Saturday, December 15, 2007

What Lies Beneath

How quickly
we moved from Bliss to Bewilderment.

Connection, lively words, lovely unclothed truths, bliss

Qualifying Quips, hesitation, lesson plans
Projection (Person as project-shun)

critique creeps in
unlovely naked truths





Art of Conversation

What lies beneath?
Love's elimination

Monday, June 04, 2007



What is it
about you

that moves me?

A better question perhaps-

What isn't there
about you
that moves me?

Words written

Words spoken

Unwritten and Unspoken truths
that astound me comfort me excite me

The way

the way


as often as light
pressing through a
sheer curtained
open window
on a hot day
with welcome breezes

the way
your face

when speaking when listening when discovering
and exploring

new ideas
and positions
It moves me
to action


causes me

to stand
not wanting to hesitate

the moment
the idea

the exquisite sensation

I savor your words
your breath

your touch

or urgent
warm and smooth
I savor

You move me

in ways I never

in daylight


under moonlight.

Don't answer my questions.
The way
you move me

in every way

is enough.

I move

my mind

my path

I move
you cross my heart

I am moved


I am moving
I am moved

Tuesday, May 15, 2007


It is Tuesday, May 15th.
Life is just a chair of bowlies! Carpe Diem. Or, alternatively, Carpe Bowlies.

Life is just a bowl of cherries

Don't take it serious,
Life's too mysterious
You work,
You save,
You worry so
But you can't take your dough
When you go, go, go

So keep repeating "It's the berries."
The strongest oak must fall
The sweet things in life
To you were just loaned
So how can you lose
What you've never owned

Life is just a bowl of cherries
So live and laugh,
Laugh and love
Live and laugh at it all!

So keep repeating "It's the berries."
The strongest oak must fall
The sweet things in life
To you were just loaned
So how can you lose
What you've never owned

Life is just a bowl of cherries
So live and laugh, aha!
Laugh and love
Live and laugh,
Laugh and love,
Live and laugh at it all! Life is just a bowl of cherries
Don't take it serious,
Life's too mysterious
You work,
You save,
You worry so
But you can't take your dough
When you go, go, go

So keep repeating "It's the berries."
The strongest oak must fall
The sweet things in life
To you were just loaned
So how can you lose
What you've never owned

Life is just a bowl of cherries
So live and laugh,
Laugh and love
Live and laugh at it all!

So keep repeating "It's the berries."
The strongest oak must fall
The sweet things in life
To you were just loaned
So how can you lose
What you've never owned

Life is just a bowl of cherries
So live and laugh, aha!
Laugh and love
Live and laugh,
Laugh and love,
Live and laugh at it all!

Lyrics by Lew Brown

Chair of Bowlies graphic, Mary Engelbreit

Monday, May 07, 2007

One Too

I understand
You taught me. You've shown me.
as one.

Boundaries, barriers, blurring.
for the mere moments of oneness I'd want forever flowing
were it not for the chance
to pull back just enough
to see your face clearly
Angles ever shifting
to see the changes in your eyes
the smallest muscles move your expressions
I love this too

But bliss for moments of oneness.
to you
Flowing into me
breathing in your breath
Inhaling your scent

Following your warm eyes is
a home I've never known.
Wordless. Your home behind your eyes.


like the waves lapping
the shores of a beach
ebbing and flowing
changing landscapes

Where does water end and become sand
i want to stay in this place with you forever
Tide pushing and pulling
becoming one


Monday, April 23, 2007

Poe (try) Tags, not Toe Tags

So, maybe I've listed several toe tagged poets and or collections that HAVE been on the beaten path. I'm not known for following directions or the leader. Oops.

Well, I never promised you a rose garden, or that my path was any more road less travelled than anyone else's.
Some of my selections may be off SOMEONE"S path. I can only mention what I've experienced. Feel free to enlighten me. That is what the comments section is for.
Who HAS been looking at my profile by the way?
And why haven't you left a calling card?
Would love to hear your thoughts.

Here are my Five Faves, as requested by Sam of the Ten Thousand Things, ">
/: . He's got this notebook, see, and I like peeking at it whenever I get the chance... Thanks for the invite.

1. The Romantic Poet of the Internet, William F. Devault's Amomancer online collection
Here's a link:

Go find the Amomancer from the City's front page. I think you'll be amazed.

Pick any one of his collections. Read it, hear it, buy it. Doesn't matter. It is all good. I have ALMOST blind faith in this poet. His poetry moves me. An online fishing expedition led me to his site by accident and rekindled my interest in modern poetry. I like the music fusion with his words as well, and the weekly podcasts.

2. World of Shakespeare: The Complete Plays and Sonnets of William Shakespeare. What else can I say? The Bard rules the written word.

3. Complete Poems of Edna St. Vincent Millay. She is saucy and defiantly optimistic. I like her. She must be off some people's beaten path by now.

4. One of the many blogs of Nordette Adams. This woman is a goddess. Here's a link to just one of her blogs, I'd recommend exploring all of them.

I especially admire Poets Speaking Beauty.
Here's a clip:

"So, the poets must dream, eat, and ink beauty.
Poets must speak beauty until Beauty comes to feast."

