Falling

Sun~drenched

days turn shimmering

gold to putrid brown

Crisped

air, crisped

fruit, crisped

leaves underfoot

As over~ripe

romance falls

dead from old

vines

Rerun

episodes aired

as premiere

Something less

nonchalant or

apathetic

On cooler wind

stirring darkening sky

Where soot~

stained comfort

warms wooden hearts

Slaves

to their freedom

are driven to learn

Wasting

these hours just

falling for you

To Us

(for Susan)

To memories saved

connections craved

and hearts unscathed

For freedom

independence

the right to rebel

To beautiful surroundings

and echos resounding

amid the confounding

For loyalty

faithfulness

and universal trust

To life in the now

and not knowing how

to accept what's allowed

For transience

patience

and deep recognition

To hopes yet undreamt

future moments unspent

without the smallest regret

or bitter resent

Last Days of Summer

the final chance

to truly relax

with windows open

or a walk down the tracks

a final picnic

dinner in the park

or a laugh in the sprinkler

running in the yard

one final book

on the swing in the shade

one more ice cream

cone at parades

a final trip in

the community pool

gathering bed sheets

before stormy cool

the final goodbye

to our partners in crime

one final fine

for speeding through time

Wila

There's a road in the mountains

overgrown in back hills

in places where pavement

comes dangerously close

to being smooth

This road winds to

childhood to this secret

hideout suspended in time

We wave here at strangers

who are life-long friends ~ children

of parents who grew up together

danced at prom together

and hid from their parents together

at the general store no longer there

We fill our hearts

with the comfort

of family saving room

for homemade ice cream

dripping from the porch swing

As we inspect cracked

panelling and peeling paint

and that which strains

to contain the detailed

imperfection trapped

beneath chipped and warped

shingle-covered walls

Concealing the snake

which lurks just out

of reach of skittish cats

Expecting

She met him at the bar

for an extra-dirty martini

drowning in

premeditated

resentment

He looked in her eyes~

outwardly normal;

internally fatal~

while stirring whiskey in his coffee

She glanced aside

and then ignored

his permanent state

of denial

His words dripped slowly

with the honey consistency

of sweetened condensed milk:

"You serious about this?"

She considered

the moment

before nodding consent

to his inevitable

tearing reply:

"But...

babies are so...

distracting,

is all."

The silence screamed

things she wouldn't say

and since nothing

was drying anyway

she downed her martini

and mutely walked away.

~~~~~~~

Thanks to my collaborators for providing random phrases for this poem (whether they knew it or not). I'm nothing without my friends! (Jeff, Ami, Jason, Glennda, Jessie, Kirsten, Melanie, Eric, & Cat)

Magnetic

it can't be fought

this force that's taught

of actual insubstantial draw

the silent snare

tangles all who care

pulls them up against the wall

it holds on tight

regardless of fight

bound to the hopeless thrall

until poles switch

and make life a bitch

and violent repulsion greets all

Waiting for Summer

The last thing I knew

June was coming

creeping around the corner

But I blinked

and I missed it

Because the chill and the rain

didn't stop for summer

They taunted and teased

and held it at bay

So I made my own sun

and kept it inside

and June slipped

and fell into July

which simply melted

to nothing

And as August skulks

in deadly heat

there's no relief in this

Because now, here

I'm trapped

just waiting

for summer to arrive

Hard, Slow Work

It started small

like all things do

one lonely bunny

of lint and dust

cowering in the corner

praying not to be noticed

But that small rabbit grew

over time became two

then four and then eight...

Needing to cohabitate

And as all children do

these tiny messes became

something more

to be handled

than parents should

so they learn to let go

What once was just dust

or a few stray hairs

became monumental

in scope or size

The bigger the mess

the scarier it becomes

and the whelming goes over

How long did it take

for this mess to be made

and how do we start

to take it all apart

One rodent at a time

the same way they came

with baby steps

into grown-up junk

Daddy's Girl

Those eyes are mine

and your thoughts

my mirror

I am your daughter

You're not perfect

and we'll often disagree

but what's comforting here

is that I'm not either

just like you

I've inherited more

than just DNA

I'll become who I am

with the strength

gained from you

It's All Just One Big Cliche

If you are reading this,

your life is sadder than mine.

Well,

if my opinion counts

for anything

that is.

Your mileage may vary.

Just don't get carried away,

thinking

you're better than me.

You know

you know better.

Wait,

where do you think you're going?

Don't take offense;

I'm just saying...

Never mind,

do your thing.

I wouldn't want

to stand in your way.

Far be it from me

to be the fly in your ointment.

