True

As a child my hobby-

Rock collecting, and poetry writing.

Hours were spent,

my pointy nose inches from soil,

daylight, my shadow and me

digging,

Digging with whatever sharp tools

were found in the garage;

in my own back yard,

…..Fools gold, mini garnets,

rounded globed octagon treasures,

my rock book was miffed,

me smiling,  entranced,

By middle age I question,

When did the grape become my hobby?

It wasn’t even my favorite fruit.

If only I’d stuck to rock collecting

And poetry writing,  and stayed true

To myself.

Take the Love that is there.

It is not simply more love, less hate;

It is “let’s talk about it,”

Let sit through it….the ugliness,

perhaps not holding hands…but meeting eyes,

a scouring pad couldn’t  clean it,

the layer of burnt on hurt…

But I will sit with it, cross legged-like a yogi

I will inhale it’s truth-

as I inhale smog filled air.

I will wear it, even if it bunches at the knees,

And pools at the ankles,

as ill-fitting as a cheap suit with a chincy hand; navy blue,

Sure you can drive people away, flatten them,

Like a race car driver named Pity,

leaving black rubber at every turn.

But like me you’ll awake another day;

Breathe in through your nose,

 

smell all that is fetid and rank,

Surely you’ll wince and turn away,

but it smells of truth- the kind you avoid

the kind with answers;

and when the air is cleared it smells clean like the sea.

Even Raw chicken,

must be seasoned and roasted,

to bring about flavor.

Sit with all that is real, raw, even the unthinkable

A murderer in a grey walled cell,

Surrounded by each moment of what he has done,

with no where to look but inward.

Go back to the beginning of you,

did it start at your mother’s breast

or did it start on the couch with the canary yellow floral print

and the rust colored piping that trimmed the arms that hugged you in-

that jungle of upholstery telling a story through faint smells

of gingerbread and cigarettes

And drug store perfume that should be called Eau de’mothballs,

take the love that is there and forgive.

New Years resolutions drizzled in Cliche’

1.  Do not put the horse before the cart and don’t worry if the horse is ugly or not

2. Always see the forest for the trees and take time to distinguish the smell of pine from cedar and spruce

3. You can pick your friends and you can pick your nose but if you’re sitting around while picking either, you’re wasting valuable time!

4. Live simply that others may simply live…..and by LIVE, I mean, book it, record it, frame it, publish it, procure it and stop wondering when you’ll do it and do it already!

5. Some buy art and others by clothes and perhaps it’s time to get creative and make art in your closet where no one can find you?

6. When it rains it pours and it’s time to stop complaining about damp toes and get the proper footwear for the weather!

7.  You must be a friend to have a friend and with that, there is no time in this life to maintain friendships out of pity!

8.  If you cannot beat them join them, but if you repeatedly find it conflicts with your schedule perhaps you aren’t meant to join  them?

9. Real life is just as crazy as on T.V. and if you don’t find this to be true you are spending too much time at home with your nose in a book?

10.Silence is golden with the exception of the dismal tally sheet of how many times you’ve made love with your spouse this month?

Anger Serum

A good friend spoke these words to me,

As my insides squeezed inward,

An invisible fist wringing my heart,

My breath dashed away,

“it’s just a drink”

For her it was….Simply, a beverage

For me it was utter darkness lifted,

Painful quietude removed,

I sipped, then I gulped,

The light switched on,

The dark empty room bright with light,

Like a toy room awaiting a sick boy,

By the second glass innocence freed,

Me- a floppy, toy rabbit,

Coming alive, ambling out of the walls,

Add red wine, a catholic priest, a wafer of grape on my tongue,

Demons giggle and rise to the top,

The rabbit is in full swing; Tango, Foxtrot, Lindy Hop,

Eased by smiles flashed her way,

Is it the flaring of the dress that gains approval?

The yearning subsides,

I am skating, gliding on the glass top

Like a figurine on a child’s music box,

Pulled as if a magnet tugs beneath my skates,

A once dormant smile stretches wide

My heart drops out,

If only temporarily,

I am Weightless, buoyant, bobbing free

Wanting for more red anger serum

 

Not So Alone

The people down below

Have been doused for days;

a proper washing…

Where’s the scrub brush?

A little misting wouldn’t do.

The sunshine, a large kindly dose,

Was sent to warm them fully,

To rebirth their kindness,

To widen their eyes….

To the needs of those hurting,

To remind them,

even beauty can be harsh;

Even Blinding at times,

Why did they not slow….to smile at one another?

Why didn’t they stop to splash about?

I didn’t want to pummel them with non-stop rain,

But they needed to be soaked,

Plastered, sopping, cold to the bone

Look up, take note

You are not so alone

If only we had some Wings……

I hear Band on the Run,
And see the carpeted brown stage,
I picture years of me bouncing about;
in the ugly golden yellow split level
We called home.
We had so many years there
I am realizing now
staring, looking for more,
meeting your blank eyes for answers,
Is this tease of death enough to wake you?
At least laughter still peeps up
in the clouds of blue
Purposefully and silly, you widen them
your eyes… at me,
you were always funny, always.
You see a whole life of me,
cause we celebrate the same day of our birth
cause we’re January 12ths
Your eyes dip and lull, vacant, then gone
Please smile inside for me, we’re here.
Oh Daddy, if only we had some
Wings…….

Coping Skills

For some they shop,
For others they mop,
For some they swill
For others tears spill
For the uphill climb of modern life
Prepare young souls,
for goodness AND strife
Feelings gulped down like the salty sea
Aren’t guided by the moon
If not set free
Don’t choke them down
like nasty gristle
Call them out
Like a captain with a whistle
listen like a friend to your questions
to your fear
Like the lion and the mouse
wriggle free
from prejudices torturous spear

Fogmageddon

        Fogmagedden

I once daydreamed

 I could touch the clouds

From an airplane seat

They are angelic, billows of angel speak

Puffy white, silky, plumes,

With the mystical foolery of dry ice.

This month, they’ve lowered themselves

Upon our shoulders, as if unafraid

Of our touch.

They too are heavy with tears

Perhaps they needed to lower themselves,

To be fully understood