With wings made strong
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Posted:Apr 19, 2021 5:08 am
Last Updated:Apr 19, 2021 9:43 am 381 Views
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With wings made strong
written April th, 2021
I sit in the back
while you sit in the front
the favored seat
next to your father
you so icy and cold
he could have reached out
and touched your body
but not your soul
which was flying out over
the fields we drove by
desperately straining
to get as far away as possible
with wings made strong
before having to return
to this body of yours
to walk down halls
filled with students and teachers
who did not see
you or the others
with wings made strong.
Today do you still
fly out over the fields
wondering if
you will ever
take residence in
this body of yours.
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5
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How to build a fire
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Posted:Apr 13, 2021 7:57 am
Last Updated:Apr 16, 2021 7:07 am 440 Views
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voluptuous words hang volcanically
—Jane Miller, "Oh Pioneers", Gift of Tongues
How to build a fire
written March th, 2021
The weight of her breasts
fill my hands
the heat we both crave
hangs volcanically in the air
our bodies
come together
then part
keeping
the simmering air
between her skin and mine
the near - the far - the almost
yearning for all at once
my wet tongue
starts little fires
moving from breast
to belly
to thigh
always returning to
her voluptuous breasts
my hand between her legs
her leg between mine
we kindle the flames
with the friction of our bodies
until orgasms erupt
in the now tropical air
the flames we so diligently nurtured
with skin and tongue and touch
are now quenched as
our bodies meld together
all distance-space-separation gone
laughter fills the air
as the sweat evaporates
off our spent bodies.
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7
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Depression sales into bay
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Posted:Apr 10, 2021 8:56 am
Last Updated:Apr 12, 2021 9:21 am 696 Views
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Depression sales into bay
written April 5th, 2021
Depression sales into the bay
our little town is built on
it is a frequent but unwelcome visitor
ominous, malevolent and stifling
Often it arrives in the night
creeping in on panther's toe pads
its sails blocking out the sun
Plants and people sit
in suspended animation
trying to carry on
Some boldly
give depression the finger
as they walk by
While others withdraw
to the sanitarium
dishes are left undone
and run wild in the streets
Scientists are researching a vaccine
the librarian searches in books
soldiers plan attacks (which fail)
the priest prays and does exorcisms
the green witch burns toy ships in effigy
all hoping to find the answer
Until that day
we fight
we submit
we carry on
waiting
for depression
to sale out of
our petty little bay.
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4
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Not a haiku
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Posted:Apr 8, 2021 7:18 am
Last Updated:Apr 9, 2021 4:08 pm 790 Views
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Not a haiku
written October 18th, 2020
crisp fall leaves
crunch under foot
moss roses furl open
___
Crisp fall leaves
crunch under my feet
giving their final sacrifice
while moss roses tightly clenched
wait for the sun
to unfurl their beauty for the day
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5
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What can I share?
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Posted:Apr 6, 2021 6:45 am
Last Updated:Apr 15, 2021 7:34 pm 1005 Views
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What can I share?
written March 29th, 2021
I talk to people
who have done so much
and traveled so far
I wonder what do I have
to share with the world
that is unique and worth sharing?
I can share the view
outside my window
of old trees growing wild
I can share the sound
of my pen scratching
across the paper
I can share the blue sky
now always shining
in this poem
I can share a welcoming silence
that wraps itself around you
healing protecting and comforting
I can share coolness in the heat of summer
warmth from my flannel quilt in winter
and a moment of home when you feel bereft
I can share the depth of my heart
the world seen through my eyes
the words that only I can write.
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9
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We smile and nod
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Posted:Apr 6, 2021 6:25 am
Last Updated:Apr 8, 2021 7:12 am 995 Views
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We smile and nod
written March 30th, 2021
I bring you the book
the one I have read
every day of my life
you translate it into Aramaic
then back into English
and say it is very nice.
_____
I cook for you
the food that sustains me
and offer to share it with you
you discard the food
and eat the bowl
you seem to enjoy it?
_____
I take you out
for a walk in the yard
that is my life
you stare the whole time
at the grave I am trying
to walk away from.
______
I offer to you
in my cupped hands
the flame that is my love
you put the fire out
and say thank goodness
that crisis has been averted.
______
We sit beside each other
and smile and nod
trying to decide
if this is enough.
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3
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Pretty words - pretty poems
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Posted:Apr 3, 2021 6:59 am
Last Updated:Apr 6, 2021 2:31 pm 1079 Views
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Pretty words - pretty poems
written April 3rd, 2021
I read looking for the pretty
words - pretty poems - the
bright sparkling counterpoint to
the dark that so often resides
in me.
The bold descriptions
of every color under the sun
the pretty words - pretty
poems - the light I long for
in me.
Some days the search
leaves me frozen and mute
as I try find the pretty
words - pretty poems
in me.
