What's Wrong with this Duck?

August 12

WHAT’S WRONG WITH THIS DUCK?

This duck looks fine sitting on the edge, the rubber face frozen in a permanent grin.  The appearance is flawless as long as it is not called to duty; no one will ever know.  Stay still.  Don’t jump.  When dropped in the water, this creature, born for the tub, lays on its side, one eye looking at the ceiling, the other straight at the bottom.  Floating is occurring but something is oh, so wrong.  As indelicate as it may seem this duck needs a very big squeeze, no kid gloves and tender touches.  This duck has sucked in old bath water and misused ideas.  Only a big push in the right direction will get this rancid stuff out, and though the duck will get bent out of shape there is no reason it can’t bounce back.  That’s the wonderful thing about rubber; it is flexible and resilient even if it doesn’t always volunteer.

Set up a lighthouse for the rockiest shores in your life.

*

Seen on the Street

Sometimes graffiti improves a place,

other times it degrades it.

I now wonder; is this defined by the breaking

or breaching of public norms?

Or is it built from the intent of the artist/perpetrator?

Possibly the pedestrian traffic or the light of day

determine the difference between art and recalcitrance.

What if all these factors,

flashing like a neon kaleidoscope

facilitated what this all really means?

What if it all signifies nothing

other than yet another way for me to entertain my brain

while avoiding work?

I guess I better get back to the spray cans,

I have a wall to cover.

I Know

August 11

I KNOW

I know more than I understand.  I know more than I let on.  I know right from wrong, left from right, uphill from down.  I know you have my best interest at heart.  I know I often don’t.  I know it hurts when I fall but holding on isn’t easy.  I know that wanting is not needing and needing is not enough.  I know old thinking breeds old action but new thinking is often wild and requires two minds for review.  I know to look three ways before crossing the street because trouble sometimes hits head on.  I know that if life is the question yes is the answer.

Instruct the youth living within.

*

T before S

When happiness is hard work

I have to learn to look for the lie.

There must be a lie, for happiness flows

unrestrained when not dammed.

What was built too far up river for me to see,

dries out my once liquid existence;

leaving me to flounder in the shallows.

I can’t allow myself to flop in the muck

of waters muddied with deceit.

I will permit myself to look for clear bright prospects

from melting glaciers and accustom myself to the invigoration

of a life lived under a loving watchful eye.

Mortification

August 10

MORTIFICATION

Lime with envy, I built a wall around.  Love and hate are enclosed, brick and stone.  Rigor of extremities, the discipline of ages falls so short.  I make no in-depth connections; I coat externals with glue, stack reactions and let the bombs fly.  I mix and crush old habits and bad ideas, make a paste.  I am setting myself up again.  Abstinence becomes the pestle of bludgeoning and abasement.  I am hard and I am hollow; with wounded pride, I subjugate my soul.  My life is reduced to a powder.  I am mortified.

Spread oil from your navel out.

*

Michal Rovner

I have numbered all the blocks in my ancestral walls.

This has enabled me to recreate them

stone by stone everywhere I go.

It all fits to create the tomb I now have to learn to leave.

I must change the equation and reorder the numbers

allowing these rocks to be recycled

and find a wonderful useful life

as a stairway out of this pit of despair.

What was once an edifice to lives unlived

is now able to facilitate elevation,

a restoration of a level playing field.

It was not wrong for me to catalog the stone

and there was no way for me to leave them behind,

but nothing matches the satisfaction of using them to build a life,

except for the ability to live in it.

Hawaiian Graffiti

August 9

HAWAIIAN GRAFFITI

White pebbles spell themselves across the black of lava grown cold.  Personal announcements proclaim love, school pride, religious freedom.  The care of placement and consideration of design make the roadside an ongoing mineral memo.  What message would I care to share?  What words would prompt me to bring a pail of crushed marble to the edge of the road?  Is there a truth so urgent I would take time from paradise to spell it out?  A few more miles and I see the words I live by strewn down the thoroughfare, “it works if you work it.”

Joint your possibilities.

