Again Truth

December 31

Again Truth

Not wanting to speak the truth doesn’t change the truth, truth is funny that way, it is not affected by my cold shoulder. I snub it and it stands just the same. I am the one who bends and withers. Truth withstands the pressure that I never have, the force of other people’s disappointment and regret. I have sympathy or is it cowardice? I tremble at the power of emotion and truth just carries on. I do not want to be the truth or stand in its place; for truth is not a beating heart and I am too much a feeling creature, but I will learn to keep the company of honesty and right. And stand under the arching bough of truth, because it is a shelter from the winds of change and I need all the help I can get. When I am tempted to shun truth in favor of expedience I will try to remember that life is longer than I think and if I don’t face the truth now it is going to be in my face later when I might be less prepared.

Make the bed so that it is an invitation at the end of the day

*

Essentials

What is essential....is the correct amount of pressure as I press my lips to yours.

What is essential....is the way I slide my arms around your neck and slip my fingers through your hair.

What is essential....is the scent that rises from the nape of my neck as you kiss it.

What is essential....is the moan you illicit from my soul

What is essential....beyond the toe curl and the secret smile is well founded trust, also admiration.

Einstein's Apple

December 30

Einstein’s Apple

Time is a player in every play, forever running forward even as I try to claw my way into the past. If I don’t provide a role, time writes itself in without regard for my intended plotline. Like the weather, time is by turns gentle and fierce. I must pay attention lest I run afoul of it and lose my life and limb. Though time is an arc I see swinging in my mind it is still the arrow shot and I am simply the fool with the apple.

Take a vacation from your expectations

*

Talk to me before I sleep

Talk to me before I sleep

Lay your hand upon my cheek

Talk to me before I sleep

All the years are yours to keep

Talk to me before I sleep

Fold me deep within your speech

Talk to me before I sleep

Hold me tight when I start to reach

Talk to me before I sleep

Never let me touch the sheet

Talk to me before I sleep

Warm me with your wondrous heat

Talk to me before I sleep

Precious are the things you teach

Talk to me before I sleep

Love and kindness is how you greet

Talk to me before I sleep

Into darkness let me seep

Talk to me before I sleep

In my dreams it’s you I seek

Talk to me before I sleep

I fear that I am in too deep

Talk to me before I sleep

Wake me to the morning dew

Talk to me before I sleep

Let me know it’s always you

Hey Little Sister

December 29

Hey Little Sister

Who pulls the trigger, you or I, in this Shotgun relationship? Is it more to the point if you slit my throat or if I slit my own? I only ask for the sake of expedience, rudeness was never my intent. I know we both wish this dilemma resolved with due speed and precision where possible. I am not as concerned with my survival as much as neatness all around. I hate to leave you with a mess and I would tuck my tail and go, but I have tried that before and still we end up here, so lets end this shall we and hope that there are better worlds than this to find after we have shattered the sugar egg we used to live in.

Tend your human ivory

*

I AM

I am unloved though most everyone loves me

I am unwanted though there are those who stand in line

I am unknown though people who’ve met me never forget

I am unconscious though I seem awake

Because today it is about how I feel not what is real

Entrée Entrée

December 28

Entrée Entrée

I am not one to order an appetizer, I prefer the main meal. Even if I carry the majority of the entrée home I like to have it all there before me. Knowing there is enough, might I want it, means peace of mind and I can relax and eat what I wish. That’s how much I fear. Fear opening my mouth to ask for more. Fear not anticipating my actual appetite. Fear of having nothing to show for my evening out. What could it all be like had I felt free of rules and public policy that must be carried out in private? I might never know, but what I do know is that I need to overcome this. Not because of starving children near or far, not to eliminate the science experiments of mold growth and wilted lettuce in my frig, but in order that I have a chance to have my desert and eat it too and leave the rest unordered.

Lubricate the places where you get stuck

*

Burying the Impossible Dream

I didn’t waken it and twist it in a shroud

I propped it in a corner and attempted to play house.

I didn’t face the truth and love the loss that goes along

I clung tighter than tight and buried my face in the back of its shirt.

I didn’t stand and look in the mirror

I stared into space and played the film strips of futurity.

