. But I do want to be a better listener-
  • I used to be a self-proclaimed grammar nazi, but I saw it hurt others and realized it is not important that I be the Wonder Woman of words. I guess it comes with age.
  • Isn’t it funny how age brings both patience and impatience? I can be so grumpy about things, you know the things, those situations that make me want to say, ‘I am too old for this shit!’ But I am also more patient and serene about things I was so passionate about before.
  • I sometimes correct spelling and grammar in an e-mail before I reply to it.
  • I do feel bad about that
  • I still have an issue with your vs. you’re. I won’t say anything, but it causes me internal pain.
  • Does anyone else cringe when they hear ta-day instead of to-day? Probably fussy of me. It is most likely a regional thing, like here in the Midwest U.S. they often say, ‘ I want to go with-‘.
  • My mother loved words as well. Her favourite word she said was onomatopoeia  and second was Artaxerxes
  • I had to look up onomatopoeia. Twice.
  • Some of my favourite words are mellifluous, ineffable, nefarious, pluviophile, serendipity, deluge, fester, iridescent, orifice, chocolate, and coffee. Too many to list-

What are your favourite words? Do you correct grammar in others? Have a great Monday! Don’t let it get you down- Tuesday is coming!

  • p.s. Do you ever get annoyed at people who use too many exclamation points?!
  • Are you silently correcting my punctuation in my post?

retreat





packing heavy
sorting all of it
in the front room
at the moment of departure
taking one bag
and the sandwiches
leaving the rest
for something bigger
that does not function well
with heavy luggage

destination away
via untraveled trails
rough divots and fences
new green smells
old-timey feeling
I encountered
when I was ten
and still had grandparents

the skies
remain the same
with the absence
of street lamps, and
strip malls
a better fate than shopping
when you find you do not
need anything else

no sleep
no inclination
to count the days
measuring quality of life
sucking up remaining air
reclining
sucking up oxygen
and strawberries

words as life

the words
procreated
virgin birth
escaped into
the arctic air
weaving in a wild
frantic dance
of cotton candy
a vision
most sweet

frigid air
into the lungs
coming out as clouds
obscuring
my crooked mouth
flirting
with the thought
that my words
might
summon spring

Shearing season

My heart has not dissolved
in the way you seemed to have planned it
a bicarbonate tablet in a glass of water
the effervescence rising from the top of the glass

My heart is not in tatters or torn
simply vaporized
turned to bubbles
that pop when you speak

Each word every word
biting and relentless
every cruelty
piling up like sheepskins

Shear me again
there is still some left
maybe you’ll cut flesh
this time, mister

I am part of the air now
until I am solvent
buoyant
I am not defeated