Explore her blogs, and listen to her voice. It is amazing.

5. Selected poems of Nikki Giovanni. My first post college poetry purchase. Especially like her poem about Aretha Franklin and fame.

And a bonus for you.

The Real Mother Goose.

I never get tired of this. We all have to start somewhere.

Thanks for playing.


Interesting list MP. No one else named online collections, and you have two. Good addition. That
is off the beaten path. "dream, eat, and ink beauty" is magnificent phrasing.

You may have a point about St. Vincent Millay's being a bit off the path. There is a good sense of public recognition with her name - though probably not with her work.

But, it's your list. That's the important point. Thanks for the post.

Posted by Sam of the ten thousand things to Read it and Weep at April 23, 2007 6:59 PM

Wednesday, March 07, 2007

Tag! You're It!

Tagged, I'm it? The Meme?

Ooh, feeling a little on the spot here.
Have heard it said that the least effective way to be entertaining is to talk about yourself.
Maybe I should warm up a bit-been a while since I was asked to stand in the spotlight.
Here goes: "Unique, New York, unique New York, rubber baby buggy bumpers, rubber baby buggy bumpers"

Me, me, me, me! Wait, that's for diction. Rolling my shoulders now, shaking out my keyboarding fingers.
Okay, I'm ready for my close up Mr. De....
Never mind.

Ten Random Facts about Me(me)...

1. The City of Legends Blog was the very first blog I ever read. (I'd seen the word blog last year, and thought it was a typo). I was thrilled to discover that modern poetry was alive and well.

2. I've been called the "sumthin' outta nuthin' girl" because I can whip up a banquet from a bare cupboard, set up a display or decorate for an impromtu surprise party in less than fifteen minutes. It is true. I will rise to a challenge. It is fun to find innovative uses for standard office equiptment. I can shoot a rubber band farther across a room than anyone I know.

3. I am somewhat traditional, but enjoy finding new and exciting twists and turns. I love surprises, but only happy ones. I believe in God. I also believe that God helps those who help themselves. I believe in the basic goodness of humanity. I believe there is a Heaven. I'm not sure about hell. I think we get a little taste of each here on earth.

4. The sexiest part of the male anatomy is his brain. Then his eyes, then his book collection, then that wonderful spot right where his neck meets his collarbone, and the warm spot on his shoulder where my head can rest, and his long legs and voice and quick wit and laugh...oh, that was more than one thing. Oops.

5. I am judgmental, but not in the way most people expect. I am very open minded, but will size up insincerity and malevolance quicker than you can say "Back in Black."

6. I will find the silver lining in the bleakest of grey. It is my specialty.

7. I once ran a laser light show for Pink Floyd's The Wall in a Planetarium. It was cool. The Rolling Stones and U2 still do funny things to my insides, in a good way.

8. I am sweet natured and kind, I forgive honest and repented mistakes gladly. But don't cross me. If you intentionally hurt someone in my family, my friend, someone who can't defend himself or herself, I will sit back, smile and watch you implode. I won't DO anything to you, I will simply do as my grandfather said: "Sweetie, kill them with kindness." I am intensely loyal to the people I love. I cannot stress that enough. I once worked with a really cool old guy that drove a little red convertible. He had this bumper sticker that said
"Mean people suck." I agree. There is no reason for smallness and meaness in this world. I can hardly tolerate it, but I try.

9. I have never, not ever, not even once, had a one night stand. I have never cheated in a relationship. I am extremely picky about men I choose to kiss. I once waited almost seven years to sleep with a man who'd caught my eye. It was worth it.

10.I love to dance. I love pretty shoes. I can change a flat tire. I prefer dresses and skirts to pants. I can beat you at scrabble or in a wet towel snapping contest. I love the scent of lavendar. I love to ride horses and drive fast cars. I love to bake. I love the ocean in the winter. I love to find places where there are NO manmade sounds of any kind in the air-nothing but breathing, branches creaking, and the sound of birds calling and leaves crunching under deer feet.I love the first whiff of crisp fall air, the smell of snowflakes, the way air feels heavy just before a downpour and the smell of earth after a rainshower. I still believe in fairy tales, especially fractured ones with happy endings.

There. Done. That was fun, for me at least. I bent the rules, more than ten things. Sometimes I like bending the rules. Sue me.

#11.D.Billion-I'm a bit wordy. Surprise, surprise.

Saturday, February 24, 2007


What is a vessel?
a ship
for safe passage over choppy seas?

a bottle
bobbing restlessly on the tide
preserving thoughts on paper?

a vein
through which
oxygen and
rushing nutrient to
arms, legs,
every extremity?

smooth bendable plastic
wrapped around twitching live cable wire
a means of containing electrical current
if only briefly?

a beckoning tunnel
on a cold windy path
a warm quiet cover
providing shelter from the elements?

What is a vessel?

safe harbor? time capsule? conduit?
safely, tenderly
taking you where you need to go.


Image of painting by Nathan Florence. Oil on Canvas 2000.
For more information about the artist

Thursday, February 22, 2007


A time of reflection,
burnt ashes from palms set afire,
words of anticipated renewal,
an awakening time.
Preparing fields for new harvests.