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4
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Glorious
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Posted:Mar 29, 2021 7:08 am
Last Updated:Mar 31, 2021 4:38 am 1325 Views
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Glorious
written January 26th, 2021
Come here dearest
shy happy one
smile and light up my day
for you are glorious
a light in this dark world
Come here dearest
waiting eager to please one
sit here with me
for you are glorious
company in a lonely world
Come here dearest
laughing embodied lusty one
teach me how to love this body
for you are glorious
fireworks in the night sky
Come here dearest
scared hurt hiding one
you are safe in my arms
find comfort with me
for you are glorious
show me the world through new eyes
Come here dearest
organized empathetic care-taker one
rest for a moment in other's arms
for you are glorious
always with a brave face in this fierce world
Come here dearest
for you are glorious.
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3
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Fishing for poems
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Posted:Mar 26, 2021 6:14 am
Last Updated:Mar 29, 2021 5:07 pm 1442 Views
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Fishing for poems
written March 22nd 2021
I have a friend
says he likes fish
while his
likes catching fish.
My friend's approach
always produces satisfaction
as he is happy just with fishing pole in hand,
while the other
leads ecstasy or heartbreak
depending on if a satisfactory fish is caught.
I hope I can cultivate
a love of sitting here
my pen moving across the page
and when I have worn myself out
let me this enough
and my day a success.
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5
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No more poems
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Posted:Mar 26, 2021 6:11 am
Last Updated:Apr 2, 2021 4:16 pm 1436 Views
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No more poems
written March 22nd 2021
This is it, I am quite sure
today is the day
are no more poems
Inspiration is gone
not even a mirage of
left in the desert of my mind
I will forever
read other people's poems
and will be no spark in me
No answering yes Yes YES!
What a lovely word, idea, image
that makes me want write
In the past inspiration was often my friend
lighting up my days and nights
but now no more mine
This is it, I am quite sure
today is the day
are no more poems
But ! One just darted by
excuse me while I chase after
this one last poem.
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7
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Trees!
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Posted:Mar 23, 2021 4:07 am
Last Updated:Mar 23, 2021 6:58 pm 1723 Views
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A man travels
from Mindanao to Kyushu and says his inner geography
is enlarged by each new place.
Is it?
Might he not grow more by staring for twenty-four hours
at a single pine needle?
—Arthur Sze, "Parallax", Gift of Tongues
Trees!
written March 22nd, 2021
I know the answer
to the question posed above
is of course the single pine needle
but I am tired of this pine needle
day after day, year after year
this same pine needle.
I am sure if my heart opened enough
this pine needle would teach me the answer
to the question I can't think of
that would make everything ok
but I want to see other trees!
I want to see trees I never imagined
armies of them marching over hills
and also the lone banyan tree in the desert in India.
I want to see the first tree after crossing the ocean
and the last tree before the tundra.
I want to see the Tree of the Year!
every one that is still alive!
and mourn the ones that don't exist anymore.
I want to see the 5000 year old bristlecone pines in California
and visit the seedling I planted in grade school in our backyard.
I want to see the tree of life Yggdrasill
and Anne Frank's chestnut tree in Amsterdam.
I want to see every tree
growing along every fence-line
on every field men have ever plowed.
Only then, maybe, will I be satisfied to return to
this same pine needle.
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5
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The winds blow and gust
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Posted:Mar 22, 2021 7:25 am
Last Updated:Mar 23, 2021 4:17 am 1749 Views
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the wind feels the smallest birds
It's got.
—Primus St. John, "Biological Light", Gift of Tongues
The winds blow and gust
written March th, 2021
Today the winds blow and gust
bending but not breaking the boughs of the pine
sending the last of the fall leaves swirling
along labyrinth paths only the wind can see.
We who can take shelter
in constructs we have sweated and sacrificed for
built to withstand the winds that blow
so proud of ourselves,
while the smallest bird
without a straw to it's name
lets go and rides the wind
letting fate take it where it will.
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4
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Excerpt from Anne Lamott's Bird by Bird about writing
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Posted:Mar 21, 2021 4:07 pm
Last Updated:Apr 9, 2021 4:08 pm 1791 Views
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From the book Bird by Bird, by Anne Lamott
Excerpt from the section titled: "How Do You Know When You're Done?"
There’s an image I’ve heard people in recovery use—that getting all of one’s addictions under control is a little like putting an octopus to bed. I think this perfectly describes the process of solving various problems in your final draft. You get a bunch of the octopus’s arms neatly tucked under the covers—that is, you’ve come up with a plot, resolved the conflict between the main characters, gotten the tone down pat—but arms are still flailing around. Maybe the dialogue in the first half and the second half don’t match, or there is that one character who still seems one-dimensional. But you finally get those arms under the sheets, too, and are about to turn off the lights when another long sucking arm breaks free. This will probably happen while you are sitting at your desk, kneading your face, feeling burned out and rubberized. Then, even though all the sucking disks on that one tentacle are puckering open and closed, and the slit-shaped pupils of the octopus are looking derisively at you, as if it might suck you to death just because it’s bored, and even though you know that your manuscript is not perfect and you’d hoped for so much more, but if you also know that there is simply no more steam in the pressure cooker and that it’s the very best you can do for now—well? I think this means that you are done.
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2
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Most Recent Comments by Others
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