Wednesday, January 21, 2015

More than what I have (poem)

I cannot close my eyes
My arms break and
they cannot break
I've journeyed long, curving roads
turned down paths with
darkened, horrific abhorations
and paths
with playful pixie like bubbling giggles
of hope and light

My path now
is heavy...
deeply padded with tangled undergrowth
moments of magic that twist
tools that should be built
of hope
and instead bring
a bitterness, confusion, judgement

I search for strenght
inside and around me
rays of sun that reach to the smallest crevice

I pray for poems to pave my path
toward a heart of love
when love has been wrung
from mine
like a dirty rag twisted
dripping into a sink full with
crusted dishes.

I feel the hole
inside myself
there are no metaphors
I simply try to fill it
with hope and love

and I step out
into the world

am crushed
by the reality

in quiet corners
good people do not judge
they lift me up, open the doors
of the world to beckon
the most positive things
various versions
of strength

in the open
lives nothing

Numbers dance across
painting pallets
graphs and statistical outputs
push away
hands that hold
lift up
and nudge notes of simple
songs into mud-like mounds
of mostly meaningless

I search
for a voice
a sound
a smooth surface to trace
my finger across

and my broken arms
ache again

and my mind spins circles
asking questions
that have no answers

the judgement stands
with no
no rope
no net to hold me

my naked form
with bleeding heart
broken arms
searching soul
singing songs to search for things
that might

And none of it
is enough

The world wants

Tuesday, January 6, 2015

listing things (poem)

What makes me come alive? Love.
In every guise.
In diapers, or sneakers, or a fancy dress showing too much cleavage

Playfulness, in all it's forms- sarcasm, unexpected and ridiculous connections, goofy faces, puns...

Passion- full of teasing almost touches, imaginary moments filled with body paints, moisture magic, flushed cheeks and inside jokes.

Words- words strung together
With rhythm and hope
Alliteration and literal beats
Pulling you into
Slight swaying steps
Forcing your fingers to find
The volume.
Let your body live within the motion's waves

I'm adrift, yes.
Fluttering from one small
Imagined moment of connection
To each of these ideas

Searching while simultaneously
To search

A hundred times inside a thousand
Tries for each of these.

Down the sword
      that is

I am
And have always been

A warrior

Even when things around me shatter
And are quiet

Softly broken screams
Of womblike wonder
Tethered tightly
To a community
Encouraging, enabling energy to fill
Empty places

But not all

Corners are left cavernous
Since the things
That would fill these

Come from the list
That makes me alive.

The list that exists
To be filled
By you.

Thursday, January 1, 2015


I post things about doing nothing and being proud...I am trying to channel Glennon.  
Really, all I want is to do little harm.  I'd like to say "do no harm", but who am I kidding with that one?  I'm still on the journey that is taking me down addiction road...and trying to drag one foot along the dirt path beside me...I'm doing okay with that, but I can't keep messing with powers that are stronger than I am.  Like entropy.  Entropy is way stronger than me...

I sit for one day, and all of a sudden, it's my whole vacation, and we still have no clean underwear.  I think I have washed my kids three times over the last two weeks.  I have three kids.  By three times, I mean that I have washed them each, randomly, once in the last two weeks. 

I try to channel the Sweet Honey In The Rock song...There Were No Mirrors...because I wonder what my kids will get from this...from me...from these years.  I am trying to be strong...honest...real.  And the reality is that I love them so much it's a special kind of crazy.  And I still cannot expect them to fill me...and I am trying to show them how to be lost and broken and hurt and lost...and strong inside it all. 

Is the beauty in MY eyes?  Do they know that there is nothing that can make them more beautiful than to be seen through my eyes? 

Do they know that because I am broken, I am open...broken all that life is, that life offers, that life takes...that I see the real for what it is...that I embrace the pain in order to remain open to the they KNOW how much I was loved and how rare and special that is?  How imperfect that is??  It's my job to let them know. 

That's one good thing.  I'm crap at lying about they will hear it, one way or another.  And I pray, so deeply, that they see that the memories that leak out of my eyes
enable my face to
so brightly...