Possibilities

grey skies are not for drowning
any more than oceans
their mighty pull
calling us to surrender
are for sleeping

some will imagine
themselves taking flight on the
unseen sunrise peach
stretch marks streaking
across the bay,
knowing that release
from the pain
that lies between
inception
and delivery, 
that the after-birth exhale
lies just beyond our vision

these find themselves
waiting
impatiently
to be brought into
the world
of color
delivered
through the too-small opening
in the pregnant rain cloud
that coming-closer-on-the-wind one
whose water has just broken
fluids released
into the oceanfrom whence it came

Denial

darting under the street lamp
mosquitoes flash and burn
like the unearned trust you court

sometimes

She should be
one person,
one person,
one mind not two,
not seven
or twenty
or a hundred and two,
she needs a clear focus
to make up her mind
she can't have it all
needs to
just tow the line

Better not wonder
what if she said "No"
she should not
imagine
both ways she could go
better
buck up
better fall into place
get everything done
with a smile on her face

Its dangerous, yes,
they all let her know
if her voices don't gather
like ducks in a row
if one of them hops
or two
or a ton
the river of yeses
it just
isn't done.

But some
times when she's
sleeping
or cooking alone
sometimes when she doodles
won't answer the phone
sometimes
when she tiptoes
into the next room
where dishes aren't waiting
and saxophones swoon
she imagines them dancing
these voices
within:
a foxtrot,
a waltz,
one sambas and spins,
she imagines they're lovely
with dandelion eyes
and petticoat junctions
as wide as the skies
they're twirling
and swaying
not a care in the world
all wonderful
parts of a
gorgeous young girl

who still can love rainbows
red orange
and green,
yellow,
blue violet
all colors between
the light
that refracts them
now that is
one mind
but the dancers
and colors
they're one hundred and nine

In the morning
she'll wake up
maybe feel
like a queen
or a sorceress's demon
who's killing
a king,
perhaps
she'll feel bursting
with options galore
or start to do cartwheels,
the house she'll ignore,
perhaps
it will seem
there is
nothing at all,
worth doing,
in fact
she might feel herself fall
toward molasses-filled
visions
where girls do not go
send her heart beat
before her
the blood flow will slow
the day will be night time
the curtains she'll pull
wrap herself in her visions
'til she knows
where to go

but however it happens
whatever she sees
it will not be
with one mind
and she has
no disease
she is living
the full life:
maybe this,
maybe that,
she's discovering truth
and she won't
take it back.

aftermath

wanting nothing more
than a hole in the sky
an opening in the clouds
of confused creations

you found instead
a small hole in the
iced-over pond,
slipped soundlessly
through,
sinking into the canticle
of betrayal
disappearing into
worlds only you
could fathom

Severance

Because you could
shoot one white snow goose
soaring with ragged black underwings
above your fallow field,
because you could only

carve one remorseful page

at a time,
had only
one inner life
whose lacerated artery
you were forced to staunch
with feigned ignorance of your deed

Paradise refuses to
fully embrace you,
the book of forgiveness
will not
for you
be finished

Minutes into
hours into
lifetimes of neglect
can not
it seems
be made up for
in the twilight desire
for return
and renewal

What lies beneath

Sundays we walk
parasols or rainbows
puddle splashes
or dry riverbeds
makes no matter

hand in hand
we
bespeckled with incantations
imagine our eyes
as little starlight specks
of gratitude
for the opening of
textured tunnels
leading deep underground

A Saturday reflection on Facebook's merits

If on Facebook
you should go
remember there are
highs and lows
people lurk
around each corner
some are friends
and some are foreigners
what you post
can travel far
transformed like
caterpillars
in a jar
it's also true
you know
I'm right
Facebook
tempts you
in the night,
in community
you can be
bursts of "like"
can tickle glee.

Perhaps it would
be good
to rest
read a book
find lovers' chests
to cradle heads
(so full
of words)
suppress the draw
(sometimes absurd)
to check
and check
and check, once more
comments made?
are you adored?

But resting isn't
quite so fun
as sharing stuff
that we have done,
or finding others
who agree
with social truths
that we can see
or maybe laughing
right out loud
at u-tubes
jokes
stored up in "Cloud".

I say I'm not
but it's not true
I am addicted
here
to "yous",
the ones who drop by
on my blog
or share new tunes
for my i-pod,
or make me laugh
and sometimes weep,
who listen to
my "I can't sleeps"
who find old mates
from distant pasts,
who show cute pictures:
birds, giraffes,
who comment on
what others say,
who give me hope
and not dismay.

I guess that is
the thing
oh yes!
The thing
that Facebook does
the best
it brings me closer
to my friends
supports my passions
(not dead-ends)
entices me
and my
poor brain,
to come out
connect
and play again!

Remember? I called you Opal (with thanks to Amy Lowell)

You are wine and granite
The touch of you ignites my palate
And chills my soul
You are intoxication and withdrawal
You are the dark of the black rose
The moon-lit ruby-lustered lotus
When I am with you,
My heart is a silent stream
Sparkling with iridescent minnows

In case of stagnation

We need to play
we need to laugh
we need to run
get off our ass,
we need to skip
we need to shout
to shimmy tooshies
all about.

