i wiggle my toes and sand slides down a note of song
sweetly sung scuffed knees
roll down the soft green smell of dew sparkles
yellow sneakers and a lime green popsicle
faded orange smiles
linger in a chipped tooth of adventure
stretched out across a summer sky.
the smell of baked bread
bright yellow swirl
flowered house dresses
hanging
the whites in the glowing sun
i captured all
that light
in translucent blue
and remembered the tart
taste of blueberries
freshly picked and held tight
in mason jars
the way your
soft hands stained
from love
hugged me tight
and i remembered
joy.
i was a sun kissed brown knee poking through soft worn demin sleeping in a field of blown apple blossoms, enjoying the canopy of towering elm trees shadowed green drifting along the breeze of a songbird’s note before being washed away by falling droplets of rain kissed tears.
if you follow me on twitter or are my friend on facebook, you know that my updates these days have been more along these lines. i haven’t really been feeling the need to share the little bits of my life because other than the poetic moments which drift up from the earth and swing across the branch of a tree through the sky’s soft touch, i really don’t have a lot to share.
life continues to be good and i find it difficult to talk about in any real way here without sounding like a cliche.
i could tell you about my exercise routine but honestly it looks like this, cycling~running~swimming~weights~rinse~repeat. i could tell you about how i am creating and writing and letting my house stay messy and the clothes pile up while I enjoy the sunshine or how its been super dry and hot here and we are parched for rain and today it is pouring down and soaking my lawn and garden and that makes me so happy and just maybe i’ll actually get the house clean this weekend because of that. maybe. maybe i could tell you that. or i could just post a pretty photo and a sentence or two of poetic prose and leave it at that. i suspect that will be the case more often than not.
all those little moments
of locking myself
away
hiding behind
the black goth lie
of an orange haired punk
perched high on stilettos and rocker
hair
and i find myself
back to the start
breathing it in
the marshy hikes
of a pigtailed girl
sun freckled face
turned upwards
breathing it in
i lost myself
in the pain
of a scrapped knee
harsh hands
pushing down
on a silent scream
blood shed
on a jack pine floor
of sand
and pledged alliance
to the concrete black boot stomp
time weathers
softens the landscape
of our lives
and we find ourselves
hands in dirt
in love again.
i took the name
from the heart
of the flower
that when left to her own devices
grew wildly abundant
reaching for the sun
on rocky hillsides
in valleys deep
cleft chin
i took the name
of a simple
petal that needed
nothing more
than a smile
from the sun
to give her permission
to open herself
wide to the world
and ask for nothing
but space
to grow
plump fingers plucked her beauty
young and proud
and dipped her
roots in stagnant water
unrooted from the earth
hid her in a corner
to gather dust
and she wilted
head bowed low
lost
without the bright
air whisper of the wind
and the fresh
scent of fertility’s soil
to rock her to life
her petals fell
one by one
and curled into
the softness of
death
and plump fingers
picked her up and threw
her ashes to the wind
a tiny seed
swung free and
found a crack
to grow
again
in the summer
light
of life
and she realized
death was just
one small transitory
stage of being
he loves me
he loves me not
a daisy chain
of childhood
play
a corner of my heart
lifted up
opened wide
and i named
her daisies.
in the spring
the light dances
from underneath
soggy grass
squishes under bright thoughts
bird’s egg
lost in a the tangled nest
buried in the
corner
of your mind
waiting
then there is the waiting
always waiting for
the soft breathe
enclosed in a frozen shell
a teacup
filled with the heat
of tomorrow’s
fragrant smell
of life
she spreads her legs
she is opened wide
as i
inhale
the musty
earthy
dank
dark
sweet
secret
smell of life
and the eggshell
white cream
cracks open
roiboos red
drips down
and out peeps
a new song
of hope.
sometimes in the darkness
accompanying the light
memory pulls and tugs
soft silky
canopy of gypsy scarves
tacked above a bed
twisted skin
arched across your hand
a sweat filled toss
of bright red hair
and then another and another
song in a voice
that is not your own
when you hear the words
spoken
the music strung
together
and you close your eyes
in a crowded room
and lose the memory
in the tug
of a moment
a sound
lingering
now
creating space
for another memory
lost in the sex of religion
the vastness of kindness
the reminder
that the cracks in me
let the light in
so i can find a way
to breathe it out
i have been breathing in poetry
rhythm and the cadence
of my mind’s soft whisper
its interesting to me that this month of death is a celebration of life much like i always imagined autumn should be only autumn feels like birth and it is always these strange little contradictions that trip me up. perception and reality. tilt your head. close your eyes. poetry and prose. words and images. the flip side of thoughts. the similacrum.