An Imposition and a Blessing
Cool ash on burning forehead

Words spoken aloud
last night in a room dimly lit
with candles
and searching souls.
A tin pail on a pedastle,
welcoming last year's palm fronds and memories,
drums, song, fire, reflection, water, smoke, offering,


Something to think about for at least forty days,
not including Sundays

I listened and spoke the following offering last night.
The poet captured my feelings and I'd like to share these words with you:

You thumbed grit
into my furrowed brow.
Marking me
With the sign of mortality.
The dust of last year's palms.
The cross you traced
Seared, smuded skin,
And I recalled
other ashes
into my heart
By those who loved too little
Or not at all.

(I couln't have said it better, thank you to Elizabeth-Anne Bariek for
"You thumbed grit"

-'You thumbed grit' by Elizabeth-Anne Bariek
from a Lent Sourcebook (Chicago Liturgy Traing Publications, 1990).

Sunday, February 18, 2007



Words worth? Worth his words
weight in gold.
Man, sometimes I think he's more in love
with his words of me
than with me
How could he love me?
He does not know me
in every sense of the word

An inkling maybe,
of pen to paper
He does not know me

Do not lift me up so high
that you can no longer
touch me

I am human
I need touch
almost as much as
and the ground you place your own
blissful feet upon

He doesn't know me
not everything
only what I've chosen to share

I've been up there before
on a pedestal
more than

I didn't share that
It is not my place
Flattering, yes, for a while

How can you love someone
you've lifted so high
you can no longer feel

my breath on your neck?
feel my hand
seeking yours?
hold my body close to your heavenly warmth?

Do not love the idea of me
Love me

Maybe it is more comfortable,
in pondering my existence,
to put me up and away

If you cannot feel me
see me
eye to eye
on hallowed and unhallowed ground
I cannot disappoint you
Is that it?

I've been there
that isn't what I want

I am not his creation

I am me
I breathe I hope I dream I succeed I fail I laugh I cry

I bleed

I move

Words turn my head
pages like a guilty pleasure
Share them,
your words belong to you. All of them. A part of you I love.
Of course
I am fascinated with every letter


put them
on paper
bind them
in a book

that we might read aloud
at a later point in time
looking back with fondness at this uncertain juncture
trepidation thankfully resolved

I might trace letters on your magnificent frame
your flesh pulled tightly from bone to beautiful bone
free from cover
on some
lazy warm morning, sun streaming in from open window
to hear the first sounds of daybreak
you might slowly trace my wanting flesh with your
reading and writing braille
on my aching form
invigorating midnight, lit only by the moon

Here and now
I read the pages
how far can they get us?
no matter how perfectly phrased
artfully arranged on paper or silk screen?

I am flesh and blood
a woman
worth knowing
in every sense of the word

I can entertain you
and even inspire your thoughts
with some version of me

but do not be confused

I am so much more (and less)
your vision of me

you can't know me
you can't truly love me

if you only imagine me

Oh, Man.

You know

I'm guilty too

we fall in love
with a vision, a dream
there's nothing wrong with that
unless there's no blissful climax
to this illusion
this dream
these words

I put you on a pedestal
how could I not?

Man, you,
standing before me
invading my thoughts
Your body your mind your soul
Rare Worthy Beautiful Man

It is uncomfortable
being on a pedestal like some
Greek god or goddess

Limits your ability to move,
doesn't it?
for fear
you'll step off
tumble crashing to earth
ending in a pile of unattractive rubble
Broken beyond repair

It looks good,
it doesn't feel good,
does it?
I know you're not used to this
Neither am I
I want you, the man, not an out of reach statue
of perfection
I see your flaws (from your mind)
embedded in your body
Let me caress them
and tell you its okay
You don't have to be perfection
You just have to be you, man.


Don't put me on a pedestal
And I won't put you there either

I breathe I move I love I change
as you do

Two pairs of
pink bare feet on warm wet grass
holding your hand in the morning
your body close
looking out together at the wonder
of life at daybreak
feeling hot sunshine
warming our heads at noon
drawing ever closer together at twilight
when the chill sets in
mapping our own stars
long after sunset

That is my dream
those are my words

I'm sorry I put you up there
on that lonely cold column

You belong to the earth as well as the sky
free to move
free to walk next to me, if you wish,
holding my hand
leading my body to places we both want to go,

If that is your will and not simply your words-
as profound as they are?

You have conquered my mind with your words
you have pierced my heart with your pen
you have only to hold me again
with your eyes
your arms
your body so warm and present

I will melt into you and flow over you
and seep into the warm wet ground
honoring the earth, envisioning the heavens
with you
by my side
you're by my side
on the earth.


Friday, February 16, 2007

Playing a Player...or Fire and Ice, I'm Undecided.

Sure enough, as my friend Will Shakespeare used to say:

"All the world's a stage,
And all the men and women merely players.
They have their exits and their entrances,
And one man in his time plays many parts,
His acts being seven ages."

--From As You Like It (II, vii, 139-143)

You can't play a player.
But you can play this...

Contrary to popular belief,

I am not ALL peaches and cream.
Instead of feeling missed,
I'm feeling dismissed.
Pissed, actually.