The birds they fly
the gators swim
frogs can croak
and make a din
jaguars leap
and mousies shuffle
hefalumps
they like to snuffle,
but we
we sit
we think
we plod
we act as if
we're stuck in sod.
We want to crow
or belly laugh
instead we stay
on inbred paths.

Today perhaps
tomorrow, too?
let's try to do
just one thing new!

Say take some paints
or whiz of cheese
and smear them
on
canvi*
with ease,
or find a friend
who's out of sorts
draw with chalk
and laugh, with snorts!

We could cook
without a plan
let recipes
ignore our flans.
Or scatter rosebuds
in lagoons
or shoot at corncobs
with harpoons...

All this to say
when we are blue,
there is so much
that we can do,
if we don't stay
in just one place,
but let our body's
movements grace
the moments that
lay out before
those minutes when
we're tired or bored,

Let's jump
or swim
or snort
or croak
create a mess
or tell a joke
it's up to us
it really is
C'mon
let's fill
our lives with fizz!!!!


* editor's note: canvi = plural of canvas :)

Dawning into new days

Do not let them die
of broken hearts --
those fragile dream babies.
Feed them on your hopes,
swaddle them
with your blankets
of patience
and persistence,
let them breathe
of your past triumphs,
suckle on your
memories of connections,
rest in the
open
close
open
of your
ever present heartbeat.

jubilation day for those who have had their coffee

Little monkeys
jumping out of
straw hats
cartwheeling
doing triple flips
on blue banded
trampolines
shouting
hip hip hooray
yip yipeeee yay
if you're looking
for joy
today is the day!!!

A surprise when

What we think of
As loss
Becomes an opening door
Into the hidden
Chambers of our hearts

New horizons

Who said
We must be fearless
If we are to court
Adventure?
Exploration
Requires not
the absence of fear
But to listen to
It's message and
Then to leap anyway.

Bishop Berkeley purported

the non-existence of matter
everything in the universe
as merely ideal,
creation stories
developed only in our minds.

Impossible to refute
and yet

this morning
I hear the sharp
"fee-bee" of the chickadee call,
feel the wind's chilling breath
brush my cheek,
taste the burst of fire
in my coffee,
as my bare feet complain
at the icy deck-glaze.

Perhaps old BB forgot
to pause from his thoughts,
never looked up to that suspended
half-white sphere,
could not imagine the moondust:
how they'd breathe it in
how it entered
lungs and sinuses
became cellular links
to those yet to be seekers.

Haiku for After the passing

Sisters stretch, connect
Moon shadows tumbling sunset
Pleiades on fire

For coffee lovers everywhere

Morning coffee, Yes
Gotta be the best
To help return to zest
When all parts want to rest
And not with words be blessed
So give a little yip
For that first delicious sip
It's really quite a trip
How coffee keeps me fit

we think

we think
we must have it
what it is
we know not
just that
it is needed
like good wine
or pot
in our dreams
we pursue it
in fantasies
too
we believe
if we get it
we'll know what to do
with the lives
we've been given
with time on our hands
with wondering
mind blips
that silence
can't stand

when we find it
and grab it
well
it's not
(it turns out)
what we wanted
not really
more like measles
or gout
so we open our fingers
let it fly
from our palms
seek again
something missing
seek again
something wrong.

remembrance of things past

Sometimes
the nightingale
hovers at the edge
of my wakeful
dream state,
calling me to remember
your voice
in the rustling leaves,
to feel in my own
fluttering heart
how deeply you
wanted to
(but, alas, could not)
hold me.

Polarizations released

Cacophony rests
Folding into loving arms
Rupture is repaired

They say

She should be
one person
one person
one mind,
not two,
not seven
or twenty
or a hundred and two,
she needs a clear focus
to make up her mind
she can't have it all
needs to just tow the line

Better not wonder
what if she said "No"
better not
imagine
both ways she could go
better
buck up
better
fall into place
get everything done
with a smile on her face

Its dangerous, yes,
they all let her know
if her voices don't gather
like ducks in a row
if one of them hops
or two
or a ton
the river of yeses
it just isn't done.

But some
times when she's
sleeping
or cooking alone
sometimes when she doodles
doesn't
answer the phone
sometimes
when she tiptoes
into the next room
where dishes aren't waiting
and saxophones swoon
she imagines them dancing
these voices
within
a foxtrot
a waltz
one does
the samba
and spins
she imagines they're lovely
with dandelion eyes
and petticoat junctions
as wide as the skies
they're twirling
and swaying
not a care in the world
all wonderful
parts of a
gorgeous young girl

who still can love rainbows
red orange
and green,
yellow,
blue violet
all colors between
the light
that refracts them
now that is
one mind
but the dancers
and colors
they're one hundred and nine

In the morning
she'll wake up
maybe feel
like a queen
or a sorceress's demon
who's killing
a king,
perhaps
she'll feel bursting
with options galore
or start to do cartwheels
the house she'll ignore
perhaps
it will seem
there is
nothing at all
worth doing
in fact
she might feel herself fall
toward molasses-filled
visions
where girls do not go
send her heart beat
before her
the blood flow will slow
the day will be night time
the curtains she'll pull
wrap herself in her visions
'til she knows
where to go

but however it happens
whatever she sees
it will not be
with one mind
and she has
no disease
she is living
the full life
of maybe this,
maybe that
she's discovering truth
and she won't
take it back.