its like the dreaming you do when you are forced into a box, you dream your life would be near bliss perfection if you got up in the morning and meditated and then took your long silky hair and wrapped up in a neat little ponytail that somehow managed to bounce around while you ran in the misty morning sunlight and then came home to your perfectly shiny kitchen and made yourself a smoothie before showering and heading out to your perfect day full of energy and smiles and power lunches with publishers and drinks with artists and during the long drawn out run on run out sentence of your life, you somehow found time to be the perfect mother carrying little plastic tubbed containers of cupcakes for the team all the while creating amazing art and somehow paying for your magical little life.
but then one day, as you chisel away at your realities, the stuff that you have no control over, the stuff that binds you to the spending of money on things you thought you needed but realized just add clutter to an already dirt filled life, you realize that your realities are so much better than you ever could have envisioned.
you come home tired and drained from working all day at a job that doesn’t ignite your passion but gives you a reason to drag your sorry tired ass out of bed every morning, the bed that lives in the imperfectly perfect house that the bank lets you say you own and all you want to do is take off your shoes and stretch out and let the television entertain you with pretty stories that resemble the dreams about your perfect little life but instead you lace up your sneakers and stick buds in your ears, kiss your equally tired husband good-bye as you head out to find the rhythm of your run, the rhythm that allows you to take your focus away from the fact that your lungs are bleeding and your super techie clothes are starting to smell as your sweat is wicked away from your body. breathe. exhale exhale exhale.
you notice how dirty your city is, really dirty, brown dust everywhere, the brown dust of sand poured over ice that has still melted, the brown dust of dried leaves and dried trees and the skin of everyone who has come before you. you notice how blue the sky is, how grey the clouds are, how incredible the light really is and how somehow there is a bright red velvet leaf laying gently in the gutter and as your heart pumps loudly and your breathe gasps out, you realize that there are tiny little buds in the trees and green threaded grass lacing itself upwards. it keeps you going and by the time you are a sweaty mass of tired, stretching out the rubber of your legs, you realize that your head is peaceful and you feel a power inside that stretches in its infinite wildness of imperfection.
reality is a zit that has popped up on your forehead, a sweat gland previously unused peeled open. reality is a broken fingernail clipped short and a tear in the bottom of a pair of jeans that you couldn’t fit into 2 months ago. reality is waking up to snow on the anniversary of your son’s death and realizing that it is a gift because you still remember walking outside on the day he died and being incredulous that the sun was so bright, the sky so technicolor blue and the world was so filled with green life that it seemed a huge joke on you.
reality is not glossy and is rarely pretty but holy shit, it is so incredibly powerfully beautiful.
and in my reality, i am calling this a poem. because i can.
little girls and
sugar and spice
sweet smelling flowers
gold tinsel smiles
scuffed jeans and
skinned knees
a bruise on her elbow
a chip on her tooth
climbing as high
to the top of the bark covered
tree
to peer at the world
through the sunlight
green
not as transparent
as she wished
she could be
dirty sneakers
sweat trickled down
easier to pull the heads
off pretty barbie
then to face
insecurities
of the perception
of what it was to be
sugar and spice
and everything nice
puppy dog tails
and dirt under fingernails
seemed more interesting
and powerful
to a pigtailed fort builder
until one day,
she closed the book
on the fairy tale
realizing
sugar and spice
and pretty coloured petals
were a longing
in a heart
that thought carrying
a boy chip was easier
than being who
her heart longed
to be
so she sat down
on her gold plated
dream
wiped the icing from her fingers
and let the petals
flow from her smiles.
when you speak softly
dance lightly
when the rhythm
breathes in and out
the sky melds
with the earth
framed in a dance
the earth breathes
you breathe
and suddenly the air
forms a part of your soul
the dream you had
of flying through the clouds
arms stretched out
in a billowing swim
air flowing through
your skin’s wing
you feel that again
and again
feet pounding pavement
moving through the blue
gasp breathe
of the earth’s smile
the clouds
remind you
the dream was right
you are able to fly
there was something
in the air that day
a light scent
with a hint of a smile
a soft twirling
pastel framed in the swirl
of taffeta fanned out
in sunshine’s soft
light
wheat coloured hair
sunshine dreadlocks
smiling in a breezeless
carousel
of swings and ferris wheels
purple painted feathers
dangling from the clip
of a forgotten roach
somehow managing
to avoid the carny leer
the masked clown
of the ball toss
choosing instead
the soft sweet taste
of cotton candy.
even as she curled upwards
unfurling wings of light
her smile spoke
of cozy winter evenings
cocooned into sleep
arms entwined
around the solid bark
of an old towering elm
before the explosion
of green added a new
light, a spark of energy
and she remembered
why she preferred
the light.
