i've been
too tired
lately to get
off the stupid couch.
i forgo warm blankets
pillow top mattress
slinking in next
to his warm
comforting body
toes touching
(i thought i'd never be down with this)
letting him play
the role of fearless
unconscious male
who will battle
all of the things
that go bump in the night.
but i've had none of this...
instead i'm fully dressed
fully passed out
subjected to my own purgatory
of smooshed couch cushions
out of place grandma hips
and the drivel of infomercials
that are excited to have an audience
comatose or otherwise.
i feel so old with my creaky
achy breaky skeleton
my inability to keep going and going
and twice now i have fallen asleep
on huckabees
is this how it begins-
the road to middle age
is this the first step in the initiation-
honestly i'm fighting it all the way
tooth and nail and brave heart bravado.
i'm not ready for all that comes with old age
i'm too young to have joints that pop and hiss
i've surpassed the crazy lady stage prematurely
and so you got to cut me break
Monday, October 4, 2010
20/20 april 28,2005
the people
whom i generally
do not care for
repulse or grate
my nerves slice layer
by microscopic layer
chinese water torture
fingernails on chalkboards.
i have found.
after a quiet ride home
or a nice long shower
are people that resemble me.
get woozy from the weight of
would rather be blind to
the realization because
the mirror image beats
the crap out and i struggle
to find any reason
why i should just not
hate and loathe and hang up my hat.
even more interesting
as i watch them act out
role play entire scenes
of my life awkward
clumsy girl making eyes
sitting a little bit closer
to the beligerent boy with
no heart or interest
beyond his own and she feels
maybe just maybe he might
see something something
she can not see
so she tries to play other roles
to show that she's versatile
hollow and transparent
egg on her face
looks utterly ridiculous
i want to smack her
or shake her give her
a heaping dose of
truth hurts and tell her
to hang up the
marilyn monroe
coyness and puppy dog
eyes because i've
got her number
i know the ending
to this particular story.
her loud laughter hides
the hurt in her eyes
the jokey smurf persona
makes her the punchline
but i can only watch.
passive observer
force myself to find
compassion and cover my eyes
on the parts that i just can't bear to watch-
like when you'd watch an r rated movie
as a kid
in those moments when my
hand serves as a blinder
eyes closed.prayers spoken.
mercy flowing.i hope the best
for all of us.for she and i
and for the grace that covers
it all.even the stuff
that i can't bear to see
anymore.
whom i generally
do not care for
repulse or grate
my nerves slice layer
by microscopic layer
chinese water torture
fingernails on chalkboards.
i have found.
after a quiet ride home
or a nice long shower
are people that resemble me.
get woozy from the weight of
would rather be blind to
the realization because
the mirror image beats
the crap out and i struggle
to find any reason
why i should just not
hate and loathe and hang up my hat.
even more interesting
as i watch them act out
role play entire scenes
of my life awkward
clumsy girl making eyes
sitting a little bit closer
to the beligerent boy with
no heart or interest
beyond his own and she feels
maybe just maybe he might
see something something
she can not see
so she tries to play other roles
to show that she's versatile
hollow and transparent
egg on her face
looks utterly ridiculous
i want to smack her
or shake her give her
a heaping dose of
truth hurts and tell her
to hang up the
marilyn monroe
coyness and puppy dog
eyes because i've
got her number
i know the ending
to this particular story.
her loud laughter hides
the hurt in her eyes
the jokey smurf persona
makes her the punchline
but i can only watch.
passive observer
force myself to find
compassion and cover my eyes
on the parts that i just can't bear to watch-
like when you'd watch an r rated movie
as a kid
in those moments when my
hand serves as a blinder
eyes closed.prayers spoken.
mercy flowing.i hope the best
for all of us.for she and i
and for the grace that covers
it all.even the stuff
that i can't bear to see
anymore.
in memory-a sestina april 27,2005
you can still see the sweet
little feet,tiny hands child
size embrace,huge dreams.Mother
and little boy love-and Father
spend moments and minutes-days
of bedtime stories and drifting to sleep
in lands of too good to sleep.
pirate ships-grand adventures and sweet
little questions.Rosebud lips and days
of Heaven on Earth with this child
every bit of father
lovely boy version of mother.
and hopes of jewels and mother
of pearl wisdom. Days without sleep
taking turns walking floors.Father
and Mother-sleepy smiles for this sweet
little boy-their most precious child
for forver and days
and days
for mother
and child
fallen sleep
on her chest-sweet
picture for father.
dad's pride and joy.Father
and son moments-unspeakable days
of baseballs and finger painted sweet
valentines for his love of a mother
who sings-hushed tones bring sleep
to little one so loved.Child
of promise of happiness. This child.
time spent curled around Father
and memories of a gentle sleep
quiet.hushed breath.hushed echos-days
not forgotten of dreams for his mother
to hold this handsome boy so sweet
in an embrace of lifetimes.Days
of father and dear child and mother
cradled in sleep.Still.Peace so sweet.
little feet,tiny hands child
size embrace,huge dreams.Mother
and little boy love-and Father
spend moments and minutes-days
of bedtime stories and drifting to sleep
in lands of too good to sleep.
pirate ships-grand adventures and sweet
little questions.Rosebud lips and days
of Heaven on Earth with this child
every bit of father
lovely boy version of mother.
and hopes of jewels and mother
of pearl wisdom. Days without sleep
taking turns walking floors.Father
and Mother-sleepy smiles for this sweet
little boy-their most precious child
for forver and days
and days
for mother
and child
fallen sleep
on her chest-sweet
picture for father.
dad's pride and joy.Father
and son moments-unspeakable days
of baseballs and finger painted sweet
valentines for his love of a mother
who sings-hushed tones bring sleep
to little one so loved.Child
of promise of happiness. This child.
time spent curled around Father
and memories of a gentle sleep
quiet.hushed breath.hushed echos-days
not forgotten of dreams for his mother
to hold this handsome boy so sweet
in an embrace of lifetimes.Days
of father and dear child and mother
cradled in sleep.Still.Peace so sweet.
adelaide's got nothing on me april 27,2005
lovesong
sweet
breath
of life
crooning
echos
drifting
and still
my heart
beats perfect
time to you.
sweet
breath
of life
crooning
echos
drifting
and still
my heart
beats perfect
time to you.
leftovers april 27,2005
left
over baked
potatoes
diced
delicious
look foward
left over
promises
validations
pats on the
proverbial
head slayed
by shortcomings
fat upper arms
messy garages
years inability
to speak to
yawp barbarically
or otherwise
penny dreaming
small bite
size hope
bazooka joe
fortune cookies
"you will be fabulous"
roses and ball gown
tiny petite pocket
size running
dialogue to
noone grand
looming soliloquys
to toyota siennas
black horse pikes
black top
black heart
black eyes that
see right
through you.
picking at cracked
lips and inept.
profoundly.
forgotten and frankly
i am tired of all of this crap.
of coming up honorable barely
mentioned and green ribbon
good enough.hollow.bats
in the belfry
bridgeton bermuda
triangle lost
and sold out to get
my heart broken
brittle and leveled
once,again.
over baked
potatoes
diced
delicious
look foward
left over
promises
validations
pats on the
proverbial
head slayed
by shortcomings
fat upper arms
messy garages
years inability
to speak to
yawp barbarically
or otherwise
penny dreaming
small bite
size hope
bazooka joe
fortune cookies
"you will be fabulous"
roses and ball gown
tiny petite pocket
size running
dialogue to
noone grand
looming soliloquys
to toyota siennas
black horse pikes
black top
black heart
black eyes that
see right
through you.
picking at cracked
lips and inept.
profoundly.
forgotten and frankly
i am tired of all of this crap.
of coming up honorable barely
mentioned and green ribbon
good enough.hollow.bats
in the belfry
bridgeton bermuda
triangle lost
and sold out to get
my heart broken
brittle and leveled
once,again.
GE april 27,2005
pulling
piling
on top
avalanche
suffocating
or at least
until i pass out. i
m even noncommittal
in this.
tears fall
but only
from the left
eye the one
you cannot
see on your
side of the bed
solitude
among the snoring
with all of the
60 watts
accompaning
in the all
american boys
choir melody
harmony in unison
edison and ideas
we bring good things
to those who wait
and get it understand
wherever it falls
lands in the farmers field
and never grows
draw lines in the sand
trapped and lost
balls and playbooks
tiny little pencils
to jot down saddness
our eights and
mountains of epiphanies
symphonies a whim
he and i so far
apart in this queensize
headache feet
a shufflin tap
steps and two left
feet doc clad
in every other
color of the rainbow
(what else does a seventeen
year old do with her money)
somewhere over and above
all expectations
pennies in the fountain
at the echelon mall
rats and high hopes
writer's college
writer's circles
writer's block
tugging and nervous
supping with the big
wigs and craig said
he could really see
greatness and chap books
hiding and scared
off and defeated
by bad boys and body fat
lifetimes of tomorrows
starve and shed a few and
then all will be well
with my soul
my constitution
besides we are
out of egg whites
and browns segregated
from basic understanding
polar opposite
of your first
inclination and eachother
in this sunni
triangle this heat
stroke and stroked egos
and man,am i ever over
dressed to the hilt
halmark cards and x
o did't you know how
it reaches me in
my high tower
how it crashes
the self imposed prison
in pieces
dumb letters full of
wonderful mush and girly things
pooh stickers and why didn't you ever send me....
peace and sunsets and home
on the far range of feelings
feeling cold and empty and
alone still
afteralltheseyears.
see me.stop.
find me.stop.
s.o.s. stop.
Read more: http://www.myspace.com/thorduspmaxwell/blog?page=54#ixzz11RUxqg2b
piling
on top
avalanche
suffocating
or at least
until i pass out. i
m even noncommittal
in this.
tears fall
but only
from the left
eye the one
you cannot
see on your
side of the bed
solitude
among the snoring
with all of the
60 watts
accompaning
in the all
american boys
choir melody
harmony in unison
edison and ideas
we bring good things
to those who wait
and get it understand
wherever it falls
lands in the farmers field
and never grows
draw lines in the sand
trapped and lost
balls and playbooks
tiny little pencils
to jot down saddness
our eights and
mountains of epiphanies
symphonies a whim
he and i so far
apart in this queensize
headache feet
a shufflin tap
steps and two left
feet doc clad
in every other
color of the rainbow
(what else does a seventeen
year old do with her money)
somewhere over and above
all expectations
pennies in the fountain
at the echelon mall
rats and high hopes
writer's college
writer's circles
writer's block
tugging and nervous
supping with the big
wigs and craig said
he could really see
greatness and chap books
hiding and scared
off and defeated
by bad boys and body fat
lifetimes of tomorrows
starve and shed a few and
then all will be well
with my soul
my constitution
besides we are
out of egg whites
and browns segregated
from basic understanding
polar opposite
of your first
inclination and eachother
in this sunni
triangle this heat
stroke and stroked egos
and man,am i ever over
dressed to the hilt
halmark cards and x
o did't you know how
it reaches me in
my high tower
how it crashes
the self imposed prison
in pieces
dumb letters full of
wonderful mush and girly things
pooh stickers and why didn't you ever send me....
peace and sunsets and home
on the far range of feelings
feeling cold and empty and
alone still
afteralltheseyears.
see me.stop.
find me.stop.
s.o.s. stop.
Read more: http://www.myspace.com/thorduspmaxwell/blog?page=54#ixzz11RUxqg2b
precipitation april 27,2005
and the rain...
plays percussion...
we dance to her
mezmorizing bongo
beats and steady
the lights casts
shadows and we can
watch ourselves
sway as the room wraps
around and around
soundtrack fills
my soul and rythm
blues and hues
of amber and sage
something right
out of sundance
with cool camera
angles filtered
lense hazy and
thick doris
day glow makeup
wardrobe and hypnotic
refrain soaking
taking charge
directorial debut
award winning heart
warming the old place
up to it's intended
and we dance
and we cry at the
appropiate times
the rain plays us out and
inside i close
my eyes can't help it
the night and i
get acquainted.
and the rain...
plays percussion...
man,i dig that crazy beat.
Read more: http://www.myspace.com/thorduspmaxwell/blog?page=54#ixzz11RTgrGVs
plays percussion...
we dance to her
mezmorizing bongo
beats and steady
the lights casts
shadows and we can
watch ourselves
sway as the room wraps
around and around
soundtrack fills
my soul and rythm
blues and hues
of amber and sage
something right
out of sundance
with cool camera
angles filtered
lense hazy and
thick doris
day glow makeup
wardrobe and hypnotic
refrain soaking
taking charge
directorial debut
award winning heart
warming the old place
up to it's intended
and we dance
and we cry at the
appropiate times
the rain plays us out and
inside i close
my eyes can't help it
the night and i
get acquainted.
and the rain...
plays percussion...
man,i dig that crazy beat.
Read more: http://www.myspace.com/thorduspmaxwell/blog?page=54#ixzz11RTgrGVs
nick at nite april 26,2005
there is something about
beaded cardigans
3/4 length sleeves
scads of sequins and
bugles that make me happy.
page boys and granny glasses
making dinner in a dress
or a skirt.i feel
so june cleaver.that
would make you ward-although.
i must admit-
i'd much rather be donna reed.
she was so prefect
pretty casseroles and
clean house.the laundry was
always pressed
and smelling lovely.
but i'm no donna reed
she was married to a doctor
you and i are far
removed from all of that.
i guess that i really
only have the wardrobe
the soundtrack
the glossy eyed day dreams.
but i had the dress
the butter yellow sweater
the lipstick that's probably
all wrong for my face...
and the dinner.
now you must admit
that was really something.
just like its supposed to be.
salad and homeade croutons
the table looked nice
the kids helped
something out of nick
at night and you came
up the stairs
smelled how nice
you smiled looking
like cary grant
your distinguished gray
hollywood handsome and it
was nice a photograph
with curled edges.
a scene i will hold
replay try to repeat over
over there may
just be hope,yet.
life in syndication.
beaded cardigans
3/4 length sleeves
scads of sequins and
bugles that make me happy.
page boys and granny glasses
making dinner in a dress
or a skirt.i feel
so june cleaver.that
would make you ward-although.
i must admit-
i'd much rather be donna reed.
she was so prefect
pretty casseroles and
clean house.the laundry was
always pressed
and smelling lovely.
but i'm no donna reed
she was married to a doctor
you and i are far
removed from all of that.
i guess that i really
only have the wardrobe
the soundtrack
the glossy eyed day dreams.
but i had the dress
the butter yellow sweater
the lipstick that's probably
all wrong for my face...
and the dinner.
now you must admit
that was really something.
just like its supposed to be.
salad and homeade croutons
the table looked nice
the kids helped
something out of nick
at night and you came
up the stairs
smelled how nice
you smiled looking
like cary grant
your distinguished gray
hollywood handsome and it
was nice a photograph
with curled edges.
a scene i will hold
replay try to repeat over
over there may
just be hope,yet.
life in syndication.
cost april 25,2005
it is very easy to
cleanse yourself
of unpleasant landscapes.
to forget that there
was a crime scene
when the blood is mopped
up and the chalk outline
has all but disappeared.
and the knick knacks
fallen book stacks placed
tidily on the shelf
the stained clothes
bleached downey and spring
fresh breezes in and rid
of all traces and physical evidence.
when all of the rubble
is carted away of what
once was two gleaming towers
city on a hill and somebody
elses loved one's have
taken their place in the cold
unforsaking earth
the tears are blotted
the sobbing gives way
to silence then spring
sunshine smiles and city sounds
this is when we strain
to remember
the houses are sold
after a time on the
market and the property
becomes a hot real estate
commodity and fortunate
such a great deal as
the memorials are manicured
the days are observed
we move on.
this is our nature.
we are resilliant
and temporary and
disposable.the path
plunges foward time
heals all wounds
we are immune after a while.
its easy to choke
emotion the suffering
on friday and the filmaker
really captured
the brutality
which is good-
we all remark
we all pledge
to be better
to think twice before foolishness
carnal thoughts and rush to judgements
and then sunday comes
in stark white and light blue
we fidget
we doodle
we wait to get through it all
we lapse,again,and forget
the torture the bloodiness the sheer horror
of that moment
of our actions
of humanity
what it cost.
holes in the hands-lashes-
agony so that i could
run my mouth off
careless and ugly
really put that target cashier in her place
(she had it coming,afterall)
justified-vindicated-
nobodies doormat.until
i see you on the floor
god man bathing my feet-
taking my insults
washing me clean.
i am culpable.
i am guilty.
i fail to surrender.and.hold.
onto silly pride
onward christian
army of hypocrites
pedestals and fire
brimstone eyes
hearts of stone and
me included-
right up there in front.
and this plays out
today in my pew
as i realize how i've carved you
into a graven little image
i've molded you to my specifications
i pull you out
when the bills are due
or i've got to walk out to my car alone at night
you are convenient
my pride renders you
powerless armslength
forgotten and i am
so very sorry.
unworthy and unfaithful
i mourn and i grieve
i make flustered promises
i wipe my bloody hands
on my black and white skirt y
ou hold out your arms
call me by name
and i am restored
clean.pledge my allegiance
we hold hands
the grip is tight
my arm gets tired and i begin
to let go as memory fades
the excuses fly
i aplogize,again,
for the wayward flesh
out of contol cowlick
the patched up knees
pressing on to the horizon
we exchange vows and i fail
you save i cry
you comfort i can not
escape.i remember.
