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.

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.

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.

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...

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.