Sunday, November 17, 2013

Divine Mother

She practices her disciplines every day.
She makes no great attempt to be perfect, rather rests in the divine.
She is the divine mother.
When people meet her they feel safe, they love her.

The divine mother prospers from her craft.
Honing her spirituality with nature.
She contrives to drive forward through the dark, icy storms.
And her leverage is her proof.

She won't back down.
And neither will I.
If she ever needs me to have her back, it's usually once every few years.
And I'm there on the days when the wind pummels us.

I count on her.
The same face, a different space.
I want her to know I colored my face red myself.
I made myself into an angry adolescent.

The truth is her memory is great.
She remembers details I might gloss over.
Years bound, silk cords of you and me.
I wanted the power of raw love to imbibe her.

This isn't about me, it's about her.
A tribute to all the silent mothers seeking calm, steadfast waters.
If the boat tips let me be the rider.
Leave her alone, she's not the culprit.

My mother would take my place on a day my head ached to high hell.
My mother would get up early to make plans for a better life for me.
My mother raised me single-handedly, she's strong.
Trustworthy and fair, she is beautiful like the red and white flowers wrapped in the sage wreath she made.

If you stopped at nothing, maybe you should have looked around.
If you went back to pick up your child from the floor, no one would complain.
She picked me up and gave me back my toy.
This is for my mother.

A Storm Coming or Smells Like Snow

A storm is coming upon us, yes, I read the signs.
I dreamt about drugs and addiction.
I pulled a nano bug out of my cheek and a long sinew came out.
I trusted in the decision that I was to be kicked out.
The girl came to tell me.

My green-eyed friend was there of course.
He changes colors every night.
Do you know the people you are relating to?
Or are you impressed by nothing but yourself?
I am all the girls in the world rolled into one.

Lost in characters, you play your charade.
I grow calmly into a tall flower.
My stalk no longer has thorns.
Pick me if you please, my roots are strong, but don't pull them up.
I am a perennial.

I remember when I read a play about me and I balked.
I am all the definitions for crazy in the encyclopedia, but only when I need to be.
I don't need to be anymore.
Sanity is undervalued.
I hope my sanity infects you with the desire to hire four more Indigo Children for the march.

We will march into the storm and cry, icicle tears.
We are in a permanent state of freeze.
The gale is warmer than we are.
When the truth comes out you won't come running.
You are already breathing very hard, over my shoulder.

So roll the dice and take a stand.
If it's double sixes we can be together.
"If it's snake eyes you're in for a treat," said with an ominous undertone.
If you actually roll dice because of me…you're hopelessly devoted.
Any other number and I was wrong the whole time.

What is that you say? This poem isn't about storms.
I said there was a storm coming and I meant it.
Batten down the hatches and shut your doors.
Paint symbols somewhere, even if they are only small.
And remember the tiki God who flies with you as you go into the Bermuda Triangle.

Now go before you lose your nerve.
I am already on my way despite my lack of perspective in your eyes.
I am simply better at acting my part.
I am always prepared for storms whether or not I look it.
Tread lightly on rotten boards, they will fly far in the hurricane.

Grow into a kite painted purple and blue with red stars and white stripes.
Think about freedom and height.
Let the wind take you higher.
Calmly assess your direction.
And become a storm rider, rider of the storm!

When You Came

Got no money
Got no tie
Got no consequence
Got no responsibility

Taken by harlots
Lost in the rain
Bored of time
Hate the train

Gone are the memories
Gone are the beers
Broken wine glass
Sullen fears

Grown cold and icy
By the winter window pane
Gone by the time
You finally came

Tuesday, November 5, 2013


So still she sits and listens to him,
Absorbing every word.
There is a strangeness to her silence.
As if she fears breaking his flow.

She thinks he is a genius
He thinks she is beautiful.
The way she listens to him,
With her head cocked to one side.

There is something breathless about how they relate.
A tangible quality that hangs in the air.
In the dark depths of the night they keep each other company,
From afar.

There is no entanglement.
Rather a lingering.
When one dies the other will be wounded.
This is a certainty.

(16 June 2012)

Sunday, November 3, 2013

The Raccoon

Morbidity on the side of the road.
I was thinking about "him."
Wondering if I will ever stop thinking of him.
I knew he was present in my life somehow, today, and then I saw the raccoon.

His skull and jaw bone protruded from the rotting flesh.
Then I thought about all the people I know and we're all still alive.
I thought about the ones who weren't too and said a silent prayer.
Even people who we might consider forgotten must have at least one person who sees them in their mind's eye at times.

Or perhaps I was confusing myself with the dead.
I had a day last spring when I sincerely thought I had died and was nothing more than a ghost.
It was a delusion, but that's why they say delusions seem real, I really thought I had passed on.
The world isn't as fixed as we might think: I may be partially dead, which means he took me.

It's like the figure of a man wearing a mask as he pulls you into the back of a white unmarked van.
Is the giver allowed to give back?
Does the government wear a mask?
Do you like me?

Saturday, November 2, 2013

Alone With Myself

Have you ever been alone with yourself?
Everyone has and it can be fine.
Unless you don't like yourself.
I do and I wear my sunglasses at night.

I wear something sexy, smooth.
I don't cut corners.
I like flashy bags studded with gemstones.
You're playing the saxophone in a back alley.

I come upon you, clicking my heels on the pavement.
You're the usual dark suspect.
I saw you riding a fast motorcycle earlier in the day.
You didn't even pretend you weren't following me.

I don't mind it when you do.
You cut a slightly less stalkerish appearance than any man I know.
You can follow me anytime.
I promise I'll invite you in and there won't be tea.

I see you sitting and gloating, since we both know you think I'm writing about YOU.
I'm not, I'm writing about a simple fantasy I have brought on by pop culture.
Wanna pop it in your mouth.
A delicious semi-sweet fantasy.

Friday, November 1, 2013

Tomorrow is Always Gone

Yesterday grips me with so many memories.
Tomorrow teases me with promises I cannot find.
Today breeds tomorrow, born with the sun.
I am a moonlight baby.

If you dispel me you'll feel unshackled and at a loss, at the same time.
Borrow me and you'll want to own me.
I create a great illusion of love.
The question is: "Is it an illusion?"

Order me around and I'll change your home.
I'll make you keep articles reminiscent of us.
Or even just me.
Only me.

Buy one more ticket.
It'll cease to be a show, when you realize the cast.
It's an enormous production.
And I'm not the host or the star. I'm a bit player edging along the sidelines.

Never Absent

You're the kind of man who's always there.
Even when you're out of town you stay in touch.
I'm at a loss, so forgive me please.
I'm rarely sad, although I'm vaguely sorry.
Sorry about not measuring up to my own expectations in the past.

If you go a wandering I'll know for sure.
It's beneath me to say what I mean all the time.
A vague allusion to a shooting star.
Torn up inside, I have a web of scars.
Somehow I am no longer afraid of spiders.

I saw a white widow traversing a thread and I let it stay.
When I go to bed in the miniature place I live in, I think about how much better it would be with you.
You care and are careful with the items you love.
Using the word "item" makes me sound utilitarian.
Do you profess every great love?