glory be to you.
cleanse yourself
of unpleasant landscapes.
to forget that there
was a crime scene
when the blood is mopped
up and the chalk outline
has all but disappeared.
and the knick knacks
fallen book stacks placed
tidily on the shelf
the stained clothes
bleached downey and spring
fresh breezes in and rid
of all traces and physical evidence.
when all of the rubble
is carted away of what
once was two gleaming towers
city on a hill and somebody
elses loved one's have
taken their place in the cold
unforsaking earth
the tears are blotted
the sobbing gives way
to silence then spring
sunshine smiles and city sounds
this is when we strain
to remember
the houses are sold
after a time on the
market and the property
becomes a hot real estate
commodity and fortunate
such a great deal as
the memorials are manicured
the days are observed
we move on.
this is our nature.
we are resilliant
and temporary and
disposable.the path
plunges foward time
heals all wounds
we are immune after a while.
its easy to choke
emotion the suffering
on friday and the filmaker
really captured
the brutality
which is good-
we all remark
we all pledge
to be better
to think twice before foolishness
carnal thoughts and rush to judgements
and then sunday comes
in stark white and light blue
we fidget
we doodle
we wait to get through it all
we lapse,again,and forget
the torture the bloodiness the sheer horror
of that moment
of our actions
of humanity
what it cost.
holes in the hands-lashes-
agony so that i could
run my mouth off
careless and ugly
really put that target cashier in her place
(she had it coming,afterall)
justified-vindicated-
nobodies doormat.until
i see you on the floor
god man bathing my feet-
taking my insults
washing me clean.
i am culpable.
i am guilty.
i fail to surrender.and.hold.
onto silly pride
onward christian
army of hypocrites
pedestals and fire
brimstone eyes
hearts of stone and
me included-
right up there in front.
and this plays out
today in my pew
as i realize how i've carved you
into a graven little image
i've molded you to my specifications
i pull you out
when the bills are due
or i've got to walk out to my car alone at night
you are convenient
my pride renders you
powerless armslength
forgotten and i am
so very sorry.
unworthy and unfaithful
i mourn and i grieve
i make flustered promises
i wipe my bloody hands
on my black and white skirt y
ou hold out your arms
call me by name
and i am restored
clean.pledge my allegiance
we hold hands
the grip is tight
my arm gets tired and i begin
to let go as memory fades
the excuses fly
i aplogize,again,
for the wayward flesh
out of contol cowlick
the patched up knees
pressing on to the horizon
we exchange vows and i fail
you save i cry
you comfort i can not
escape.i remember.
glory be to you.
mid life crisis in a car sense april 25,2005
i miss my volkswagen. anyway you look at it minivans are not where it's at and i feel old and corny and soccer mom stupid and i'm too young for applique sweaters and my husband hates the eagles. and we don't own a grill. i'm in limbo land. where is mary poppins when you need her.
true confessions(not for the faint of heart) april 25,2005
ok.so today i'm blogging. this is so completely weird for me. i haven't written steadily and consistently for like a decade-although i'd always interject a poem or two when i was having a nervous breakdown.and then came the rapid ever approaching thirtieth birhday and that's when the whole complete hysteria and complete meltdown happened. ten years of bottled up crap came spewing out of my guts and my pores and it only seemed logical to jot it all down. double edged sword.part of me is completely excited at this new prospect-and the other half loathes everything i write. i really feel as though i completely suck,now,and i'm completely serious when i say that i truly believe that brain cells have died and that i have gotten less intelligent as the decade has rolled on. i mean,afterall, what do i have to pull from-sesame street episodes and the only reading i've really done are from books that have hard pages so that ethan can't readily eat them. i also think that perhaps things that i partook(is that even a word?) of in my days prior to being mrs.d and mother of three and an onward christian soldier-have taken their toll on me and made me more stupid-stupider? and that my memory is plagued by huge elderly grandma lapses. although i have heard that this could be caused by too much aluminum-and i do like to pile on the deodarant and eat alot of pickles-both of which are presumably high in metal. but i print out all of these poems from time to time and i have this crazy long manuscript and i realized that i use alot of "ands"lately,and i am completely afraid that i am turning into christina rossetti. if this is the case-then please just shoot me now. the one thing i do like is the amazing patterns that i write in. very vertical and it almost looks like an ekg with all of it's peaks and valleys. neat. but i write to noone.and as a writer(or someone who likes to pretend she is)-you are of course just thrilled to be writing again.afterall-it is who you are. but the secret of writers is(now bend in real close for this one....)they are narcissists.and they want their writing to be read and enjoyed and devoured and so this is the dichotomy of my life. i have noone. i am completely happily married and mike is beyond wonderful but i realized as i got closer and closer to march 6th-that i have absoloutely noone to invite over for birthday cake. or to read my silly blogs.or to give me somebody other then my creepy lonesome self to comment on how great the sales are at target. and so began the downward spiral. oh. and i got into a brutal fight with melissa,too. that was perhaps the first catapault into the depressing abyss.and my asthma returned full force.and came over me like a scary drunk 6 foot something man who covers my mouth with his calloused hands and crushes my lungs with his body and threatens to make me turn blue. asthma is scary. and i hate it.and it makes me feel powerless,again. and i'm here. and i am so powerless right now. and things are glass darkly and now it's all getting clear and i don't like what i see. i'm overgrown with insecurity. and hiding years of sad things,and scary moments are catching up with me.i have always battled the whole weight thing like a weight around my neck. i am now a size 4 and i am still a fat pig. i eat bread crust for breakfast.an egg white for lunch and bites of whatever i make mike and the kids for dinner. confession is good for the soul. the worst part is-the thinner i get -the uglier i become-my already ugly face looks more drawn the thinner i get and it accentuates the whole crooked nose-ugly chipped tooth junk that makes up my face.so i'm left with all of these pieces. i feel like a crappy mom and wife and i honestly feel sorry for mike for not marrying a beautiful girl.and i know i have to stop all of this drivel. this is worse. i never get depressed. i compartmentalize everything. i catalog all of the rainy days and pack up all of the sorrows and i'm usually very balanced. but since march-i have not been. i think it's the fact that i feel that i have no real place. i feel achingly alone on a human level. i truly love god with all of my heart-and believe me,for as ungrateful and as self centered as i totally sound right now,i am thoroughly thankful and eternally grateful for his gift of grace, i mean-how do you think i get through the day? the truth is this-i feel at peace in his presence. it's when i take my eyes off of him and look at this sad sack of a girl that i get lost. and i drown. and i scramble.or i am paralyzed.and i am fighting this. at first i felt entierly guilty-until i reread most of david's psalms-talk about depressed and hopeless. and like david it comes back -day after day-to surrender-to pressing my face hard and deep into god's nice wool coat.and he wraps his strong daddy arms around this broken spirit and he lifts my chin up in his hands and kisses my eyelids and tells me i am beautiful in his sight and that the angels are rejoicing that i have come home-and we weep together and all is well and i am infused with the strength i need to get through.and from the naked eye-from one who does not understand the whole salvation thing-i am probally a poor example of christianity.i fall. i stumble. i'm mean sometimes to the crappy cashier at target. i'm awkward and clumsy and if you peel the onion layers back from the sctv facade you see alot of icky little wounds that i keep picking the scabs off of and that won't heal until i can truly let go. and me and god are working on this. together and alone without distractions. my forty days in the desert. and i am tempted. tempted to throw in the towel and wring my hands and mad girl's love song.and i'm tempted to say that i am too screwed up and abused to be reached and that time has taken her toll,but then i feel his presence. i hear his still small voice.sing me to sleep.and cradle me.and insist on taking a look at my wounds. and somehow -in the demon possessed valley of the everday-i know that there are more mountain top experiences to come.and that it will be ok,and that the god of isreal neither slumbers nor sleeps.and i am not left nor forsaken. and i write now to him.an audience of god....
house of haddon april 24,2005
never ceases
to amaze gets me
thinking that i
really don't know
time moves on
steadily and people
grow up and have
two little boys
happy marriages
and beautiful wives
can sing the song
to blues clues before
they can sing the latest
hardcore.shows and band
practice at some kids
house haddon heights
the trees there in spring
dusty old town
everybody hangs out
station ave
when the weather
is nice and the rebel
rousing skaters
destroy property
at the bank get
chased away
threatened and john's
friendly market
where you can get
your produce farm jersey
fresh or winning million
dollar lottery tickets
the antique shops
line the way to
barrington and even though
i am old and wiser
far removed
it doesn't feel that long ago
st. rose and the acme
rendezvous spots
his mom screaming
about what a loser
he was while joan of arc
or at least of south jersey
tried to make it all right
tried to make it all fit
crying my eyes out
everytime he dumped me
for a chance with her
teenage angst
infused with
teenage stupidity
what was i thinking
as the years passed
the little felt decorations
were suspended
from the drop ceiling
came up and down
for christmas
four times before
i knew that it was time to go
and so
i see that things
somehow managed
lives found meaning
new life new
hope somehow sprang
forth in the bermuda
triangle of haddon
township and we are all
ok.people still hold onto
x'd hands and
hardcore riffs
warm days skinny boys.
and now we
raise some
of our own.
to amaze gets me
thinking that i
really don't know
time moves on
steadily and people
grow up and have
two little boys
happy marriages
and beautiful wives
can sing the song
to blues clues before
they can sing the latest
hardcore.shows and band
practice at some kids
house haddon heights
the trees there in spring
dusty old town
everybody hangs out
station ave
when the weather
is nice and the rebel
rousing skaters
destroy property
at the bank get
chased away
threatened and john's
friendly market
where you can get
your produce farm jersey
fresh or winning million
dollar lottery tickets
the antique shops
line the way to
barrington and even though
i am old and wiser
far removed
it doesn't feel that long ago
st. rose and the acme
rendezvous spots
his mom screaming
about what a loser
he was while joan of arc
or at least of south jersey
tried to make it all right
tried to make it all fit
crying my eyes out
everytime he dumped me
for a chance with her
teenage angst
infused with
teenage stupidity
what was i thinking
as the years passed
the little felt decorations
were suspended
from the drop ceiling
came up and down
for christmas
four times before
i knew that it was time to go
and so
i see that things
somehow managed
lives found meaning
new life new
hope somehow sprang
forth in the bermuda
triangle of haddon
township and we are all
ok.people still hold onto
x'd hands and
hardcore riffs
warm days skinny boys.
and now we
raise some
of our own.
long dress waiting april 23,2005
sometimes i feel
like a gypsy last
night was one
those nights the lights
seemed lower
my favorite beaded
sweater my long dress
and my lips were painted
dark and deep
when you brushed past
touched my hand
i wanted to fred
ginger and hop
into 1945
i looked in the
mirror and wondered
if over time
the shower speeches
the gold medal multi
tasked dreams had
become crazy lady
and the way eclectic
is used to explain
nutty aunts and
peculiar neighbors
i just caught a glimpse
of that as i waited
for you to come home.
and after ten years
i still prepare
watchful and aware
when my nose needs
powdering or i could
use a little color
a splash of perfume
i wait still
after a decade
pulse races
the headlights
in the driveway
makes me feel
seventh grade
awkward before
a dance along
the wall by
the punchbowl
waiting to see
if the cute boy
that i have been
crushing on
will even notice.
you come up the stairs
and you are just as
heart pounding as ever
i kiss and you kiss
and you hold and i hold
the amber lights
the heat turned up to 74
degrees helps add
the ambience the landscape.
and you tell me i
look pretty and that
the chinese tofu i made
for dinner was delicious
in our dollar chinese dishes
pretty red chopsticks
we sit quietly
watch our favorite show
and i feel i'm back
on a date with you
kissing on the couch
young and new
electricity and it's wonderful
and i'm lucky
my wayward heart
may just have found home.
i feel a song coming on...
like a gypsy last
night was one
those nights the lights
seemed lower
my favorite beaded
sweater my long dress
and my lips were painted
dark and deep
when you brushed past
touched my hand
i wanted to fred
ginger and hop
into 1945
i looked in the
mirror and wondered
if over time
the shower speeches
the gold medal multi
tasked dreams had
become crazy lady
and the way eclectic
is used to explain
nutty aunts and
peculiar neighbors
i just caught a glimpse
of that as i waited
for you to come home.
and after ten years
i still prepare
watchful and aware
when my nose needs
powdering or i could
use a little color
a splash of perfume
i wait still
after a decade
pulse races
the headlights
in the driveway
makes me feel
seventh grade
awkward before
a dance along
the wall by
the punchbowl
waiting to see
if the cute boy
that i have been
crushing on
will even notice.
you come up the stairs
and you are just as
heart pounding as ever
i kiss and you kiss
and you hold and i hold
the amber lights
the heat turned up to 74
degrees helps add
the ambience the landscape.
and you tell me i
look pretty and that
the chinese tofu i made
for dinner was delicious
in our dollar chinese dishes
pretty red chopsticks
we sit quietly
watch our favorite show
and i feel i'm back
on a date with you
kissing on the couch
young and new
electricity and it's wonderful
and i'm lucky
my wayward heart
may just have found home.
i feel a song coming on...
the truth about the tooth april 22,2005
i tell everyone different versions of the chipped tooth debacle.
most often i go with the rugged field hockey game
where in hand to stick combat.i got an elbow to the faceresulting in a chipped tooth and my foe recieved a punctured elbow.
this makes for an exciting tale.
who doesn't love a bloody war story? and when you are talking sports
even the male species sit up in attention.
this version is not altogether false.
i did recieve an elbow to the mouth
and a stick and a very hard ball to the face on another occassion...
which did in fact chip the tooth but the tooth part was already missing.
i already had a hillbillie space.
and these instances only dislodged the repair work of my dentist- dr.mack(much to his chagrin.
and then there was the insane story i told my mother and my teacher mrs.mcintyre on the day it actually happened. i told them i tripped in a crazy way. and i hit my tooth. and chipped it in a purely accidental way. this was not true.
the funny thing is that after all these years.fifth grade was forever ago.
in the tiny christian school that had become my personal hades-
i had never ever told anyone until the other day.
this is the true story and it goes something like this:
i was in a small suffocating class and when you are alone and unpopular in a class of nine then you are lonely and pretty much done for and miserable.the christian kids were not very christian.nor very god is love or onward christian soldiers and so on this particular day as i made my way down the creepy hallway to water our class plant in the musty cold grey bathroom i was interrupted by two of my arch enemies doreen and sharon. doreen was tall and lanky and sharon was short and round and i was petrified of them. they were the popular girls in a tiny little pond.and i was a guppy.children know when they don't fit and so it came to no surprise that oafy and vulnerable me was singled out.
i could hear them coming and so i hid in the stall and they talked and laughed loudly and at my expense.doreen said that i was so fat that she thought that i must be pregnant. my ten year old heart sunk and the tears collected in my throat and i stayed still and nearly died at the suggestion that they were going to lift up my shirt to check in front of the class.panic hit and my face felt red and i held onto the particle board painted door and prayed that they would leave me alone.they jiggled the lock and hurled insults and kicked and finally i thought they had given up.so i cautiously opened and peeked and saw the door slam right back into my face. slow motion.and the metal door hanger struck and i tasted blood and tooth and fell backward.broken tooth.broken spirit.broken heart.
i immediately thought of my mom and how sorry i felt that she had me for a daughter and how could i break it to her that i was the object of ugliness and the butt of jokes when parents just want to believe that all is well.i was willing to keep up appearances.why should they suffer and worry and shed tears for their lumpy little daughter.sugar and spice and everything.i had been their "patches" and chicken hawks sighter and trips to sit on the cow at richmonds and they could handle that.and i could handle this.and so i hid and i lied and i learnd to smile when i wanted to do nothing but die.the world went on without me and i covered the chip and the chinks and the holes.for many many years.
but now it's time.
and healing and mercy and truth are here
for the taking and spilling out
and now you understand a little.
my peculiarities are less of an enigma
my mellow drama less dramatic
my tears a little less out of nowhere.
i pull it all out and walk around with
an imperfect smile(we don't have dental insurance, anymore)
and i still say "field hockey"
when people ask.
it's easier and people don't really want
to know about your crummy past they really
just want neat as a pin explanations
that cause them to pause or chuckle
or feel like they are being a good friend
by seeming interested
and even though i felt like i couldn't
leave the sanctity and safety of home
with my blinding imperfection...
i do and now i wear it as a badge of courage
or of something of survival
not of the fittest
(that's how i know for sure that darwin had it all wrong)
because i was never fit or formulated
or adapted to this cutthroat life
and i would have been squashed years ago.
but survival nontheless-
i'm here i'm thirty
i'm alive and i can't hide anymore.
chipped toothy grin and all.
most often i go with the rugged field hockey game
where in hand to stick combat.i got an elbow to the faceresulting in a chipped tooth and my foe recieved a punctured elbow.
this makes for an exciting tale.
who doesn't love a bloody war story? and when you are talking sports
even the male species sit up in attention.
this version is not altogether false.
i did recieve an elbow to the mouth
and a stick and a very hard ball to the face on another occassion...
which did in fact chip the tooth but the tooth part was already missing.
i already had a hillbillie space.
and these instances only dislodged the repair work of my dentist- dr.mack(much to his chagrin.
