July 16, 2008 - Wednesday
the weight of the air
In the denotative
sense of the word,
the action
'to kill"
I have killed a man.
But what books don't say
your drugged out stupor
yelling
you were not ready to go
as I watched from the hall
accusations
to the vacant room
and the weight of the air
at the threshold
where I took a breath
but could not enter
and the drugs
as they left you
as I took them away
unable to speak
save
for your eyes
pleading.
I have seen
my father low,
sister falling,
mother going mad,
and in the denotative
sense of the word,
the action
'to kill"...
I weep for my brother.
July 11, 2008 - Friday
the way brothers do
Big Brother says,
"keep doing what you're doing
and you'll keep getting what you're getting."
Of course my verbal reply
was "six hours of amazing sex
with a lover I adore?" and a wicked smile.
He frowned
the way brothers do
knowing I knew better.
And all through frowns
and smiles
I was thinking,
'don't you think
I wish I weren't
some pup….too in awe of men.'
July 7, 2008 - Monday
poem for t.c.
nose soft
along his jaw
his ear
on his collar
faint scent
cigarettes
and pot
and on his tongue?
suckled I
faint again
cigarettes
and cherry beer
flesh
long and lean
I devoured
lovers few
and far between
but each
I never forget
too much
around me
to not recall
nights
of wonder
and how
I found me
in your arms
July 5, 2008 - Saturday
transient
I sold books today,
my desk last week
to buy gas (if that)
hopefully paint
so I can
rent my place
go to another
ghetto, one of youth
instead of hookers
cheaper, North
away from my city
my city
I mourned you
these last years anyway
books! words!
of others
my life blood
once
I consumed like
beer
chips
and salsa
another life
before
I came alive
before
I found my own words
July 4, 2008 - Friday
in the ghetto
In the ghetto
guns
are poppin' off
drunk
on meat and sauce
happy
we make
our own
fire in the sky
in the ghetto
in the ghetto
with my degree
and grad school
application
fireworks in the distance
Do you remember
that year atop the Texas Star
(oh we were
so young then)
and the fireworks
in the distance.
It wasn't all bad,
my husband;
it was just
the fireworks
were so far away
or perhaps
the manifestation
of my own desire.
If the latter
I am sorry
so sorry.
July 2, 2008 - Wednesday
strong
I was young
oh
a girl of twenty
maybe
and we
had been together
three years already
why that year?
I can't say
but I was crazy about you,
the receptacle of all my giving
my husband,
mate…
until the day I knew to leave.
Then suddenly
I was not so young
a woman
of almost thirty-four
who left
knowing
her desire
could be consuming
but willing
to face the world
alone,
strong.
Tuesday, September 16, 2008
june
June 28, 2008 - Saturday
and August days with hours
He could not compare
– that boy of summer –
to Ra in his brilliance,
blonde hair
spread wide against cool white linens
while we slept
for all there was, was sleep
and innocent nights, few;
but he would stay
– that boy of summer –
a thousand times longer
holding back the winter
with August days
with hours
from which I would awake
dizzy, breathless,
spent
heart sore and not the one.
this girl she is
she never meant to follow
the academic track
or Quest
for knowledge and meaning
to get her life together
however long it took
(and it is taking
overlong)
she never meant
to have a lover
in her bed
for hours, days on end
never meant
a short list of them
or to give her heart
to any
or to feel so cruel
the absence of one
from her bed
even longer
she never meant
to thirst
or dream
or be this girl
she is
June 24, 2008 - Tuesday
over and over
Over
and over
the lyrics
the songs
until one day
– when the lights die
and the words
will spur the rhythm
and the beat will stir
from the depths,
strong in her being –
she will face the dark.
But today she wists
in the half-lit night,
over
and over
the lyrics
the songs
her tears
the dark looming.
