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.

The Sonnet Stopper

I haven’t given up yet,

or turned aside with

self soothing excuses.

The doing of things

is still fresh and

the bumps haven’t

stubbed my toes. 

The stoppers aren’t

plugging my mind or

holding back the energy.

So I’m stepping lightly

until...  what? 

If I know the bumps may come

and the stubbed toes may yet

remind me of failure with

their angry rebukes, 

what keeps me going anyway?

Is it the illusion of hope,

or the blindness of now?

If you figure it out

let me know and

I will write you a sonnet in thanks.

Like Clockwork

Make me an offer and

I might leave this life for another.

It might be a smaller life

but the bills wouldn’t

pile up so fast and

the time wouldn’t be

snapping at my heels.

Every moment I’m on

the edge between a

beautiful future and

fears of past regrets.

The clock ticks like

a nagging question

and I haven’t the courage

to do anything but carry on.

Or is there courage in

acting without promise

of reward or finish line

other than the grave?

I have no answer so

I just keep on.

On Waking

Sleep wore off me slowly

this morning and only

left grudgingly, clinging

to my eyeballs and leaving

sandy foot prints for

me to wipe away.

I didn’t want to part

with my night time friend

but the thought of

missing the cold greeting

of a late summer day was

a regret I didn’t

want to have. 

But What A Moment

In  a moment of hubris

I asked God for a poem.

She blew across my face

leaving only a whisper.

It was fragrant

like a rose on a 

warm summer day.

It was pungent

like the just peeled

skin of an orange.

It was soft

like the wondering

touch of a baby.

And I cried

the tears of

sad joy

Taking Care of Music

I didn’t care enough for you, my music,

it’s true.

I tried the intimacy dodge

of saying “I love you” reflexively 

as though that would hold off the

accusing eye or stop the 

embarrassing questions 

from being asked.

Of what do you accuse me?

I was hungry for relief

and my soul only wanted

a blanket of sound

over my trembling heart.

And you gave me relief.

I wanted relief from sad thoughts,

So my fingers hurried across waiting keys

filling pages with strong letters

empty of heart and soul.

And you kept me swimming

on the surface of stormy seas

as if floating in a calm.

I wanted shelter from

a grasping world taking

pieces of me 

in every spare moment.

You gave me pleasant

excuses to ignore

the voices giving marching orders

and kept me off the field of battle

one more moment.

I can’t help it if you fill

these emptinesses so willingly.

I didn’t care enough for you, my music,

but I still held you close.

Making Belief

How do you hope for sunshine

when the night keeps coming

sooner in the day?

Will it help to close your eyes

and mumble nursery rhymes?

If you stare long enough at your dreams

will time stop and stare with you?

Better to keep following the rhythm

of laughing crows as they

sweep the sky clear of silence.

Only in their wake will

Autumn keep moving until

the light awakens again.

Perspective

What was the message 

that flew in through the window

crawling over my email and

jumping from noun to verb?

I read it only by implication,

squinting every so often

between the breath of life

and drum beat of passion.

“Out damn spot”, I said

in mock exasperation,

only to go on to tea drinks

higher thoughts and scratching.

I got it, stars, now please get 

back to your own business too.

A Close Call

I had a moment when

the birds were laughing.

I almost walked away

from my chance at humility.

What did they know about

hard ground and hard knocks

of the human kind?

Lucky for me I waited

before turning and

walking on my shadow;

I wanted to move that fast.

They weren’t laughing,

it was the translation in my mind

that screwed up the message.

“Tweet, sweet”, they said

“Tweet, sweet.”

Another Dream

I'm gone sometimes,
And don't know why
Or where.
It's a place that speaks of
Timeless rainfall bringing
Green waves of wistful undulations
And sticks shaking at their trees.
When the moon shines in the window
I know I'm ready to sleep
Or dream at least until
Morning comes bounding
Through the curtain.
At least then I will
Eat lightly salted possibility
And quietly remember
Where I've been.

A Wayward Friend

If I didn’t know better

I’d think the day had a

Mind of its’ own.  