and then there was the insane story i told my mother and my teacher mrs.mcintyre on the day it actually happened. i told them i tripped in a crazy way. and i hit my tooth. and chipped it in a purely accidental way. this was not true.
the funny thing is that after all these years.fifth grade was forever ago.
in the tiny christian school that had become my personal hades-
i had never ever told anyone until the other day.
this is the true story and it goes something like this:
i was in a small suffocating class and when you are alone and unpopular in a class of nine then you are lonely and pretty much done for and miserable.the christian kids were not very christian.nor very god is love or onward christian soldiers and so on this particular day as i made my way down the creepy hallway to water our class plant in the musty cold grey bathroom i was interrupted by two of my arch enemies doreen and sharon. doreen was tall and lanky and sharon was short and round and i was petrified of them. they were the popular girls in a tiny little pond.and i was a guppy.children know when they don't fit and so it came to no surprise that oafy and vulnerable me was singled out.
i could hear them coming and so i hid in the stall and they talked and laughed loudly and at my expense.doreen said that i was so fat that she thought that i must be pregnant. my ten year old heart sunk and the tears collected in my throat and i stayed still and nearly died at the suggestion that they were going to lift up my shirt to check in front of the class.panic hit and my face felt red and i held onto the particle board painted door and prayed that they would leave me alone.they jiggled the lock and hurled insults and kicked and finally i thought they had given up.so i cautiously opened and peeked and saw the door slam right back into my face. slow motion.and the metal door hanger struck and i tasted blood and tooth and fell backward.broken tooth.broken spirit.broken heart.
i immediately thought of my mom and how sorry i felt that she had me for a daughter and how could i break it to her that i was the object of ugliness and the butt of jokes when parents just want to believe that all is well.i was willing to keep up appearances.why should they suffer and worry and shed tears for their lumpy little daughter.sugar and spice and everything.i had been their "patches" and chicken hawks sighter and trips to sit on the cow at richmonds and they could handle that.and i could handle this.and so i hid and i lied and i learnd to smile when i wanted to do nothing but die.the world went on without me and i covered the chip and the chinks and the holes.for many many years.
but now it's time.
and healing and mercy and truth are here
for the taking and spilling out
and now you understand a little.
my peculiarities are less of an enigma
my mellow drama less dramatic
my tears a little less out of nowhere.
i pull it all out and walk around with
an imperfect smile(we don't have dental insurance, anymore)
and i still say "field hockey"
when people ask.
it's easier and people don't really want
to know about your crummy past they really
just want neat as a pin explanations
that cause them to pause or chuckle
or feel like they are being a good friend
by seeming interested
and even though i felt like i couldn't
leave the sanctity and safety of home
with my blinding imperfection...
i do and now i wear it as a badge of courage
or of something of survival
not of the fittest
(that's how i know for sure that darwin had it all wrong)
because i was never fit or formulated
or adapted to this cutthroat life
and i would have been squashed years ago.
but survival nontheless-
i'm here i'm thirty
i'm alive and i can't hide anymore.
chipped toothy grin and all.
drowning april 22,2005
i don't know why
it is that the weather
always seems to
mimick my moods
the clouds out there
have nothing on
the ones over my head
and it's one of those days
that i'd just rather not
get out of bed and forget
dissociate cares of this world
caller id that warns
of the phonecall
knot in my stomach
bank and bills
groveling and weary
and let it pour
let it annoint me
in reality
wake me with a start.
it's easy to play
dress up and carefree
not a worry when
it's beautiful outside
and here i am
again broke and mad
penchant for pretty clothes
pretty things to hide
the not so pretty face
feelings and i rack
up the points
as i wrack up the pain
carousel craziness
just when i get my head
above water and allow
myself a quick breath
i am dunked and desperate
reeling and tired
and this year has
taken her toll.
and so square one
bailed out and back
to facades and talking
a good game and i know
it eats me alive
and i can't bear to look
can't play this way forever
and the clock ticks
the anxiety builds
and i remind you
of the sparrows
and pray that it will
amount to something
i wait and turn blue
getting drenched
succombing to the water
in my lungs as i wait
for the other shoe
to drop and the veil
to be rent in two
the masquerade ball
to be over and
over and done.
i am done for.
it is that the weather
always seems to
mimick my moods
the clouds out there
have nothing on
the ones over my head
and it's one of those days
that i'd just rather not
get out of bed and forget
dissociate cares of this world
caller id that warns
of the phonecall
knot in my stomach
bank and bills
groveling and weary
and let it pour
let it annoint me
in reality
wake me with a start.
it's easy to play
dress up and carefree
not a worry when
it's beautiful outside
and here i am
again broke and mad
penchant for pretty clothes
pretty things to hide
the not so pretty face
feelings and i rack
up the points
as i wrack up the pain
carousel craziness
just when i get my head
above water and allow
myself a quick breath
i am dunked and desperate
reeling and tired
and this year has
taken her toll.
and so square one
bailed out and back
to facades and talking
a good game and i know
it eats me alive
and i can't bear to look
can't play this way forever
and the clock ticks
the anxiety builds
and i remind you
of the sparrows
and pray that it will
amount to something
i wait and turn blue
getting drenched
succombing to the water
in my lungs as i wait
for the other shoe
to drop and the veil
to be rent in two
the masquerade ball
to be over and
over and done.
i am done for.
destined april 22,2005
i never
liked eowyn
i much prefered the beautiful elven arwen
and felt like they could have chosen
a much prettier heroine.
and the whole persona
warrior lady
sword yielding
battle ready
aragorn swooning
i just didn't like her.
and then i realized
much like you realize
that you are everything
that you dislike
about your mom your grammom your sister
how similar you really are.
and i had one
of those epiphanies
while manuerving my car around
the construction and flagmen on route 40.
i was multitasking.
reading and driving
and collecting the days
thoughts while sipping
my diet pepsi
in the cool blue can
and it hit me.
a huge hand of "how'd i miss that?"
she and i silly
and puffed up
on the verge of greatness if only....
and the fear of dying unknown and living forgotten
obscurity and killing the death king
is just not enough
"i am NO Man..."chop.
and missing the greatness in the mundane.
in fat baby hands and curly haired little boys
and eight year old dance parties in the reflection of the stove.
and i'm no-
never have been the pretty one.
always a sore thumb
and a scrappy resolve
keep looking for the grand adventure
the laurels and the applause
and i miss all of the
minute miracles and the everyday wonderful.
this daughter of kings
needs to get off her high
lofty pie in the sky
restlessness.and relax.
sunbathe
(even though i've never been able to sit that long for the color to take...............)
and be happy
with prizes and the day
of glory.the lifetime of ordinary
yet amazing.taking my place
next to all the rest
who have not done much
but are happy
nontheless.
liked eowyn
i much prefered the beautiful elven arwen
and felt like they could have chosen
a much prettier heroine.
and the whole persona
warrior lady
sword yielding
battle ready
aragorn swooning
i just didn't like her.
and then i realized
much like you realize
that you are everything
that you dislike
about your mom your grammom your sister
how similar you really are.
and i had one
of those epiphanies
while manuerving my car around
the construction and flagmen on route 40.
i was multitasking.
reading and driving
and collecting the days
thoughts while sipping
my diet pepsi
in the cool blue can
and it hit me.
a huge hand of "how'd i miss that?"
she and i silly
and puffed up
on the verge of greatness if only....
and the fear of dying unknown and living forgotten
obscurity and killing the death king
is just not enough
"i am NO Man..."chop.
and missing the greatness in the mundane.
in fat baby hands and curly haired little boys
and eight year old dance parties in the reflection of the stove.
and i'm no-
never have been the pretty one.
always a sore thumb
and a scrappy resolve
keep looking for the grand adventure
the laurels and the applause
and i miss all of the
minute miracles and the everyday wonderful.
this daughter of kings
needs to get off her high
lofty pie in the sky
restlessness.and relax.
sunbathe
(even though i've never been able to sit that long for the color to take...............)
and be happy
with prizes and the day
of glory.the lifetime of ordinary
yet amazing.taking my place
next to all the rest
who have not done much
but are happy
nontheless.
poem 3 april 21,2005
and there is grace
and its amazing.
perfect newborn
life stretching chesire
cat smiles blue
skies.dandelion puff warm
days april that feel
like an embrace
love and kisses
neck and butterflies
stomach and belly
laughs and hope to press
the gift of his peace
the balm that fills
the cracks
the never leaving
forsaking.holes in the
hands that hide.holes
in my heart
to hold my
head high when
i'd rather
scuff my shoes
and be forgotten.
unmistakeable miracles
blessings that overflow
spill out you can't
help good and whole
restored anew
all of the silly
sunday school songs
and verses actually
mean something.
you may not chat
around the water cooler,
you are forgiven.
you are loved.
you can see beauty
out of ashes.
you can see joy
in the morning-mourning
turned to dancing.
and you
dance and
your pen lives
and your heart swoons
and your knees knock.
and happiness.
sheer happiness.
and grace
this is grace.
thanks be to God.
and its amazing.
perfect newborn
life stretching chesire
cat smiles blue
skies.dandelion puff warm
days april that feel
like an embrace
love and kisses
neck and butterflies
stomach and belly
laughs and hope to press
the gift of his peace
the balm that fills
the cracks
the never leaving
forsaking.holes in the
hands that hide.holes
in my heart
to hold my
head high when
i'd rather
scuff my shoes
and be forgotten.
unmistakeable miracles
blessings that overflow
spill out you can't
help good and whole
restored anew
all of the silly
sunday school songs
and verses actually
mean something.
you may not chat
around the water cooler,
you are forgiven.
you are loved.
you can see beauty
out of ashes.
you can see joy
in the morning-mourning
turned to dancing.
and you
dance and
your pen lives
and your heart swoons
and your knees knock.
and happiness.
sheer happiness.
and grace
this is grace.
thanks be to God.
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
april 21,2005
selinsgrove
selinsgrove was this place where i felt whole.it was sleepy and remote enough to feel fictional and peter pan.the train tracks in the woods that led to nowhere.the smell in the air that made me feel as though i could finally breathe.we were barefoot bohemians among the barn cats.writers.and it felt like heaven to a wandering soul who had not seen beauty,felt peace or enjoyed love in quite a long time.i arrived like a wounded soldier.something straight out of 1940 something.bags in tow.ideals on a stick.tied neatly in a little hankerchief and i was worn out.tired of hardcore kids,scensters and boyfriends that pounded sense into me every other day.and yet,who somehow after four years still managed to forget my birthday. so i hopped that train to somewhere.an eight hour ride to paradise and found kindred spirits.fellow dreamers that danced on graves and abandoned their ghosts.fairy scheming and once upon a time days and haphazard wonderful nights.holding hands and counting stars.breaking up with what's his name over the payphone.and when he threatened to come up there and kill me.jeremy told him that he'd have to deal with him.and my heart leapt.i felt safe.protected and it didn't matter that this would only last for a week.it gave me enough stength for a lifetime(or until he wore down my resolve).my new found bravado.and the voices in my head sang in chorus with all of theirs and it was amazing and sacred.and i hold it in my hand like pennsylvania fireflies and it still flickers.calls and i still remember.from time to time-i catch myself dancing and feeling brave.along with the spirits of jessie-beautiful girls,and skinny intellectual boys full of poetry.prose and beat up suitcases full of tradgedies of their own.and it is fresh.and i can taste it.cherish it.pandora's stash for yesterday.today.tommorrow and for the train rides yet to come.
selinsgrove was this place where i felt whole.it was sleepy and remote enough to feel fictional and peter pan.the train tracks in the woods that led to nowhere.the smell in the air that made me feel as though i could finally breathe.we were barefoot bohemians among the barn cats.writers.and it felt like heaven to a wandering soul who had not seen beauty,felt peace or enjoyed love in quite a long time.i arrived like a wounded soldier.something straight out of 1940 something.bags in tow.ideals on a stick.tied neatly in a little hankerchief and i was worn out.tired of hardcore kids,scensters and boyfriends that pounded sense into me every other day.and yet,who somehow after four years still managed to forget my birthday. so i hopped that train to somewhere.an eight hour ride to paradise and found kindred spirits.fellow dreamers that danced on graves and abandoned their ghosts.fairy scheming and once upon a time days and haphazard wonderful nights.holding hands and counting stars.breaking up with what's his name over the payphone.and when he threatened to come up there and kill me.jeremy told him that he'd have to deal with him.and my heart leapt.i felt safe.protected and it didn't matter that this would only last for a week.it gave me enough stength for a lifetime(or until he wore down my resolve).my new found bravado.and the voices in my head sang in chorus with all of theirs and it was amazing and sacred.and i hold it in my hand like pennsylvania fireflies and it still flickers.calls and i still remember.from time to time-i catch myself dancing and feeling brave.along with the spirits of jessie-beautiful girls,and skinny intellectual boys full of poetry.prose and beat up suitcases full of tradgedies of their own.and it is fresh.and i can taste it.cherish it.pandora's stash for yesterday.today.tommorrow and for the train rides yet to come.
april 20,2005
scrappy tree
fallible reasoning
finite thinking
i can't always see
forest through
trees show signs
of life and dangle
show off.stand a
little straighter.
the cherry tree
that i discounted
counted as dead
and done for puts
it back in my face
with its very much
alive and kicking
blossoms-little leaves
i'm glad i waited.
in my haste for
accomplished tasks
checked off to do list
i gave it a long shot
six more weeks of winter
dead thorn in my side
i shook my head
second guessed each time
i looked out the car window
down the driveway
beating myself up for
not yanking it out
in october.
here it is now april
eighty degree days
undeniably happy
sunshine and kickball
tournaments.swallowing
the heart in my throat
everytime katie takes
off down the road on
wobbily bambi legs and
her pink plastic
rollerblades.
and the trees
could not be prettier
heavy and heaving
flower laden and boy
was i wrong,again.
impatient.
impulsive
ready to take
the bull by the horns
(its a metaphor-
but it actually
really happened)
i would have missed
the stopping to smell
the days splendor
spoil.this great come
back and restoration
knowledge that there
must be fruit or it was
doomed for the garbage truck
that comes each friday
to take all that doesn't fit
into our municipal
issued blue trash containers.
out of the ashes
through the brutal wind
unrelenting winter
it's here and growing
shady spot in the making
i realize that crossed
fingers and skinned knees
are all worth ripe
and rainbows arrive
only come after the storm
time marches
happy two two time
or in time to a dirge
only i can hear its melody.
cherry tree sonata.
fallible reasoning
finite thinking
i can't always see
forest through
trees show signs
of life and dangle
show off.stand a
little straighter.
the cherry tree
that i discounted
counted as dead
and done for puts
it back in my face
with its very much
alive and kicking
blossoms-little leaves
i'm glad i waited.
in my haste for
accomplished tasks
checked off to do list
i gave it a long shot
six more weeks of winter
dead thorn in my side
i shook my head
second guessed each time
i looked out the car window
down the driveway
beating myself up for
not yanking it out
in october.
here it is now april
eighty degree days
undeniably happy
sunshine and kickball
tournaments.swallowing
the heart in my throat
everytime katie takes
off down the road on
wobbily bambi legs and
her pink plastic
rollerblades.
and the trees
could not be prettier
heavy and heaving
flower laden and boy
was i wrong,again.
impatient.
impulsive
ready to take
the bull by the horns
(its a metaphor-
but it actually
really happened)
i would have missed
the stopping to smell
the days splendor
spoil.this great come
back and restoration
knowledge that there
must be fruit or it was
doomed for the garbage truck
that comes each friday
to take all that doesn't fit
into our municipal
issued blue trash containers.
out of the ashes
through the brutal wind
unrelenting winter
it's here and growing
shady spot in the making
i realize that crossed
fingers and skinned knees
are all worth ripe
and rainbows arrive
only come after the storm
time marches
happy two two time
or in time to a dirge
only i can hear its melody.
cherry tree sonata.
april 19,2005
contented
today is a
beautiful day
the kind of day
that makes muppets
sing and dance
and tell us about
numbers and letters
i'd write if i had
more ambition or
if this sun wasn't
as pleasant and
delicious pastries
cookies and you see
where my mind drifts
no wonder i'm always battling the bulge...
but there is no
time for that
or for any real
mind exercises
that move me or
make me think or
where i'll have
to leave this stolen moment
sunshiney day brady kids bell bottoms
big fat honey bees that make the kiddies
scream and i tell them to ignore
that they don't sting and i honestly don't know
if they do.but they look harmless,enough
like the a.a.milne variety.
and the breeze coos
the little bugs
scatter about
and i feel inspired
happy that spring
has sprung
her great big
vivacious self
on all of us
here and now and
now i need
a nap.
today is a
beautiful day
the kind of day
that makes muppets
sing and dance
and tell us about
numbers and letters
i'd write if i had
more ambition or
if this sun wasn't
as pleasant and
delicious pastries
cookies and you see
where my mind drifts
no wonder i'm always battling the bulge...
but there is no
time for that
or for any real
mind exercises
that move me or
make me think or
where i'll have
to leave this stolen moment
sunshiney day brady kids bell bottoms
big fat honey bees that make the kiddies
scream and i tell them to ignore
that they don't sting and i honestly don't know
if they do.but they look harmless,enough
like the a.a.milne variety.