June 17, 2008 - Tuesday
sine nauseam
living on tortillas
oatmeal
vitamins
vitamins from the discount store
birth control
from Health Services
ad nauseam
the sight of consumption
without thought
without means
in debt bondaged
oh sweet my life
where guilt is coffee
nine dollars a pound
to wash down
the tortillas
the vitamins
something with taste
to accompany
laughter as I live
sine nauseam
June 14, 2008 - Saturday
the years
I
slim
she walked, eyes cast down
slight and gentle
the cut of her jaw
long blond hair
past her waist
past her hips
slim again
bright the green
Murphy eyes
that girl
of twenty-two, reserved
shy;
the years still ahead
of finding grace in crowds
and ease around men
stunning
any would call you
looking back
though you never knew it
for no one ever told you
II
swaying
she walks,
short blond hair
bright the green
Murphy eyes
shining
lively
a woman
of thirty-eight, alive
full breasts
curves
at the hip
the belly
jaw line full;
behind her
the weight of hours
of finding grace within
and ease around men
lovely
some would call you
though you barely know it
you do try
for friends surrounding tell you
June 6, 2008 - Friday
off the shore of the long forgotten
off the shore
of the long forgotten
battlements of Vieques
far enough
the land was small
I gazed out
upon
a wide vast ocean
and knew
I was just a speck
in it all
June 5, 2008 - Thursday
I had not imagined the first
perhaps I had been waiting
these three odd years for them
these days since
the house now gone
I didn't know it
couldn't
but the fireflies came
finally
in the heat of early June
this eve
and they danced
near enough
yet far away
though only two
they
were still a they
confirming
I had not imagined the first
and on the wind away
away
they drew
in my heart
in the faint lit night
fireflies bright
for which I had been waiting
only never knew
June 4, 2008 - Wednesday
she wonders yes
on occasion
every year
or two or so
she comes
across a heart
she has to touch
then lets them flee
recalls them later
smiles soft and wonders
she wonders yes,
but fleet
and August days with hours
He could not compare
– that boy of summer –
to Ra in his brilliance,
blonde hair
spread wide against cool white linens
while we slept
for all there was, was sleep
and innocent nights, few;
but he would stay
– that boy of summer –
a thousand times longer
holding back the winter
with August days
with hours
from which I would awake
dizzy, breathless,
spent
heart sore and not the one.
this girl she is
she never meant to follow
the academic track
or Quest
for knowledge and meaning
to get her life together
however long it took
(and it is taking
overlong)
she never meant
to have a lover
in her bed
for hours, days on end
never meant
a short list of them
or to give her heart
to any
or to feel so cruel
the absence of one
from her bed
even longer
she never meant
to thirst
or dream
or be this girl
she is
June 24, 2008 - Tuesday
over and over
Over
and over
the lyrics
the songs
until one day
– when the lights die
and the words
will spur the rhythm
and the beat will stir
from the depths,
strong in her being –
she will face the dark.
But today she wists
in the half-lit night,
over
and over
the lyrics
the songs
her tears
the dark looming.
June 17, 2008 - Tuesday
sine nauseam
living on tortillas
oatmeal
vitamins
vitamins from the discount store
birth control
from Health Services
ad nauseam
the sight of consumption
without thought
without means
in debt bondaged
oh sweet my life
where guilt is coffee
nine dollars a pound
to wash down
the tortillas
the vitamins
something with taste
to accompany
laughter as I live
sine nauseam
June 14, 2008 - Saturday
the years
I
slim
she walked, eyes cast down
slight and gentle
the cut of her jaw
long blond hair
past her waist
past her hips
slim again
bright the green
Murphy eyes
that girl
of twenty-two, reserved
shy;
the years still ahead
of finding grace in crowds
and ease around men
stunning
any would call you
looking back
though you never knew it
for no one ever told you
II
swaying
she walks,
short blond hair
bright the green
Murphy eyes
shining
lively
a woman
of thirty-eight, alive
full breasts
curves
at the hip
the belly
jaw line full;
behind her
the weight of hours
of finding grace within
and ease around men
lovely
some would call you
though you barely know it
you do try
for friends surrounding tell you
June 6, 2008 - Friday
off the shore of the long forgotten
off the shore
of the long forgotten
battlements of Vieques
far enough
the land was small
I gazed out
upon
a wide vast ocean
and knew
I was just a speck
in it all
June 5, 2008 - Thursday
I had not imagined the first
perhaps I had been waiting
these three odd years for them
these days since
the house now gone
I didn't know it
couldn't
but the fireflies came
finally
in the heat of early June
this eve
and they danced
near enough
yet far away
though only two
they
were still a they
confirming
I had not imagined the first
and on the wind away
away
they drew
in my heart
in the faint lit night
fireflies bright
for which I had been waiting
only never knew
June 4, 2008 - Wednesday
she wonders yes
on occasion
every year
or two or so
she comes
across a heart
she has to touch
then lets them flee
recalls them later
smiles soft and wonders
she wonders yes,
but fleet
may
May 16, 2008 - Friday
lyric 7 - without guile
I am yours, we both know
lay me down, cover me
your body
heavy on my heart
suddenly, I am far away
floating in the possession
of your smile.
and if this breath that leaves me
never comes again
hungrily we loved
without guile.
May 14, 2008 - Wednesday
lyric 6
like a moth to a flame-<
and on past again>
but for a while-->
she flickers in his light-->
wings beat and broke>
as she flutters next to close>
and her scent of burning-->
on the breeze-->
oh----
oh----
oh-----
she's a woman---now>
she comes and goes—>
comes and goes---->
May 10, 2008 - Saturday
May is here
May is here
and your would have been forty-second birthday
is nearing
but now you are ever my younger brother
not my older
And the days are fading
when I think of how your death made me
but I still think on you
on my decisions and your slow leaving
on my decisions and your slow leaving
and how your death made me
made us all
May 4, 2008 - Sunday
lyric four
young girl
alone in her bed
little heart
beating
little hands
finding
she slips away
humming
strumming
gently
wanting
wanting
lyric 7 - without guile
I am yours, we both know
lay me down, cover me
your body
heavy on my heart
suddenly, I am far away
floating in the possession
of your smile.
and if this breath that leaves me
never comes again
hungrily we loved
without guile.