I didn’t breathe in and out keeping my heart aloft

I held it all with empty lungs and pallid pulseless bosom

I didn’t do the things I could not do

I did the things I had to do

I didn’t think I could ever let it go

I know now that I must

Harriet Powers

December 27

Harriet Powers

Like a creature with a long tale told in a hushed voice. The whispers tell the story with inflection and innuendo. I slink away from the mirror and the disembodied voices it engenders. Thirty versions of my past spin away from me in the eddies of time gone and misremembered. I gather my fragments and tatters; I thread my needle and sit to quilt me into the present. The odd assortment left from all which has worn out or been pulled apart fit in a pinwheel pattern and turn toward a better day. The night is warmer for now I have it covered, settled and safe, perhaps now I might even sleep.

Use a crutch if you have to but move

*

Best so Far

Being the best so far doesn’t mean so awful much

Makes you the current standard bearer is all

Not even keeper of the watch.

I can’t give you a torch to hold

Certainly not a title either of Daddy or of Din

You will find your way through this morass

Keep your courage if not your cast

But this is a hard thing my dear, dear friend

Because the old tricks they don’t work no more

And the new tools ain’t broke in.

And lest I should forget

Just because you say you have a sense of humor about yourself

Doesn’t mean you have it

And when you try to take me to hand

It doesn’t mean you ken it

And all the days that dreams drift by

It doesn’t mean they’re yours and mine

For time must play its evil trick

And leave good things to pass by us

But this doesn’t mean that hope is lost

Or even that I’ve found it

Only that peace is a thing which seeps

And pressing will confound it

So maybe when you are pushing seventy

And are sober nearly as I am now

I will read this to you

And we will laugh

For by then being the best so far

Will matter a little more and hurt a little less.

A Thousand Windowed House

December 26

A Thousand Windowed House

I am like a house with a thousand windows. When I am lit up inside you can see all the way through; when I go dark the reflection of the world around me is all that is visible when you look my way. My sprawling mind is what creates this effigy of me. A tribute when I am well tended and a fire trap when I neglect my duties. If I learn to celebrate in all the rooms this house is my home, so I must practice; dance and sing in the hallways so I can pirouette into the rooms with full voice. For what is the point of being a house with a thousand windows, if I don’t live there?

Host sympathy

*

Love Lets

Love melts the icicles in my heart

Allows the oxygen to my brain

Lets me work unfettered

Love pours the warm bath

Heats my bones

Lets my breath come easy

Love wakes me to sunrise

Beds me at dusk

Lets my body unfurl

Love builds me a pantry

Fills it with goods

Lets me eat my fill

Love rights my boat

Bails my bilge

Lets me sail on home

Love dresses me in safety

Undresses me in secret

Lets me see myself

Love opens doors

Closes windows

Lets me go my way

Love puts a penny in my hand

A dollar in my pocket

Lets me save the fare

Love burns your image in my brain

Holds you tight within my heart

Lets me dream of you

Home Fires Burning

December 25

Home Fires Burning

I have trouble living with myself that is why I live with you. It takes my mind off the things I don’t wish to face. What I can busy myself within your service lightens the load of expectation heaped in my DNA by my Higher Power and Fate. Worry is time consuming and I wile away hours fretting over you and all your unresolved trifles while turning my back entirely on my life. I couldn’t be happier to have you, though from the corner of my eye I glimpse G-d packing your bags.

Wash like you matter to yourself

*

FOR THIS TIME

Your desire is an ephemeral gift I treasure

A snowflake on my fingertip, a raindrop on my tongue

Your passion is a savory treat in season for this moment

Pomegranate seeds and rich truffles tempt and delight me

Your kind touch brands me flush, anticipation spreads like flame

Wind whips the breath of my wish to the four corners

Your acuity plucked me from the page and slipped me in your pocket

I nestle quiet with the lint and the cookie remnants

Scalene

December 24

Scalene

Strangeness is attracting, I don’t try to deny it. I have looked longingly at oddness and every skewed thing. Though I try to divert my gaze the acute angles draw me back to peer again and again. Strange attractors have an unexplainable beauty to me. The wane charisma digs its hooks into my soul and I carry it off like a burr stuck to my hide. What does this say of me, I am not sure? What does it say of the sidelong loves of mine? Volumes, I think it speaks volumes, all of it unknown to me.