Seriously, seriously, irritated.
If I weren't so irritated I'd be pouting.
I'm too pissed to pout right now.
Just barely hanging in there, by the way.

A not so juicy, not so patient pissed-off peach has spoken.
Likely into thin air.
I'm off for a few deep breaths, going to get something done.
Maybe some work, maybe some fun.
Haven't decided yet,

Guess what?
I get to decide for myself
Either one is better than sitting here,
waiting for the grand thaw...

Royally Irritated.
Could easily disappear with a huff
and the sound of a door slamming.
Is that what you'd like to hear?

Or would you rather hear how much
I really do care?
And how much you drive me nuts?
In a good way, most of the time.

Okay, feeling better.
Put down the pen,
back off.

This isn't about you, you know...
I am not an ice princess, either.
I'd rather flow like water than remain
frozen in time.

Here are the lyrics. Norah Jones' music is great pouting music...I'll get over it, probably.


"Cold Cold Heart"

I've tried so hard my dear to show
That you're my every dream
Yet you're afraid each thing I do
Is just some evil scheme

A memory from your lonesome past
Keeps us so far apart
Why can't I free your doubtful mind
And melt your cold cold heart

Another love before my time
Made your heart sad an' blue
And so my heart is paying now
For things I didn't do

In anger unkind words are said
That make the teardrops start
Why can't I free your doubtful mind
And melt your cold cold heart

There was a time when I believed
That you belonged to me
But now I know your heart is shackled
To a memory

The more I learn to care for you
The more we drift apart
Why can't I free your doubtful mind
And melt your cold cold heart

[Thanks to for these lyrics]

[ ]

How 'bout acting like you mean it, instead of acting like you don't.
As You Like it, Indeed.
How 'bout a little how I like it?
I believe the final act may be drawing to it's climax...
As You Like it, as you like it.

Wednesday, February 14, 2007

Sweet Dreams

This Valentine's Day has been, in a word, remarkable.

Wild Nights--Wild Nights!

Wild nights--wild nights!
Were I with thee
Wild nights should be
our luxury!

Futile the winds
To heart in port--
Done with the compass,
Done with the chart!

Rowing in Eden--
As the sea!
Might I moor, tonight,
In thee!

- Emily Dickinson

Sweet Dreams ahead.
For someday.

Wait a minute!

Time is of the essence
Time isn't after us
Time is on my side
Time in a bottle

Time line....>

Time me, clock me, face me!
Time for love
It was
the best of times, the worst of times, a tale of two love birds a tale of four and twenty black birds
baked in a pie...
soaring through the clouds whenever shall they meet?

Wait a minute, wait a minute, oh yeah...
Please, please, please?

I'm feeling a little lighthearted for a change. Cupid's silliness. Pause for refreshment, I can tarry, I'd like to watch and listen as your love unfolds-origami words-exquisite piece of work you are...
for the challenge. Believe you+me. Love?!. Punctuated.
I trust the accuracy of your clockwork, my friend, my secret, your admirer. Love is Actually a many splendored thing.

Oh! The Kindness of a Stranger

Who was it that said a stranger is only someone you haven't yet met?
A strange choice in poems for Valentine's Day,
You know.
(By now, you should know)
what I mean.

For my strange love, for you.

To a Stranger
by Walt Whitman (1819 - 1892)

Passing stranger! you do not know
How longingly I look upon you,
You must be he I was seeking,
Or she I was seeking
(It comes to me as a dream)

I have somewhere surely
Lived a life of joy with you,
All is recall'd as we flit by each other,
Fluid, affectionate, chaste, matured,

You grew up with me,
Were a boy with me or a girl with me,
I ate with you and slept with you, your body has become
not yours only nor left my body mine only,

You give me the pleasure of your eyes,
face, flesh as we pass,
You take of my beard, breast, hands,
in return,

I am not to speak to you, I am to think of you
when I sit alone or wake at night, alone
I am to wait, I do not doubt I am to meet you again
I am to see to it that I do not lose you.

To Sleep, perchance to dream with me

Heartfelt Wishes on Valentine's Day

A Classic:

Beautiful Dreamer

Beautiful dreamer, wake unto me,
Starlight and dewdrops are waiting for thee;
Sounds of the rude world heard in the day,
Lull'd by the moonlight have all pass'd a way!

Beautiful dreamer, queen of my song,
List while I woo thee with soft melody;
Gone are the cares of life's busy throng, --
Beautiful dreamer, awake unto me!

Beautiful dreamer, out on the sea
Mermaids are chaunting the wild lorelie;
Over the streamlet vapors are borne,
Waiting to fade at the bright coming morn.

Beautiful dreamer, beam on my heart,
E'en as the morn on the streamlet and sea;
Then will all clouds of sorrow depart, --
Beautiful dreamer, awake unto me!

- by Stephen Foster

Tuesday, February 13, 2007

How Could You?! Keyholder...

How could I
put words to page?

my love's
slipped out
from iron cage

Warm and soft
come and find it

surround yourself
in front,
behind it

Over and under
above and below

My passion's escaped

Now you know.

~A promt,

That's all, don't worry.
Like time, and you,
I'm patient.

No need for hurry.