and the breeze coos
the little bugs
scatter about
and i feel inspired
happy that spring
has sprung
her great big
vivacious self
on all of us
here and now and
now i need
a nap.
april 18,2005
red thread
life dangles
by a thread
and its been said
chinese proverb
that we are all
connected somehow
this crazy red thread
rahab's red cord
that binds and shortens
six degrees of seperation
our story chapters
already written
some with chapters
left to write.
and then some break off
fall like little
spiders silk
forgetable.they leave
broken webs behind
and the beauty
intricasies are strong
visible until a light
wind carries it away
and it's left only to
our memory and mark
can't remember what
his brother looked like
can't really remember
because he was so
little boy world
little boy adventures
he observed and took
it all in and then
there are the rest of us.
sad channel ten
human interest
stories of heroic
eighteen year olds
making the ultimate
sacrifice for their
daughter and we
remember and we
feel somehow
connected as another
breaks the cord
and falls away.
we are touched
by grief
we feel the sadd
ness and the mour
ning and we hoist
ourselves higher
closer up our lifelines
and swear to hold
our loved ones closer
to take less for granted
to yell less and love more
and the wind blows
and the tears ebb
and the grief subsides
and the grip loosens
and the rope slacks
and we fall back again
to gripes
to harsh words
to days spent
and minutes lost
and memories left
in ruin ....and then...
again, someone falls
the thread like a noose
snaps our attention
humanity fraility
the process begins
again.
spinning webs.
life dangles
by a thread
and its been said
chinese proverb
that we are all
connected somehow
this crazy red thread
rahab's red cord
that binds and shortens
six degrees of seperation
our story chapters
already written
some with chapters
left to write.
and then some break off
fall like little
spiders silk
forgetable.they leave
broken webs behind
and the beauty
intricasies are strong
visible until a light
wind carries it away
and it's left only to
our memory and mark
can't remember what
his brother looked like
can't really remember
because he was so
little boy world
little boy adventures
he observed and took
it all in and then
there are the rest of us.
sad channel ten
human interest
stories of heroic
eighteen year olds
making the ultimate
sacrifice for their
daughter and we
remember and we
feel somehow
connected as another
breaks the cord
and falls away.
we are touched
by grief
we feel the sadd
ness and the mour
ning and we hoist
ourselves higher
closer up our lifelines
and swear to hold
our loved ones closer
to take less for granted
to yell less and love more
and the wind blows
and the tears ebb
and the grief subsides
and the grip loosens
and the rope slacks
and we fall back again
to gripes
to harsh words
to days spent
and minutes lost
and memories left
in ruin ....and then...
again, someone falls
the thread like a noose
snaps our attention
humanity fraility
the process begins
again.
spinning webs.
april 18,2005
death on a sunny day
tom died
yesterday
on what was
probably
the most
beautiful
day so far
this year.
i don't know if that is more tragic or not.
i usually prefer rainy bitingly cold weather
when you hear of a passing.
weather that seems like the angels are crying buckets
or like all is forsaken.rain that falls until the funeral
and then when it seems like the earth can not possibly hold any more
that the puddles will turn into rivers and the rivers will spill out into the roads and highways and biways it ceases.... and the sun comes in like the hero
unties the damsel from the train tracks.warms the swollen eyesockets.puffed out cheek bones and drops hope into our laps and we can't help but embrace it.
you can
literally
do nothing
else on
beautiful days
like these
you hear every
childs laugh
on the wind
hear the life songs
travel on her breezes
and it comforts.
restores and fills
in the cracks.
the gaping holes
left by the passing.
the tremendous
loss.the never
will be able
to smile or
enjoy anything,
again and you
feel guilty
because you already do.
because the brightness
and the sunshine
are hard to refuse.
we are thrown
for a loop.
because today
is sunny as well.
but tom suffered so.
and his wife was more tired
and spent then she
had ever been before.
so perhaps the hope and the calm and the restoration came early.
maybe the rain came last week when it was so apparent that they needed to
say goodbye.maybe the sunshine was a gift to tom- a peace offering
for not seeing florida one last time.
and so he fell into her arms and watched yesterday's beautiful new jersey sunset(we have them,too) and let go.and the warmth helped ease the cold and the light helped ward off the darkness and they kissed.
the tears
were their
rain and
tom slipped
into a sunset
all of
his own.
tom died
yesterday
on what was
probably
the most
beautiful
day so far
this year.
i don't know if that is more tragic or not.
i usually prefer rainy bitingly cold weather
when you hear of a passing.
weather that seems like the angels are crying buckets
or like all is forsaken.rain that falls until the funeral
and then when it seems like the earth can not possibly hold any more
that the puddles will turn into rivers and the rivers will spill out into the roads and highways and biways it ceases.... and the sun comes in like the hero
unties the damsel from the train tracks.warms the swollen eyesockets.puffed out cheek bones and drops hope into our laps and we can't help but embrace it.
you can
literally
do nothing
else on
beautiful days
like these
you hear every
childs laugh
on the wind
hear the life songs
travel on her breezes
and it comforts.
restores and fills
in the cracks.
the gaping holes
left by the passing.
the tremendous
loss.the never
will be able
to smile or
enjoy anything,
again and you
feel guilty
because you already do.
because the brightness
and the sunshine
are hard to refuse.
we are thrown
for a loop.
because today
is sunny as well.
but tom suffered so.
and his wife was more tired
and spent then she
had ever been before.
so perhaps the hope and the calm and the restoration came early.
maybe the rain came last week when it was so apparent that they needed to
say goodbye.maybe the sunshine was a gift to tom- a peace offering
for not seeing florida one last time.
and so he fell into her arms and watched yesterday's beautiful new jersey sunset(we have them,too) and let go.and the warmth helped ease the cold and the light helped ward off the darkness and they kissed.
the tears
were their
rain and
tom slipped
into a sunset
all of
his own.
april 16,2005
i have always been crazy
i should have been a fiction writer.
maybe detective novels or fabio
covered romance rags
with an insane imagination
that makes willy wonka look reasonable.
i stayed up until 4 am. thinking
"whatif"
torturous chapters
over in my brain
because i had a crummy night and i was freaked
out that a stranger had my cell phone and offered to drop it off at my house.
and my mind ran away
and the deadbolts were not enough
and so i sat and then fought to stay up late
on the faithful old floral couch
which has been friend to me on many a night like this.
this is me.
and then scenario after scenario
of my made up life where i am always
sought after and award winning and extroidinary and beautiful
and i take your breath away.
and those conversations with myself are always the best
and they get me through the day
through a lifetime and tommorrow
and i hold that hope in my seventh grade diary
with hearts and flowers and do you like me circle yes or no
(don't tell me if you circle no)
and my fairytales and silly middle school lies
and chubby girl exagerations of romance with mysterious boys
who were head over heels in love with more to love
lancaster dress company clothes
my stupid forty year old wardrobe.
and when i was discovered as a farce i would sit in silence
listen to the wolves rip apart my generous flesh and imagine
humane ways to relieve myself of the agony and
the misery of puberty and middle school and being me.
and the daydreams never ended and i grew up
no longer cared about dave bennett lies or award winning discoveries
and it gets harder to pretend.
as my face gets more drawn and the laugh lines emerge
to prove that i have indeed been happy at one time or another.
my heart hides somewhere and my head is worn out
from positive thinking.i choose poems instead because
unfortunately i can not commit to lengthy engagements.
i'll still write it in my head
and i'll probally win the pulitzer in the shower
and it will be fabulous and so will i.
one day
maybe
i will have something real and tangible
something to hold and something to shout
from the rooftops.johnny paper will have life
breathed into this manuscript of me
and i can live out happily ever after
or just happily ever one day
and the end will be beautiful
and in french-
fine.
i should have been a fiction writer.
maybe detective novels or fabio
covered romance rags
with an insane imagination
that makes willy wonka look reasonable.
i stayed up until 4 am. thinking
"whatif"
torturous chapters
over in my brain
because i had a crummy night and i was freaked
out that a stranger had my cell phone and offered to drop it off at my house.
and my mind ran away
and the deadbolts were not enough
and so i sat and then fought to stay up late
on the faithful old floral couch
which has been friend to me on many a night like this.
this is me.
and then scenario after scenario
of my made up life where i am always
sought after and award winning and extroidinary and beautiful
and i take your breath away.
and those conversations with myself are always the best
and they get me through the day
through a lifetime and tommorrow
and i hold that hope in my seventh grade diary
with hearts and flowers and do you like me circle yes or no
(don't tell me if you circle no)
and my fairytales and silly middle school lies
and chubby girl exagerations of romance with mysterious boys
who were head over heels in love with more to love
lancaster dress company clothes
my stupid forty year old wardrobe.
and when i was discovered as a farce i would sit in silence
listen to the wolves rip apart my generous flesh and imagine
humane ways to relieve myself of the agony and
the misery of puberty and middle school and being me.
and the daydreams never ended and i grew up
no longer cared about dave bennett lies or award winning discoveries
and it gets harder to pretend.
as my face gets more drawn and the laugh lines emerge
to prove that i have indeed been happy at one time or another.
my heart hides somewhere and my head is worn out
from positive thinking.i choose poems instead because
unfortunately i can not commit to lengthy engagements.
i'll still write it in my head
and i'll probally win the pulitzer in the shower
and it will be fabulous and so will i.
one day
maybe
i will have something real and tangible
something to hold and something to shout
from the rooftops.johnny paper will have life
breathed into this manuscript of me
and i can live out happily ever after
or just happily ever one day
and the end will be beautiful
and in french-
fine.
april 15,2005
sweet spring
dichotomy.
depression
in springtime.
it almost seems
completely
impossible to be
grey clouds
and glass half empty
song sung blue
when the sky is
heaving and white
and the fruit trees
are all decked out
in their prom
gowns and heels.
the pollen is thick
and you can taste
the honey bees buzz
birds chirp and still
my heart breaks.
charlie brown
lost baseball games
the constant scrutiny
not measuring up.
to leave it me to be
such a failure
i've got the fifties
fashion down pat
it's just all the casseroles
and clean woodwork
that i struggle and drown in.
all of the
heightened expectations.
and i am a terrible
mother and my cookies
don't turn out
and i can't seem to
get the pie crusts-
anymore.
i'm a sad sack
in spring
when the world
is robed in
beauty and i am not.
and i can't stand it.
feel so glass
menagerie
tennesee williamstown
i just try
to hold on.
dichotomy.
depression
in springtime.
it almost seems
completely
impossible to be
grey clouds
and glass half empty
song sung blue
when the sky is
heaving and white
and the fruit trees
are all decked out
in their prom
gowns and heels.
the pollen is thick
and you can taste
the honey bees buzz
birds chirp and still
my heart breaks.
charlie brown
lost baseball games
the constant scrutiny
not measuring up.
to leave it me to be
such a failure
i've got the fifties
fashion down pat
it's just all the casseroles
and clean woodwork
that i struggle and drown in.
all of the
heightened expectations.
and i am a terrible
mother and my cookies
don't turn out
and i can't seem to
get the pie crusts-
anymore.
i'm a sad sack
in spring
when the world
is robed in
beauty and i am not.
and i can't stand it.
feel so glass
menagerie
tennesee williamstown
i just try
to hold on.
april 15,2005
blustery
we live
in a windy
place whipping
past and stealing
papers and hats
it flies furious
unrelenting.
i don't mind so much in the spring.
when it does not slice you open
as it does in the winter. and i also
don't mind in the yellow sun when it
seems less formidable frightening.
but in the dark
in the rain
as it beats
sputters and taunts
in the middle
night noises
breathing laboured
in cadence
resting peacefully
i sit up in bed
strain to listen
to be quite sure
that the noises are nothing else
and the panic dances under wraps
and the anxiety lumps in my throat
counting down to daylight reprieve
dawn and it's new day promises
i wait
for the
wind to
bid me
farewell.
we live
in a windy
place whipping
past and stealing
papers and hats
it flies furious
unrelenting.
i don't mind so much in the spring.
when it does not slice you open
as it does in the winter. and i also
don't mind in the yellow sun when it
seems less formidable frightening.
but in the dark
in the rain
as it beats
sputters and taunts
in the middle
night noises
breathing laboured
in cadence
resting peacefully
i sit up in bed
strain to listen
to be quite sure
that the noises are nothing else
and the panic dances under wraps
and the anxiety lumps in my throat
counting down to daylight reprieve
dawn and it's new day promises
i wait
for the
wind to
bid me
farewell.
april 14,2005
repetition
pretty/pretentious
terribly/full
stuffed
to the point
that you feel
like throwing
up
and it
makes me
want to do
just that.
i can't stand
the whole cool factor
what dictates enlightment
comps and cookie cutter
mentalities(i know i'm really
no better living vicariously
in other people's cool)
and slick keroac
james dean hepcat
suave and bongo beat cadence
coincidence
conscience.i sit quietly.
trying not to give myself away///
biting my fat
lower lip re
straining and straining
to see through your eyes
breathe through your pores
dance to your rythm (i've
never had any of my own)
and
it is all farce
meyouandthethreebears
and porridge sucks
anyhow/i can't really be honest
can't really be objective/
can't really be constructively critical
because i'm green with a sick little envy
and i loathe the girl that i am at times
and i can't help but sucker punch and replay
the foot in the mouth time and the overbearing
overgrown/overpowering
larger than life
me.that wants to just be quiet.
you.meek and tiny and liked
and women should
be seen.scene after.scene.take twenty three
and it's always the same.
cheesy after school special/aesop's fable
shaking my head once-again at me
and beat
nix the whole stupid
thing.the royalty of cool.it just don't mean a thing.
hollywood babylon here in south jersey.
pretty/pretentious
terribly/full
stuffed
to the point
that you feel
like throwing
up
and it
makes me
want to do
just that.
i can't stand
the whole cool factor
what dictates enlightment
comps and cookie cutter
mentalities(i know i'm really
no better living vicariously
in other people's cool)
and slick keroac
james dean hepcat
suave and bongo beat cadence
coincidence
conscience.i sit quietly.
trying not to give myself away///
biting my fat
lower lip re
straining and straining
to see through your eyes
breathe through your pores
dance to your rythm (i've
never had any of my own)
and
it is all farce
meyouandthethreebears
and porridge sucks
anyhow/i can't really be honest
can't really be objective/
can't really be constructively critical
because i'm green with a sick little envy
and i loathe the girl that i am at times
and i can't help but sucker punch and replay
the foot in the mouth time and the overbearing
overgrown/overpowering
larger than life
me.that wants to just be quiet.
you.meek and tiny and liked
and women should
be seen.scene after.scene.take twenty three
and it's always the same.
cheesy after school special/aesop's fable
shaking my head once-again at me
and beat
nix the whole stupid
thing.the royalty of cool.it just don't mean a thing.
hollywood babylon here in south jersey.
april 13,2005
hourglass
the monotony
monopoly
on my time
minute fleeing
hour fleeting
days into lifetimes
and father time
keeps stealing away
silently almost
undetected.
being the csi
expert-first
season was amazing
i see his physical
evidence that he's
left me subtle
clues in his little
scavenger hunt
without the polaroids...
and the tiny traces
roadmap on my face
in the corner of
my eyes
and lips
and heart
tell the tale of
moments slipping
plunging recklessly
and heartlessly
toward tommorrow
after tommorrow
and they can't
stay babies
and i can't work
the rewind
and it's futile
to fight.
judy clocks
don't lie and
so surrender
and succomb
and let the warm
water wipe it
away for a
second stolen
moment
all to me
all to sundays
all to forevers
and still
he plods on.
the monotony
monopoly
on my time
minute fleeing
hour fleeting
days into lifetimes
and father time
keeps stealing away
silently almost
undetected.
being the csi
expert-first
season was amazing
i see his physical
evidence that he's
left me subtle
clues in his little
scavenger hunt
without the polaroids...
and the tiny traces
roadmap on my face
in the corner of
my eyes
and lips
and heart
tell the tale of
moments slipping
plunging recklessly
and heartlessly
toward tommorrow
after tommorrow
and they can't
stay babies
and i can't work
the rewind
and it's futile
to fight.
judy clocks
don't lie and
so surrender
and succomb
and let the warm
water wipe it
away for a
second stolen
moment
all to me
all to sundays
all to forevers
and still
he plods on.
april 12,2005
sleepwalking
i'm becoming a
crazy cat lady.
dank blinds drawn
crusty old house
scads of in bred
felines roaming.
sleepwalkers creepy.
except without the cats.
i'm terribly allergic.
and i've never really
liked them,anyway.
all i need is a $1.50
moo moo and some slippers.
i've got the talking
to myself down and
the peculiar habits.
and i'm quite sure
that simple pleasures
the highlights of my day
constitute craziness.
cat ladylike features.
figuratively speaking
i'm a stone's throw away
from not realizing
that noone really
wants to hear
about my silliness-
or why i'm here
on this particular day-
and why i buy boxes
upon boxes
of little debbies
every other
insatiable desire
hole in my heart
voice in my head
cash money in my pocket
and so i sing.
to the streetlights
my broadway and i
imagine grandiose
tommorrows and i
pencil out high hopes
and small sad things
and i shoo the cats away.
only to
return to
morr
ow.
i'm becoming a
crazy cat lady.
dank blinds drawn
crusty old house
scads of in bred
felines roaming.
sleepwalkers creepy.
except without the cats.