May 14, 2008 - Wednesday
lyric 6
like a moth to a flame-<
and on past again>
but for a while-->
she flickers in his light-->
wings beat and broke>
as she flutters next to close>
and her scent of burning-->
on the breeze-->
oh----
oh----
oh-----
she's a woman---now>
she comes and goes—>
comes and goes---->
May 10, 2008 - Saturday
May is here
May is here
and your would have been forty-second birthday
is nearing
but now you are ever my younger brother
not my older
And the days are fading
when I think of how your death made me
but I still think on you
on my decisions and your slow leaving
on my decisions and your slow leaving
and how your death made me
made us all
May 4, 2008 - Sunday
lyric four
young girl
alone in her bed
little heart
beating
little hands
finding
she slips away
humming
strumming
gently
wanting
wanting
Wednesday, April 30, 2008
white space
In the white-space
between the words between the lines
where ink cannot go
steadily
steadily
the artist's passion flows;
the thing they attempt to draw
strive to convey
the soul of their child
prostrate to the world
dismembered.
Look past
into the white-space
where you will see a Glowing.
between the words between the lines
where ink cannot go
steadily
steadily
the artist's passion flows;
the thing they attempt to draw
strive to convey
the soul of their child
prostrate to the world
dismembered.
Look past
into the white-space
where you will see a Glowing.
May comes tomorrow
April 28, 2008 - Monday
onions and graphite
writing
late into the eve
of a day of
slow stewed savories
wrapped in warm
chenille I fell adrift, room
aglow; faint scent
onions and graphite
on my hands
filling dreams
April 24, 2008 - Thursday
breathing the good wet earth
Through the tall wetland grass she glides
bare legs, limbs, nosed sun-kissed
long hair a glisten
on toward the herd,
the baby white she calls Hopi, the people.
From the rocks comes the baby snake
skin new and body blue organs,
eyes milk white, gleaming blind
into the warmth of her palm.
The way was leaving
and her mourning would go long
into lives as yet unknown
where she would dream her days
of breathing the good wet earth.
And where she walks, with Hope she goes…
lymerick 121 (yes that’s a random number...)
little girls dream of Princes
little boys dream of luck
but the gender nutritive
on the whole,
they're more oftly fucked.
April 17, 2008 - Thursday
bright penny
I
nary the first to come away
unstick from the mess that binds
that took a life to ingrain
– yet like a child to the sun
her first bright penny –
she looks on it all with wonder
II
and what it took to unconform;
those things that should frighten
release her heart to soar.
in her new day
no other's
April 16, 2008 - Wednesday
a strange malaise
knowledge, comprehension,
bring about a strange malaise
as if something detriment
to innocence were lost
with their gain;
sad and bittersweet
the joy of her ascension
how she loves her way.
April 15, 2008 - Tuesday
her heart’s unrest
There was a comfort
to the lack of want
and the
– not so much denial of self –
but a firm hold on the reins
on the strong will that said
conform
an allowance
of observation of others
that keeps you unnoticed
of liberties the norm
cannot come away with
but I was not free
perhaps never would have
in completeness
if not for another paying
the death toll
oh my heart knew peace
(of such without tactile
pleasure)
my heart knew peace
but my spirit was not free
April 11, 2008 - Friday
if i could breathe water
If I could breathe
Water
the moon to drink
your smile sweet
though brief
fleet
logic’s child
She stared
about the room
wide-eyed
ready for things that go bump
things that may come
in darkness
Logic's child
knowing otherwise
she may be hacked to bits
off-guard.
April 8, 2008 - Tuesday
and the world suddenly
May steals soft into my heart
stalking it creeps along
the shadowed rim
just outside the light;
Robert
brother
death
that first May cruelly
these years of becoming
and the world suddenly
too wide
the nights of wonder...
April 6, 2008 - Sunday
she seeks
Her inheritance?:
a heart too wide
Yet
when her mind stills
brief
knowledge interludes
and The Quiet
is deafening
The Quiet
The Quiet
feels more like destiny
the harder she tries to spite it
And transcendence?:
The Little Death
far and few between
she seeks.
April 1, 2008 - Tuesday
A question to Mrs. Parker
Oh Dottie,
Did everything throb
that first time you read the author’s name on a book and the inscription inside…
...to you...
Did you adore him?
Were you near enough to reach out
and touch his
…heart…?
Did you desire him?
