I’ll never tire
of those swollen summer
stretched out days
where the sun has lost
the direction and wanders
across the sky
embarassed to ask
anyone to point the way
to live in those moments
where it’s too humid
for noise or thought
letting the body ease
into a chair
and unroll those nerves
find solace
with you
and the promise of forever
I am so very tired of working my life away
Just to watch one day roll into the next
Be sad that I had to miss out on the sunshine
Or a fun game with the kids, or just be in the yard
I’m exhausted with the same mundane mess of a job
That I know I should “just be thankful it pays the bills ”
My mother always says, but my job isn’t always paying the bills
And while, even when it is, am I not and should I not
Be allowed to breathe, or have some kind of payoff for the work,
Maybe besides the weekend and by the time we get there
We’re too damn tired to relax or really have the energy to enjoy it
I know I can’t be the only one who thinks and feels this way
I know there have to be others out there who want more
I have worked my entire life, quitting has never been an option
Right about now though, I sure would take an extended vacation
With absolutely no return date.
do you dream the day away
climbing mountains in the sky
jumping waves in the sea
discovering candy castles?
did you lose your math book
in a puddle on your way to school
pretending it was a ship sailing to
a world where you can fly?
excerpt from my manuscript of poems
for kids of all ages.
A free newspaper turned up this morning
Crackling pages were turned and articles were perused
Nostalgia washed over my usually-digital-reading self
It joined a myriad mix of emotions
and thoughts about the covered stories
News can be redeemed and transformed so
scissors came out of the drawer trimming
random words and letters for fun and craft
The first five-word ensemble
Proud To Be A Scribe
shall adorn tomorrow’s journal entry sure
to chronicle personal stories and a few wild tales
all steeped in gratitude and grace
Reconciliation is a choice
I lay soaking in the filthy bath water of what if
I drive carelessly down the interstate dreaming of what could’ve been
I bask in the sun watching the leaves sway back and forth
All of the voices around me like butterfly wings in the wind
My mind constantly vacationing to anywhere that isn’t the present
Writing so many stories my callouses have callouses
Regret hangs above me like a spider from a web
Nostalgia hugs me so hard I think my ribs will break
The thought of what could’ve been
Dangles me from a steep cliff
Forcing me to hang on
Per Dr. Hue’s texted instructions
I dig two giant beets
from his illegal garden.
The third day cresent of new moon
hangs in the westren sky
when I put my hands to soil
and pull up the taproots.
I carry them like babies
to his efficent kitchen,
slice them tenderly,
the stain on my hands
darker than blood
The end of this month
is another notch
in the belt of my life.
My 93 year old sister, Helen
came home from her spring
visit to Rome with a 75 year old
boyfriend from Columbia.
I’ve moved across the parking lot
from her condo to Dr. Hue’s.
How long will this last?
I’m unsettled, displaced.
With skill I place the beets
in a cast iron skillet, sautee
them in olive oil with minced
garlic and oregano, of course.
Tough I am alone at my meal
I am pleased with its earthy taste
I find the consciousness of solitude
to stand apart
away from petty concerns
Solitude may be as close as a step into my garden.
There is one plant out there with flowers that open aloft tall stalks
And then there are the succulents that sit plumply with confidence
as though they came from outer space. They almost burst into song with
their floral magenta geometry speckling over their green pudgy-leafed
waterfall of growth tumbling over their planter defying gravity.
Whether I go to my small garden or to the Grand Canyon
unconscious thought
provokes a power
within my spirit
calling out across
light years of time
Antares rises red
over the ocean, and
I stretch out my hand
to ride the waves