Alternate ending,
(slightly fickle)


Hungry Beast,
Hurry, Hurry!

catch me now,

ease ...
burning fury

in two
in to

eiderdown flury

Cannot decide which ending I prefer...I'll need to sleep on it.

Maybe I'll post something more traditional tomorrow. I'm not feeling very traditional tonight.

Happy Valentine's Day-only one out of 365 to love and be loved.

Take Me to the River

A'fire on the Shore

a spark
kindly licking
careful arrangement
of sticks and stone
encouraged by
but nearly
papered hope
in an old binder on a shelf.

An accidental spark
takes purchase
a kindling flame
tended by
soft breath

Warming glow
melting hard matter of wood to
orange liquid fluidity

Finally poetic bellows
words consuming my form

melting away

Approaching river's edge

Testing the water
Fingertips breaking calm surface
Ripple effect

Cool soothing waters
slip in quietly

avoiding sharp rocks, broken bottles
toes in soft sandy bottom
going under
going down

Quiet still

Liquid caresses
cool grey velvet
compressing thought
pressing temples
erasing memory

Pressure building
welcome ache
surface calling
light beckons
louder now

Flexed feet
knees bent
pushing off
breaking surface

Noisy welcome

....Goosebumps and water droplets
Warmed by sun and trees and cricket chips

A fresh baptism.

Sunday, February 11, 2007

Flow, Faucet, Spigot, Rush

Uhm, never thought I'd say this, but would someone please shut me up!

Turn off my ideas for a few minutes,
Give my poor brain a rest?
Someone accidently bumped my spigot,
And my trickle of inspiration
is now stuck in the "on" position.

My thoughts are consuming me
and I'm afraid I might drown.

Words and thoughts are rushing out...
My sink will soon be over run
and I'll have a river of trouble to deal with.

Tired of the pool of tears, but glad for the release.
Time to put it back together.

Someone help find the balance for me, remind me how to swim!
I've got to get somewhere,
can only tread water for so long.

Like a dam, I've held back the waters so long
I'm hoping I'll be a strong enough swimmer
able to avoid the undertow....

Someone shut me up
so I can get some work done.

Just for half a day please.
Need to build a life boat
if this continues much longer.

Hush now. Sink or Swim

Saturday, February 10, 2007

Education and Application

I didn't write "What I've Learned." I'm borrowing it from someone who sent me a note. It is from a person I've never met in the real world, and probably never will. I asked for permission to repost it. It just seems fitting. Sometimes there are so many thoughts running through my head I find it hard to find the words, or the way to balance it all.

I will say this: Life is so good. Peaches and Cream. What a wonderful world. I am so very grateful to be healthy and happy and surrounded by people who inspire me. Giving back what I've been given is my mission in life.

Here's to connections and joy and love. Make a difference in someone's life. Rise above. Ascend.

Here's the borrowed post. My own words are tangled today. I have so much to learn, and am glad for it.

I've learned-
That you cannot make someone love you.
All you can do is be someone
who can be loved.
The rest is up to them.

I've learned-
That no matter how much I care,
some people won't care back.

I've learned-
That it takes years to build up trust,
and only seconds to destroy it.

I've learned-
That it's not what you have in your life
but who you have in your life that counts.

I've learned-
That you can get by on charm
for about fifteen minutes.
After that, you'd better know something.

I've learned-
That you shouldn't compare yourself
to the best others can do.

I've learned-
That you can do something in an instant
that will give you heartache for life.

I've learned-
That it's taking me a long time
to become the person I want to be.

I've learned-
That you should always leave loved ones
with loving words.
It may be the last time you see them.

I've learned-
That you can keep going
long after you think you can't.

I've learned-
That we are responsible for what we do,
no matter how we feel.

I've learned-
That either you control your attitude
or it controls you.

I've learned-
That regardless of how hot and steamy
a relationship is at first,
the passion fades
and there had better be
something else to take its place.

I've learned-
That heroes are the people
who do what has to be done
when it needs to be done,
regardless of the consequences.

I've learned-
That money is a lousy way of keeping score.

I've learned-
That my best friend and I can do anything
or nothing and have the best time.

I've learned-
That sometimes the people you expect
to kick you when you're down
will be the ones to help you get back up.

I've learned-
That sometimes when I'm angry
I have the right to be angry,
but that doesn't give the right to be cruel.

I've learned-
That true friendship continues to grow,
even over the longest distance.
Same goes for true love.

I've learned-
That just because someone doesn't love
you the way you want them to doesn't
mean they don't love you with all they have.

I've learned-
That maturity has more to do with
what types of experiences you've had
and what you've learned from them
and less to do with how many
birthdays you've celebrated.

I've learned-
That you should never tell a child
their dreams are unlikely or outlandish.
Few things are more humiliating, and what
a tragedy it would be if they believed it.

I've learned-
That your family won't always be there for you.
It may seem funny, but people you aren't
related to can take care of you and love you
and teach you to trust people again. Families
aren't biological.

I've learned-
That no matter how good a friend is,
they're going to hurt you every once in a while
and you must forgive them for that.

I've learned-
That it isn't always enough to be forgiven by others.
Sometimes you are to learn to forgive yourself.