March 29, 2008 - Saturday
missing in America
the call came one night
around one or two
I awoke my husband who didn’t want to wake
didn’t recognize her in the bus station’s exterior
amidst the crowd of street-lit downtown
faces searching for lost hope
as I kept my gaze low
there she was, down-trod but not beaten
bright eyes in a body hitting forty
always a dreamer
with a scheme up her sleeve
but all I had was credit
and she wanted cash
so at the end of the week at the hotel
the end of the week of getting her clothes
new documents to replace the lost…
food, a hot pot, and anger
at the little cash I could spare going
toward cigarettes
half drunk bottles on the dresser
skimpy swimsuit on the towel bar
gone again
my sister
missing in America
March 28, 2008 - Friday
not what i meant at all
sometimes I
look into things
like health insurance
or birth control
that won’t make me feel
so fat
but I come to no decision
and nothing changes
in fact I come away more confused,
the questions to the answers I sought
not what I meant at all
and the answers?
I’ll never know them anyway.
March 19, 2008 - Wednesday
The Summers of My Youth - short excerpt/non-fiction
March 02
You know, it didn’t stop raining for days in March that year. But it wasn’t a gray rain. And when it stopped, there was Texas in a beautiful spring. It hadn’t gone straight from winter to summer as one would have thought. And though I don’t recall a spring in Texas before that year, it seems like we’ve had several since.
this day
this day
six years ago
when all the world was raining
and all the world was green
flowers, startling abloom
the smell of damp earth
everywhere
everywhere
and then we buried you.
March 14, 2008 - Friday
i have become
sometimes
when I am happy
I cry – senseless deep sorrow.
it’s for you and you
and how you used me
that one of you knows it
the other will never cop to it
that brother is dead
sister is Missing In America
father is happy at last
mother may never know
only she can help herself
that My Husband Once has grown without me
because of me
is the one who knows he used me
that when this one man holds me
I feel as beautiful as I believe myself to be
and that I have come this far, baby
can do anything
be anything
I have arrived
have
become
and cry perhaps
for the sorrow and loss it took to get here.
mind a drift
My Husband Once
had taught me how
not to pre-wash dishes,
not even to knock the big stuff loose
what a time saver!
and the dishwasher
took care of it
and we could be out and on
to other senseless tasks…
but in my little place now
where when things break I fix them
or not
I am learning
I loved my hands in water
and the clean smell of soap
puttering, doing, making
and the time
to think
in my little place
where these little things please me
and I walk-about
singing
March 11, 2008 - Tuesday
otherwise
Last night I dreamt
of Medieval things.
They came at me full on
in blood and glory,
Honoria with her sword
and the fire burning...
Words for the visions,
aglow in air came streaming,
I the vessel to convey.
And I awoke weeping.
All I want to do
is write these things I dream.
But the world won't let me;
it would have me otherwise.
onions and graphite
writing
late into the eve
of a day of
slow stewed savories
wrapped in warm
chenille I fell adrift, room
aglow; faint scent
onions and graphite
on my hands
filling dreams
April 24, 2008 - Thursday
breathing the good wet earth
Through the tall wetland grass she glides
bare legs, limbs, nosed sun-kissed
long hair a glisten
on toward the herd,
the baby white she calls Hopi, the people.
From the rocks comes the baby snake
skin new and body blue organs,
eyes milk white, gleaming blind
into the warmth of her palm.
The way was leaving
and her mourning would go long
into lives as yet unknown
where she would dream her days
of breathing the good wet earth.
And where she walks, with Hope she goes…
lymerick 121 (yes that’s a random number...)
little girls dream of Princes
little boys dream of luck
but the gender nutritive
on the whole,
they're more oftly fucked.
April 17, 2008 - Thursday
bright penny
I
nary the first to come away
unstick from the mess that binds
that took a life to ingrain
– yet like a child to the sun
her first bright penny –
she looks on it all with wonder
II
and what it took to unconform;
those things that should frighten
release her heart to soar.
in her new day
no other's
April 16, 2008 - Wednesday
a strange malaise
knowledge, comprehension,
bring about a strange malaise
as if something detriment
to innocence were lost
with their gain;
sad and bittersweet
the joy of her ascension
how she loves her way.
April 15, 2008 - Tuesday
her heart’s unrest
There was a comfort
to the lack of want
and the
– not so much denial of self –
but a firm hold on the reins
on the strong will that said
conform
an allowance
of observation of others
that keeps you unnoticed
of liberties the norm
cannot come away with
but I was not free
perhaps never would have
in completeness
if not for another paying
the death toll
oh my heart knew peace
(of such without tactile
pleasure)
my heart knew peace
but my spirit was not free
April 11, 2008 - Friday
if i could breathe water
If I could breathe
Water
the moon to drink
your smile sweet
though brief
fleet
logic’s child
She stared
about the room
wide-eyed
ready for things that go bump
things that may come
in darkness
Logic's child
knowing otherwise
she may be hacked to bits
off-guard.