i'm terribly allergic.
and i've never really
liked them,anyway.
all i need is a $1.50
moo moo and some slippers.
i've got the talking
to myself down and
the peculiar habits.
and i'm quite sure
that simple pleasures
the highlights of my day
constitute craziness.
cat ladylike features.
figuratively speaking
i'm a stone's throw away
from not realizing
that noone really
wants to hear
about my silliness-
or why i'm here
on this particular day-
and why i buy boxes
upon boxes
of little debbies
every other
insatiable desire
hole in my heart
voice in my head
cash money in my pocket
and so i sing.
to the streetlights
my broadway and i
imagine grandiose
tommorrows and i
pencil out high hopes
and small sad things
and i shoo the cats away.
only to
return to
morr
ow.
april 11,2005
clarity
onion
layer
people
paper
thin
fly
now
away
sunset
monster
out to
get me
and who
everelse
gets in
the way
tangled
in
the
web
and
pushed
under
and
gasping
on the
drama and
manipulations undulations strangulations
and i hate people like that.
ihopei'mnotoneofthem.
onion
layer
people
paper
thin
fly
now
away
sunset
monster
out to
get me
and who
everelse
gets in
the way
tangled
in
the
web
and
pushed
under
and
gasping
on the
drama and
manipulations undulations strangulations
and i hate people like that.
ihopei'mnotoneofthem.
april 10,2005
flesh crawl
literally
crawling out
of my skin anxious
restless snake
about to break
free and discard
slither or run
and i hate
feeling can't
sleep and i'm
replaying
rewinding
and all the while
coming up
to this impasse
hump
bump in the road
like everything else.
i can throw
down my pack
roll
up my sleeves
and heave myself
make it somehow or
bury myself alive
dirt in the lungs
the weight of it all
collapsing
snuffing and still
and still i've not
had enough eventually
rest arrives
interestinglyiawake
and it's left
me once, again.
by the skin
of my teeth.
literally
crawling out
of my skin anxious
restless snake
about to break
free and discard
slither or run
and i hate
feeling can't
sleep and i'm
replaying
rewinding
and all the while
coming up
to this impasse
hump
bump in the road
like everything else.
i can throw
down my pack
roll
up my sleeves
and heave myself
make it somehow or
bury myself alive
dirt in the lungs
the weight of it all
collapsing
snuffing and still
and still i've not
had enough eventually
rest arrives
interestinglyiawake
and it's left
me once, again.
by the skin
of my teeth.
april 9,2005
that touch of spring
today felt like
a 1950's movie
starring
doris day
and cary grant.
it was
periwinkle blue
and puffy clouds
as far as the eye
could see
windy and wonderful
cuffed jeans and
gray hoodie kind of day.
and the air was
full laughter
in different
aged chorus
and plans and
rollerskating
while holding hands
and no scraped knees
or bad feelings.
and a trip to the
old fashioned market
for dollar vegetables
that smell like summer
homeade lemonade
bunches of tulips
gerber daisies.
and caleb
gave the man a dollar
and was so proud
because the man said-
"thank you,sir."
and apparently
that made him
giggle and say
that he thought
the man must think
that he's a knight
because he
called him "sir"
and the sun warms
my cheeks and the
wind steals my
breath and bad
feelings are
whisked away.
and she grants me
three wishes since
the dandelion puffs
have not peeked their heads
from their winter
slumber party.
i close my eyes
and wish just one
(i don't want
to press my luck)
and i hope for a
lifetime of days
like these dreams
on the tips
of my fingers
barefoot forevers
and i think
it begins today.
today felt like
a 1950's movie
starring
doris day
and cary grant.
it was
periwinkle blue
and puffy clouds
as far as the eye
could see
windy and wonderful
cuffed jeans and
gray hoodie kind of day.
and the air was
full laughter
in different
aged chorus
and plans and
rollerskating
while holding hands
and no scraped knees
or bad feelings.
and a trip to the
old fashioned market
for dollar vegetables
that smell like summer
homeade lemonade
bunches of tulips
gerber daisies.
and caleb
gave the man a dollar
and was so proud
because the man said-
"thank you,sir."
and apparently
that made him
giggle and say
that he thought
the man must think
that he's a knight
because he
called him "sir"
and the sun warms
my cheeks and the
wind steals my
breath and bad
feelings are
whisked away.
and she grants me
three wishes since
the dandelion puffs
have not peeked their heads
from their winter
slumber party.
i close my eyes
and wish just one
(i don't want
to press my luck)
and i hope for a
lifetime of days
like these dreams
on the tips
of my fingers
barefoot forevers
and i think
it begins today.
april 8,2005
won't you be my neighbor
my neighbor
whom i rarely
talk to
came over
and talked and talked
and i couldn't help but keep looking at her.
people from afar
can look so different
her hair was messy.
she had visible dark roots
and she just really kind of looked like a normal
frazzled mom.
i found this to be extroidinary
because the older i get
ithinkperhaps
the more paraniod
island unto myself
i really become.
and i was dumbfounded
because at a distance
she looked thinner and more polished and i assumed
(you know what
they say about
assumptions)
that because of the flashy cars
power suits at 9:00am when i am still
in my valentine pajama pants
that don't stay up
and any shirt that i had on the night before.
because of all of the brick work
the inground pool that they had put in over the summer-
that some how they were
out of my league
more grown up
more to offer and so i rarely looked up to wave as they drove by.
and i know that this all sounds
silly and shallow and terribly dumb
but i can't help it.
i spent the night replaying
the whole conversation and said
about a million times that i
couldn't believe how nice she was.
and i still can't believe
how wrong
how prejudiced i have become
how obstinate how scared
how ridiculous and so from now on
i'm determined to keep my eyes
on lafayette
and wave
and smile
and be what i am supposed to be.
onward and
june cleaver
and tupperware parties
and shared recipes
and thirty.
being a neighbor seemed alot easier in the fifties.
my neighbor
whom i rarely
talk to
came over
and talked and talked
and i couldn't help but keep looking at her.
people from afar
can look so different
her hair was messy.
she had visible dark roots
and she just really kind of looked like a normal
frazzled mom.
i found this to be extroidinary
because the older i get
ithinkperhaps
the more paraniod
island unto myself
i really become.
and i was dumbfounded
because at a distance
she looked thinner and more polished and i assumed
(you know what
they say about
assumptions)
that because of the flashy cars
power suits at 9:00am when i am still
in my valentine pajama pants
that don't stay up
and any shirt that i had on the night before.
because of all of the brick work
the inground pool that they had put in over the summer-
that some how they were
out of my league
more grown up
more to offer and so i rarely looked up to wave as they drove by.
and i know that this all sounds
silly and shallow and terribly dumb
but i can't help it.
i spent the night replaying
the whole conversation and said
about a million times that i
couldn't believe how nice she was.
and i still can't believe
how wrong
how prejudiced i have become
how obstinate how scared
how ridiculous and so from now on
i'm determined to keep my eyes
on lafayette
and wave
and smile
and be what i am supposed to be.
onward and
june cleaver
and tupperware parties
and shared recipes
and thirty.
being a neighbor seemed alot easier in the fifties.
april 7,2005
tasty of china
from the time
i was little
i have wanted
to be chinese.
obviously when mom said
that of course i could be
anything-
the sky was the limit-
nothing could stop me...
she probably did not
have this in mind.
i love everything about them.
the women are so beautiful
with their shiny thick hair
and they are always tiny
thin and stylish
they are so ripe and rich
with culture
they belong to their music
and clothes and food and eachother.
and really-what am i.
mongrel.
mutt.
my culture is american-
because the waters are so muddy.
and so i'm apple pie
with homeade crust
fourth of july picnics
sparklers and hot dogs
and it seems so
peripheral and silly.
i would sit in
chinese restaurants
trying to master
the art of chopsticks
taking in the smells
the music
elevator chinese music
and the red and gold
new year decorations
dragons and crazy cats
trying to find out
what animal i am
according to
the year of my birth.
and the cute little
children who sit patiently
wait for mom and dad
with their sweet faces
show me to my table
pour my water
and i always hope
for the lemon slice
(good luck)
and their famlies
seem so strong
and happy and i make friends
with waiters and owners
and they really seem to like me.
hong pan sent me
letters when i moved away.
with chinese mysterious
candy and hello kitty.
and peter ran out and
bought me a watermelon
because they were
out of watermelon juice
and i bask
the good fortunes
and i hold
my breath for the wishes
and i know
that i must be happy
with uncle sam and old glory
its not that i'm not proud
or teary eyed or hand over heart
really i am.
it's just the restlessness.
the rolling over
and over and not quite
comfortable
in this skin
in this heart
in this life.
year of the rabbit.
from the time
i was little
i have wanted
to be chinese.
obviously when mom said
that of course i could be
anything-
the sky was the limit-
nothing could stop me...
she probably did not
have this in mind.
i love everything about them.
the women are so beautiful
with their shiny thick hair
and they are always tiny
thin and stylish
they are so ripe and rich
with culture
they belong to their music
and clothes and food and eachother.
and really-what am i.
mongrel.
mutt.
my culture is american-
because the waters are so muddy.
and so i'm apple pie
with homeade crust
fourth of july picnics
sparklers and hot dogs
and it seems so
peripheral and silly.
i would sit in
chinese restaurants
trying to master
the art of chopsticks
taking in the smells
the music
elevator chinese music
and the red and gold
new year decorations
dragons and crazy cats
trying to find out
what animal i am
according to
the year of my birth.
and the cute little
children who sit patiently
wait for mom and dad
with their sweet faces
show me to my table
pour my water
and i always hope
for the lemon slice
(good luck)
and their famlies
seem so strong
and happy and i make friends
with waiters and owners
and they really seem to like me.
hong pan sent me
letters when i moved away.
with chinese mysterious
candy and hello kitty.
and peter ran out and
bought me a watermelon
because they were
out of watermelon juice
and i bask
the good fortunes
and i hold
my breath for the wishes
and i know
that i must be happy
with uncle sam and old glory
its not that i'm not proud
or teary eyed or hand over heart
really i am.
it's just the restlessness.
the rolling over
and over and not quite
comfortable
in this skin
in this heart
in this life.
year of the rabbit.
april 6,2005
one last sunset
getting
all of their things
in order
as the doctor
leaves
lump
heart in throat
choking on all
of the somedays
and growing old
together and no more time
and she takes him back
to the little house
full of lifetimes
and birthdays
and movie nights with the big white popcorn bowl
and how he cried when you told him
that he could not make one last visit
to his beloved florida vacation to forget
the cares and pain
to sit and watch
the soothing sunsets.
and when one thing goes wrong
all
hell
brakes loose
and its really more than one
could take and the
quiet comes
eventually
after the storm
and the hospice lady was very nice
and poor ol' tom is very weak
walking to the bathroom knocks
the wind
the life
the breath
from his body
and you be what you can be-
till death do you ....
know how to let go.
can you stand watching
the withering.
can your heart
break anymore...
hold every second as you hold his hand.
the time flies
and the world
gets bigger
and the day
gets darker and
you tell him to keep an eye
on sunsets
on bright days
that warm his face
as you sit and pray
hold until
the day comes.
getting
all of their things
in order
as the doctor
leaves
lump
heart in throat
choking on all
of the somedays
and growing old
together and no more time
and she takes him back
to the little house
full of lifetimes
and birthdays
and movie nights with the big white popcorn bowl
and how he cried when you told him
that he could not make one last visit
to his beloved florida vacation to forget
the cares and pain
to sit and watch
the soothing sunsets.
and when one thing goes wrong
all
hell
brakes loose
and its really more than one
could take and the
quiet comes
eventually
after the storm
and the hospice lady was very nice
and poor ol' tom is very weak
walking to the bathroom knocks
the wind
the life
the breath
from his body
and you be what you can be-
till death do you ....
know how to let go.
can you stand watching
the withering.
can your heart
break anymore...
hold every second as you hold his hand.
the time flies
and the world
gets bigger
and the day
gets darker and
you tell him to keep an eye
on sunsets
on bright days
that warm his face
as you sit and pray
hold until
the day comes.
april 5,2005
somers point
nan and pop pop
lived in a neat
little house
in somers point
on pennsylvania ave.
all the streets had states names
nan's sister lived on a different state.
somers point is one town removed
tourist mecca-ocean city
in this otherwise sleepy
little cracker box
you can catch a whiff
excitement the ocean
the traffic-
o.c. is a dry town
everybody comes
to somers point for their liquor.
the air is thick with salt and
humidity that drenches makes
your hair sticky.
on a hot summers nights
the dairy queen has a line
out the wazoo.
people try to decide between
chocolate
and vanilla.
and we had our own mecca on pennsylvania ave
the enormous green and white
above ground pool that filled
almost the entire
chain linked
back yard.
we'd play miss america with nan's
tiaras and have bathing suit competitions
(this perhaps explains my loathing of swimsuits,today)
and my skinny sister
and her friend tracy
always won
(they only had two tiaras)
and i would paddle about happily
in my styrofoam floaty.
with the cute
little styrofoam duck on top
i loved
that duck.
it looked like the one
tom and jerry
that thought tom was his "mommy"
all the while tom was fixing
to
eat him.
nan would have her fantastic rose swim cap on-
(she was always a glamour puss)
dad would have his wire
dark sunglasses on-
just enjoy the whole of it all
playing war amongst pop's homeade
full size wooden
carved cannons-
replicas of the civil war-
we'd eat applesauce
that was already
sweetened
nan would add tons of cinnamon
and sugar...
that little duck-
even at three
i remember
being afraid of getting
too big for the floaty
i wanted my dad
to chop off
the duck
so that i could always keep it.
so that i could always have
this time
these smells
this laughter
for always...
but i guess
he never did.
nan and pop pop
lived in a neat
little house
in somers point
on pennsylvania ave.
all the streets had states names
nan's sister lived on a different state.
somers point is one town removed
tourist mecca-ocean city
in this otherwise sleepy
little cracker box
you can catch a whiff
excitement the ocean
the traffic-
o.c. is a dry town
everybody comes
to somers point for their liquor.
the air is thick with salt and
humidity that drenches makes
your hair sticky.
on a hot summers nights
the dairy queen has a line
out the wazoo.
people try to decide between
chocolate
and vanilla.
and we had our own mecca on pennsylvania ave
the enormous green and white
above ground pool that filled
almost the entire
chain linked
back yard.
we'd play miss america with nan's
tiaras and have bathing suit competitions
(this perhaps explains my loathing of swimsuits,today)
and my skinny sister
and her friend tracy
always won
(they only had two tiaras)
and i would paddle about happily
in my styrofoam floaty.
with the cute
little styrofoam duck on top
i loved
that duck.
it looked like the one
tom and jerry
that thought tom was his "mommy"
all the while tom was fixing
to
eat him.
nan would have her fantastic rose swim cap on-
(she was always a glamour puss)
dad would have his wire
dark sunglasses on-
just enjoy the whole of it all
playing war amongst pop's homeade
full size wooden
carved cannons-
replicas of the civil war-
we'd eat applesauce
that was already
sweetened
nan would add tons of cinnamon
and sugar...
that little duck-
even at three
i remember
being afraid of getting
too big for the floaty
i wanted my dad
to chop off
the duck
so that i could always keep it.
so that i could always have
this time
these smells
this laughter
for always...
but i guess
he never did.
april 4,2005
caleb's birthday
and so
four years today.
four years when
we first said hello.
hushed dark room
among strangers
panic no time
to think as
life came to me,again.
purple and wonderful
little thing
screaming your barbaric yawp
wriggling in the shock of the cold
plunged into head first
the breath of life filled the room
and we cried and kissed
stared-dumbfounded,once,again-
feeling so small in the grand
scheme of things
yet so mighty
for doing the impossible...
you were perfect.you still are
ten fingers ten toes
dragon slaying swordfights
with brother and still
so little
so new
so hope and faith
santa and bunnies that bring eggs
your little kid kisses
your little boy dreams
make this life seem
less crazy make these days so
much sweeter....
and now you are big
now you are belly laughs
now you are four.
happy day
to us all.
and so
four years today.
four years when
we first said hello.
hushed dark room
among strangers
panic no time
to think as
life came to me,again.
purple and wonderful
little thing
screaming your barbaric yawp
wriggling in the shock of the cold
plunged into head first
the breath of life filled the room
and we cried and kissed
stared-dumbfounded,once,again-
feeling so small in the grand
scheme of things
yet so mighty
for doing the impossible...
you were perfect.you still are
ten fingers ten toes
dragon slaying swordfights
with brother and still
so little
so new
so hope and faith
santa and bunnies that bring eggs
your little kid kisses
your little boy dreams
make this life seem
less crazy make these days so
much sweeter....
and now you are big
now you are belly laughs
now you are four.
happy day
to us all.
april 3,2005
eastern standard time
i do it
everytime
this whole
springin foward
routine not like
a surprise like
clockwork...
each year
i'm warned
i don't prepare
i guess like
everything else
insomniac and i
watch stupid
television.
last night
it was working girl
(i hate melanie griffith)
because i remembered
the great soundtrack
carly simon and
le....t the ri ver ru....n let all the drea....mers wake the....