Collect friendly faces

*

WHAT’S LEFT AFTER HOPE RUNS AWAY

shoes and socks

old post cards

tennis balls with no more bounce

memories that have lost their fun

dreams left in the box

earrings with the clasp askew

things I’ve said

dead thoughts, too

stacks of books

letters written

tender feelings

wonder---smitten

the pain is left

and runs around wildly

my face is stained

and left untidy

I can never fill the space

Which hope leaves behind it

The stage is dark

And everything quiet

Lame

December 23

Lame

I easily identify the big mistakes of my life, but fail to recognize or report the little mistakes that I make, mistakes, which cost me so much. Repetitive irresponsibility has the effect of water torture; drip, drip, drip and my peace of mind is worn away. What can I say of what I refuse to see? It was there all along like the view covered by the shade. Who is to blame for not raising the curtain? It may be me. may not, but I am the one who suffers, I am the one who misses out. Missing the opportunity to grow out of these small deficiencies leaves me with a lifelong handicap and I am not just speaking of my blindness, but also how they make me lame.

Protest ignorance

*

Beginning and End

She stepped through my window and the clock stopped.

The shock of her arrival heart pounding fun and fury.

Forever I felt as if she weren’t there.

Fear lurked in my eyes.

Smile enchanting.

Exit at hand.

Good-

Bye.

Age and Death

December 22

Age and Death

When death was young

It did its job cleanly no mincing about

Now the uncertainty and old age tremble

Leave the world filled with half dead zombies

Living is less for the faltering of death

I would rather be struck down swiftly with a scythe

Than bludgeoned endlessly with a butter knife

Sing with the wind

*

Before Pearls

You must stop crying

You must

The endless tears will poison you

Your teeth and soul, the life of you

Just because you don’t know how you can go on

Doesn’t mean the world will stop to let you off

The raw red rough of it will drag you to its lair

Doing what it will with you, there is no hope to spare

Unloved child you must go on

Lied to and misguided doesn’t change the time

There is nowhere to lie down and sleep

No safe and sheltered home

So dry your face, pick up your pack

Carry all your freight

Close your eyes to beauty

Close your ears to lies

You are the only oyster

The sand your only prize

Not My Best Friend

December 21

Not My Best Friend

No matter how tightly I hug a lump of coal I will not prevail in turning it into a diamond. Somedays I accept this better than others. My desire may affect the coal, but this affect is not diamond producing; though it is stress producing. I know it stresses me and chills me to the bone. I had thought of coal as warming, but the disparate love of coal proves to be anything but. I have pinned my hopes on what this lump had the potential to become rather than acceptance of what it is and now I see I must light my own fire and know the coal is not mine.

Close the window on harsh winds

*

AND THIS IS FOR WHAT?

I smiled down on God and said----
This is pretty and what is it for?
Oh, that’s you life.
It is a surprisingly useful thing to have.

My Higher Power, like my sponsor
Thinks she’s funny but she is not.
What am I suppose to do with it?
Who do you think I am, your Mother,
Your Grandpa Joe, your guidance counselor?

I put all the possibilities in you,
Then I let the wind blow.
What would be the fun of coming here
If I gave it to you all mapped out?

Did it occur to you the reason people say--
You are right where you are suppose to be
Is because you did the things
That brought you here, not me.

And if you don’t like it here
You are the one who needs the motivation
To change it.

Take my life------Please
You are such a comedian!
No that’s your department.

Could you stop tending your garden
For five minutes and give me your attention?
I don’t need to give you that kind of attention
You bloom on your own.

Touch Your Toes

December 20

Touch Your Toes

Funny how we deal with feet. I have seen a woman cradle hers and treat it like the dearest babe. I know some folks who shun their feet; can barely stand to think of them, let alone to touch them. There are the Mani-Pedi people who leave it in the hands of others. I met a guy who soaks them soft and tucks little bits of cotton under the corners of his nails. I know too, the woman with the snarling crusty dogs that serve to others as a warning. My grandma warns me not complain about my shoes lest I meet the man who has no feet, but I doubt I would fit in his.

Borrow brilliance

*

MUD PIES

Mud pies and retro-childhood
Are for the hurt ones, small and angry inside me.
They require care and special attention
But I can’t stop with them.

Saving children to starve the adolescents is a sad fate
Or abandoning adults after bringing them all this way
Is indescribably cruel.

I cannot work on healing
All the while waiting for some ice flow
To shove myself off on.

There is never a time I am not the responsible party
For the people who inhabit my interior life
I live their reflections everyday.