a water sign
the smell of life
she smiled soft moccasins
dancing across the bog
tomorrow they would feast
on a spring’s bounty
stuffing for pillows
medicine for wounds
food for bellies
water to drink
thatching for roofs
the car tar race of pavement
a child’s face pressed to the glass
a ditch full of tall weeds
calling her name
swaying proud in the wind
snow drifts melt
embedded memory of blue uniforms
a badge of pride
plucking fuzz with nervous fingers
listening to the howl of
the cold lost path
socks wet in sneakers
shiver
the light drifts up
waking her curled body
and for a moment
they are one.
she peers through
brambles of obscured vision
peering into a mirrored
image
of someone else
they tear at her skin
plucked petals
fall at her feet
goldfish swim in pools
blurred by her tears
an electric shock
deadly jelly fish
a graceful ballet dance
of beauty
and she can’t see past the thorns
that blind her sight
and prevent her from
seeing the soft petals
of her life
shards of ice
melting
in the drip drip drip
dance of winter’s death
her eyes open
wide
in the lap of a wave
the moon light
swallows her whole
fishes swim
in the worn lines
of her soft face
and she gasps
petals like a waterfall
pour from the pink of her lips
and she sees
the life
she should have lived
in the mirror image
of herself.
a healthy dose of prose
paint splattering of
poetic phrase
caressing words
of sprinkled gold dust
add a little bit of
purple smeared paint
across your lips’ smile
but please,
remember to breathe
in a green gulp
of fresh lettuce
and a crunch of dill tart
pickle juice
and fill your mind with pretty pictures
fertile dreams
and soon those seeds
will bloom expansive, rooted deep in a heart
that continues to beat
to the beat
of the heart
of the earth
soul’s startling music
fills the air
with you, me
us.
so fleeting
this light that glows and moves
and shines in you
so fleeting
this moment that polishes
up like a yellow sun
the blackened star of
your eye
so what are you doing
in this streaming
moment
where are you shining
that light
that curls out of your fingertips
a solid stream
of smiling energy
lost in the flow
of yesterday’s river
dance
laid down to sleep
crushed petals
of yellow scented syrup
curled around
a poppies red snore
what moment
is this
lost in a thought
of the
waiting
endlessly
waiting
for a perfection that can’t be found
in the light
of dust angels swirling
across your last breathe.
laying with my ear
pressed to the heart
of the truth
i turn my head
to the clouds again
and watch life shine
in sunlit smiles
out here
the air is fresh
pungent smell of life
the spread of muskeg
between her legs
daisies poking through the
skin of her birth
hope weaves sparkles through a thread
of dew danced on the sharp knife
slice
of a green leaf
and i lay on her lap
wistful in my desire
dreaming
puffy clouds white
against a blue
sky
wish.
the heavy weight
of you beneath my fingers
a stroke of love
whispered out waiting to be sung
in a song not yet written
footsteps creaking down a long
winding hallway
a river of water
cascading slivers send shivers
down my back
scalp tingles
fingers knead
a crack of a knuckle
down my spine
and you slide your fingers
across me
paper whispers scream out
in a letter
you forgot to send
a romance
forgotten in the black ink type
of a word misspelled.
no left turn
unless i turn right
and then right again
and again
and find myself somehow left
of the red sky star
stretching wings i shouldn’t have
in search of searing stars
peeled open
as i lick the orange juice
poured from the beak
of a hummingbird smile
no left turn
they told me
thankfully, i didn’t listen.
waiting with bated breathe
for the first bud
the first green kernel of
summer’s soft breeze
tickling noses too long
covered in wool
the earth thaws
pungent
snow melting deep down
strangely dry
dust swirls in the air
garbage tossed swiftly
hidden beneath the sparkle
of tinsel’s phony smile
still waiting
for the bud
of a green kernel
of truth
skipping over concrete
stumbling over you
a promise
a dream
wrapped in cellophane
struggling plastic
stuck in a beak
you build your home
in the heart
of concrete and brick
mortar and glass
slick towers of deception
your song breaks the monotony
cacophony
rat a pat click of a well turned heel
a mask of make-up
protection from the smog
chewed up nest
of yellow #2 pencils
memos shredded into tiny eggs
you sing loudly
to be heard over the hum
of the machinery
that turns the city away from life
but she notices
you can tell in the upturned lip
of a smile
and a soft look upwards
grazing the sky with a song.