Should I talk to it like

A wayward friend

Who doesn’t have a

Very good map?

It seems to wander

Without much purpose,

And that’s not what the

Experts tell you should happen.

The Next Book

Every moment has it’s surprise

wrapped in the breeze or

covered with time drops.

The ordinary has no story;

you bring your life 

to the meeting of mind and matter

and write together

the next page 

on  the next book 

on your shelf.

So That's It

I finally got the memo,
it took so long that
my Google mail account
almost used up the allotted
7487 mega bytes.
God, it says, is in the Inbox.

Humblewise

It’s keeping me honest,

this blind bumping thing.

I no sooner get wise

than my foolishness

stumbles off my tongue and

splatters on someone else’s toes.

I’m left hoping that

the image of wiping it up

will bring the humble

closer to the surface 

and make the wisdom 

more subject to my soul.

Morning Meditation

It isn’t every day

That you wake up slowly,

Or let the dreaminess

Slip away without clinging.

So when it happens,

Be a good audience;

Enjoy the show while

You can.

Another Lesson

Sorry, Mother, but I had to tell the truth,

Though it was bitter at times and

The words catapulted like they were escaping

A too bright light.  You left and my

Child’s heart had no way to cry;

Father announced that it was time already

To get on with the new life and

After all what would people say when

They discovered that the marriage ended.

Weren’t children of divorce a problem

Waiting to trouble the neighbors?

Sorry, Father, but I had to keep it all in

And hide my broken pieces lest

Someone sweep them into the garbage.

I know I went off and picked them up,

Putting them back together like a

Jackson Pollack painting, one piece out of

Alignment with the other and, while

Well drawn in any small part,

Looked awkward and disjointed when

Viewed from afar.  Just so.

Sorry Sterling that I used you to

Hide my nakedness behind your

Idealism and peeked out every so often

Like a performer gauging the audience

Before the play begins, and there

You were trying so hard just to be

On stage and saying your lines like

You meant every word.  And you did.

But my wanting to be out got in the way.

Sorry my dear Soul, for taking so long

To know that all my fears would

Get me was loneliness and a

Canyon wide gulf between my

Dream of love and the world of

Dreams I was living.  

Thank you, God for this time of

Learning about myself and for

Keeping in touch all the while I

Had my phone on automatic

Forwarding to the “out” file.  

I sure left a lot to do, and not do.

The Cove

Take me to your secret cove

Where waves caress the rocks

And fishes swim the night fantastic.

I want to know how you make

Light dance and sand swirl,

I want to splash away my cares and

Hug your barnacles.  There on the

Edge of eternity I will

Profess my love and die sweetly

To awake in another dream.

A Wonderful Day

It is a wonderful day,

And the colors of my soul waving

In the winds of wonder are

Flapping out their message

With hands that reach deep

Into the earth and pull my

Cherished ones closer to my heart. 

I could fly if I wanted, but

Today I’m going to stand at the 

Edge of life, arms outstretched and

Gathering in the world to

God’s love.

Lost In Paradise

I’ve tried being good, really,

And all I got was a mouthful of

Angry of the permanent kind.

The whispers in my ears got

Louder the more I shouted “No!”

And all my organs came together

To filibuster against the

Very thought of it.

I wanted to cultivate

Kindness and stabilize the

Dance with those I love,

But all the sweetness got me

Was an empty heart and a

Home echoing what might have been.

Meanwhile the angels

Were laughing and pointing to

My separateness, which I

Adopted before I knew

That stars don’t shine through the fog.

Awake, Again

Only in my mind is happiness

Equated with more and left

To wither on the banks of life.

I’ve eaten breakfast with my fears and

Grew tired of the moaning and

Wringing of hands at every

Turn of serendipity.

Tomorrow I vowed to awake today

And take myself back into

The secret places where

Joy sleeps amid the ruins of

Endless striving.  “Awake!”, I say,

“I’m back from the sleeping and

Wanting to play.  

