Posts for June 28, 2020 (page 6)

my shoulders are two planes
waiting to land. maybe if they
grew into wings, they’d stretch
across the room. and i know
what i’m doing here–how i tend
to make music out of
what scares me.
so i’ll switch to facts:
people say i give firm hugs,
that my arms wrap all the way around.
when i swim, i reach across yards
of water, like i know where i’m headed.
one day i’ll carry my daughter
on my back, and
she’ll never be afraid of falling.
if two birds were to build a nest
in the crook of my neck,
they’ll have so much space
to call home.

Unwinding, rewinding,
going back and back.
When does it stop?
I just want my head
and my feet aligned
moving forward
but I’m lost
on the shore’s rocks
in the stairwells
the fluorescent lights
in the dark room
the womb room in the white rooms
the cocoon rooms in the rooms I remember
in dreams I’ve abandoned
and return across a quarter century
not knowing why. What a mess they are.
Is it enough to name the damage
or must I feel it all again?
Stymied by echoes
of footsteps that might
or might not be mine,
I’m carrying less
but keep covering
the same terrain.

                    –      After J. Campbell & J.R.R. Tolkien

 Dismemberment is easy
(to find).  You don’t need
philosophers & critics to write it
all out.  The hero’s journey
doesn’t even exist, until

ripped apart, broken down,
stripped of crutch, you find
you cannot walk—so you learn

(you choose)                    
                       to hobble
onto the path. 

No one is going to                             
                                 (no one could)
make you. 

Cliffs at his back, the beauty
of the Fool is he cannot
imagine a World
without Towers.

Like the man who inherited
a field, chock full
of old stone—built himself
a home.  & a tower.

Oh, the world will knock
us over, will huff & will puff
to blow it all down. 
This is simply the way
of (this) world.  But we

can be (re)made
of a higher order
of mettle. 

A hero is a hero
not because he is dismembered—
not even because he faces the trials.

A hero is a hero
because he faces himself—

takes a bath in the ashes—
& sets his life

on fire.

Why, you ask, is the world so screwed up?
Just look in the mirror.

No, it’s not your fault,
You didn’t cause all of these problems.
You might even be trying to solve them.

So, why look in the mirror?
Good question.
You don’t really have to physically look at yourself in the mirror,
But you can do some soul-searching.

What if a lot of it is perception?
Hasn’t the world always been screwed up?
What’s different now?
Oh, it’s that it is affecting you more,
Or it’s threatening to affect you more than in the past.

What can you do?
Not the right question.
Try asking yourself,
How can I grow?

Talking to myself, really.
Been trying to step back and be objective,
Not an easy thing to do.

Question to myself:
Who am I in this screwed-up world?

I am not with you
As I was before,
Know this:

I am not lost

You will find me in the sunlight
of the day that awakens you.

In the softness of the voice 
that means to say I love you.

I will be in the hands of your children
And your children’s children,

with lightning bugs in summer evenings

(I always wanted to call them fireflies,
did you know that?)

I will be there.

“Babe I promise to show you the world.”
He did just that.
His cheffing took us to Six states in our first six years.
Our best travels were for pleasure.
He took me to jungles in Costa Rica,
cerulean waters in the Caribbean,
skull caves in Papua New Guinea,
jazzy boat ride off St. Lucia,
snorkeling in Great Barrier Reef,
serenaded by mariachi band during private beach dinner in Cozumel,
rum factory in Punta Cana where he bought my larimar earrings and
where we were the only Americans on a German tour…oops wrong van.

He taught me to go to the edge without fear.
God’s nature at my fingertips.
Ziplining 100 feet up in the jungles of Costa Rica
 Sharing the ocean with sharks
Skulking skull caves with locals
Riding a horse up and swiftly down a Costa Rican jungle
Eating conch and lion fish in strange lands
Being hosed by locals after a mud bath in warm springs
Getting lost from group tour to do our own thing
Holding a puffer fish
Witnessing a bait ball three feet from my face
Letting  capuchins jump on my head…

You gently nudged me to grab the thrills and leave my comfort zone.

    ON THE WAY TO HAZEL GREEN
I pass through the gap
where pines and birches
blend sheer rock
chiseled to make a road
fog hangs on the hills
like mysterious smoke
Chimney rocks formed
by ancient magma
mark the skyline
leaves change color
in the celebrations of passing time
sun soaked clouds
streak the landscape.

I roll with the hills
float with the wind
and sing songs.

Tony Sexton

America is an angry drunk stumbling through
the saloon, waving a shotgun              
                                                     singing I shot
the sheriff and I’m going to shoot the deputy

I watch ID TV. These stories never end well.
Whether or not the crime is solved somebody
always dies                   
                      Oh America   
                                           how do we change you
back?           
           Do we get on our knees, pray the princess  
           will kiss the frog?     
                                            Or were we the ones          
           under a spell to ever think you a prince?  

When I stumble 
over five sets of sneakers,
navigate the closet
overflowing with framed
pictures, piles of towels, a bassoon;

when our bureau is cluttered with T-shirts,
your meds displayed
on the dining room table, the recliner arranged
to accomodate the cat, and leftovers
linger on the counter;

when our folded laundry waits
to be put away,
bills call from every surface,
and dust, surprise, stays under
the bed,

our daughter tells me to talk it out,
illustrates how she and her sweetheart
have discussed the disposition of the dishtowels
and found a middle ground
and have yet to start to look like each other.

When I say you’re my happiness,
I’m not saying you’re the only thing making me happy,
When I say you’re my happiness,
I don’t mean I’m depressed without you,
I say you’re my happiness because you make me happy,
I say it because doing what we love together makes me happy,
When I say you’re my happiness,
I’m saying I love you