There is no one-way mirror
With which to hide unresolved issues
No rug to sweep them under
They flow through me like a river

I must return them to breed new health
As a salmon swims back to the waters
Of its birth to bring new life.

I must brave the complexities of maturity
I cannot just sit in the mud

Crazy Time

December 19

Crazy Time

Picking the right time to be crazy seems to be the key to getting away with it. Wanting to get away with it slants the field a tad. What crazy is changes from place to place, which puts all the more emphasis on the timing. The surrounding company and barometric pressure play parts and put on airs. Lighting, lighting must also be involved, I assure you I don’t know how and can’t calculate the Ohms, but I flip the switches in case it helps. I have mapped for you a fair amount more than I know. I wish you well on your attempt, for crazy is a kindred club, I would hate for you to feel inept.

Admire your friends

*

THE FIRST FATHER

The rest of what I have to say
I will slip under your gravestone.
If I have time after I buy the red dress.

To say I hate you is an overstatement.
I only detest what I know of you
The rest I leave to other people
Who might have the misfortune to cross your path.

Your unavailability can protect you
From anything I could ever do to you.
Your hurt and arrogance is far worse punishment.
If I thought you were worth the energy of an attempt.

Having to be you everyday must make it hard
To leave the bed in the morning.
I know I couldn’t do it if I had to
Drag your baggage around all day.

The sad part is I’m not sure you know it’s baggage.
You might think it’s armor
But your misnaming of everything
Is just another of the things I never miss about you.

Which is why although I pray every day
For your wellbeing for the sake of mine
If I never see you again
It might just be long enough.

Calm, Peaceful, On

December 18

Calm, Peaceful, On

Once I center my mind I can type in the dark. All it takes is me present and willing to flow. Limber up the learning curve, press my fingers to the keys, let the story tell its tale. Cease the interjections lest it all go stale. There is nothing much to know, its all inside, I just let it go. Emptying this crowded vault, I open up to prevent assault. What to do when it hits the page; marketing is all the rage, but for this task I need a light. To sell myself I must be bright.

Paste pictures on your mental partitions

*

FAILED SOUP AND DISTRUST OF BURGUNDY

What keeps me coming back to meetings and step work
Is an abiding mistrust of booze.
Despite promises and advertisement, hope and folklore
I couldn’t rely on drinking to take me where I wanted to go.
And surely couldn’t depend on it to keep me there.

The struggle is great; the attempt to cling to salvation
Though decanter is mighty but in the end
This joining of my chemistry to another failed miserably.

No matter how I held my mouth
Held my head, held my liquor
Satisfaction escaped without me and I was left here
In the soup of my disillusion and disappointment.

I may not always succeed in my recovery
But I can draw dividends on every deposit
And use this to build a path to my desires.

Pretty Girls

December 17

Pretty Girls

Pretty girls seem to live by separate rules, but I don’t know why. The world is filled with people and rules, crazy circumstances and the uniformity of exception. The where and what for, of arbitrary allowance to be regulated based on symmetry or fashion strikes me as odd, beyond survival and this may explain so very much. Gravity pulls down equally; discriminates for nothing. Orbital rotation continues in spite of the fairness of an eye. The universe supports us without end but prejudice is our failing and I blame it on the pretty girls

Sift the silt for treasure

*

MARIAN

Even if the whole world was created in a cipher
And whirls off into nothingness
This is still not a commentary on the existence of God.

We have today---for this moment of sobriety
There is a Power Greater then my despair,
My apprehension and it builds with me a home
From the bricks of my optimism.

Partnership is no prevention of inhospitable endings
But is a temporary relief from desperate loneliness.
The tired struggle of guaranteeing niceness spills my energy
Scraping from each 24 the marrow so necessary.

My open palm saves me from grasping,
My open mind from grappling
I rid myself of tiny gods in tiny heavens
Where I do not reside.

Let the blades of grass probe between my toes
There is beauty for me to see,
Love to hold, hope to float.
Where this train originated and whatever its destination
It’s in my station now and I am grateful to be on board.

Peter and I

December 16

Peter and I

This flight is not filled with the giggling cherubs of my westerly flight, but among the solemn children on this flight is Peter, the oldest of four, who is reading Tolkien and marking his place with a two page wish list. Christmas is coming and Peter seems confident. I wonder if we are what we read and ponder if I am what I write. Poetry, stories, novels, declarations, it all feels like arms and legs, things I cannot move right without. I live better when they are out and free. I am free too, when they live on their own and I am not their soul residence. I have to rededicate myself to the work entrusted to me for so many lives depend upon it.