I Should Have Known

I made the mistake of letting
A frightened part of the world
Into my psyche this morning.
A flash of images
Crying out in fear
At the sight of me.
A hall of mirrors showing
People their ghosts clothed
In transgender red flags
Waving across their blindness.
I should have known better,
And now I'll spend hours
Painting over the angry words
Scrawled on the fence around
My heart.

A New Day

The sun was warming the clouds

This morning when I first

Stepped out my door and began

The next chapter of a journey into

A different time.  

The bright orange clouds  hit the pale blue sky 

Like a cymbal clash,

So that only the birds could stay in tune.

This doesn’t scare me anymore.

I’m ready for the blindside to be my day.

Another Day

I’m gone now,

Though I didn’t mean to be.

I meant to paint the day with

Bright colors and deep thoughts,

Swinging wildly from book to

Breezy presence of minds.

Yet here I am, stuck with

A dullness and bone tired,

And still resolved not to

Down two cups of coffee

Before thinking. 

Holding Tight

A cold wind blows

When minds have no

Thought for others.

It tries to open doors forcefully

But only gets tighter holds

On old ideas protecting

Faint hearts from new

Life and the possibility of

Losing something inside.

Another Lens

Gone are the days when only

Children walked the streets

And sidewalk chalk enclosed

A sweet, playful world.  

The time came when everything had

To be filtered through the lens

Of stuff-ness; divided and dissected

Until nothing was left unknown.

And then the sidewalk turned to sand

And the winds blew hot and demanding

Their due.  Did you think that

All the certainty would quench your

Thirst for truth?  Then take a glass

Of bitterness, for you lived the illusion.

But first go back and see again,

The move to grasp could be a time of

Playfulness as well.  

To take and make and mold

Can be a prelude to the act of magic.

Only see the thing again as

Whole and all is well.  

Little Spaces

Cry for the laughter of 

Little spaces between the

The times I knew who I was and

The times when time stood still.

I was frozen then, though moving on,

and how I longed to just 

Be as I knew I could be.

I Bit On a Spoon

I woke up with a spoon in my mouth and

The sound of dragons crying in my ears.

The background was foggy as usual but

The dragon was all too clear.  

It roared as though to shake my world

And I trembled for a while until I

Remembered I was dreaming.  

The thought crossed my mind to

Not remember any of it

Lest I bring my wildness into

The forced quiet around me.  

I bit down on the spoon and

The dragon let out an angry roar;

Who did I think I was trying to do

Real things in a dream world?

Sometimes I get my rules mixed up and

The other players are momentarily

Perturbed.  That’s when the

Action gets interesting.

Oh, Time

Every moment gives

Birth to another, 

As though death

Was making love

To life.

And from the womb flows the

Illusion that only one

Mother could hold the baby

Crying out for a rest. 

But I know when it's time

To pass it on.

The Bag Lady

She’s sitting on the sidewalk with

The pieces of her life all neatly

Folded in the 

Bags laid by her side.

She’s staring at the tin can that

Is clinking on occasion from the 

Coins thrown in by

People walkin’ by.

The music of the coins

Is banging through the air;

A jangle on the ear drums of

Those who do not care,

And a chorus of rebuke for

Those who would despair,

And the bag lady has

No tears to cry.

Staring in the distance she

Can see the years of labor that

She dreamed would be a 

Shelter from the night.

Nimble fingers flying she would

Feed the hungry needles sewing

Clothes she now cannot 

Afford to buy.

When the factory moved,

She stared in disbelief at

The shattering of dreams and

The coldness of the street;

And the fingers that she lived by

Were too worn to repeat,

But she walked away,

Determined not to die.  

People pass her every day,

Thinking they can walk away;

Toss a coin to  buy

Some peace of mind.  

We can’t see her way back when,

She was just like us, but then,

Fortune may be choosing

You or I.

Life upon the streets is

A factory of despair.

The heart could drown in sorrow,

When no one seems to care, but

The lady has her answer

Each day when she is there,

And the miracle of life

Is you and I.