a colourful mess
woven bright against a grey sky
three women laughing
at the gods
dangling threads
poking fate with a needle
silken hair curled down a supple spine
of vision
pulled tight, stretched thin
a dash of lace grown green
sunny smile of earth’s swollen belly
she knows you
your strong will, pride and envy
reaching for a star burned too bright
so she reaches into the heart
a fiery red scratchy thread
and weaves his desire with yours
spun into the blue ocean
wet salt
a ripened kiss
and your world blinks into
another
you see fate as an accident
but she knows better
as she weaves her threads into
a tangled skein.
in the quiet
serene laugh of morning’s light
wandering souls
swim beneath the surface
of stillness
the surreal
slow motion stopped moment
a breathe in
out
and i am still here
in the quiet
of your mind’s whispering
thought
a ripple reflected
in bruised purple
pomegranate skin
a dream of tomorrow
lost in today’s
quiet
dreaming
a thought dangles
intersecting a question
reminiscent of the exclamation
the loud shout
of the living
wakes the world and shakes the stillness
with a burst of the jester’s thunderous laugh
and
the life inside
of the still
races forward
before stopping briefly
in the morning light.
you belong to a world of bright green grass
swaying golden fields of wheat
beneath a bold blue sky
sun shining out of bright young eyes
hair tied back with wind’s soft breeze.
raspberry stained lips curved upwards
bejewelled fingers worn from working
the life you create under the stars
of childhood play.
a balloon bobs in the glaze of sun’s air
butter drips off corn stuck in teeth’s laughter
feet stick to bubble gum blue cracked tile floors
sugar wails through the stale air
you watch the light stream through finger
stained windows
lips plumped red with remorse
plastic bags bulging tight.
manicured fingers snag through tissues to find
that last quarter slaved over
inside the flourescent hue
of their life.
everyday i walk through this world and hope that i am putting out into the world more good than bad, more hope than despair, more laughter than pain. i don’t always succeed. in fact somedays, i fail miserably. but i try and i spend time thinking about it and at the end of the day, that is all i can really do. i live my life the way i blog, i try and at the end of the day, that is all i can do.
these days i am trying really hard to change some things about myself, some things that i don’t necessary believe make my road easier and that i know don’t make it easier for those around me. transitions are hard but i am making headway, slowly and surely. its been a difficult couple of months for me with regards to this, i’ve done some good work and i’ve learned some good lessons because transitions are hard and not everyone you encounter on a daily basis wants to see those changes. it can’t be helped. some people will support you and help you grow and some people take it personally and give you push back.
for those of us that stand in the light but honour our shadows, it can sometimes be easy for others to misunderstand us. so its such a gift when someone really gets it, the deep down heart of it all.
After reading this post of mine, Mary sent me a poem that she had written and she kindly allowed me to publish it here. It is really beautiful and touched me deep inside.
Unchi’hi
Mary Black Bonnet
Cunksi he u, nahan iyomakipi.
Heti el mita cante
He miye cante
Daughter is coming
her journey has been long,
I’m honored by her.
Another shaking of me,
an evolution of my self revolution.
My tongue has returned,
my roots replanted.
I flourish.
She is my heart,
balm for a soul wound, recently healed.
My eyes opened to the losses,
understanding the gifts left in their wake.
I want to say,
she will be my eyes, my heart, my tongue.
But I know,
if I didn’t already have these,
she wouldn’t be here.
*Mary also has a writing blog which can be found at Scribble Scribble Scribble, she has a wonderful way with words.
And tomorrow … begins the poetry madness, a poem a day for all of April. I am so ready!
crushed against the back of you
twisting turning windy road
wind blowing through my hair
in the dark inkspot of the night
bubble gum pink
rusted smile of a lost
barbie doll
you were too good for me
warm arm comfort didn’t relieve
craving of the orange glow
burnt smell of last night’s high
puking in his hat
a gentleman in black leather
wasted again
in the starlit night
waves lapping over naked skin
shedding layers
of redneck convention
and i watched his drunk anger
spill through the bonfire
laughter
and unease as i stumble over bodies
in love’s twisted pain
and connect with the stars
a roll in my belly
your eyes burning
into my own personal hell.
you dazzle me with your soft lighted hues of morning brilliance
covering the dark with the brief spark, a revealed innocence
a rhythm, a beat, a quick breathe revealed in the frosty warmth of a sigh exhaled
as the sun’s
intense heat whisks through the frozen air and dances across a white landscape
blinding us from the truth
revealed to harshly
honeyed tones cringing their way to my ears
as your beauty slices throuhg my heart
and i am lost again
in the light
that flickers flame bright
in the dark thought of winter.
sing softly small sparrow
in the quiet blue air
a single note sung
rings down on my ear
fills a cavernous space
with beauty
the trees sway, branches empty waiting to be filled with the white frost of snow’s warmth
arms open wide mouth gape
shivering in the sun lost breeze
waiting for the warmth of white cotton yarn
laid out in strands strangled sigh
*there is still no snow, only brown golden grass sleeping the snore of the dead, warmed by the sun’s gold shine. today i went out in only a long grey wool sweater tangled in a lilac silk scarf wondering when i would have need for the long black overcoat and high crunchy boots. i am not complaining but its weird and i feel a bit out of sorts as i look out at the darkness and miss the sparkle of winter’s white star shine.
note: this december i am bringing back the december views of last year. if there are others who want to participate in this no rules sinking into the silence of imagery, i will again set up a blogroll of participants so let me know between now and december 1st if you are interested. thanks!