~~~~~~~
Prompt: "If you are reading this..."

Prolonged Exposure

Tracing the outline

of her face

from a photograph

he thought

Maybe sometimes

our feelings fade

long before the images

or the impressions

left behind

It seemed like

only yesterday

he held her in his arms

but the reality

was this face

sadly smiling

in his hand

This proof of fading

wordlessly begun

far longer ago

than either of them

had realized

at the time

~~~~~~~
Prompts:
~"Tracing the outline of her face from a photograph..."
~Title: "Prolonged Exposure"

Yesterday's Mirror

(for someone as beautiful as I am)

I stare in her eyes

her thoughts trying to hide

to keep her safe from me

but the reality is this:

she is me

the younger

more innocent

the quieter

version of me

I know her pain

because I share it still

I tell her

don't let this eat you

don't let this beat you

there is a way out

I'm only finding it now

and I'm in far deeper

so it's harder to get out

I hand her the map

hoping she'll follow

lending her courage

and I watch

as the beautiful reflection

of myself grows

Salt & Saffron

What good is a day
of no more than just hours:
only time to be filled,
or long lists to complete?

Is the flavor of this day
something we savor?
Or will it be passed off
as yesterday’s gruel?

Cherish each moment
and own what it holds
before the salt is spilt
and the saffron grows old.

~~~~~~~
Poetry Prompts:
~Write a poem using the following start: "What good is a day..."
~Write a poem about seasonings. For example, "Salt and Saffron".

Between Silences

In the time

between the silences

we find ourselves knowing

the something that we share

is more than enough

to verify our hopes and dreams

In the time between the silences

The hours flutter by

in incandescent luminescence

where we carry one another

to the comfort we hope to keep

In the time between the silences

we open thoughtful glances

into future's distant haze

and dance around the void

that only too soon comes

In the time between the silences

we gain strength for what's to come

the inevitable separation

which gives meaning to all these times

and to this space where we escape

~~~~~~~

Poetry Prompts : Write a poem using "Between Silences".

Conviction

more than just something to believe

it pulses through our veins

carrying our life

more than just the reason we're here

it causes our change

burying disguises

more than just a passing whim

it grows inside us

betraying our dreams

more than just who we are

it sentences us

to staying extreme

Ya No Soy Yo

Yo
ya no soy yo

Yo soy
un fantasma en el viento
una sombra sobre el mar

Yo soy
que
nunca hace
nada

Yo no soy la chica
que crees que sabes

Por lo menos
no soy el mismo yo
interior

I
am no longer me

I am
a ghost on the wind
a shadow on the sea

I am
that
which never makes
anything

I'm not the girl
you think you know

At least
I am not the same
inside

~~~~~~~

“Yo, ya no soy yo. Por lo menos no soy el mismo yo interior.”
~ Diarios de Motocicleta

I am no longer me. At least I am not the same inside.
~ The Motorcycle Diaries

for Typescript ~ Wednesday Writing Challenge: Movie Quotes

Fate

Fate is a cold-hearted bitch
Pulling on strings that strangle hearts
Controlling our lives with an iron fist

Patience and Hope can’t measure up
To the callous decisions held in her darts
When she determines she’s had enough

She’s like a small boy tormenting a fly
With every turn cutting off wings
With little remorse the torture applied

She rains on us all, making worthy unjust
But her allure holds us captive despite the stings
In devastatingly beautiful passive trust

Strangers

I've been struggling a lot lately. There are a lot of things I'm struggling with that I can't put here in this blog, because regardless of how transparency doesn't bother me in the slightest, I've come to realize that guarding others in my life and their privacy is more important than my own. I can do a lot for other people that far surpass what I can do for me. And I suppose this is the strength that I have to cling to right now.

