the rains came down
and the rivers rose
and the winds blew
and that which was
a solidly built structure
gave way in the storm

no fool was involved
every caution was taken
but the skies had decided
the house had to go

that’s what faith
and bettering myself
seems to earn me
a cycle of growth
then unfair destruction
then picking up the pieces

has me wondering
if the foolishness comes
from trying to build
anything at all

The depths of your core squeeze
And your eyes squint,
Almost all the way shut,
Your lips part

And the sound,
unique to only you,
Pushes out, forcing your jaw to expand
enough to allow room for the booms
of joy… 

I have often fancied myself “funny.” 
Finding humor amid failures,
inappropriate moments,
mistakes, even in the movements of others, strange thoughts,
my neurosis are particularly comical as well.
or the way people use their face in so many ways.

And of course, the best part of honing the label of
“being funny,” is having a part in making people laugh.
Because… we ALL freaking need it.

Working (re: social work) with vulnerable adults can be challenging.
Especially when years of protective factors come into play, 
creating barriers.
A person with their guard held high, 
is my favorite opportunity
to implore a challenge against the bold encasing…

Sarcasm is specifically my most treasured brand,
And often most successful.
Slice the ice…
with some,
good,
ole fashion
mockery.
When cussed by client that I am trying to help manage their money so they do not become homeless (again), becomes hostile, complaining of me being “up his ass:”
“Oh, yes, dude, I can promise you one thing to be true, up your ass is the absolute last place I desire to be. So, if you could just help me stay outta there, I (and probably you) would appreciate that. So, let’s try this again, Mr. Happy Sunshine.”
Mr. Happy Sunshine indeed chuckled and loosened his shoulders.
There we go. We are both just human.

And if the time is right (well, or if it isn’t),
Add in some voices.
Oh man.
Some tried and true characters (who have rarely failed me):
We have;
Judy from London, who laughs with an overwhelming squeal, and is always, always drunk with hiccups,
Todd, who is very “bro,” and thinks females are innately beneath him, and being a man gets him everywhere, but he fails to see he is nowhere.
Betty, the old lady, who cannot for the life of her use an iPhone, or understand the “progressive” world we live in.
Billy or Billy Joe, the redneck, (must protrude teeth and generally contort face into looking like utter dumbass); typically used when referring to racists or ignorance in general (I know, I know… I am irreverent).
Marvin the Martian, who will eventually successfully blow up the earth (one of my oldest voices),
And
Karen, of course, needs no explanation. 
And of course there is the character that IS my daughter, who is a whole “thing” of preteen joy and ‘tude with a personality as big (and beautiful) and unrulely as her hair… She gets the most pissed. But man, she makes it easy.

Introducing… The Comedian (yes, I know, a character role as well);

Breaker of silence, stifle-er of pain, releaser of whatever is inside, reflective listener, troublemaker, ADHD spewing, faker until maker,
Yes… fake laugh, until it turns real.
I. Dare. You.

Flashback:
Without a doubt, like clockwork, eyes watering, pursed lips, until I cannot hold it in and snot flies out with a chuckle during the DEAD SILENT PARTS of Catholic mass…
And the inevitable, ultimate disconcerted look of disappointment and anger from my father. I still do not know what was so funny… Replaying the horrible a cappella attempt from the poor soul of a song leader…? Or mostly looking at my friend and simply knowing we are not supposed to make a sound, let alone laugh.
Repeating “Don’t laugh, don’t laugh, don’t laugh…” until it was Marvin the Martian’s voice in my head saying, “LAUGH LAUGH LAUGH. It’s all funnnnny! Blow it up! Laugh!”

And more times that I would like to admit, I am a “laugh until pee-er”… If the laugh turns silent, then you can bet to catch me sprinting to the bathroom.

But. I don’t want to laugh alone. I want you to laugh with me.
But. I would also appreciate being the reason for your laughter… 🙂

your secrets clench my stomach,

First
in the dark
I see them
atone them.

I travel
many roads
with my eyes
closed.

Still
I find my
way past ru-
ins burned to

the ground with
misused words
said in my
sleep.

I
will not be
what I dreamed
for I will

be what I
dreamed (& dreams
lie when shown
truths).

Watch
me re-hurt
whom I hurt,
empty shirts

filled
with vanished
men who know
me.

When
I wake, these
flaws will stay
free

from
me & me
from them (both
true).

Sound
like sh-t to
you? Nothing
new.   

Post poems 

It starts with a dip in energy
followed by mysterious aches
that morph into chronic pains
accompanied by clicks,
clacks, and grinding sounds
the symphony
of wakeful
movement
Age.

The Singing Dress

What I meant to say is it feels odd

to trust people while I’m lying

on a stretcher but what came out

was that I want living and loving

to hurt that’s how I know they’re real,

whereas in my dreams I feel no pain

and have 360 degree vision like a rabbit,

thus no need to trust anyone or anything

but my own vision, whereas in the real

world one of the inherent limitations

of being human is that we only have eyes

in the front of our heads or in my case

on the back of the side of my head where

all the hair used to be, unlike pigmy owls

who have decoy eyes in back that predators

can pluck out rather than the good, working ones

and I meant to say people will betray you

when you’re not looking especially those outside

the group whom we refer to as the others

but what came out was I feel alienated

from the group like I’m another other

and I meant to say I feel alone

but what came out was I need a loan

and I smiled at the homophone, because I love

poetry, because I’m a knight in the night,

I let bees be, I dig the whole hole, and

I got rejected, left alone by lenders

and rightfully so and I meant to say

I discovered poetry and sex at about the same time

but what came out is that both, for me,

are about my desire to be desired

I meant to be polite and say please with tears

in my eyes but what came out were pleas and tears

in the middle of the pages where the words

that came out couldn’t touch what I meant to say.

sometimes in bed at night
you can gently put your palms together
fingers resting in each other
feel you are not alone

oh, how I’d much rather stay here all day
searching out words that make me feel
and forget this day job that pays the bills
but seems like a waste of everything else

i’d so much rather bathe in chewy, buoyant stanzas that float me
along alliterative alleyways
i’d rather the rush of your stories caress me 
with soft hands or coarse,
I don’t mind when you shock and shake me

over here at the day job the surprises are never good ones
just broken widgets and more broken widgets
and people up in arms over the broken widgets

if I’m going to keep pushing papers around
let them instead be filled with a passionate, hard won calligraphy
scratched out in secret caves of wisdom and beauty and insanity and 
truth as best I find it
illuminated
shared
with all who serve as scribes
to this existence

(participating in this year’s LexPoMo has been so wonderful- and I’ll really miss it when the month ends!)