I've learned-
That no matter how bad your heart is broken
the world doesn't stop for your grief.

I've learned-
That our background and circumstances may have influenced who we are,
but we are responsible for who we become.

I've learned-
That just because two people argue,
it doesn't mean they don't love each other
And just because they don't argue,
it doesn't mean they do.

I've learned-
That we don't have to change friends
if we understand that friends change.

I've learned-
That you shouldn't be so eager to find out a secret.
It could change your life forever.

I've learned-
That two people can look at the exact same thing
and see something totally different.

I've learned-
That no matter how you try to protect your children,
they will eventually get hurt and you will hurt in the process.

I've learned-
That your life can be changed in a matter of hours
by people who don't even know you.

I've learned-
That even when you think you have no more to give,
when a friend cries out to you, you will find the strength to help.

I've learned-
That credentials on the wall
do not make you a decent human being.

I've learned-
That the people you care about most in life
are taken from you too soon.

I've learned-
That it's hard to determine where to draw the line between being nice and not hurting people's feelings and standing up for what you believe.

Author unknown

Love at First Sight

I'll admit it. I fall in love at first sight. It happens daily. I love a passage in a novel, a button on a coat, shoes, the stories strangers tell me. The smile on a new face. Seeing the joy in a child's eyes, a good restaurant, the way a moon shines on a lake. I love. It is who I am. I can't help it. It's not my fault. How can there be anything wrong with loving? Loving something or someone requires no feedback, no expectations, no explanations. Love does not need to be accepted soley because it is offered. It may throw some people off their game, move them out of their comfort zone. Doesn't matter. I can't help it. I won't be ashamed. It is who I am. I love. It's my thing. It is what I do. Be as skeptical as you want to be. I'm used to proving myself. Why is it so impossible to believe you are loved? A very good question. In spite of my loving, I question those who love me. What a waste of time. Questions, Why? Of course you are loved, of course I am loved. we all are. It is our destiny. Personal memo to Miss Peach: Enjoy loving. Enjoy being loved. What else is there? Why not.

Here's an explanation. Maybe music says it better.

"Head Over Feet"

I had no choice but to hear you
You stated your case time and again
I thought about it

You treat me like I'm a princess
I'm not used to liking that
You ask how my day was

You've already won me over in spite of me
And don't be alarmed if I fall head over feet
Don't be surprised if I love you for all that you are
I couldn't help it
It's all your fault

Your love is thick and it swallowed me whole
You're so much braver than I gave you credit for
That's not lip service

You've already won me over in spite of me
And don't be alarmed if I fall head over feet
Don't be surprised if I love you for all that you are
I couldn't help it
It's all your fault

You are the bearer of unconditional things
You held your breath and the door for me
Thanks for your patience

You're the best listener that I've ever met
You're my best friend
Best friend with benefits
What took me so long

I've never felt this healthy before
I've never wanted something rational
I am aware now
I am aware now

You've already won me over in spite of me
And don't be alarmed if I fall head over feet
Don't be surprised if I love you for all that you are
I couldn't help it
It's all your fault

~Alanis Morisette from the Jaged Little Pill that keeps popping up

Dedicated to love. To friends. Dedicated to buttons I may push, and time well spent loving. All.

Sunday, February 04, 2007

I See the Moon, and the Moon sees Thee

The moon, in all her fullness, pulled me from sleep
early Friday morning
before noisy throng of day

She pulled me
from dream of hope
dream of beauty
dream of desire
willing my eyes to open
She pulled me from dreaming vaguely of time spent
and moments yet to be

The moon, in all her fullness, tugs me from dreams and immediacy
reminders of sweet moments
yearnings of eternal magnitude

blindingly white
juxtaposed against
navy sky

Continuous ebb and flow
of tide
pulling me out of sleep
pulling me out of here and now

Mirrored imagery
whole, bright
reflected on indigo sea

Tide pull
Timeless moon

The moon, in all her fullness, beyond human comprehension
giving peaceful percipience

Not roughly, not brazenly, but as a gentle breeze
the sound of windchimes, train whistles, a mythical sea bird
haunting my dreams
day and night

The smell of salt, sweat
sunshine on tanned bodies
dipping into cool waters

Reflected in a pool
laying side by side
lounge chairs layed back
stiff chair arms a boundary from shoulders touching
while we
Averted articulations of

Warm nights
to slip in water
nothing but cool silky waves lapping around us as we'd move through the weight of water
denying gravity
warm flesh pressed together
challenging water to come between our thoughts
in moonlight
quiet tenderness
a midnight swim

a warm hand on my shoulder, sunshine
a sweet smile on a child's face
bells ringing, calling the faithless and faithful
a fierce Manx
crying, creeping out of the woods on a crisp October night
a reverberation from
the string of a guitar in a song sung long before my time
a glimpse of a stranger on the street, exchanged glances
on the look passed between an old man and his old wife
understanding and love and secure knowledge
of a shared life well spent
in church, a benediction, a communion,
a candle expunged in present moment
sending smoke spiraling through space and time
lighting small sparks everywhere,

in hearts of those who know
Passing it on

kisses remembered
tender, honorable, aching for want of more
but not enough

a cherished gift
of unimaginable magnitude
hope for the future promise of peaceful tomorrows filled with simple purpose and joy

longing for life
together or apart
a gift of knowledge of what could be
the way it should be

a hard hand on my knee
the car
speeding down a highway

strong giving hands on sore shoulders
beckoning before either one of us was
Too soon
Not soon enough
Moments wasted but not forgotten
Savored like the taste of licorice and love
Hard candy
suckled longer than reason warrants
lasting days and months
Hooking a finger in your beltloop
a slight bent purchase not nearly steady enough
or strong enough
to hold you against your will

or your readiness for me
but a promise
of my will
of my desire

He comes to me
like a dream
time and space no obstacle
not now, but always
not past, not future
simply always

