Nightcrawlers and Nighteingales

September 6

Nightcrawlers and Nightingales

I wriggle blind eyed through the dirt; friction, my friend giving me something to push against, resistance aiding my travels. I worm my way through life and believed that was all there was; having never seen the sky. I traveled far and wide once I had taken to the air. Open eyed I push against a thing I cannot see and peer down on the dirt I left behind. I soar rather than struggle and go the distance leaving my mind open to the next frontier.

Say what everyone knows in a way that no one thought of

*

HUMILITY

A great woman walks my street everyday.

She carries a tall walking stick with a loop for her hand.

Each morning I see her low crown of hair and the half smile,

Her friendly wave when I catch her eye.

Each morning when I see her

I see the secret play across her face--humility.

This is the secret she cannot share.

I know she would sing it from the mountain tops if it would help.

But humility is not a secret you can tell.

It’s a secret you have to live with.

As I slowly learn this precious thing I see it shine in others.

Recognition of persons with inborn dignity

And a keen understanding of their personal value lights inside me.

When I see this fine woman walking with purpose

I appreciate myself better and am so very grateful

For those who keep humility alive by living it.

No Reason

September 5

No Reason

Reason falls through, where it lands is a place of unknown seascape and unrelenting tides. The roar in my ears furthers the disorienting effect of relocation. At first it seems easier to let go of reason but when I descend into madness I scramble for purchase; looking for sanity like a cleft in a cliff. Loss of skin and blood is nothing to compare to the loss of my mind. I believe I could be more easily separated from a limb or two than to lose rein on my brain. Reason falls through; I must follow even though the terrain is arduous and my heart is sometimes faint, for without reason there is no reason and without reason there is no life.

Write songs to the dead, sing them to the living

*

HATCHLING

When the shell gets too tight

It’s time to hatch.

I can’t tell you it’s safe out there

Just that it’s time to go.

The leaving is not easy.

Exodus fulfilled by the use of one small tooth

This experience may or may not prepare you

For the rest of your life.

So much still depends on predestination

And your attitude.

I mean are you a chicken or a hawk?

A peacock or a dove?

Or is there something of which I am unaware.

Did someone sit on your nest

Or cover it with sand?

Are you a turtle, lizard or snake?

See so much is out of your hands

But still your actions are your choice.

The Naked Not the Dead

September 4

The Naked Not the Dead

Because comfort is sometimes no comfort I can shave my hair and walk bare in the naked world. Removing pretense helps in unexpected ways. Foolish action becomes formulaic when you are scared or hurt. I lived through the summers of blood; the winter is not enough to stem the tide or heal the wound. I have no want to raise the dead, but how to save the living? Poverty is the inheritance of so much misguided lethargy and I must shear off the illusion of maturity and let the children speak.

Bury pettiness in an unmarked grave

*

WHINING BRATS

Some days whining brats come at me from all directions

And my hair won’t curl,

Apathy chases me around the house.

I wonder how it has more energy than I do.

My mind twists into a wrinkled mess

I drag my good foot and hop on the bad one.

And even on those days I still rather be me.

I never long to be the innocent victim

Or spiritual leader, the tough guy or the Ph D.

No matter how bad it gets

Or what the struggle is

There is no place sweeter than in my head.

Many are the days I wished not to exist at all

But never to shuck my skin

for the skin of another.

.

Now that I manage breathe right

And to face each day with cheer

I know it was almost worth it

And might be worth it yet.

Where's Your Chair?

September 3

Where’s Your Chair?

Is the ring more unnatural for the tamer or the lion? One the trapped, the other the trapper. Who is the more in danger; the one with loss of freedom or the one with possible loss of life? And while this question is still in play the next question is begged. Why is there a ring? What is worth the price paid by the whip holder or the whipped? Spectacle is a thing whose cost reaches from the forest to the trees; can take you from the highest rung down to your knees. All this lost for some Owwe’s and Ah’s from people needing diversion from the ring they turn tricks in.

Refuse delivery of bad acts

*

HOW EVER YOU CAN

I heard --Let go with love.

You know how to do that? Asked my sponsor.

No that’s why I’m here to see you,

But it sure sounds like something I should do.

Well in a perfect world maybe we can all do it that way.

But for now let go with a mean look in your eye.

Let go with rage in your heart.

Let go with words boiling on you tongue.

Let go with the butter knife up to its hilt in the jelly jar.

Let go standing at the sink wishing for some other life.

Let go as a reflex

Let go as an anthem, as a prayer, as a declaration.

Let go even when you don’t feel you are holding on anymore.

At the same time-hold on to what’s important---

Your recovery---Your Higher Power, and your sense of humor.

Here Kitty Kitty

September 2

Here Kitty Kitty

Litter training the lynx seems like a good idea until it is accomplished and all concerned are less for the accomplishment. Domesticity is a transparent cage, which has a presence felt by all whether loved or hated. The air is changed and the cat stifles, everyone is safer, so it is said, but what are we safer from? And what is a broken lynx, certainly not a house cat?

Peer under obstacles then climb over

*

ANYTHING IS POSSIBLE

Just because the crows fly away when I arrive

doesn’t mean they are afraid

but they might be.

The obvious answers are usually the correct ones

but I must leave room for the unlikely answers too.

Sometimes a spade is a shovel

and a gofer is occasionally a retriever.

The world is a wonderful and fearful place

where possibilities are endless

if I am willing to allow the light

to strike these sheltered doubts.

Any day---any where --an alcoholic can stay drunk

or get sober.

Shadow of Doubt

September 1

Shadow of Doubt

The long dark cast covers my face, my thoughts, my life; it is the light blocked by my skepticism. To tear down the obstruction means a profound change of my internal architecture; walls will have to be knocked down, windows installed. The poor mouthed structure takes better to the steamroller than I wish it would. I fear the loss of my hideout, panic at the thought of a life in the sun. Skepticism builds a paper world; opaque, weak yet frightening to tear apart.

Rub the place where you land

*

WHY NOT HOME

Power is not production and production is not art.

I have to keep pulling the car to the side of the road

so I don’t miss the train of words sent to me,

from out of the dark blue life I am on the edge of living

but I still want to go home.

I will never give up these roadside excursions

into the river of thought though I do wonder why

the cable shoved into my house never gets this channel?

Why is the connection so strong on the bus not the bed?

The minefields of thought explosions seem seeded anywhere

as long as it’s at least five miles away.

Power is not production and production is not art.

I let it pour through me---it is not mine to sort.

Rex

August 31

Rex

Hungry dogs who love me anyway, dance around waiting to be fed. If they didn’t love they would take bloody bites and I don’t forget it. These puppies have teeth, like cigarettes I want to smoke but don’t. And meanwhile back on the farm I seek to quiet the whines and barking of the unfed, malnourished familiarity which writhes at my ankles and jumps at my knees. I can no longer pat my disquiet on the head and expect it to stay or heal. I must hunt down the beast which bothers me and feed the meat of it to the pups. I must not leave the lopers to quarry my burden if I want to remain master and leave them to be pet.

Rip yourself away from distress

*

DO YOU HEAR THAT SOUND

I was running on empty

And thought I was getting along that way

But the smoke gave me away.

My life had caught on fire

And I burned to the ground.

I thought nothing had been apparent

Until it all lay in ashes.

My sponsor said, No-------

We all knew when you tank ran dry.

The sucking sound could be heard for miles around.

I asked her, if that were true,

Why I hadn’t hear it myself?

She said, she guessed,

I had my denial turned up to loud.