Treat a book to a day out

*

RELAPSE IS NOT REQUIRED

Relapse is not required - said my sponsor
Though at some meetings they make it seem appealing
All that prodigal drunk treatment.

Well so far I’m living in the blessing
Of being convinced the first time- I told her
Plus what could possibly be out there
That’s better than what’s in here?

That is the point
There is so much out there that is faster and bigger
More dramatic and extreme
But I sure have never see anything better.

She patted my head and I grinned
Since I am winning the first time
Why would I want to lose?
I add just to overstate her point.

This is the perfect place for those who want it
And all the rest get drunk
But drinking is not required
Any more than Santa has to come on Christmas.

Whose Oxygen Mask Goes on First?

December 15

Whose Oxygen Mask goes on First?

Desperation is the fuel which forges my resentments. When I fear for my survival, physical, emotional or financial this will turn my response to your behavior into tinder, sometimes gasoline and set our interaction ablaze. Melt all which is steel strong between us and create a molten mess from which it will be a struggle to recover. This is why, me taking good care of me, attending to my life, and quelling my fears is the very best way for me to protect you from my attitude and save me from a negative balance sheet during my 10^th step.

Ask the questions

*

DON’T BITE

Desperation jumps up--runs around--then drops.
If I don’t feed it-- desperation burns out fast.
I used to buy the advertising--the Horror--the Humanity.
The acorn falling on my head convinced me easily.

I grew this nut into terrifying despair.
Never realizing if I had left it alone
How quickly it would pass.
When tragedy comes there is no time for a performance.

The whirling splendor itself proves the farce.
If I learn to recognize these triggers
I might keep from shooting myself in the foot.
If I let desperation wear itself out
I can stay with the pack.

Despondence splinters me
And separates me from anything rational.
But quiet resolve lets me watch the wind twist
While I keep my feet on the ground.

What's that in the Pool?

December 14

What’s that in the Pool?

Parts of the Rocky Mountains look like algae bloom out in the Indian Ocean. Parts of me look like parts of you and here we go with oneness being nothing more than pattern recognition and optical illusion; though I hope there is more to it than that. My hurt might not be your hurt, but I have a sense of it. Likewise your hope may not resemble mine, but it cheers you just the same and we are all better for it. We needn’t replicate each other or attempt imitation, but recognition is a kind thing and art is what we all have to share.

Stain your napkin

*

SIZING GOD UP

God doesn’t need to be Big.
I only look for a Big God when I feel very small.
I turn to God as compensation for my feelings
As some sort of bolster to brace myself with.

I have found when I am diminished in anyway
God is tucked in a corner or pocket or drawer.
I flee to the great out-of-doors
And find earth, nature and wind.

The God of my understanding
Is proportionate to my mental state.
My partner is with me
Near enough to hear the fear pour off my skin.

God doesn’t run from me to adventures in the wild.
I want to escape regularly
But this is not my Higher Powers defect.

I come back to God when I stop running from me.
I face my reflection and recognize
I am not towered over by a Giant God.
I am yoked with a power to share the load.

What I give you

December 13

What I give you

If I give you a piece of my mind, a piece of my heart, a piece of my liver, how do I go on in its absence? Or does it ever leave me? Is this more like an excision than segmentation? Is it similar to how I carry you with me when I catch a resentment; only in a good way? I don’t know that I can be truly divided up, but I do know that parts of me don’t belong exclusively to me anymore and I believe this is all for the better.

Zoom up to anticipation

*

HEART HANDED

I pick up the pen in my heart hand
And the blood of my soul pours onto the page.
The words coalesce and clot into binding phrases
Sealed deals with my spirits punctuation.

Some days it is hard for my mind to keep up.
The current is swift and deeper than I expect.
The pulse of energy is amazing even to the mind it feeds
.
Like clouds racing the sky this power
Brings shade to some and rain to others.
The reaction of the moistened varies.
Some pull up hoods and scurry away

Others with up turned faces form a friendship with me.
At the level of electrons, we have a molecular bonding.
We are forever changed because I have picked up the pen
And they have picked up the page.