April 8, 2008 - Tuesday
and the world suddenly
May steals soft into my heart
stalking it creeps along
the shadowed rim
just outside the light;
Robert
brother
death
that first May cruelly
these years of becoming
and the world suddenly
too wide
the nights of wonder...
April 6, 2008 - Sunday
she seeks
Her inheritance?:
a heart too wide
Yet
when her mind stills
brief
knowledge interludes
and The Quiet
is deafening
The Quiet
The Quiet
feels more like destiny
the harder she tries to spite it
And transcendence?:
The Little Death
far and few between
she seeks.
April 1, 2008 - Tuesday
A question to Mrs. Parker
Oh Dottie,
Did everything throb
that first time you read the author’s name on a book and the inscription inside…
...to you...
Did you adore him?
Were you near enough to reach out
and touch his
…heart…?
Did you desire him?
March 29, 2008 - Saturday
missing in America
the call came one night
around one or two
I awoke my husband who didn’t want to wake
didn’t recognize her in the bus station’s exterior
amidst the crowd of street-lit downtown
faces searching for lost hope
as I kept my gaze low
there she was, down-trod but not beaten
bright eyes in a body hitting forty
always a dreamer
with a scheme up her sleeve
but all I had was credit
and she wanted cash
so at the end of the week at the hotel
the end of the week of getting her clothes
new documents to replace the lost…
food, a hot pot, and anger
at the little cash I could spare going
toward cigarettes
half drunk bottles on the dresser
skimpy swimsuit on the towel bar
gone again
my sister
missing in America
March 28, 2008 - Friday
not what i meant at all
sometimes I
look into things
like health insurance
or birth control
that won’t make me feel
so fat
but I come to no decision
and nothing changes
in fact I come away more confused,
the questions to the answers I sought
not what I meant at all
and the answers?
I’ll never know them anyway.
March 19, 2008 - Wednesday
The Summers of My Youth - short excerpt/non-fiction
March 02
You know, it didn’t stop raining for days in March that year. But it wasn’t a gray rain. And when it stopped, there was Texas in a beautiful spring. It hadn’t gone straight from winter to summer as one would have thought. And though I don’t recall a spring in Texas before that year, it seems like we’ve had several since.
this day
this day
six years ago
when all the world was raining
and all the world was green
flowers, startling abloom
the smell of damp earth
everywhere
everywhere
and then we buried you.
March 14, 2008 - Friday
i have become
sometimes
when I am happy
I cry – senseless deep sorrow.
it’s for you and you
and how you used me
that one of you knows it
the other will never cop to it
that brother is dead
sister is Missing In America
father is happy at last
mother may never know
only she can help herself
that My Husband Once has grown without me
because of me
is the one who knows he used me
that when this one man holds me
I feel as beautiful as I believe myself to be
and that I have come this far, baby
can do anything
be anything
I have arrived
have
become
and cry perhaps
for the sorrow and loss it took to get here.
mind a drift
My Husband Once
had taught me how
not to pre-wash dishes,
not even to knock the big stuff loose
what a time saver!
and the dishwasher
took care of it
and we could be out and on
to other senseless tasks…
but in my little place now
where when things break I fix them
or not
I am learning
I loved my hands in water
and the clean smell of soap
puttering, doing, making
and the time
to think
in my little place
where these little things please me
and I walk-about
singing
March 11, 2008 - Tuesday
otherwise
Last night I dreamt
of Medieval things.
They came at me full on
in blood and glory,
Honoria with her sword
and the fire burning...
Words for the visions,
aglow in air came streaming,
I the vessel to convey.
And I awoke weeping.
All I want to do
is write these things I dream.
But the world won't let me;
it would have me otherwise.
Sunday, March 02, 2008
"and the heir of a shyness that is criminally vulgar"
March 2, 2008 - Sunday
strong in our being
some of us
are so strong in our being
we have no niche
no stereotype within which to find solace
and comfort
the confusion to others –
of our identity, their inability to label
or find basis for connotation –
leaves us in wanderlust
searching
and them
thinking we are not in need
and never understanding we do
want
desire
March 1, 2008 - Saturday
for Mandy, et al.
Some of us,
we are low, yet others?
Are coming into their well deserved good fortune;
All of us, though, we are blessed
with good hearts
and friends surrounding
that see
that love
that will endure the years.
