If I name it do I know it?

March 19

If I name it do I know it?

Does emotional proximity necessitate a nearer name?  Far off I would be called earthling possibly human.  On this plain, female maybe woman; in this country Mrs. Theriault; in my home call me Sherrie, but in my bed hy calls me Baby.  Do these names offer the requisite information, no further inquires required, is it personal enough?   Is the limited nature a stunted interest from without or a privacy fence from within?  Does the boundary shift dependant upon the participants or is it an almost universal standard of metered advance and reveal?  And do I get more when I give more or does that end in less info and a change of direction?  Also who determines what I really need to know?  Wanting curiosity; my hungry mind and lonely heart do not direct all the world, yet ceaselessly they strive, shutter and ask again:  Who are you?

Step toward yourself

*

JAG

I have the most interesting lawn ornament.
It is long and sleek, low to the ground,
Resting on rubber rolls,
Steep of side and languid front and back

It has glass, glass which slants
And glass which slops into its sides.
It's paint shines when I buff it
And shows dust when I don't.

Inside there are seats and many artistic accessories
I sit on the steps and admire the thing
Then I sit in the thing and admire the porch
That's all there was until I was handed the key.

Sleep Tight

August 4

Sleep Tight

Did you dream? Sleep the sleep of faultless souls? Or twist the sheets as in that Gilbert & Sullivan treatment? Are night time wrestlings an indication of decadent day- time activity? Or is it all simply a matter of happenstance? Possibly something I ate? Thought? Wished for? I think to myself I should not have gotten into that unmade bed, should have made it up; the bed and my mind, should have straighten out the crumpled mass of discarded dreams from yesterday and started fresh, but instead I climbed in with it all tumbled and tossed, lumpy and coarse, no smooth sailing in this tangled sea. What time I might have saved by leveling the playing field and plumping the pillows. All is not lost, there is always tonight. Sweet dreams straight ahead.

Throw the ball even if you can’t pitch it

*

NEVER LET GO

When it grows dark on one side of transparency

The other becomes reflective.

When addiction doesn’t hold a flame for me

I see the true face of its results.

Because I know now the destructive possibilities

I must print the picture and post it on the wall.

For the day may come when addiction appears

As a light for me and the mirror will be gone.

I need to keep clear the truth even when my eyes lie to me

And my sensibilities catch on fire.

The glass can be the boundary or the tumbler,

The glare of day can be harsh or bright.

Light is forever shifting

I cannot count on shadows for predictions.

I must know it when I see it, chant it to remember

And hold hands and never let go.

Sleep Tight

August 4

Sleep Tight

Did you dream? Sleep the sleep of faultless souls? Or twist the sheets as in that Gilbert & Sullivan treatment? Are night time wrestlings an indication of decadent day- time activity? Or is it all simply a matter of happenstance? Possibly something I ate? Thought? Wished for? I think to myself I should not have gotten into that unmade bed, should have made it up; the bed and my mind, should have straighten out the crumpled mass of discarded dreams from yesterday and started fresh, but instead I climbed in with it all tumbled and tossed, lumpy and coarse, no smooth sailing in this tangled sea. What time I save by leveling the playing field and plumping the pillows. All is not lost, there is always tonight. Sweet dreams straight ahead.

Throw the ball even if you can’t pitch it

*

NEVER LET GO

When it grows dark on one side of transparency

The other becomes reflective.

When addiction doesn’t hold a flame for me

I see the true face of its results.

Because I know now the destructive possibilities

I must print the picture and post it on the wall.

For one day may come when addiction appears

As a light for me and the mirror will be gone.

I need to keep clear the truth even when my eyes lie to me

And my sensibilities catch on fire.

The glass can be the boundary or the tumbler,

The glare of day can be harsh or bright.

Light is forever shifting

I cannot count on shadows for predictions.

I must know it when I see it, chant it to remember

And hold hands and never let go.