Master Mind

December 12

Master Mind

I was taught that it was my job to master fear; raised in a religion swearing they could master death. I used to spend all I had trying to create a master plan, while trying to keep secure using a Master lock. I have seen Master & Commander and do not long for that burden; in fact mastery is so much a snare and illusion. Life is quite improved when we each have an oar and we all row on.

Don’t think twice think continually

*

ALCONOUT

Want to learn it fast but not deep?
Just go to meetings and listen with half an ear.
Call your sponsor only for her birthday and anniversary
And tell her about all the thing you are not doing anymore
But none of the things you are.

Skim the books for good quotes
That sound impressive when they pass your lips
But whose meaning has no chance of passing you heart.
Find playmates and cliques
Not home groups and surely not a service commitment.

Things fall out of orbit when they run out of juice
And you will too.
This program is not an airlock on the way to worlds unknown
It is a way to live in the world you know.

There is no question that you have the right stuff.
The question is do you want what we have?

Flight 548

December 11

Flight 548

What a happy flight wing to wing, smiles, good cheer, the air is kind, sweet, dry, easy to breathe. I am so blessed. I fly to destiny watching the traveling baby circus play around me. Giggles and drool surround me, infuse me with glee. People wander the aisle looking like well loved characters from long forgotten books and we soar. Time does not pass any more quickly this way, but it is similar to time in heaven rather than time spent in hell.

Mix jelly with joy

*

RETRO ANTICIPATION AND SUNSHINE

The night after at victory I fret about the blocks.
Will my stance be right?
Will I leave clearly?

I have been first through the tape
I have won the race
But yet I worry how I will start.

Had I anticipated a win
I might have handled the accolades better.

Apprehension has a long half-life
And feeds through the night
On my gizzards and my dreams.

Failure gives homework,
There are rewrites and type-O’s
But checkmate leaves an empty board
And hands to shake.

The long ride home is filled with
Recriminating thoughts of luck and fortune.
By the time I arrive home
The win is devalued and no longer mine.

I must pry misgivings from the winners circle
And enjoy these moments in the sun
They are just as real as any others.

The Way West

December 10

The Way West

The sun reflected in the windows winks at me as I fly over. The plane climbs higher and the reflected light no longer reaches me. I slip from my eastern bonds. I am west coast bound. The carpet of snow was laid down to quiet the passage. Clouds take over the task, then part to reveal the patchwork of the middle ground. We cross the Stateline without a sound; a few more miles then touchdown.

Putter with intrigue

*

FREE THE PATE

Arrested development was bad enough
The living death sentence
It imposes is completely unacceptable.
My childhood ran downhill
Away from the mountains of confusion
Which is life in this society.

My ability to mature was damaged
And what I learned to do was mutate.
I could move laterally but never grow up.
I became the goose grown for its liver
And all the honk and squawk
In the world couldn’t change it.

I don’t have to understand
How I was let out of the prison of addiction
As long as I don’t go back.
I will never have to fear breaking out in handcuffs
Or getting locked in my crib.

It All Points to Joy

December 9

It All Points to Joy

Can Love reweave the fabric which hate destroys? Can Kindness resew the field torn through with disregard? Can Beauty paint the world anew after so much ugliness has rained down upon us? My heart believes these three can not fail to make things right for what other point could there be than Joy?

Leach lessons from struggle

*

CHANGE IN MENU

If God is drunk we pray for spiritual sobriety
And strong sponsorship.
If God is sober we ask for things on God’s behalf
And glory in answered prayer

It is amazing that rain comes down
If I dance for it or not
I can get this wonderful recovery
Just like the rest of “we agnostics”.

I don’t have to shake your hand, wink my eye
Or say some special bit of poetry to have it.
Just the same way that weather is and changes
And deepens so to is my spiritual condition.

It is there as I tread this path
I don’t have to mark rows in my garden
For plants to grow
I wish for God a salad with two forks
We no longer need to share a bottle.

Night Spaces

December 8

Night Spaces

When it gets dark it gets dark fast. They say, night falls, though sometimes it feels like it falls down. What is little realized is there is a lifting when the light has gone away, the sky raises its roof and there is more air to breathe. Long lost is the pink wisp that heralded this night and far ahead is the next wisp of pink singing up the moon.

Believe in someone

*

WHAT’S MINE IS MINE

I don’t always know how to get the dog off the baby.
The attacks are often sudden and always swift.
My shock at the reality delays my response.
Falters my steps and fogs my mind.