February 28, 2008 - Thursday
with a taunting glare
I came across a day once
it was easy
low
drank my ice tea
with a taunting glare
and I ended up back fisting the son of a bitch
for being a tease
but my drink was gone
then the day was gone
but my itch was still there
February 24, 2008 - Sunday
oh ye strong women
There's a little heart
that shines
under years of dust
and grime
but no one cares to claim it
no one cares
to claim it
and the girl sleeps alone
February 20, 2008 - Wednesday
bright is her forced disposition
it is not a good tired
the kind that lets you sleep through
it is a senseless thing
where the mind never stills
and the body remains weary
February 12, 2008 - Tuesday
lyric
Sometimes<------- lovers leave<
and sometimes<-------
lovers leave>
but in between>----- was you and me
late nights early morns> and
oh------------------
sweaty sheets]
How<
we loved<
my baby>
Oh----------
How< you made me-----
blue>-------
conundrum
these last few months of disassociation
and the heart numbing toward him
and he is not going
and surely I will not let things go on as such
this last year and a half
but I adore him
I adore him
January 31, 2008 - Thursday
as I made ready
I waltzed in, quiet and low-key,
filled out paperwork
looked at the dog I chose
from countless others
and took her home. It all seemed so easy
I felt like a thief and left giddy, scot-free.
Then I took stock
while my new pup waited in the car:
leash, harness, food, comb, shampoo
stuffed snowman, new and fuzzy,
unaware of his pending dismemberment,
gutting, and decapitation; poor bastard.
At home I foraged.
Would this bowl be better or this one?
And a blanket? Oh hell, two or three
old ones I pulled from the drawer.
Chelsea Fay Ray Princess 'Rat Dog' Buttercup
gazed on curious, still in her shell
as I made ready my heart
to nurture and love.
January 25, 2008 - Friday
your girl sometimes
I didn't mean to be
your girl sometimes
but it was a
second week thing
and never got better
oh but those nights of long hellos
and wallowing inside
each others heart;
mornings of reticent goodbyes
while you tried to sleep
after my failed efforts
on too sore flesh
madness
could you blame me
for wanting more
madness
but I was only your girl
sometimes
on occasion
when you called
except in my heart
where it's always.
January 22, 2008 - Tuesday
snake totem
One day a young girl came across a snake at rest in a warm dark place. It was a baby white snake, an albino with shiny light opaque blue eyes. She caught the snake by the tail, trying to carrying him away to a safer, more snake-like place in the bright sun. But the snake was crazed with its tail pinched between her thumb and forefinger and writhed until free.
The girl awoke from her dream to her bed, an intense fluttering along her neck between shoulder and ear. She moved each pillow one at a time, pulled back the covers, turned on the light, and found no snake.
That afternoon she was shopping, which she rarely does and found a dainty silver ring, a snake wound head to tail. His head, a light blue opaque stone. It fit her finger snug.
That night, the pain in her side worsened, she stopped to wonder and blushed a strange way of peace and sorrow for the life she would shed but smiled, a keen desire for the unknown.
January 16, 2008 - Wednesday
journalesque - The Heart of America is Breaking
My first day of teaching this semester, yesterday, I had left a class of fourth graders that jumped right into things. They were bright and engaged. The principal sat in, walked around, nodding, and the children beamed under his and our attention. I had little to do with four of us watching over like mother hens.
At three p.m. I frantically drove from Mesquite to Oak Cliff, only to walk in to a room of first and second graders. I had been expecting third and fourth. They were so little, so quiet and some, incredibly, visibly afraid. Ms. R, the main facilitator, was slowly engaging some to participate. A teacher came in to take names, the principal sat for a few minutes. Those previously engaged, found their shell again, began to retreat. I wanted to cry for them. Instead I set to work.
These are bright children; staring mute at the page, unable to write in English, yet when coaxed into Spanish, brightened and set to work. We are teaching these kids how to form sentences and paragraphs in order to pass tests when we have not given them the basic skills with which to communicate
The first day of teaching is a strange mix of confusion and sink-or-swim. We're only there for an hour a week for four to twelve weeks. So often I've just remembered everyone's name when it's time to leave them.
An hour a week is almost more than I can bear. The heart of America is breaking and it's a hard thing to watch.
January 13, 2008 - Sunday
morning
I thought to wake him with my mouth
my hand closer
but my proximity already had him stirred
and the rest
was gratuitous and greedy on my part
as I took what I pleased.
In six or eight weeks
you'll be gone and I
will exist on recollections of madness.
January 7, 2008 - Monday
Journalesque - a personal admittance
I didn't mean to be a poet but I suppose for anyone with the innate need to write, a broken soul that leads to broken thoughts leads to poetry. Thus my predilection for enjambment and verb noun displacement I suppose.
You're asking what the hell I'm talking about, how do you break a soul and if I didn't mean to be a poet, why have I written thousands of poems. (You haven't stalked me well enough if you haven't found my blogger.)
Many of you know my brother died in early 2002. Some have surmised from my writing and blatant admittance (if you paid attention) that I had to step up to adulthood and make the decision to end his life. It was difficult to watch my husband grow distant. It was difficult to see my father unsure and so frail. It was difficult to take such a thing on alone. And though no daughter should see her father as frail, no Father should have to end his son's life. So I did it. In the denotative sense of the word, I killed my brother. No, don't sugar coat it…it is what it is and your loose connotations of moral turpitude don't fly with me.