“Verse is not written, it is bled; Out of the poet’s abstract head. Words drip the poem on the page; Out of his grief, delight and rage.” (paul engle)
eyes closed, heart open … if i stare long enough i see you breath, puffs of air dancing out spraying my cheeks with warmth. eyes open … longing to sink deep into golden arms embrace, soothed sky eyes wet with morning dew. we are as one, soaked in the colour of a dying sun, scented in the secret darkness of forbidden beats on skin worn leather. and for a moment, i see.
“If I had a world of my own, everything would be nonsense. Nothing would be what it is, because everything would be what it isn’t. And contrary wise, what is, it wouldn’t be. And what it wouldn’t be, it would. You see?” (alice, alice in wonderland)
i am finishing up my afternoon of facts and figures, papers of organized mess, the cubicle drone of laughter and typing and the hum of words, ringing telephones and modulated voices filled with perfected smiles and civilized conversation. my breath is filling lungs about to dive into the looking glass, the world outside my mask of normal into dreams of days and nights filled with nothing more than the primal task of living my life of no expectation, no deadline, no schedule of this and that and time spent on something other than my own devices.
am very happy to be going to this place, this place of me that requires no travel only the space of time to look through the looking glass and dive right in.
“A boat, beneath a sunny sky
Lingering onward dreamily
In an evening of July –
Children three that nestle near,
Eager eye and willing ear
Pleased a simple tale to hear –
Long has paled that sunny sky:
Echoes fade and memories die:
Autumn frosts have slain July.
Still she haunts me, phantomwise
Alice moving under skies
Never seen by waking eyes.
Children yet, the tale to hear,
Eager eye and willing ear,
Lovingly shall nestle near.
In a Wonderland they lie,
Dreaming as the days go by,
Dreaming as the summers die:
Ever drifting down the stream –
Lingering in the golden gleam –
Life what is it but a dream?”
april brings spring showers
or snow storm’s blizzard
paths blazed across a fire
demon’s slayed in corners
of dust
introspection and thought
tears falling across dirt
and suddenly an explosion
grand and furious
green buds revealed
a month of words
formed across a page
inked into soft skin
echoed in thoughts
stretched and pulled
drawn out in colour
revealing
hidden
lost
found
defining a month of heartbreak
living days of relief
coming to resolution
hope’s sunlight dance
a smile for the wind that carries words across miles of flowing river dipped in raindrops soaked in crystals of ice
lavish me with air beaming swirls of life catching the tail end of a cloud’s winged feather as i move into may
“Live in the sunshine, swim the sea, drink the wild air…” (ralph waldo emerson)
soak me in thought
heart lifting to sky
toes curved upwards
polished eyes sparkle
drunk off the light
arms embracing magic
fingers thrumming energy
loving the dance
of butterflies wings
swirling in air
warmed by you.
“The beginning of love is to let those we love be perfectly themselves, and not to twist them to fit our own image. Otherwise we love only the reflection of ourselves we find in them.” (thomas merton)
bright blue skies of sunshine’s warmth
i can see but not touch
as i jump through the puddle
into another world’s dream
finding photos
of myself floating through
stream’s highway. a yellow line
scarred and flawed.
swimming through water
tiny bubbles mask my distorted view
somehow graceful
in intent and clumsy in descent
i pull myself up
gasping for soft yellow air
cotton candy coloured breathe
grasps hold of lungs inhale
clouds grey
suddenly filled with rainbow’s bright smile
i bore witness to your beauty
tiny fingers grasping
warmth
the smell of your soul
crushed tight against mine
as you rose through the air
and left
me
frayed and peeling
tired and lost
today
i honor the day you left
to join your brother
my sister
and others
bright skies of blue pink
cradles you
while my skin peels backwards
to reveal a weary winded
mind.
tomorrow i hope for light
but today i honor pain
without it, i would have no joy.
i sunk my teeth into your skin
soft yield of flesh
your juice dripped across my tongue
filling me
consuming me
tart thoughts filtered
a weave of shadows
spun by your mind
you came for a brief visit
and i wandered in your rays
laughing in the sunshine
of your attention
did i say something wrong?
