The stillness is
where you were
Intimately held;
death and life blurred
The wealth of years
Fell silently
The labor gone
So quietly
The stillness is
Where you were
The peaceful night
Embraces you
Mourning’s tears
A grassy dew
And yet,
The stillness remains
Where you were
Glimpses of mortality
An unacceptable reality
Because the stillness is
Where you were
My throne near the top of the willow tree
where I could oversee
my kingdom that resounded
with mournful train chords
and springtime robin red-breast
Thin the veil between worlds
Of retrospection cursed not blessed
It’s like a perpetual bloodstain
With solidly placed blame
Thats removed quietly with disdain
Where “It’s just how they are” to
Invisibility of me to an entire crew.
But I’ll not allow their foolishness
Not in my kingdom where I am best
Where I’m more than bone deep
Better than the company they sheep.
Sometimes I want to be a kite
Ripped and tugged by wind’s whim
Rising above spectators
Admired for my brightly colored dips
That write nonsensical whispers
Of promises made to a forever not witnessed
Sometimes I wish I were a bear
Raw with raking power paws
With heavy duty claws that help me eat
People I don’t like or those who disturb me.
Sometimes I wish I were a siren
One that rests on rocks singing sweetly
Lulling sailors to their doom upon my rocks
Jutting breasts and flirty hair calling to boys
“Beware! Beware!”
Sometimes I’m glad to be me
A chubby tubby funny woman with dimple cheeks
Cracking open frozen hearts, not of ice
But stuck in places not so nice
Places that don’t remember their worth
Burying their beings without much mirth.
Rolling down the road before
Been there, done that, know the score
Crossed that bridge, then burned it down
Trapped myself in my hometown
Ghosts of me walk laughing by
Anger driven, cocaine high
I barely know the face of then
But I wear them as my diadem
Broken heart lay broken wide
Spilling love from what’s inside
Trains of childhood sing forlorn
Don’t chase those tracks. Don’t heed those horns.
The turning of the Wheel is honored in her space
the breathing of the seasons accounted at her grace
With eyes the color of summer sky she observes the holy
Appreciating each season as its revealed so slowly
Her hair is the color of bonfires, of cider mills or pumpkin pies
When she laughs, I mean really laughs, it could make you cry
She sees the world in music, notes upon a page,
Not a moment passes by that she’s not fully engaged.
She can make a piano dance a jig or an organ sing to God
But she believes, somewhere inside, that she is somehow flawed.
When she gives the gift of her, in whichever way she does,
There is never any doubt in mind, that you are truly loved.
When I talk to the ceiling or look to the sky
I gaze upon God as both you and I.
When I pray with love, bowing my head,
Instead of my questions, listening to what’s said.
Joy fills my spirit, overflowing my cup
I remember my blessings, remember to look up
When I walk in the world with wonder in my eyes
It’s easy to remember to sing to the sky
But when shadows crawl, as they sometimes do
I can’t see me and I can’t feel you.
But, when I talk to the ceiling or look to the sky
I gaze upon God as both you and I,
And when I stand with breast open to light from above
Then my fears fall away into the light of love
There is a place where we can’t meet
Where your face remains unknown
It is a place where silence stands
It is the time when I’m alone
Muses holding my creative reprimands
It is there where I turn from cheek to cheek
Longing for the words you speak
But in this place, organically grown,
Is a haven for me to be completely alone
It is a place that refuses other’s hands
It holds me warmly to meet its demands
It is there, where my rivers peak
Giving me the words I must speak
I can’t deny, I can’t erase
The billowing spirit
from your face
Emanating fiercely
From your own within
Reaching through
my waters
forbidden
The late September thunderstorm drizzles gray on dark pavement.
The wind physically throws a tantrum of plants, chimes screaming alarm.
The trees relieve themselves of dead branches onto accumulated decayed leaves.
Darkness portends a bitter battle but refuses to acknowledge the calm.
The cars slide by with deeper tone, like a man’s voice taking over a woman’s.
The blinds clap merrily against the windows as I rush to keep dry beds.
The thunder is unexpected, rumbling like bowels filled with beans and broccoli.
A flash, a roll, a grumbling of disturbed pressure pockets, then wet, dripping, silence.
You can throw me down beneath my homeland
The earth beckoning my bony flesh
Glorified and holy as the stable creche
There I will deny your victory fresh
As I bloom again within my familial heartland
You thought me shallow, but I am buried deep
within the tributaries of river roots overflow
deep enough to honor the woman of indigo
I raise my fertile froth as surging archipelago
As I rise in my power, return to your garden to weep.
Youthful feet, bare of shoes,
The tattering of proven roots
from family tree, judge recused
Forgiving of a prostitute
Mercy Seat, sang the blues
Eating of forbidden fruit
Self-mistreat, allowed abuse
Rejecting every business suit
Purely obsolete, troubled muse
Punctured soles of ill repute
Gypsy heart, wandering free
Creating life to love in hands
Brightly colored, feathery
Wandering compass of all lands
Fully engaged bourgeoisie
Complete with impish contraband
Lustful laugh, bountiful in jubilee
Sometimes dirt, sometimes the sand
Ripened joyful, blissful sensuality
Worth no roots in wonderland
words. hearts. secrets.
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