November 12-23d 2010

Upon flight in my migration to other temperate zones i witness a memory.
We go you see, we clump onto trees in large masses making branches turn into drooping orange arms.

but upon this gliding fluttering air swept journey i recall a time when i had been immersed in the grit, volcanic woody, sooty, moistened, endless brown of the earth.
I was once so plain, singular, lonely even.
with many means to take only small and squirming steps forward. none the less these steps i did indeed take and i took them with as much dignity as i could.

the chrysalis that became
seemed my inevitable construct
as a final adieu to my old friends and foes.
to my old habits, my old likes
one gauzy overlay after another.
i thought " i must be dying"
feelings and thoughts grew less and less frequent.
all the world took a pale shade of ghost through the eyes i no longer have
all there was, was fading
in the cocoon.


as with most grand occasions it began with a feast
by devouring the very life flesh of all that had sustained me, i mustered the strength to fly.
In my flight i could reconnect with the beauty of my secret name.
The shy, quiet breeze was kind.
The faceless mother finally set me free.

From above reborn were the shapes of things, the taste of food and the company of others.
Enlivened like a bolt of lightening cracked in an open field
what a gift
i thought,
a fleeting,
silent,
seemingly effortless
grace.

November 26th 2010 : A time for every sort of change

The hands clapped together
The wine glasses ding
I searched for someone familiar
I found some new and some old.

Read it in the cards
heard it on the radio
Porchlights stayed on for the darkness
Broken alarm clock sounded in the slumbering.

A memory burst stronger
than the moment itself was
bringing a mixture of longing and letting
stirring both sorrow and peace.

November 6th 2010: Let It Rain

A change of heart can sometimes occur without warning.
A flutter in the chest signals to the mind.
A crack in samara opens, the moment ripens and then with courage, we step.
The tears held back begin to flow
and honesty begins to shine as kindness.
Such a relief is possible when one has a change of heart.
The gray clouds give way and rain down heavily as a sign.
We are not alone.
Wisdom beings invisible to the naked eye and deep in consciousness surround us waiting for the right moment to say, "Yes, that was the right thing to do."

November 4th 2010 : The Musical Dunes of Baker California

In quiet pause one can hear the musical dunes of Baker California
which encircle the rotting gas stations and piles of rusting automotives.
The hum of transient pools in Death valley and the wind chiming songs of wild flowers which scatter the highway.
The echoing piano concerto that levels itself lower and lower down the Grand Canyon and the banshee trill in Douglas fir treetops.
The swoonful love ballads of African violets.
The white noise of dying autumn leaves.
The sound of her long red hair is like the bowing of a cello.
His smile is like sudden raindrops tapping a tin shed.

November 2nd 2010:Madonna

Green ivy grows across the Madonnas face.

October 31st 2010: Season of the Witch

My head feels a little woozey when I cough or at a the slightest tilt.
Wearing the bathrobe and pink slip this morning the same as from last nights Halloween party plus a few food stains.
The bright yellow pokey puppy of a sun is shinning on the dewy lawn.
The kids are playing in their jammies
building leggo ships and pushing wooden trains.
He won't let her play.
She hits him.
Now the teddy is crying as he conducts the train.
Roxy music comes on with More Than This,
spontaneous dance party with the tots in the bedroom.
I dream of boys in peacoats.
and finding the perfect pillbox hat.

October 28th 2010: The Hermit

The jigsaw voice cut like sharp reeds in the head.
Vicerating a night fantasy;
pursuit rich in social folly and imprudence.
Awakened by the curdling howl of child boy.
Ruffled hair and spongy eyes of child girl resettles my countenance.

The dining room Persian rug is the key to our lives.
It mimes the story of fire roasted reds and psychic dusk blues.
The rugs frayed sides and fading strands are the the tin cries.
Its corners are you and I.
Masters of the Manor with our arms interlocked in embrace or sparring.

An auspicious waft of chimney smoke travels like heaven to the window.
The sky is white like an aspen tree.
Some matter travels up like the smoke while others fall down
like the aging leaves of October.

Now the others have arisen.
Barking! Over food, over sounds, over space, over the way they look at eachother and what remains below is the way they didn't choose to look at eachother.
Let's come back into the privacy.
Shut the door.

The Hermit strums strings
fun coiled wire brustling furious.
Brewing up songs of chaos and benevolence behind closed doors.

Then takes a walk in the rain for separation from the cat
whose smug chin turns up quickly and then
side to side
after she has snickered at you with her eyes.

October 27th 2010: Goodmorning Ms Plath

Slyvie rests with her earmarked veneer making a horizon atop another horizon.
Years set in motion and put to wordwork
swinging from one inspiration to the next
ended her head
in the furnace of the kitchen.
Her ghostly echo sits with the morning coffee.
I ask myself, What is it about her?
A mortal mother and self murderer.
An immortal American muse.
But no, I am not wishing to say some THING here, not now.
No cumulative overarching idea in the cathedral of clouds
Here wading in the wishing well for departed souls.
In the pause between heartbeats which we always forget,
I forget.

Tiny Mother: a poem for daughter

We gave birth to each other.
she is a tiny mother
and i am an old child
moss and toads grow in our shadows.

We laugh together
like dancing puppets in the imagination of stars .

Her soft slumber in my adoring arms
coiled and embraced in dreams and peacock feathers.
What does it feel like to sleep here in my arms?
as sure as salt, as sure as trees
i will want to hold you.

We gave love to each other.
Her heart is as vast as the sea
and my heart is as infintismal as the atom.
I can hear the sea gulls cooing above in the misty grey sky.
We loop through here,then and when we are lucky, now
I say to my tiny mother, ”i love your angel eyes”

We share this-
You are in My breath.
in the Space between us
I catch the wind whispering,
and where we meet
I feel at rest.