and i didn't even get to hear it
wasted time
energy valuable
beauty sleep
(i need all that
i can possibly get)
and then,again,
i laid in fear
listening to the
haphazard wind beat
savagely against
the siding and i
heard every creak
and pop and
tiny noise
most would not detect
and i play out
scary sceneios
in my head and
freak myself out
more and purposely
rustle around in bed
hitting your
leg or arm so
as to maybe keep you
awake,too,
in my torture
(which is undeniably
selfish,i know)
but things seem
a little less anxious
and i think i may
even be able to conquer
the night
when you are
conscious
but you could
sleep through
world war three
and the morning
comes ever
so quickly
and the thing that sucks
is that it is really 4am
and i've sprung ahead
i'm woosy from all
that springin
i just want to sleep forever.
daylight savings
saves noone....
i do it
everytime
this whole
springin foward
routine not like
a surprise like
clockwork...
each year
i'm warned
i don't prepare
i guess like
everything else
insomniac and i
watch stupid
television.
last night
it was working girl
(i hate melanie griffith)
because i remembered
the great soundtrack
carly simon and
le....t the ri ver ru....n let all the drea....mers wake the....
and i didn't even get to hear it
wasted time
energy valuable
beauty sleep
(i need all that
i can possibly get)
and then,again,
i laid in fear
listening to the
haphazard wind beat
savagely against
the siding and i
heard every creak
and pop and
tiny noise
most would not detect
and i play out
scary sceneios
in my head and
freak myself out
more and purposely
rustle around in bed
hitting your
leg or arm so
as to maybe keep you
awake,too,
in my torture
(which is undeniably
selfish,i know)
but things seem
a little less anxious
and i think i may
even be able to conquer
the night
when you are
conscious
but you could
sleep through
world war three
and the morning
comes ever
so quickly
and the thing that sucks
is that it is really 4am
and i've sprung ahead
i'm woosy from all
that springin
i just want to sleep forever.
daylight savings
saves noone....
april 2,2005
passing
john paul
died today and i think heaven
cried buckets for us
nor'easterner so say weather people
but what do they know anyway
i didn't subscribe to the whole notion-
infalliblity and all the rest.
but i shed a misty tear or twenty at the loss nonetheless
he was there almost as long as i was.
oh the pope-a he's a so nice...
shiny pope mobile
jeweled and bedazzled
white robes (i took them for granted)
thought of him as forever.
immortal i guess.
and how people wept in his presence
as he waved almost
always feebly,nimbly brittle
is how i will always remember
polish filmmaker
then priest
then head of rome
and i've heard that despite his apparent weakness
and the crazy amount of riches
secrecy and supremacy
he championed the cause of the poor
more so than anyone else
they love him the most
in the third world-so i've read
and there are so many poor with us.
even in america we can look very third world.
taking groceries to mill st.
felt like somewhere
so remote as the children
clung en mass and hugged
and cried at the prospect
of shampoo and toilet paper.
and i remember the young girl
sixteen or so and strung out
answering the door with her newborn.
she sat the baby down upright
on the concrete when newborns
can't sit on their own and SPLAT!
right on the back of his baby head
as she rummaged through the bag-gobbling
tearing apart the packages
and how he wailed uncomforted
and how i wailed uncomforted
abject poverty right under my nose
hard to ignore
no electricity only two blocks away
from my little bungalow
in which the lights are on 24/7
(fear of bats)
dying to eat and survive as i
(nonchalantly)
clean out the fridge and chuck all that has expired.
it's easy to forget
in quiet suburbia
easy to go on like nothing has happened
and yet i see their faces i feel them struggle
i hear them cry out to me
in the death of this man
i vow to never forget,again.
john paul
died today and i think heaven
cried buckets for us
nor'easterner so say weather people
but what do they know anyway
i didn't subscribe to the whole notion-
infalliblity and all the rest.
but i shed a misty tear or twenty at the loss nonetheless
he was there almost as long as i was.
oh the pope-a he's a so nice...
shiny pope mobile
jeweled and bedazzled
white robes (i took them for granted)
thought of him as forever.
immortal i guess.
and how people wept in his presence
as he waved almost
always feebly,nimbly brittle
is how i will always remember
polish filmmaker
then priest
then head of rome
and i've heard that despite his apparent weakness
and the crazy amount of riches
secrecy and supremacy
he championed the cause of the poor
more so than anyone else
they love him the most
in the third world-so i've read
and there are so many poor with us.
even in america we can look very third world.
taking groceries to mill st.
felt like somewhere
so remote as the children
clung en mass and hugged
and cried at the prospect
of shampoo and toilet paper.
and i remember the young girl
sixteen or so and strung out
answering the door with her newborn.
she sat the baby down upright
on the concrete when newborns
can't sit on their own and SPLAT!
right on the back of his baby head
as she rummaged through the bag-gobbling
tearing apart the packages
and how he wailed uncomforted
and how i wailed uncomforted
abject poverty right under my nose
hard to ignore
no electricity only two blocks away
from my little bungalow
in which the lights are on 24/7
(fear of bats)
dying to eat and survive as i
(nonchalantly)
clean out the fridge and chuck all that has expired.
it's easy to forget
in quiet suburbia
easy to go on like nothing has happened
and yet i see their faces i feel them struggle
i hear them cry out to me
in the death of this man
i vow to never forget,again.
april 2,2005
harwan theater
sweaty teenage boys
x marked the spot
.stop.
to it all
swimming up
streaming past
meatheads
and potheads
and then off to college.
few faithful.left.
to the hope
and the cause
victory records
screamy bands that speak
exactly what you need
to say.
greener grass and hash
and the little devil
cartoon on your shoulder
whispered and the true till death
seemed more reasonable
true till tuesday
slipped into
something more comfortable
into the netherworld
the you never said neverworld
till you
became one of
them.
puker
stumbler
fumbler
pocketing the lie
that can only be had
when your blood alcohol
level is higher than your sat's
said hello to jacks
and mickeys and whoever else
your friends were able
to bring home
fake id and even faker you
that said things that sounded
ridiculous and looked like
an even bigger fool.
in a room held down and screaming.
two by two.who knew.
and the liquor wore off real quick
hovering.haunting
above yourself.the whole scene
wife beaters.meat eaters.up the weak and screams
that got lost in the vomit.
and drowned in the tears.
crawling to a closet.
locked in.
left for dead.
for years
till you feel seventeen and shaky
when you see a drunk man
when you are alone in an elevator with a stranger
when you are forced to trust,again...
and
i wish you could turn
back the dial
shelter and policy of three
and shows at bonnies.
i wish you could have
found your salvation in pits
and backpacks and homeade
press passes and
zines scads of zines.
philadelphia never really loved you.
and there's really no
going back.
sweaty teenage boys
x marked the spot
.stop.
to it all
swimming up
streaming past
meatheads
and potheads
and then off to college.
few faithful.left.
to the hope
and the cause
victory records
screamy bands that speak
exactly what you need
to say.
greener grass and hash
and the little devil
cartoon on your shoulder
whispered and the true till death
seemed more reasonable
true till tuesday
slipped into
something more comfortable
into the netherworld
the you never said neverworld
till you
became one of
them.
puker
stumbler
fumbler
pocketing the lie
that can only be had
when your blood alcohol
level is higher than your sat's
said hello to jacks
and mickeys and whoever else
your friends were able
to bring home
fake id and even faker you
that said things that sounded
ridiculous and looked like
an even bigger fool.
in a room held down and screaming.
two by two.who knew.
and the liquor wore off real quick
hovering.haunting
above yourself.the whole scene
wife beaters.meat eaters.up the weak and screams
that got lost in the vomit.
and drowned in the tears.
crawling to a closet.
locked in.
left for dead.
for years
till you feel seventeen and shaky
when you see a drunk man
when you are alone in an elevator with a stranger
when you are forced to trust,again...
and
i wish you could turn
back the dial
shelter and policy of three
and shows at bonnies.
i wish you could have
found your salvation in pits
and backpacks and homeade
press passes and
zines scads of zines.
philadelphia never really loved you.
and there's really no
going back.
april 1,2005
trying to keep my head above water(long title-short poem)
mayhem
utter and complete
chaos crap all over
trying to do basic math
and basically sucking
at the eloquence
is in the garbage
bills and zero interest
accounts and trying to be
good steward and inundated
innoculated and beauty slips
out of reach out
of pink chipped
fingernails
out of control
and i hate being
a grown up,
sometimes.
mayhem
utter and complete
chaos crap all over
trying to do basic math
and basically sucking
at the eloquence
is in the garbage
bills and zero interest
accounts and trying to be
good steward and inundated
innoculated and beauty slips
out of reach out
of pink chipped
fingernails
out of control
and i hate being
a grown up,
sometimes.
march 31,2005
genesis
march blows by
makes her presence
known not forgotten...
sad brothers parted
by solemn vows pomp
circumstances head
over heels
shared softdrinks
long strolls in the moonlight
left alone to an empty house
capture the flag
capture my heart
sibling silliness
blood brothers
forever and now.
what.
married man
fatherhood
family cars
get in the way of
cain and able
to finish eachothers
sentences
sandwiches and secrets
a lovely day
for a wedding
life changing decisions
bouquets and roses
that leave them giddy
and which just
...leaves...
in the circle of trees
in the spoken words
in the smiles
congratulations
one to happily ever
one
just left to sleep.
march blows by
makes her presence
known not forgotten...
sad brothers parted
by solemn vows pomp
circumstances head
over heels
shared softdrinks
long strolls in the moonlight
left alone to an empty house
capture the flag
capture my heart
sibling silliness
blood brothers
forever and now.
what.
married man
fatherhood
family cars
get in the way of
cain and able
to finish eachothers
sentences
sandwiches and secrets
a lovely day
for a wedding
life changing decisions
bouquets and roses
that leave them giddy
and which just
...leaves...
in the circle of trees
in the spoken words
in the smiles
congratulations
one to happily ever
one
just left to sleep.
march 31,2005
makeover
reckless
feckless
and hap
hazards
of this life
all of the
good intentions
advice i've had
it up to moonpies
sleepless nights
bags under
the eyes punches
to the gut knife
to the heart
and can't look
into the mirror,anymore.
you kiss me hard
you try
but the cache of
bandaids soothsaying
and miracle pills
jumping through hoops
can't fix achy breaky
can't change these
almond shaped eyes
crooked nose and blistering
soul when i'm still
so very stuck.
reckless
feckless
and hap
hazards
of this life
all of the
good intentions
advice i've had
it up to moonpies
sleepless nights
bags under
the eyes punches
to the gut knife
to the heart
and can't look
into the mirror,anymore.
you kiss me hard
you try
but the cache of
bandaids soothsaying
and miracle pills
jumping through hoops
can't fix achy breaky
can't change these
almond shaped eyes
crooked nose and blistering
soul when i'm still
so very stuck.
march 30,2005
maureen
and so took
back the dressing
and permitted
peek exposed and rotten
and you have
that effect on me.i can't
cry anymore
stoic
stowin
away see
saws and heart
attacks and all
the disorders
that plague this
particular
time.therapy 101
really stark
deer in headlights
just driveling
stream of unconsciousnesssssss
and my crummy day s
andyoucried
and i felt bad
that i stood and looked on...
but i can't scale that wall
upper body strength has never been my thing
(darn those presidential physical fitness debacles)
and i can't really
show my hand becuse
i might scare even you away
stilitedwiltedwornoutandwoosy
and i ramble
and you tell
me its ok
validate
my grey clouds
hand me an umbrella
for the one that's directly over my head
and i don't deserve you.
can't even remember your birthday
offer nothing to you except
crazy sollioquys
shakespeare in the twilight
and you put
upwithme
lay down your life
for closer than a brother
and you tell me that i'll always be cool.
healing on the horizon
light in this
middle of the night
intervention
God and me working out our stuff.
and i hope that she's right
hope it's ok
praying that i don't mess this up,too.
worry wart.....
and so took
back the dressing
and permitted
peek exposed and rotten
and you have
that effect on me.i can't
cry anymore
stoic
stowin
away see
saws and heart
attacks and all
the disorders
that plague this
particular
time.therapy 101
really stark
deer in headlights
just driveling
stream of unconsciousnesssssss
and my crummy day s
andyoucried
and i felt bad
that i stood and looked on...
but i can't scale that wall
upper body strength has never been my thing
(darn those presidential physical fitness debacles)
and i can't really
show my hand becuse
i might scare even you away
stilitedwiltedwornoutandwoosy
and i ramble
and you tell
me its ok
validate
my grey clouds
hand me an umbrella
for the one that's directly over my head
and i don't deserve you.
can't even remember your birthday
offer nothing to you except
crazy sollioquys
shakespeare in the twilight
and you put
upwithme
lay down your life
for closer than a brother
and you tell me that i'll always be cool.
healing on the horizon
light in this
middle of the night
intervention
God and me working out our stuff.
and i hope that she's right
hope it's ok
praying that i don't mess this up,too.
worry wart.....
march 29,2005
seventh grade dance
still
stuck
on the side
lines melting
into scenery
i open
clumsy
big
fat
mouth
words spill
wine on
neutral carpet
territory
dinner party
or france
and you feel
crawling back shell
keratin cool
and its late
die cast
been found out
square peg and glued
eyelids and can't
shove myself
back into this
thin
skin
wound self
inflicted
alone
wishing
that i could be
anyone
but
me.
still
stuck
on the side
lines melting
into scenery
i open
clumsy
big
fat
mouth
words spill
wine on
neutral carpet
territory
dinner party
or france
and you feel
crawling back shell
keratin cool
and its late
die cast
been found out
square peg and glued
eyelids and can't
shove myself
back into this
thin
skin
wound self
inflicted
alone
wishing
that i could be
anyone
but
me.
march 28,2005
dead poets
they say
there is
strength
in numbers
and so i
guess that's
why i feel
so small
backed aqainst
the mighty moe
powerhouse thing
stings
makes me want
to vomit
you just
don't see how
penetrable
weak fortress
gusto
winding down
and crouching over
secret societies
nuwanda and noone
and i'm plain
sick and tired
i just don't
get why it is
that noone
writes songs
for green eyed girls
green eyed monsters
that hide
under the bed
party with
dust bunnies
i find myself
talking to.
myself and the crazy
old ladies
and i'm running
out of
things to say.
they say
there is
strength
in numbers
and so i
guess that's
why i feel
so small
backed aqainst
the mighty moe
powerhouse thing
stings
makes me want
to vomit
you just
don't see how
penetrable
weak fortress
gusto
winding down
and crouching over
secret societies
nuwanda and noone
and i'm plain
sick and tired
i just don't
get why it is
that noone
writes songs
for green eyed girls
green eyed monsters
that hide
under the bed
party with
dust bunnies
i find myself
talking to.
myself and the crazy
old ladies
and i'm running
out of
things to say.
march 28,2005
day after
norman rockwell
snippets
coconut lemon cake
piled high to oblivion
hunts and best in show
fancy moments in pink patent leather mary janes
truck loads of glucose and chocolate faces belly laughs
races and made up games.
the boys always cheat except for jacob
who is most definitely a straight up kind of guy
i take it all in
pose and superimpose this happiness
into the crannies and the catalogs
save it in my back pocket for dreary days
unexplainable saddness and an apple a day keeps my
heartmovinandagroovin
sheer
and utter
joy resurrected
peace
in this valley
strength
in the sunrise
hope
in this minute
crazy
cat
kind of life.
norman rockwell
snippets
coconut lemon cake
piled high to oblivion
hunts and best in show
fancy moments in pink patent leather mary janes
truck loads of glucose and chocolate faces belly laughs
races and made up games.
the boys always cheat except for jacob
who is most definitely a straight up kind of guy
i take it all in
pose and superimpose this happiness
into the crannies and the catalogs
save it in my back pocket for dreary days
unexplainable saddness and an apple a day keeps my
heartmovinandagroovin
sheer
and utter
joy resurrected
peace
in this valley
strength
in the sunrise
hope
in this minute
crazy
cat
kind of life.
march 27,2005
passion day 7 (caelum)
and then
it's here
promises kept
hope restored
death into life
lillies and eggs
bunnies and goodwill
to all men...
and there's
redemption in the air
it's palpable and thick
here for the taking
the sack cloth is cast off
the mourning is turned into dancing
(two left feet)
the bell tolls
hearts leap
all is well
all is right
and it is truly new
every morning
every first cup of coffee
everytime i look in the mirror
see your face
your peace and
go and tell peter
you are better than anyone
at simple touches
that heal.
that mend broken.
lives broken.
hearts and it is we who should seek.
you are fast on our heels.
breath.right behind.
arms for the embrace we finally.stop.
and bow.
fall.
at your perfect feet
swear our loyalty
and you ask for our heart
our valentines
our little childs soul
we rest and
we rejoice
you are risen...and so we rise.
benedictus qui venit in nomine domini.
blessed is he who comes in the name of the lord.
amen.
and then
it's here
promises kept
hope restored
death into life
lillies and eggs
bunnies and goodwill
to all men...
and there's
redemption in the air
it's palpable and thick
here for the taking
the sack cloth is cast off
the mourning is turned into dancing
(two left feet)
the bell tolls
hearts leap
all is well
all is right
and it is truly new
every morning
every first cup of coffee
everytime i look in the mirror
see your face
your peace and
go and tell peter
you are better than anyone
at simple touches
that heal.
that mend broken.
lives broken.
hearts and it is we who should seek.
you are fast on our heels.
breath.right behind.