am i not pretty enough?
smart enough?
witty enough?
talented enough?
did i do something you didn’t like?
because you closed your eyes
and your mind
and decided to leave
and i wake
in darkness
not deserving
wondering
was i somehow not deserving
of your attention
did i have nothing to offer you
but a smile and a skip of my step
you decided to turn your fair face
eyes sparkling fun
to some other girl
some other boy
someone with better style
a better file
and i sit here in the cold
summer canceled
this year.
so, the lighting is bad and the expressions, eek! but i want to try and do this more so here is my first attempt, i just turned on the camera and went for it and decided that while i could have practiced and tried a few more times to get it right, there is something to be said for just doing it in all its imperfectness. hopefully, i’ll get better at this but honestly when you start something new, it is totally okay to not be perfect otherwise what would be the point?
“Be daring, be different, be impractical, be anything that will assert integrity of purpose and imaginative vision against the play-it-safers, the creatures of the commonplace, the slaves of the ordinary.” (cecil beaton)
in my ordinary life
flowers emerge from floorboards
bright coloured spring
dances in sunbeams
across a polished dance
in my ordinary life
i walk a thousand miles
and find beauty in every corner
crack and thought as trees
rise up and sway me in
their shade
i awake to moonbeams smile
and skip across cobbled stone
covered in feathers of white
i drink from a clouds soft
squeeze
and eat from the green gabled
gate
as i make my way home
to drop the world at my feet
and float on dreams
of air
in my ordinary life
juice drips orange
and lemons scent float
eyes sparkle
wings flutter
and you kiss my nose
softly
in my ordinary life
i stretch out toes
and reach the sky
warmth of the sun
tickles
quietly
in my ordinary life
the extraordinary
becomes mundane
and the mundane
winks mischievously
and i laugh outloud
a blue breathe of soft
wind. sinking into
clouds soft pillow.
warm winds sigh across the desert’s bloom.
icy thoughts whisper across a frozen
meteor. superman’s cape
cries a streak of blue
through a white ribbon. lost
in the hot jungle green
of two leaves entwined.
hands grasping the iron metal
of lust’s wanton sweat. frozen
tears crackle open. green ocean
water rises up fire. melting
marshmallow’s ghost story. lovers
smile in the heat of nights drifting
cloud.
words lost in a stain glass window
covered in dust. forgotten beneath
a cracked footstep. close your eyes
and remember. distracted by
the colours of the rainbow.
“We are all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars.” (oscar wilde)
did you ever have one of those days, days when hope seems to have forgotten how to fly. days when darkness cries tears of why
and you wonder if the light is worth shining. when the headlines tell a story of a loss that cuts your heart in threads just because
we all deserve more than what we sometimes get. imagine sitting with your husband of 29 years. imagine sitting with your frail hands, veins soft and grateful to be celebrating your love. imagine emerging into the sunshine of a warm spring day, the light bouncing off the sky, a twinkle in his eyes when suddenly with a flick of a knife stain and a wrench twist, a life flies to the clouds. imagine having your life cut short at 77 years of age while your love watches her eyes unable to comprehend that this is what is to become of an anniversary celebration. meanwhile out there somewhere a young man walks with a bloodied knife, pain gutted thoughts, stealer of love and i am on the verge of tears, my heart wounded at the thought.
somedays it is hard to live in this world
of gasping breathe
and painful sighs
of waste and consumption
a lighted mall filled with the suffering of
another man’s wage.
and beauty creeps about
tangled vines
and a heart’s smile
searching for a water drop
of fresh water
to cling to my skin
and burn fire’s cleanse
and we search for hope
and build on love
because some days that is the best
we can do
for ourselves
for the seed of a thought
the smile of a care
the warmth of tomorrow.
who am i to stand
and gaze at your reflection
as if you knew something
more than i did?
in the beauty of your fallen tears
there is pain that slices through
angry clouds broken cross
ignoring those pieces
of my heart
chosing to see the mirrored reflection
of someone else
crushed eggshell pieces
lying gently on a pretty pink
frill of paper discarded
in yesterday’s trash
i find a snow crusted mirror
and take a photo of yesterday
bound in a thought of today
and tied with the coffee grounds
of this morning’s rush
and there she is
beauty
in the smile
of tomorrow
and i wonder
who are you to love me
gently
hold my anger in your arms
and wipe away my tears?
she closed her eyes
dreaming of the juice
of berries
dripping down her chin
as she sat in a field of softness
sunshine melting her face
red juice stained her
ripped apart with fingers
gravel digging sharply
the darkness freezing her heart
pelting water rained down
washing the garden
green shoots shining
brightly
life
pelting water rained down
raw vegetables
scrubbed clean
crying
sky
on warm summer days
beneath the light skied moon
she takes a moment
to remember. to cry at her memories before
reaching out to her garden. smiling at her life.
