I'm Moving

Dear Friends,
My first book of poetry has been published, and I have a new blog on Wordpress.  You can find it at http://butterflyarose.com/.  I moved because I believe I can do a bit more there, combining my musings with news and notes about my book.  See you there,
Emily

A Sad Truth

I had an idea and

it actually stunk of

stale beer or 

cigarettes left

dangling from an

old ashtray.

That didn't prevent me from

sitting in the chair 

and taking a few breaths.

My hope for something 

sweeter is still there 

and I will be back someday

when one again I 

don't care.

Mother Knows

A door opens and in walks yesterday.
Tired, silent and droopy,
she carries the weight of
my worries and highly
improbable day dreams
not realized;
Did she not know how
easily I would pass through them?
I wave dismissively,
but Mother knows this is
just a feint to hide my
discontent and defend my
face saving wall built
to keep my sanity.

Cooking Up Tomorrow

Morning comes later,
and all of a sudden I
hold a dry leaf in quiet surprise.
Here is the time of harvesting
dreams written in couplets
strewn about like lost bits of paper
and not assembled with
much grace.
With luck I'll open the freezer door
in a month or two
and find a robust stew
or colorful sauce.
I amuse myself constructing
grand plans like gourmet recipes
that fall apart before
the heat hits the pan.

Well Chastened

How do I find comfort

in a cold autumn night

when the cloudless sky sucks

all the heat from my bones and

I strain to find a blooming flower in

an aging garden?

The chilled tomatoes rush to red,

and the last beans hang whitened 

and withering on silent vines.

The late planted flowers struggle

to be more than inch high

and even the birds visit less often

and sing of warmer climes.

Yet I smile in satisfaction,

watching what needs to die

make it’s peace at last.  

The future mulch seeks its

proper end in silence;

why should I protest if

even my past prime parts

follow the lead of plants 

obedient to the call?

On Being Me

There is something in me that does not want to accept the downside of being myself.  I long for the acceptance of others and the deeper connection that I hope comes from simply being who I really am, and encountering others as they are.  Yet, I am often dismayed when they or I fail to see each other as we see ourselves.  It seems to increase rather than diminish the distance between us, and I rebel at the pain of such encounters.

Another Bad Dream

I woke up with a pain in my chest

and all the pretty little words

ran off like frightened children

before a snarling dog.

I tried to give them comfort

but it was hard talking to their heels.

Meanwhile I lost time

sorting through false leads as I

searched for the last line of poetry.

It may be vanity or self delusion

but I hope this is just

another bad dream.