Before I go on, if you think this blog is about you and you're a part of my life, it most likely is. It seems that most of my closest friends right now are dealing with similar issues of inadequacy and general dissatisfaction with their place in life. But this is more about me, because I'm simply THAT narcissistic (and yeah, I'll wait until you're done chuckling at the obvious irony of a narcissistic individual having self-esteem issues... Are you done now?).

Here it is... I'm filled with an intense sadness at the lack of perceived beauty. We live our lives in constant struggle rather than allowing ourselves to just... BE. Beauty surrounds us in nature, in relationships, even in something or someone entirely foreign to us. And that is just the beginning. But we're far too busy being insanely busy or just insanely caught up in the unimportant stuff to notice.

And our insanity leads us to feeling short-circuited and like we've failed at achieving anything of import in our lives. And when we feel like this, our esteem tanks. Our confidence tanks. Our ability to know and express our real desires and needs tanks. We become complete strangers to ourselves.

So I'm mourning the loss of the person I knew and understood. As well as a lot of other losses these days. But it's nice to know I'm not alone in it. I've got great company.

Disillusioned

(for one of my most beautiful & poetic students)

Standing before me

with outstretched hands,

trembling you plead,

"Teacher, it's me."

Handing me a mass

of brightly pumping flesh

You turn away~

bleeding thoughts & glistening eyes.

Dripping red stains only I can see

on the brand new carpet.

~~~

11 september 1998

For the end of French fries & croissant rolls with butter...

School is

a murky playground full of

children~

in bratty sibling rivalry

The Hatfields & McCoys

enjoyed the company of

the blood-red wounds

of decapitated

Antoinettes

gone

without a worthy cause...

~~~

20 april 1999

(written the day of the Columbine Shooting)

jumbled thoughts

a tiny boat

battered & beaten

by sandy

rippled waves

drifts ~

cloud covered stars

shy away

in uncertain indecision

leaving love lost & alone ~

the solitary flash

off distant shores

single out

the tiny boat ~

drawing it in

guiding it to safety

~~~

06 march 2000

kallista melankolia

(Greek: "the best sorrow")

i am

the soot-stained slush fading

to gutter stream oblivion

the rain falling

on shooting

star-crossed fates

the moment darkly

enslaving morning rays

the piece of sand

deserting burning waves

i am

the place you go

to hide away from me

~~~

13 november 1998

Tripping Down Memory Lane

I stumbled across an old file today of poems written by a first year school teacher ~ fresh out of college. I'll share some here on my blog... Hope you enjoy them.

B.P.D. (Blue Pool Down)

sink or swim

but i never learned

how

dropped

in the middle

way over my head

thrashing

flailing

gasping

for air

trying to grasp

but striking

violently

at hands reaching

to help

so tired

slipping slowly

grabbing aimlessly

one last try

i'll take you with me

i will not go

alone

Gorgeous

Days of dolls and dandelions

envision evening elegance

The image tells her who to be

the mirror reveals the way

Pursuing perfection, she pouts

Wondering at womanly worries

Her delicate innocence rejects

glamorous sophistication

Fidgeting fingers fondle

chasing her charming chin

She's learned this is beauty

and made this her quest

Abandoning adolescent apathy

to aspire to adult artifice

~~~~~~~

for Typescript's Wednesday Writing Challenge: Norman Rockwell

Wishes

Tiredly she searches the depths of her purse

as eager hands await the treasure

of tiny metal pieces

Eyes glow in reflected pools

mesmerized in fluid mirrors

constantly changing

The clumsy drops break gentle ripples

sinking beneath him softly casting

magic spells from dancing fingers

one for love

one for friendship

one for loss restored

worthless now

this cast-off copper

send their pleas to gods

before they've landed, his ritual done

carelessly misunderstood

he turns and skips away