smeared light
windows to my soul
lost behind your lens
searching for truth
memories of the future
lies stolen
small moments
of truth
smeared concrete
cracked
bleeding ants
in the shadowed light
of a warm spring day.
and because i can’t resist smearing a little light on my walls and i see the flickr video as an opportunity to extend the photograph a bit, i may play with video more, it is an old love which i like to indulge on occasion, i may even have to do a video poetry reading given it is poetry month …
she spilled her light across a page
and drank from herself
her words strewn about
a messy room
unabashed and unashamed
and i watched perched high
in my freshly polished treehouse
as her chipped toenails
danced across a scratched floor
and i saw myself.
“You must not know too much or be too precise or scientific about birds and trees and flowers and watercraft; a certain free-margin, and even vagueness - ignorance, credulity - helps your enjoyment of these things.” (henry david thoreau)
tiny shoots of green
slivers of your renewal
poke heads up through the
frozen smile of yesterday’s
sleep
today i saw you smile
i got down
close
smelled life between
the pungent smell of yesterday’s
decay
i heard you sing
across the trees
chirping dance
and flight of wing’s
flapped against yesterday’s
long flight
waking up
wiping the sleep
from eye’s bright
nightmare
letting go of yesterday’s
swaddled pain
“For it was not into my ear you whispered, but into my heart. It was not my lips you kissed, but my soul.” (judy garland)
i look into your eyes
and i see me
a future dreamed. before i could dream
of you.
you wrapped your arms around
a heart filled with tears
melted stones sparkle
in eyes of love.
i dipped my thoughts
into the softness of your heart
and poetry
black and strung out
in dark days filled with sunshine
melted stones sparkle
in eyes of love.
i lay my heart
across your strong arms
weeping thoughts
sang songs of hope
and i danced in your eyes
of love.
“Almost all words do have color and nothing is more pleasant than to utter a pink word and see someone’s eyes light up and know it is a pink word for him or her too” (gladys taber)
my grandmother used to buy me pretty pink dresses
dresses with pleated skirts
dresses for twirling and twirling and twirling
they told me i never looked good in pink
pastels were not for me
green hues of brown
heathered in dirt
blue jeans and braids
but i dreamed of those dresses
pink ruffled
barbie dolls
fashioned from soft petals pressed quietly between pages of love
i stomped around in black boots
torn tees and faded jeans
worms and caterpillers on bark
and puppy dog licks
a dirt smudged face
longing for mascara and pink ribbons
i will have long white hair
pink smiles to match the petals
in my girl dreams
i will lay in lavender fields
and watch the sun reveal the pink in the sky
i will tie a pink flowered apron
over my faded jeans
and hide my pink painted toes
beneath my black shoes
and i will swirl under that sky
remembering her smiles
and i will know
that pink
looks good on everyone
there is a vibrant shade
handpicked just for my pink tinged cheeks.
i had planned
to spend the day
walking in sunshine
looking for shadows
i had planned
to spend the day
looking for beauty
around decayed corners
i had planned
to spend the day
out with friends
laughter’s bright sword
flashing glints
in alley’s doorway
but your wisdom
had other ideas
you said
‘its our birthday’
and we want white
icing cake’
to cloak you
to warm you in coolness
to force you to quiet
introspective comfort
you said
‘its our birhday’
and we want bright
candles flame’
to remind you
of the warmth
that lives in death
and that beauty is here
in the quiet of muffled thought
breathing in the warmth
of our arms.
“Death is not extinguishing the light; it is only putting out the lamp because the dawn has come.” (rabindranath tagore)
i was talking yesterday
laughter spilling from red hued lips
and i remembered you
faded in the shadows
of a fluorescent hue
green gowned witches
wandering paths of intervention
i was talking about her
twisted limbs
her roots wound tightly
across a forced smile
broken and battered
waiting to be released
and i remembered you
new like a tiny wet kitten
lost in the litter
gasping for air
pink tongue lapping the light
as they covered you in darkness
and i wondered if you were all together
standing tall and brave
smiling at me
as i lingered in the shadows
waiting for my turn
to dance in the light.