The moon, in all her fullness,
what lies beyond comprehension

The moon, in all her fullness,
the truth, the past, the present, the future.

The moon, in all her fullness,
tide pull
ever constant reminder of brief moments
in time
insignificant to most

but you know

and I know

In the moment,
it was not insignificant

The moon, in all her fullness
reason and logic and complication and schedules
lies and truths unspoken

The moon, in all her fullness,
what passed between us

The moon in all her fullness

a persistant reminder
of what is meant to be
But may never be

Look up at the moon, my friend, and deny her knowledge.
See the moon, dream ghost, and try not to imagine what is yet to be.

The moon,
in all her percipience
is full of wisdom of love of dreams
of memory and prospect.

Chose wisely
The moon will rise every night
The moon in all her fullness , will fill your eyes and your heart
with reminders of what was, what is
and what may yet still be

The moon, in all her fullness
presence, percipience, pleasure,

Wednesday, January 31, 2007

Ocean Waves and Cold Sandy Shores

Words on a cold morning in winter

just before sunrise

Good rest last night
Early morning

Looking for words...
Already written
Words of Worth...
Wordsworth said it well:

The world is too much with us

by William Wordsworth

The world is too much with us ; late and soon,
Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers :
Little we see in Nature that is ours ;
We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon !
This Sea that bares her bosom to the moon ;
The winds that will be howling at all hours,
And are up-gathered now like sleeping flowers ;
For this, for everything, we are out of tune ;
It moves us not. – Great God ! I’d rather be
A Pagan suckled in a creed outworn ;
So might I, standing on this pleasant lea,
Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn ;
Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea ;
Or hear old Triton blow his wreath├Ęd horn.
William Wordsworth | Classic Poems

[ Composed Upon Westminster Bridge September 3 ] [ Daffodils ] [ The Prelude ] [ Lucy ] [ Intimations of immortality ] [ The Solitary Reaper ] [ The world is too much with us ] [ My heart leaps up when I behold ] [ Milton ] [ Extempore Effusion upon the Death of James Hogg ]

Tuesday, January 30, 2007

Power lines and Stings of Current Musings





Live wires crackling.









Breathing, again...





Power Restored



Monday, January 29, 2007

I Heard it Through the Grapevine, a Weaving Dance

The summer before college, wanting to try my hand at working in the physical world, and not the fantasy world of Fancy import family retail, I took at job at a local nursery. Not for children. For growing seedlings.

The work was hard. Manual. The days started early. So early I set blaring alarms, instead of relying on the sweet custom of my mother waking me daily, by rubbing my back and fixing me a breakfast that I often refused to eat. I was pampered then, I didn't appreciate it enough. Teenagers can be hard on mothers. I think my mother spoiled me a little bit, when I was young, before I made mistakes and she made unhappy choices in love, unrealistic and illogical chances at reconciliation that left her at times bereft and colder.

I hate alarms. I despise loud jarring noises that interrupt trains of thoughts and especially dreams.

The only alarm clock I could ever tolerate was one that I could alternately set to go off with "babbling brooks, chirping birds, or my favourite, the sound of ocean waves hitting the beach with gulls in the background. I prefer softer wake up calls, an in love-lover's kiss; in spring and summer, the sun gently rising near my toes with barely perceptable enlightenment-warming its way over me and my bed until finally willing my eyelids to open and look out at the day.

I know, my words are meandering, like a dancer's grapevine. Back to the nursery.

The alarms would blare, I'd shower and dress in layers for a day at real work.

Still spoiled, although I didn't know it then, I'd speed off in my parents little red MGB, top down, somewhat enjoying the early sun warming my head, waking me up for good. Chilly damp morning air and sometimes fog still rising from the hilly backroads lined with huge cedar and Douglas fir. Music blaring to echo the earlier rude awakening of the alarm clock.

I'd pull into the dirt sideroad of the nursery, turn down the music, hoping like hell I'd beat the sound of the early work whistle, and be able to walk in, lunch box and sunscreen in hand with the other workers, wishing a little bit they hadn't seen me arrive in my parents little red car.

The car tended to polarize people. Some liked it because it was red and sweet as a little lady bug. Some guys liked it because they knew how much trouble it was, with massively unpredictable electrical problems, crazy starter. Some guys, friends, were impressed, I think, that I could handle it, faults and all. If I drive a car that I love, not just a get-me-there-and-that's-enough car, I am prepared to change the tires, wiggle wires, wash and wax it by hand. I liked that I could handle that car, was proud of it. It was my baby then, even though I had to negotiate, a lot, to drive it. It was a privilege I had to earn.