*

Pick up Your Hammer and Saw

The task infers the tool, I know this,

yet I resist clearly mapping my insanity.

I look into the well of my despair

then quickly I look away,

I fear informing God what I need

lest the need be filled.

I need to believe that a power will heal me,

but if I am provided with the force of life,

I shrink from the prospect.

This too, must be added to the list

of my emotional woes and mental shortages.

This too, will be healed.

I look at my problems

and then realize, that like the moon,

who pulls the water from dry shore to dry shore,

solutions are installed in heaven and earth

if I know what the problem is.

Penny Tor Your Thoughts

August 8

PENNY FOR YOUR THOUGHTS

There is a penny in the bathtub.  I wonder who stood in there with loose change.  Possibly confusing it for a wishing well, the penny was tossed in.  The stories I could tell the hopes that tantalize my mind, elves and leprechauns, dreamers and optimists all trundle through my thinking.  When I don’t know the answer, I can now at least look for the best, the sweetest thoughts.  I don’t run to the dark and threatening disasters.  I have lost the lease to my personal black cloud, the one that used to follow wherever I went.  I can smile now and think of pennies from heaven.  The first drop landed in my tub.

Think of what a spider and a whale have in common.

*

Stand- Hear

The spins and pirouettes I have preformed

in an attempt to avoid facing the music,

were impressive but futile and ultimately

delayed the beauty possible for me in this life.

When I stop my running and turn on my heel

there is a world of harmony waiting

to take me for a turn out on the dance floor.

Melody is not what I was expecting.

I was so sure I would be drummed out of my life,

not trumpeted in.

My surety set in motion much of my convoluted activity

and caused me great distress.

It is high time I listen with eyes open

and my reactions leashed;

Allowing the tune to introduce me to life

and lead me to my bliss.

Presto!

August 7

PRESTO!

Just because I own pointy boots doesn’t mean I can corral the cows.  I have in my possession many things of subtle intent, but they can’t just transform me.  The wings from Halloween don’t make me an angel.  The Big Book on the shelf won’t sober me up. Nothing holds the magic to change me.  I can only change with help.  Action, action and more action is the magician's sleight of hand.  It slides my hand from glass to grace.  I don’t need to pull a rabbit from my hat.

Play with your oatmeal.

*

I Beg

The embarrassment of need

is a haunting guest who will not leave.

I turn in a tight circle trying to find a way

to detach  this wart and move gracefully

from the site of devastation.

But it looms large

and overshadows today’s possibilities

and robs tomorrows gold.

What I cannot do for myself,

the magic I cannot yet perform,

stands between me and contentment.

It stands there wearing your face;

touching my mind with your fingertips.

I pray that you are not the answer

for I cannot depend on you.

I think of you and the little bell rings

and I am hungry.

Desire is a gift, desiring you is the burden

whose shadow I cannot escape.

I close my eyes to the light you emit;

I cannot close my heart, all that’s left is pleading;

please come home and fill me or leave

and lock the door and let me grieve in peace.

Alice

August 6

ALICE

Because I even wore out my welcome at the Mad Hatter’s house, I can sit on my hands at my sponsor's table and listen, listen, listen.  If I had been able to make a place for myself with the looking-glass folk, I could never have let myself lose my eccentricities and join in the fellowship.  Going down further than a rabbit hole, I lost my need to chase or scramble after bunnies for time or card tricks.  No more illusions for me.  I am awake and shaded by the tree of AA branching over me.  Sisters I didn’t know take my hand.

Dance with change.

*

I didn’t mean to make you laugh

You think I’m witty, well, yes, I have always been like this,

no one knew quite what to do with me as a small child,

but I have grown into this acumen,

or possibly grown out into it, is closer to accurate.

I was dark witted when I was young,

I think of myself as less so now,

optimism is a blessing I have gained through the years,

it feels good and I keep it close.

I need to be a blithe spirit to travel the road I do.

Tears have their place, I know that for sure,

but I rather not go around with a puss on all day and all night.

Additionally it is so much about perspective; you see,

the honey makes the peas taste funny

but now they stick to my knife.