What should I do to disengage this assault?
What can I do that won’t make things worse?
How can I resolve this now?

The pain is almost unimaginable
But yet all too familiar.
It all comes down to ownership
I must admit this baby is me.

I have to face this dog is my pet.
I have fed and groomed him
And now I have to put this dog to sleep.

Anti-Forfeit Activity

December 7

Anti-Forfeit Activity

I don’t want to write bad, forced, poor, weak, care-worn poems, but I won’t write any good ones if I don’t lift this pen. The embarrassment I might feel for lackluster lines is far less than the shame of empty notebooks. I don’t always like what flows when I open the gates, but I am sure glad the current is live and so am I.

Tie a knot

*

COOCOO’S NEST

I ran away to join the zoo
Hoping a life contained would calm me.
The segregation hit me first
Isolated exclusively with those of my stripe
Drove my thirst for diverse scents and opinion.

Next the monotony of the landscape bore into my brain
The well-meaning efforts of the keepers
Bears the mark of folks who go home at night.

The blandness of the food and music
Lent nothing to the experience
And antiseptic could drive anyone wild.

The final blow, the one which struck constantly and coldly
Was the steady stream of observers
Just waiting to be entertained.

Flower Power

December 6

Flower Power

The man with the chrysanthemum on his head walks up and down the aisle. Do I look like that, I wonder to myself? Have I taken personal style to the point of caricature? What is the boundary by which the embarrassment is kept at bay? Is there a point at which I can overcome who I present myself as, and represent the best of who I can be? Who I might be if only I can manage not to get carried away by impressionism? I am given this dwelling and it suits me quite well, when I treat it as a temple and not simply as a shrine.

Do without some things not everything

*

ALMOST TWINS

You and I are more alike than different
Yet we cannot get along
Though I ponder why this surprises me so.

A cloud and a watermelon are 98 % the same
And no one would mistake them in a crowd
Or expect them to be companionable
Except in the way of two things existing in the universe.

My expectation of liking you for our similarities
Is set up by my fear that I don’t like myself
But the joke is on me.

My dislike of you is not a reflection
Of anything but time and space
My friends are the people who like me
Not necessarily the ones who are like me.

The president didn’t like broccoli
Without slurring its good name
And I can dislike you
Without inferring you are a vegetable

My Most Important Meal

December 5

My Most Important Meal

Sweet potato pudding sits on the plate; I sit in my place and wield my spoon until the plate is clean. I’m fed, my day begins. If this is the best part of my day, life is still sweet and fine. Time skips its way through and I meet and greet the splendid and the few. Picking my way, the raindrops step aside; I am gratified, though I never mind the rain. When the mud has settled and my bed calls me home; I look back to the start of the day and pray to begin the next one the very same way.

Look for your eyes in a crowd

*

WATER PROOF

What could water prove anyway?
I get in the water and I get wet.
I’m sure there is a theorem
But a proof is highly doubtful.

Naiads dance with tridents in their hands
Illustrating the beauty and danger of the waves
But this certifies nothing.

Juiceless arid dirt can make no claims either
I see ducks take flight
Pushing the air with their wings
And rivulets trailing from webs.

This is the thing to scoot beneath at the surface,
Take sustenance and pleasure
but never to become so saturated that the air is lost.
Waterproof, is the way to go.

Relay

December 4

Relay

I have waited so long for the chase, the trap, the dig a ditch for safety, to be over and here we are; ringed, safe and surrounded. Now the sweet work of living the life we have striven for, striven to. I now long to be my best, do my best, for you are the best for me and I am the best for you. I tense and press against the blocks; the race I wish to run, but all I knew was to wait.

Explain how petals are different from leaves

*

YOU ARE ALLOWED TO CLOSE WINDOWS

OR KEEP THEM OPEN

Not every open window offers a warm and welcome breeze.
There are windows, which greet with arctic blast and little else.
Frosted cheeks and chapped lips I face these frigid openings
Believing it is my lot to forge ahead in this bluster.

Never did I think to shut the glass on this disagreeable weather.
I am allowed to close windows but I didn’t know it.
Every irksome thing that comes my way is not mine to face.

Many things will pass my way.
This does not make them my responsibility
On the other hand, when spring blows honeysuckle through the air
It is a fine idea to prop the window open with a stick.