I didn't mean to go in to all of that but I'm in a funk and it has been almost six years since the funeral. Some strange things have happened: I cheated on my husband of sixteen years, got my first tattoo, divorced him, (he remarried awful quick for someone I apparently hurt beyond belief), I became a poet, my ex and I became good friends, I got my degree, went from four piercings to nine, got my second tattoo, quit my job to write, had five or six crushes along the way, took four lovers (three briefly and one…) I fell in love and let that love go.
And that's all after the age of thirty-two. Watching my brother die was the lowest point in my life, though, obviously. The low point of low points that made all the other low points seem like happy recollections. I am haunted daily: was it the right decision? I can't say but it was the decision I made. So…the broken soul…I started journaling seriously in early 2003 as a way to heal. I would have started sooner but it took me a year to stop crying every damn day, morning, noon and night. Journaling turned to poetry quickly.
So I didn't mean to be a poet. (But I'm sure Dahmer never meant to turn cannibal.) I set out to be a novelist; science fiction, fantasy, gore and yes, even romance though that latter genre bores me infinitely now. When I was young, I cut my teeth on C. J. Cherryh's "Drinking Sapphire Wine" and "Down Below Station", on Asimov and Heinlein and somewhere along the way, I became learned.
It's a silly thing but after Robert died, I whispered to his spirit, "I will live for both of us." I can finally admit it was not all his death that drove me to tears but the turning inward and facing – that I was not living. What I had was not a life but an existence.
You know, a broken bone can mend crooked when left unattended and sometimes has to be reset to heal straight.
I don't know. I suck at metaphors.
January 6, 2008 - Sunday
and her tail wags
she comes to me in the living room
dropping a mouth full of food at my feet
looks up at me
and proceeds to eat
one bite
then a glance my way
another bite
and a glance
then nuzzles my hand
as I turn to scratch hear ears
the top of her head
the soft spot between her eyes
she still doesn't trust me with the comb
but we have time
"what a good girl," I coo
and her tail wags till her body shakes.
January 5, 2008 - Saturday
the whole of the moon
In this winter of discontent
under the gray grey ash
of a once bright flame
lay red hot coals aglow;
a slow deep simmer
of a blushed heart free
and on the brink of a madness
well deserved.
January 4, 2008 - Friday
in absentia
I
pretty soon
there will be no one left to work the land
to walk the earth
to dream
to cry
for the others
for who they become.
II
I am in this limbo
graced
something brilliant gleams
in the corner
his words eat mine whole
I want
to be eaten whole
it was a very nice week
some of us never lose hope
but accept things as is
on some level
and then a thing happens
you question as is
only to realize
you want
you want this thing bad.
January 1, 2008 - Tuesday
knock knock
what do you do when your lover who is leaving in two months messages;
I love you
and your admiration for the thousand mile man is growing?
have coffee with cream and raw sugar
two toasted English muffins with whipped butter
write poetry that no one will ever read
strong in our being
some of us
are so strong in our being
we have no niche
no stereotype within which to find solace
and comfort
the confusion to others –
of our identity, their inability to label
or find basis for connotation –
leaves us in wanderlust
searching
and them
thinking we are not in need
and never understanding we do
want
desire
March 1, 2008 - Saturday
for Mandy, et al.
Some of us,
we are low, yet others?
Are coming into their well deserved good fortune;
All of us, though, we are blessed
with good hearts
and friends surrounding
that see
that love
that will endure the years.
February 28, 2008 - Thursday
with a taunting glare
I came across a day once
it was easy
low
drank my ice tea
with a taunting glare
and I ended up back fisting the son of a bitch
for being a tease
but my drink was gone
then the day was gone
but my itch was still there
February 24, 2008 - Sunday
oh ye strong women
There's a little heart
that shines
under years of dust
and grime
but no one cares to claim it
no one cares
to claim it
and the girl sleeps alone
February 20, 2008 - Wednesday
bright is her forced disposition
it is not a good tired
the kind that lets you sleep through
it is a senseless thing
where the mind never stills
and the body remains weary
February 12, 2008 - Tuesday
lyric
Sometimes<------- lovers leave<
and sometimes<-------
lovers leave>
but in between>----- was you and me
late nights early morns> and
oh------------------
sweaty sheets]
How<
we loved<
my baby>
Oh----------
How< you made me-----
blue>-------
conundrum
these last few months of disassociation
and the heart numbing toward him
and he is not going
and surely I will not let things go on as such
this last year and a half
but I adore him
I adore him
January 31, 2008 - Thursday
as I made ready
I waltzed in, quiet and low-key,
filled out paperwork
looked at the dog I chose
from countless others
and took her home. It all seemed so easy
I felt like a thief and left giddy, scot-free.