arms for the embrace we finally.stop.
and bow.
fall.
at your perfect feet
swear our loyalty
and you ask for our heart
our valentines
our little childs soul
we rest and
we rejoice
you are risen...and so we rise.
benedictus qui venit in nomine domini.
blessed is he who comes in the name of the lord.
amen.
march 27,2005
passion day 6(dollar short-day late)
dust settles
pinned eyes
strain to open
encrusted with grief
head pounding ache
in the very pit
of your soul
reliving
rewinding
replaying
over and over
last
moments
last
hand touch
last
smile carefree
forsaken moments...
and you choke on the nightmare
the feeling that you get
if you just could do it over
go hide under the covers and...
sleep...perhaps time will stand
still pain will subside
sack cloth
mourning clothes
and a sky that bears
no hope of a sunrise
and the strangling emptiness...
the haunting image
scorched earth policy
broken heart happenings
and the grimaces
the moans for mercy
wracked with pain
helplessness and now the quiet
buried behind stone
we are buried behind shame
feet that were washed by holy hands
hit the dust and hid in the shadows
and you were alone
and my god
my god how could i have...
forsaken...fled...looked
out for my own traitorous
well being
had tasted of your sweetness
had a glipmse of your glory
saw miracles leave your fingertips
holy fire
holy power
breathless body
frankincense and myrh
drained and bleak
and he will not suffer his foot...
all seems in slumber...
and there is no need
to wake up.
dust settles
pinned eyes
strain to open
encrusted with grief
head pounding ache
in the very pit
of your soul
reliving
rewinding
replaying
over and over
last
moments
last
hand touch
last
smile carefree
forsaken moments...
and you choke on the nightmare
the feeling that you get
if you just could do it over
go hide under the covers and...
sleep...perhaps time will stand
still pain will subside
sack cloth
mourning clothes
and a sky that bears
no hope of a sunrise
and the strangling emptiness...
the haunting image
scorched earth policy
broken heart happenings
and the grimaces
the moans for mercy
wracked with pain
helplessness and now the quiet
buried behind stone
we are buried behind shame
feet that were washed by holy hands
hit the dust and hid in the shadows
and you were alone
and my god
my god how could i have...
forsaken...fled...looked
out for my own traitorous
well being
had tasted of your sweetness
had a glipmse of your glory
saw miracles leave your fingertips
holy fire
holy power
breathless body
frankincense and myrh
drained and bleak
and he will not suffer his foot...
all seems in slumber...
and there is no need
to wake up.
march 26,2005
passion day 5
this bloodied mes
(my bloody valentine)s
just prolongs
the agony the
gnawing pain that
never gives way
and the truth
and this life of
mine hidden
in obscurity
racking up
the points
the notches
in your back
so that i can do dumb things
like feel desirable worth it
and worse still swan song
my own private idaho
blazing the trail
causing
an uproar and
it gets me...no
where to run
to lick the gaping
wounds.bruises.fat lips
humanity sliding
down my cheeks
shame
under ice
trying to reduce
the swelling of
this heart about
to burst
carelessess of my lips
the subtly of my sin
brings us back to this...
stories too sad to repeat
agony stifled pain
sounds and humiliation
(laughing as you suffer)
pleasure in your pain
i join them plunking
down my spare change
for a chance
(sucker for sales)
laughing when you are uncomfortable...
you know that its wrong
that its easier to be an
accomplice than to fisticuffs
rally your resolve
and then comes the really terrible part
the initiation
can not be complete
and so you stand
buckling pressure
sweat saturating
shirt clinging
you drive
the stakes into heart
and eternity into goodness
and mercy and the
blood is shed
so that you may be
free.it hits
you time after
time your culpability
culprit cooperate
punishment you cry
till your nose falls
off your face
till your head
aches begs
for reprieve
cold in shock
shaking at the love
for granted
the grace ignored
the hollow that
can be so effortlessly
full and heaving
of life unspeakable
changed in
this moment
swear i'll never
let you down...again...
blood
stains never quite
come out
the wounds
will reopen
have to bathe
again and again
new every morning
you cover you
forgive you hold
me in the palm
pierced hands
i'm sorry....
and i'm grateful.
gloria revolution.
this bloodied mes
(my bloody valentine)s
just prolongs
the agony the
gnawing pain that
never gives way
and the truth
and this life of
mine hidden
in obscurity
racking up
the points
the notches
in your back
so that i can do dumb things
like feel desirable worth it
and worse still swan song
my own private idaho
blazing the trail
causing
an uproar and
it gets me...no
where to run
to lick the gaping
wounds.bruises.fat lips
humanity sliding
down my cheeks
shame
under ice
trying to reduce
the swelling of
this heart about
to burst
carelessess of my lips
the subtly of my sin
brings us back to this...
stories too sad to repeat
agony stifled pain
sounds and humiliation
(laughing as you suffer)
pleasure in your pain
i join them plunking
down my spare change
for a chance
(sucker for sales)
laughing when you are uncomfortable...
you know that its wrong
that its easier to be an
accomplice than to fisticuffs
rally your resolve
and then comes the really terrible part
the initiation
can not be complete
and so you stand
buckling pressure
sweat saturating
shirt clinging
you drive
the stakes into heart
and eternity into goodness
and mercy and the
blood is shed
so that you may be
free.it hits
you time after
time your culpability
culprit cooperate
punishment you cry
till your nose falls
off your face
till your head
aches begs
for reprieve
cold in shock
shaking at the love
for granted
the grace ignored
the hollow that
can be so effortlessly
full and heaving
of life unspeakable
changed in
this moment
swear i'll never
let you down...again...
blood
stains never quite
come out
the wounds
will reopen
have to bathe
again and again
new every morning
you cover you
forgive you hold
me in the palm
pierced hands
i'm sorry....
and i'm grateful.
gloria revolution.
march 25,2005
nicodemus and pea green macs
today is bleak outside...fitting for black friday.i had my starbucks.my taste of little debbies easter snack cakes.i have a wicked headache(low blood sugar).i went to a country club today which was very nice-almost was out of place b/c it's located in a dreary little cracker box poor town.the decor was all pinecones and there was about 200 ladies vying for the buffet line and eyeing up the door prizes. i felt awkward and clumsy(as usual)-i am not a social climber and besides-buffet lines are always difficult for someone who lives on coffee-egg whites-and popcorn(they didn't have any of the latter)the speaker was good and today will probably be one of the most memorable black fridays for me because i really got to take in the whole idea of the day and the sacrifice and my role in the big picture.i got to go and rock out in my ultra cool toyota minivan to showbread-dancing and singing my lungs out-and permenately damaging my eardrums while listening to track ..3-"your lips are like a magazine...",and then i decided to venture past song 7(as i never tire of repetition)and i got to song 12 and was completely blown away. i sat there reading the lyrics while driving on a very crowded and crazy rt.73 and balling my eyes out....that song is so awesome.the whole undeserved grace and mercy thing..... the other memorable moment of my trip out was that i got a completely rad dress and pea green macintosh.oh i will be so stylish. life is good....even on the cloudy days....God is good-everyday.
thanks.
today is bleak outside...fitting for black friday.i had my starbucks.my taste of little debbies easter snack cakes.i have a wicked headache(low blood sugar).i went to a country club today which was very nice-almost was out of place b/c it's located in a dreary little cracker box poor town.the decor was all pinecones and there was about 200 ladies vying for the buffet line and eyeing up the door prizes. i felt awkward and clumsy(as usual)-i am not a social climber and besides-buffet lines are always difficult for someone who lives on coffee-egg whites-and popcorn(they didn't have any of the latter)the speaker was good and today will probably be one of the most memorable black fridays for me because i really got to take in the whole idea of the day and the sacrifice and my role in the big picture.i got to go and rock out in my ultra cool toyota minivan to showbread-dancing and singing my lungs out-and permenately damaging my eardrums while listening to track ..3-"your lips are like a magazine...",and then i decided to venture past song 7(as i never tire of repetition)and i got to song 12 and was completely blown away. i sat there reading the lyrics while driving on a very crowded and crazy rt.73 and balling my eyes out....that song is so awesome.the whole undeserved grace and mercy thing..... the other memorable moment of my trip out was that i got a completely rad dress and pea green macintosh.oh i will be so stylish. life is good....even on the cloudy days....God is good-everyday.
thanks.
march 25,2005
passion day4
and i fight.
war.
battle.
against
flesh
and blood
tangible
and real
and principalities
and powers and
dark bedrooms
at 7.30 am
looking for
excuses
excuse me
for not
wanting to
get out of bed
rationalizing
arguing a pretty
good case of how
a ladies good friday breakfast
has really nothing to do with good friday at all.....
but if truth
be told i'm tired
too much talking
late at night
laying on your chest
as you ran your fingers
through my hair
and it was so nice
i looked for anything
to talk about so that i could keep this
polaroid frozen
so that my nose would not get cold
and eventually little boys needed
to be rescued from bad dreams
and it was just too hard to fight
my eyelids anymore
and so i'm awake 1/2 hour late
procrastinating
hen pecking blubberings
and hitting brick walls
bloodied and a little bit
woosy(better check my pupils)
and i realize
that like peter
who swore his staunch allegiance
like simon who swore he'd die for you
like the impulsive sweet
say anything apostle
who pledged his undying
love...
i,too,
hear the cock crow
more than three times
more like three lifetimes
i,too,
deny and rant and rave
and act like a madman when motives
are questioned and you
knock me off my self
righteous perch
i,too,live hands
in the palm
choking on regret
at my weakness
at my inability
to die to this flesh
day after daunting day and
i,too,hide
hoping that things
will turn out for the best
wracking myself
internal injuries
breathing prayers
of redemption
songs and hoping
that you are not through
with my endless failings...
and here you,are.
day upon day.
moment upon moment.
mercy upon mercy.
and you take your place
in history in my life
for this world and for
tiny,broken,me
and it flows...
and i'm restored...
and i come out of hiding...
because i hear you calling my name.
and i fight.
war.
battle.
against
flesh
and blood
tangible
and real
and principalities
and powers and
dark bedrooms
at 7.30 am
looking for
excuses
excuse me
for not
wanting to
get out of bed
rationalizing
arguing a pretty
good case of how
a ladies good friday breakfast
has really nothing to do with good friday at all.....
but if truth
be told i'm tired
too much talking
late at night
laying on your chest
as you ran your fingers
through my hair
and it was so nice
i looked for anything
to talk about so that i could keep this
polaroid frozen
so that my nose would not get cold
and eventually little boys needed
to be rescued from bad dreams
and it was just too hard to fight
my eyelids anymore
and so i'm awake 1/2 hour late
procrastinating
hen pecking blubberings
and hitting brick walls
bloodied and a little bit
woosy(better check my pupils)
and i realize
that like peter
who swore his staunch allegiance
like simon who swore he'd die for you
like the impulsive sweet
say anything apostle
who pledged his undying
love...
i,too,
hear the cock crow
more than three times
more like three lifetimes
i,too,
deny and rant and rave
and act like a madman when motives
are questioned and you
knock me off my self
righteous perch
i,too,live hands
in the palm
choking on regret
at my weakness
at my inability
to die to this flesh
day after daunting day and
i,too,hide
hoping that things
will turn out for the best
wracking myself
internal injuries
breathing prayers
of redemption
songs and hoping
that you are not through
with my endless failings...
and here you,are.
day upon day.
moment upon moment.
mercy upon mercy.
and you take your place
in history in my life
for this world and for
tiny,broken,me
and it flows...
and i'm restored...
and i come out of hiding...
because i hear you calling my name.
march 24,2005
estelle manor memories
nanny's house always
smelled of ivory soap
and pop pop's grecian
formula and it carried
me away to piles
of dress up clothes
tiny size 5 shoes
and that old wooden
jewelry box with lions
for the handles
that was chock full
gaudy bauble loveliness
trips to dye
easter eggs and games
of bank teller
girlfriend giggles
late at night made
holly get her tail stuck
in the radiator
and her perfectly pink
nails and lipstick
and intricate perfume collection
and i remember life
so sweet.potato salad
her famous coleslaw
and squares of folded up
paper towels and it
was always a time
lost and preserved
always a daydream
of over the river
and through
to me
never the favorite
yet nevertheless
never quit
turning out those
sympathy soap turtles
and mr. washingtons
boardwalk chilly nights
and above ground pool
fabulousness and
i miss them.
riding high
their little kid
hot rod bikes
greeted by the scary
lincoln head(beware of the
past president) and i
own them....
crazy relative dreaming
and they will always
be mine.
nanny's house always
smelled of ivory soap
and pop pop's grecian
formula and it carried
me away to piles
of dress up clothes
tiny size 5 shoes
and that old wooden
jewelry box with lions
for the handles
that was chock full
gaudy bauble loveliness
trips to dye
easter eggs and games
of bank teller
girlfriend giggles
late at night made
holly get her tail stuck
in the radiator
and her perfectly pink
nails and lipstick
and intricate perfume collection
and i remember life
so sweet.potato salad
her famous coleslaw
and squares of folded up
paper towels and it
was always a time
lost and preserved
always a daydream
of over the river
and through
to me
never the favorite
yet nevertheless
never quit
turning out those
sympathy soap turtles
and mr. washingtons
boardwalk chilly nights
and above ground pool
fabulousness and
i miss them.
riding high
their little kid
hot rod bikes
greeted by the scary
lincoln head(beware of the
past president) and i
own them....
crazy relative dreaming
and they will always
be mine.
march 24,2005
maundy thursday mercy(a sestina)
rose petal prayers of mercy
and grace fill this void
between sky and you and me
till clouds puff their cheeks
and bow their heads to kiss
my lips,my lids,my heart
and the funny thing about this heart
overfilled to the brim with your mercy
passion and peace from your kiss
filling the shame human void
of fraility that dribbles my cheeks
staring blankly belittling blinding me
and hearts burn and lips call me
out of nowhere slicing this heart
brandishing steel and still my cheeks
blush at your gifts of sweet mercy
at the longing of this life void
of peace and now peace in your kiss
tastes like wine and full and my kiss
is not forsaken paints a picture of me
and you and this sweet love void
of pain and loneliness that crushed heart
and soul and life and breath and this mercy
fills me drunk and giddy and my cheeks
blushing and simple like the cheeks
of an innocent,sacred,liquid kiss
of salvation of shout this goodness and mercy
all the days of this time for me
swollen and brimming and overflowing heart
that is now pierced with your peace and void
of stitches and scars and the hollow void
that held me down and burned these cheeks
with shame and saddness and a broken heart
that bled each time they stole their kiss
and wiped away all shreds of dignity-of me
and so so perfect so holy this mercy
that drips from your heart with each. kiss. my cheeks(void of fear)and hold.close and save. me from all that i was.without your mercy.
rose petal prayers of mercy
and grace fill this void
between sky and you and me
till clouds puff their cheeks
and bow their heads to kiss
my lips,my lids,my heart
and the funny thing about this heart
overfilled to the brim with your mercy
passion and peace from your kiss
filling the shame human void
of fraility that dribbles my cheeks
staring blankly belittling blinding me
and hearts burn and lips call me
out of nowhere slicing this heart
brandishing steel and still my cheeks
blush at your gifts of sweet mercy
at the longing of this life void
of peace and now peace in your kiss
tastes like wine and full and my kiss
is not forsaken paints a picture of me
and you and this sweet love void
of pain and loneliness that crushed heart
and soul and life and breath and this mercy
fills me drunk and giddy and my cheeks
blushing and simple like the cheeks
of an innocent,sacred,liquid kiss
of salvation of shout this goodness and mercy
all the days of this time for me
swollen and brimming and overflowing heart
that is now pierced with your peace and void
of stitches and scars and the hollow void
that held me down and burned these cheeks
with shame and saddness and a broken heart
that bled each time they stole their kiss
and wiped away all shreds of dignity-of me
and so so perfect so holy this mercy
that drips from your heart with each. kiss. my cheeks(void of fear)and hold.close and save. me from all that i was.without your mercy.
march 24,2005
passion day3
among friends
imperfect
eternally flawed
and i know
what its like
choke
in your face
realization sting
of betrayel
of deserters
accomplices
crimes unspeakable
and i've
always run...
face first-wind
pummeling-
out of my skin
and down made up roads
i have refused to deal
consequences
the big picture
jaw dropped-awed
look-i'm amazed
at your gentle
reclining the breaking
of the bread
the intimacy
of friends sharing
supper and wine
the stories of the day
all the while
carry weight
humanity
knowledge of cop outs to come
and you don't shout
from rooftops... knock some sense
into thir two dimensional heads.
don't serve your outrage
down their dining throats
are not aloof.dismiss.clam up
withdraw shaking.
your head
disbelief shaking
your heart
at trusting,again,shaking
your fist
at the callousness.
quiet peaceful
ready ripe
with humility
take it all in
with your mercy
allow for
shortcomings
the fraility
and broken
promises.... and i am
truly amazed completely
dumbfounded.... and
still....
i run.
among friends
imperfect
eternally flawed
and i know
what its like
choke
in your face
realization sting
of betrayel
of deserters
accomplices
crimes unspeakable
and i've
always run...