I still like cars with soul. I wonder who's driving my first love car now. I hope they are cherishing it, the way I did. It was sold, during a divorce proceeding (not mine) in a parking lot in Colorado. I never got to say good-bye. Silly, but I wanted that final good-bye. I was miles away, in school at the time. (Gee, I should probably let that go, it was almost two decades ago). Sometimes I'm overly nostalgic, not for the actual objects, but for what they represented.

The polar opposite reaction, to the car, were those coming from fair weather friends. You know, the kind who'd call on a bright sunny day to see if you could "get the car" because they wanted to cruise past prospective boyfriends houses, the lake, downtown at twilight. The user friends, who liked the illusion of old money and the brief ability to turn heads for a minute. Then the car was simply a tool. I didn't like driving it that way, or being used in that way.

Then, comes the last group. The last group were the people that hated you, superficially, for being given a car like that easily. The group of people that would hate you, without getting to know you, for the nice clothes your parents bought for you, the spending money, and imagined ideal life you lived. Mine was pretty soft, I guess I was fairly spoiled, but it didn't come without cost. Unless we are very fortunate, we all have strings pulling us in different directions, controlling our movements, our direction, our outlook. To those prejudiced envyers I would caution that the grass is not necessarily greener on the other side of the tracks, as pretty as those maintained yards might be.

I fought hard to earn the respect of the last group, the group that worked at the nursery every season, rain or shine, supporting families, single moms, abused teen boys sleeping in their cars, thirty five year old grandmothers who never had a chance to leave town because of love or having gotten themselves "in trouble", out of work construction workers that drove pickups and el caminos. The ones who'd have a beer with lunch on the broken picnic tables we shared on breaks, the cool few who worked there for the innate simplicity of making something grow, because it was their personal philosophy. I wanted their respect. I wanted to earn it by hard work. I was, even then, concerned about the telescope illusion of privilege and character. I wanted to prove my worth as a human, not impress people with what my parents (mostly from long hours of hard work, a little by inheritance) felt compelled to provide for me.

The summer of my nursery work, I remember the the dry dust on the roads, the coolness of the early morning, the quiet resignedness trudging in to line up at the punch clock. I'd overhear stories about drunken nights, domestic abuse, sweet things those young grandmothers told about their grandbabies, and boys bragging about events in cars, complaints about exes. It was an education. I'd alway been fairly sheltered from that reality, for better or worse. I kept my eyes and ears open,
hoping to round out my "education."

We'd punch in, after the warning whistle, before the you-sure-as-hell-better-be-there-for-daily-assignments whistle, standing around in groups, usually squinting up into the rising sun, to find out our jobs for the day.
Some days, usually rainy cold ones, we'd sit inside, listening to country music, or heavy metal, depending on the most senior person in your group, doing endless cuttings for starter plants in the greenhouses.

My favorite day there was my most physically challenging. Filling and carting, what seemed like sand, from a large pile against an outbuilding, to another large pile, spreading it flat. Stripping down to a tank top, ignoring the sunsreen for sweat and salt. It was blisteringly hot that day. Load after load of some heavy dirt mix I don't remember, and finally poking sticks in the ground I'd prepared, in wonder that the sticks would someday be soft, entertwining vines harvesting grapes and eventually coaxed into wine.

It was a hard day. But a good day. I was exhausted from the physical labor and the sun which had undoubtably dehydrated every ounce of water within me. There was no sweat left. Only dry lips and red burned shoulders and nose. And the knowledge and respect that I could, in fact, make my body work for me. Beginning a grapevine that had nothing to do with dancing for pleasure.

I might have earned the respect of my nursery friends that day, I might have opened a few minds.

A few may have seen me as more than a spoiled summer girl on her way to college. At the end of that day, when the whistle blew, I remember being damn proud of myself for the hard work I'd done. For the knowledge that I'd done my part to encourage those starters to evolve into something fruitful.

Driving home, slowly, so as not to lose my mood, I remember hearing that song from Richard Marx-"Missing You" and hoping someday someone would feel that way towards me. That someone would appreciate all of my grapevine steps, and I would have a home based on hard work, hope and love.

When I got home, the smell of dinner, as usual, in the air, I was dirty and hot, tired and pensive. Mom was concerned at my sunburn. "You will ruin your skin, not very smart! You'll look old before your time." I was slightly irritated. She did have a point. What I kind of wanted, I remember now, but hadn't articulated then, was some sort of pat on the back, for my hard work, for not choosing the easier job that summer of taffeta curtains and imports. I patted my own back for the small effort I'd made in making a real world difference. That was the real reward, not the dollars I made, although it was nice to know I'd earned my wage through hard work, just like most people did everyday.

I remember feeling pretty okay with the sunburn and sore muscles. It was when I first began rounding out my education. I felt quiet and proud of my hard work. Pleased that I'd maybe proven something with the nursery crowd, and more importantly, to myself. My skin may have suffered the aging process a little that day, but my soul was a little older and wiser. I was hopeful for the grapevine I'd begun.