“This is not a letter but my arms around you for a brief moment” (katherine mansfield)
she dipped her pen in ink
sunshine flowing down her cheeks
fluffy clouds softly saying good-bye
i love you
i miss you
forever tomorrow
dance with me on marble floors
curled in a petal of unfurled silk
waiting in anticipation
she dipped her pen in ink
forbidden love’s laughter
washing water across a white washed porch
kittens curled under the sun warped glass
waiting for words to whisper
softly in her ear
scratched over white paper
freshly dried linen
blue ink blotted with tears
opened in a forest of high trees
pine needles stuck to her skirt
as she opened her heart
laid it out in the moss and allowed
her cries to dance with the sparrows
i love you
i miss you
forever tomorrow
dance with me on marble floors
curled in a petal of unfurled silk
lost in reality
she folded it neatly and added it to the others
tied neatly in a pink polka dot bow
back inside the box of darkness
buried deep in the earth
under the roots of life
brushed off her skirts
walked back to the green bright manicured lawn
shook out her laundry
called in her kids
and began dinner for her husband
eyes bright beneath the heat
of boiled steam
broccoli leaflets.
“There is a garden in every childhood, an enchanted place where colors are brighter, the air softer, and the morning more fragrant than ever again.” (elizabeth lawrence)
in the morning stillness
a breathe
breathes life
soft and gentle
a baby cries out
as he packs his lunch
in the early light
hammer at his belt
readying for the daylight
he pauses
breathes in the softness
pats his pocket
the faint scent of mint wafting in the air
and he remembers
clinging to warmth
the warmth of a morning
the stillness
of you.
a dog barks
at the chirping of a cacophany of birds
a symphony of quiet
morning’s awakening
dew caressing a blade
wiped clean
sawed through her thoughts
as light streamed in the soft scent of lilacs
her grandmother’s soft cheek
remembered
the warmth of a morning
the stillness of you.
we are never alone
in the quiet of morning’s thought
and we are never more
alone
than in that moment
of the soft stillness of light
breathing down.
“In a gentle way, you can shake the world.” (mahatma gandhi)
“The more ugly, older, more cantankerous, more ill and poorer I become, the more I try to make amends by making my colors more vibrant, more balanced and beaming.” (vincent van gogh)
*photos can be clicked for larger viewing
always a contradiction
gentle strength resides
vibrant colour bounces
soft beauty guides
across passion’s vivid stroke
soft words give guidance
teetering on the edge of a bar stool
filled with laughter of soft breezes
on a park bench
she smiles gently
laughs loudly
orates in cycles of lucid fury
relaxes into listening to a heart
gently beating thought
and their lips meet
two lips
embraced in passion’s dance
singing a gentle song of love.
“Elegance is not the prerogative of those who have just escaped from adolescence, but of those who have already taken possession of their future.” (coco chanel)
*photo can be clicked on for larger viewing
she moved with timeless grace
colour streaming from eyes
formed
lips
soft sighs
her life filled with the stories
remembered and forgotten
harsh words scrapped across a bruised knuckles
as she slipped on love
again.
she moved with timeless grace
colour dancing in waves
across her shoulders
holding her
dreams
in small fluttering hands
of whispering thoughts
long since lost
in his lime green eyes
quenched with
bright furious passionfruit.
timeless grace moved her
sunbeams strewn across pale arms
freckled clouds
parted her hair
streaming rivers movement
and for a moment
she was there
and nothing else mattered.
“Sunday clears away the rust of the whole week.” (joseph addison)
*photo can be clicked on for larger viewing
strawberries and tart green grapes
a clean bathroom
old faded jeans, comfy and worn
shiny hair
spilling down a grey clad back
cameras full of photographs
memories stored for tomorrow
a smile playing around lip’s laughter
dancing on smooth floorboards
music playing
with you and you and you
waiting for a memory
as i live my life
enjoying the weekend
filled with
sunlit warmth
grey smiled wanders
chai smells
raspberry stained fingers
a turned page
heart’s skipped beat
hand holding
warmth.
i took friday off work and monday is a holiday ~ family day here in alberta
today is sunday
my heart is full of sunshine and i am so beautifully relaxed
i hope everyone else is having a beautiful weekend too.
“Frost is the most sophisticated of poets.” Peter Davison
*photo can be clicked on for larger viewing
******
Nothing Gold Can Stay
by: Robert Frost
Nature’s first green is gold,
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leaf’s a flower;
But only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf.
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day.
Nothing gold can stay.
******
In a Moment
by: darlene j kreutzer
she stood on the platform
they streamed behind her
around her
voices lost in the hum of the monkey sphere
she stood on the plaform
silent
a smile playing around her lips
transfixed
by his golden words
splayed out in the frost air
his eyes alight
with the fire of love
for a moment the air burned heavy
white and languid
crisp snowflakes melting into breath
then the moment passed
they moved into the
hum shuffle movement
of air moving outwards
and seconds blinking minutes
their words hovering in frosty silence
burned into heart’s wanton wish.