face first-wind
pummeling-
out of my skin
and down made up roads
i have refused to deal
consequences
the big picture
jaw dropped-awed
look-i'm amazed
at your gentle
reclining the breaking
of the bread
the intimacy
of friends sharing
supper and wine
the stories of the day
all the while
carry weight
humanity
knowledge of cop outs to come
and you don't shout
from rooftops... knock some sense
into thir two dimensional heads.
don't serve your outrage
down their dining throats
are not aloof.dismiss.clam up
withdraw shaking.
your head
disbelief shaking
your heart
at trusting,again,shaking
your fist
at the callousness.
quiet peaceful
ready ripe
with humility
take it all in
with your mercy
allow for
shortcomings
the fraility
and broken
promises.... and i am
truly amazed completely
dumbfounded.... and
still....
i run.
march 23,2005 (again,again)
passion day.2
the rocks
will cry out
about that feeling
in the depths of your
belly anxious
knowing the
climax.rise
fall of this
particular story
and its hard to
imagine human deity
faced with fraility burden the reality
apathy indifference and still
you plod on
top of it all
the sheer gusto
in the last moments
the magnificent bravado
in each determined step
mantle of humility
blanketed by love
you see all that can...we see carnality...
the moment...the wickedness and you see the peace.
oh to have your eyes.
the rocks
will cry out
about that feeling
in the depths of your
belly anxious
knowing the
climax.rise
fall of this
particular story
and its hard to
imagine human deity
faced with fraility burden the reality
apathy indifference and still
you plod on
top of it all
the sheer gusto
in the last moments
the magnificent bravado
in each determined step
mantle of humility
blanketed by love
you see all that can...we see carnality...
the moment...the wickedness and you see the peace.
oh to have your eyes.
march 23,2005 (again)
there she goes,
again(rolled eyes)
i'm good
cold shoulders
cold sushi
numb and nimble
and trying flailing to spark
your interest
empathy
heartfelt feelings...
and you don't
blind eye
choosing not to bandage
perhaps not to pander
to former child actor tirades
to licking my wounds
to starving(literally)for you
to notice...
withholding compliments
candy and rewards for good
little girls who deserve pretty
things isn't she
cute 2nd grade hair do
sessions and i already felt
too amazon
too overgrown and oafy
to merit your praise(if there ever was any)
i go to bed curled up like a cat
and try not to guess
why it is that you can
just sleep.
again(rolled eyes)
i'm good
cold shoulders
cold sushi
numb and nimble
and trying flailing to spark
your interest
empathy
heartfelt feelings...
and you don't
blind eye
choosing not to bandage
perhaps not to pander
to former child actor tirades
to licking my wounds
to starving(literally)for you
to notice...
withholding compliments
candy and rewards for good
little girls who deserve pretty
things isn't she
cute 2nd grade hair do
sessions and i already felt
too amazon
too overgrown and oafy
to merit your praise(if there ever was any)
i go to bed curled up like a cat
and try not to guess
why it is that you can
just sleep.
march 23,2005
my credo
ugh.rain,again. this whole myspace thing has been good for me. it has forced me to write more frequently-which for the last 10 years has been a struggle. the whole consistency thing is not my forte. i don't know if anyone will ever actually read anything i write-but...that's okay. it just feels good to write,again.
ugh.rain,again. this whole myspace thing has been good for me. it has forced me to write more frequently-which for the last 10 years has been a struggle. the whole consistency thing is not my forte. i don't know if anyone will ever actually read anything i write-but...that's okay. it just feels good to write,again.
march 22,2005 part 2
passion- day one
sunny shiny days.
like new toys on christmas morning.
breathe life into my nostrils-dust-and ribs
and stops
completely
insists that i snivel in my soup no longer.
the kind of day that
allows for skirts and little kid cardigans
pointelle and sequins
ashamed at my
self centerdness
i should know better-
i've been on that other hill
i have seen the hope in the horizon-have had the cracks and disfigurement
smoothed into mercy grace smiles that i
believed could no longer
be
accounted for...and it pales
my ranting
it muddies
my stark bipolar ravings
i'm sorry for not allowing
balm of gilead
the crimson sacrifice
sweet kiss of servanthood to rally me
to make it all worth it.
hollow and yelping
sophomoricyipesandpennycandycomplaining...
i'm sack cloth and
ashesandashes
f
a
l
l
down on my lashes
they collect and weigh heavily my choice
not see the beauty
the eternal gratitude of
vessel cleared soap and water
spic span
it rains,again...
my eyes fall all googly
off of your splendid sunrise
and back onto
sour grapes time misspent
blessings ignored
and i hope i don't go there,
again.
sunny shiny days.
like new toys on christmas morning.
breathe life into my nostrils-dust-and ribs
and stops
completely
insists that i snivel in my soup no longer.
the kind of day that
allows for skirts and little kid cardigans
pointelle and sequins
ashamed at my
self centerdness
i should know better-
i've been on that other hill
i have seen the hope in the horizon-have had the cracks and disfigurement
smoothed into mercy grace smiles that i
believed could no longer
be
accounted for...and it pales
my ranting
it muddies
my stark bipolar ravings
i'm sorry for not allowing
balm of gilead
the crimson sacrifice
sweet kiss of servanthood to rally me
to make it all worth it.
hollow and yelping
sophomoricyipesandpennycandycomplaining...
i'm sack cloth and
ashesandashes
f
a
l
l
down on my lashes
they collect and weigh heavily my choice
not see the beauty
the eternal gratitude of
vessel cleared soap and water
spic span
it rains,again...
my eyes fall all googly
off of your splendid sunrise
and back onto
sour grapes time misspent
blessings ignored
and i hope i don't go there,
again.
march 22,2005
track .5
i really
need you
to see those
huge hush puppy
eyes dripping
out onto carpets
and moonpies
and little
debbbies eaten
just so
layer and layer
peeling the
paper skin that
nimbly protects
this paper heart...
spitting...not a full rain...
to get lost in...to lose my head
if it weren't for you-
and i strain for
you to eye
to eye contact...
taking your hands
placing them
over my heart
pledged and vows(until death does her dance)
and it's crazy
how i can never
get warm anymore....
nutrition is a force to be reckoned with.
and so back to square
one of these days
you'll blanket all
of the sad bits
and pick up the pieces
years of solitude loathing
and soliloquys
to dark cars in
traffic singing
a silly love song
.... alone...
and alive...
and trapped vegetative
heart this complex
brain activity
that wants to SHOUT
from the rooftops
but chooses to
stay still
instead.
i really
need you
to see those
huge hush puppy
eyes dripping
out onto carpets
and moonpies
and little
debbbies eaten
just so
layer and layer
peeling the
paper skin that
nimbly protects
this paper heart...
spitting...not a full rain...
to get lost in...to lose my head
if it weren't for you-
and i strain for
you to eye
to eye contact...
taking your hands
placing them
over my heart
pledged and vows(until death does her dance)
and it's crazy
how i can never
get warm anymore....
nutrition is a force to be reckoned with.
and so back to square
one of these days
you'll blanket all
of the sad bits
and pick up the pieces
years of solitude loathing
and soliloquys
to dark cars in
traffic singing
a silly love song
.... alone...
and alive...
and trapped vegetative
heart this complex
brain activity
that wants to SHOUT
from the rooftops
but chooses to
stay still
instead.
march 21,2005 take 2
old folks home
sad lounge
chair alone
and cold on
bluebell rd.
discarded furniture
always signals death
as if you can see the death angel...passing...
silently through-sweeping away the lonely somebody's
grampa silver haired
silvered linings and
pockets full of hope
for washingtons.pats
on the head and stories
of the good ol' charlie
and grand days spent
and empty like memories
can't even remember
her anymore
the child that never lingers
the kisses all but forgotten
the pies with the homeade crusts
sweet history to noones
that forgot and swept their lives
of all traces of elderly advice
(keep your socks on you are sure to catch your...)
and death is here
and i pass by twenty five
miles an hour so
the police don't ask
for my insurance and the knot
in the pit of my stomach
that turns to the beat
of the wipers
and the rain and i cry for them-
sappy-and lovely(this is my calling)
and i bid farewell
to their costume jewelry
and stolen sugar packets
and their old people smell of ivory soap....
and i bid...adieu.
sleep well to the faceless
sweet dreams to the discarded...
rest in peace in the
chilly march air
and the damp aching bone
weather.you
know that i
noticed
your passing.
sad lounge
chair alone
and cold on
bluebell rd.
discarded furniture
always signals death
as if you can see the death angel...passing...
silently through-sweeping away the lonely somebody's
grampa silver haired
silvered linings and
pockets full of hope
for washingtons.pats
on the head and stories
of the good ol' charlie
and grand days spent
and empty like memories
can't even remember
her anymore
the child that never lingers
the kisses all but forgotten
the pies with the homeade crusts
sweet history to noones
that forgot and swept their lives
of all traces of elderly advice
(keep your socks on you are sure to catch your...)
and death is here
and i pass by twenty five
miles an hour so
the police don't ask
for my insurance and the knot
in the pit of my stomach
that turns to the beat
of the wipers
and the rain and i cry for them-
sappy-and lovely(this is my calling)
and i bid farewell
to their costume jewelry
and stolen sugar packets
and their old people smell of ivory soap....
and i bid...adieu.
sleep well to the faceless
sweet dreams to the discarded...
rest in peace in the
chilly march air
and the damp aching bone
weather.you
know that i
noticed
your passing.
march 21,2005
king of the wild frontier
time to
listen for the signal
owl hoots and
davy crockett whispers telling me
that its snarling twisted mouth
is hungry ready willing
to eat me up to gobble up all that is left
of me of seventh grade wallflowers
vegetables and all
he's coming
his breath on my nape
the fear lodged halfway and rising...
i melt into witches and toto
little house on the horizon
i'm waiting...
i can do nothing mutter
psalm 91
whatever else i can think comfort
to bind my wounds
to hold the pieces that in
that are quite literally unraveling
sad eyes and my heart is cold
low blood sugar
and my stand is no longer upright
i hear him...
right on my heels
i fall apart
at the thought...
whisper...perspiration...prayers beading my upper lip...
it's over...
i'm still holding...
the day is still dawning...
my heart is swollen...
i...wait.
time to
listen for the signal
owl hoots and
davy crockett whispers telling me
that its snarling twisted mouth
is hungry ready willing
to eat me up to gobble up all that is left
of me of seventh grade wallflowers
vegetables and all
he's coming
his breath on my nape
the fear lodged halfway and rising...
i melt into witches and toto
little house on the horizon
i'm waiting...
i can do nothing mutter
psalm 91
whatever else i can think comfort
to bind my wounds
to hold the pieces that in
that are quite literally unraveling
sad eyes and my heart is cold
low blood sugar
and my stand is no longer upright
i hear him...
right on my heels
i fall apart
at the thought...
whisper...perspiration...prayers beading my upper lip...
it's over...
i'm still holding...
the day is still dawning...
my heart is swollen...
i...wait.
march 20,2005
in like a lion
crazy.yesterday was so beautiful.it figures.i had absolutely no time to enjoy it-suck it all in. high stress.battle weary.arrows in the heart.blood in the nostrils.anxiety-and trying to just get through...again and again...and when does the monotony of it all end...the peace that passes.....right through and back again.and it aches to know that i don't make your knees weak.it chokes the life right out of hee haws guffaws and all of the cup half spilling over and onto me...my skirt(dry clean only)my wobbily resolution.who i am-what i will be...its all too much.thirty and rising to the occasion of trying to get you to see me-to make you spout truth-ugly or otherwise(just the facts,maam)...and you sit .pursed beautiful brad pitt lips,and you try not to look at all bothered and i am and we are and i ache and it's damp and cold and raining once,again.
crazy.yesterday was so beautiful.it figures.i had absolutely no time to enjoy it-suck it all in. high stress.battle weary.arrows in the heart.blood in the nostrils.anxiety-and trying to just get through...again and again...and when does the monotony of it all end...the peace that passes.....right through and back again.and it aches to know that i don't make your knees weak.it chokes the life right out of hee haws guffaws and all of the cup half spilling over and onto me...my skirt(dry clean only)my wobbily resolution.who i am-what i will be...its all too much.thirty and rising to the occasion of trying to get you to see me-to make you spout truth-ugly or otherwise(just the facts,maam)...and you sit .pursed beautiful brad pitt lips,and you try not to look at all bothered and i am and we are and i ache and it's damp and cold and raining once,again.
february 29,2005
father time can't dance
ok. so this attempt number three. it is snowing,again. grey and miserable,and damp. my hands are as cold as death itself. and i sit here paralyzed. rut. sad. tiny. unable to do all of the daily chores and labor and i labor in vain to make sense of it all. i'm sure it has everything to do with the ever approaching doomsday-six short days-until the death of my twenties...darn that eternal adolescence thing....and i have been auditing the last decade of my life. dandelion puff wishes and silly teenage daydreams amounted to not much-and yet-so so much. just not what i had so breathlessly anticipated and so starry eyed envisioned. i have always been held in this awkward chokehold of believing that i was destined for greatness-in the literary sense-very cool -ultra swanky -me+poetry=happiness,and yet i write entirely to myself.fooling myself into believing that it will still find me someday,and whisk me off into this utopian imaginary life that is completely foreign to whom i've become. the players would be the same-but the stakes glam and glorious and i could feel like i amount to more than a shriveled up donna reed(w/out the coiffed up do)in a casserole kind of life. and yet i am happy. i laugh every day,and i smile all of the time-except today when it hits me and threatens to eat me up. i guess i just want to write something. to feel pretty. to have an ann of green gables bosom friend. to just stop feeling the nothingness of it all. vanity fair-alternate ending-not the stupid frivolous elephant scene,but the one where it truly hits her-hits me and slaps me upside the head and says"be grateful-you have a nice life.things are good.life is so short. enjoy.and shutup."
ok. so this attempt number three. it is snowing,again. grey and miserable,and damp. my hands are as cold as death itself. and i sit here paralyzed. rut. sad. tiny. unable to do all of the daily chores and labor and i labor in vain to make sense of it all. i'm sure it has everything to do with the ever approaching doomsday-six short days-until the death of my twenties...darn that eternal adolescence thing....and i have been auditing the last decade of my life. dandelion puff wishes and silly teenage daydreams amounted to not much-and yet-so so much. just not what i had so breathlessly anticipated and so starry eyed envisioned. i have always been held in this awkward chokehold of believing that i was destined for greatness-in the literary sense-very cool -ultra swanky -me+poetry=happiness,and yet i write entirely to myself.fooling myself into believing that it will still find me someday,and whisk me off into this utopian imaginary life that is completely foreign to whom i've become. the players would be the same-but the stakes glam and glorious and i could feel like i amount to more than a shriveled up donna reed(w/out the coiffed up do)in a casserole kind of life. and yet i am happy. i laugh every day,and i smile all of the time-except today when it hits me and threatens to eat me up. i guess i just want to write something. to feel pretty. to have an ann of green gables bosom friend. to just stop feeling the nothingness of it all. vanity fair-alternate ending-not the stupid frivolous elephant scene,but the one where it truly hits her-hits me and slaps me upside the head and says"be grateful-you have a nice life.things are good.life is so short. enjoy.and shutup."
february 25,2005
snow day revisited
i have always loved sweater weather.cold sad days that require lots of layers. today-though-is actually pretty. rather deceiving, in fact,for although it is sunny and blindingly white-it is nippy and cunning and ready to catch you unaware with your unbuttoned guard down.(you could catch your death)the kind of day that knocks you clear off your feet with that so happy to be alive kind of feeling. today has been a day for soul torturing. self help books and daily affirmations-just can't penetrate the restlessness. not so much disgruntled with all that makes up this silly pie in the sky girl-but rather all of the many lengthy lists of do or die that are shoved in my back jeans pocket,asnd the lifelong journey to coolness,accomplishments,or just even the ability to write someting worth reading. and so here i am at noon-pajama clad loser-writing to noone-an audience of me.longing for frosty cocoa memories of mom and snowball fights and scads of crappy neighborhood kids feeding off of the spoils of the day,and her chocolate chip cookies.and eventually i'll get ready and brave the day-button up my cool wool coat-hands in pockets(i can never find any mittens)and plunge face first into the slicingly cold and achingly beautiful sunshine and go on to a day of poems not written-dreams on the backburner and cold february nothingness.stupid groundhog.
i have always loved sweater weather.cold sad days that require lots of layers. today-though-is actually pretty. rather deceiving, in fact,for although it is sunny and blindingly white-it is nippy and cunning and ready to catch you unaware with your unbuttoned guard down.(you could catch your death)the kind of day that knocks you clear off your feet with that so happy to be alive kind of feeling. today has been a day for soul torturing. self help books and daily affirmations-just can't penetrate the restlessness. not so much disgruntled with all that makes up this silly pie in the sky girl-but rather all of the many lengthy lists of do or die that are shoved in my back jeans pocket,asnd the lifelong journey to coolness,accomplishments,or just even the ability to write someting worth reading. and so here i am at noon-pajama clad loser-writing to noone-an audience of me.longing for frosty cocoa memories of mom and snowball fights and scads of crappy neighborhood kids feeding off of the spoils of the day,and her chocolate chip cookies.and eventually i'll get ready and brave the day-button up my cool wool coat-hands in pockets(i can never find any mittens)and plunge face first into the slicingly cold and achingly beautiful sunshine and go on to a day of poems not written-dreams on the backburner and cold february nothingness.stupid groundhog.
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