Then I took stock
while my new pup waited in the car:
leash, harness, food, comb, shampoo
stuffed snowman, new and fuzzy,
unaware of his pending dismemberment,
gutting, and decapitation; poor bastard.
At home I foraged.
Would this bowl be better or this one?
And a blanket? Oh hell, two or three
old ones I pulled from the drawer.
Chelsea Fay Ray Princess 'Rat Dog' Buttercup
gazed on curious, still in her shell
as I made ready my heart
to nurture and love.
January 25, 2008 - Friday
your girl sometimes
I didn't mean to be
your girl sometimes
but it was a
second week thing
and never got better
oh but those nights of long hellos
and wallowing inside
each others heart;
mornings of reticent goodbyes
while you tried to sleep
after my failed efforts
on too sore flesh
madness
could you blame me
for wanting more
madness
but I was only your girl
sometimes
on occasion
when you called
except in my heart
where it's always.
January 22, 2008 - Tuesday
snake totem
One day a young girl came across a snake at rest in a warm dark place. It was a baby white snake, an albino with shiny light opaque blue eyes. She caught the snake by the tail, trying to carrying him away to a safer, more snake-like place in the bright sun. But the snake was crazed with its tail pinched between her thumb and forefinger and writhed until free.
The girl awoke from her dream to her bed, an intense fluttering along her neck between shoulder and ear. She moved each pillow one at a time, pulled back the covers, turned on the light, and found no snake.
That afternoon she was shopping, which she rarely does and found a dainty silver ring, a snake wound head to tail. His head, a light blue opaque stone. It fit her finger snug.
That night, the pain in her side worsened, she stopped to wonder and blushed a strange way of peace and sorrow for the life she would shed but smiled, a keen desire for the unknown.
January 16, 2008 - Wednesday
journalesque - The Heart of America is Breaking
My first day of teaching this semester, yesterday, I had left a class of fourth graders that jumped right into things. They were bright and engaged. The principal sat in, walked around, nodding, and the children beamed under his and our attention. I had little to do with four of us watching over like mother hens.
At three p.m. I frantically drove from Mesquite to Oak Cliff, only to walk in to a room of first and second graders. I had been expecting third and fourth. They were so little, so quiet and some, incredibly, visibly afraid. Ms. R, the main facilitator, was slowly engaging some to participate. A teacher came in to take names, the principal sat for a few minutes. Those previously engaged, found their shell again, began to retreat. I wanted to cry for them. Instead I set to work.
These are bright children; staring mute at the page, unable to write in English, yet when coaxed into Spanish, brightened and set to work. We are teaching these kids how to form sentences and paragraphs in order to pass tests when we have not given them the basic skills with which to communicate
The first day of teaching is a strange mix of confusion and sink-or-swim. We're only there for an hour a week for four to twelve weeks. So often I've just remembered everyone's name when it's time to leave them.
An hour a week is almost more than I can bear. The heart of America is breaking and it's a hard thing to watch.
January 13, 2008 - Sunday
morning
I thought to wake him with my mouth
my hand closer
but my proximity already had him stirred
and the rest
was gratuitous and greedy on my part
as I took what I pleased.
In six or eight weeks
you'll be gone and I
will exist on recollections of madness.
January 7, 2008 - Monday
Journalesque - a personal admittance
I didn't mean to be a poet but I suppose for anyone with the innate need to write, a broken soul that leads to broken thoughts leads to poetry. Thus my predilection for enjambment and verb noun displacement I suppose.
You're asking what the hell I'm talking about, how do you break a soul and if I didn't mean to be a poet, why have I written thousands of poems. (You haven't stalked me well enough if you haven't found my blogger.)
Many of you know my brother died in early 2002. Some have surmised from my writing and blatant admittance (if you paid attention) that I had to step up to adulthood and make the decision to end his life. It was difficult to watch my husband grow distant. It was difficult to see my father unsure and so frail. It was difficult to take such a thing on alone. And though no daughter should see her father as frail, no Father should have to end his son's life. So I did it. In the denotative sense of the word, I killed my brother. No, don't sugar coat it…it is what it is and your loose connotations of moral turpitude don't fly with me.
I didn't mean to go in to all of that but I'm in a funk and it has been almost six years since the funeral. Some strange things have happened: I cheated on my husband of sixteen years, got my first tattoo, divorced him, (he remarried awful quick for someone I apparently hurt beyond belief), I became a poet, my ex and I became good friends, I got my degree, went from four piercings to nine, got my second tattoo, quit my job to write, had five or six crushes along the way, took four lovers (three briefly and one…) I fell in love and let that love go.
And that's all after the age of thirty-two. Watching my brother die was the lowest point in my life, though, obviously. The low point of low points that made all the other low points seem like happy recollections. I am haunted daily: was it the right decision? I can't say but it was the decision I made. So…the broken soul…I started journaling seriously in early 2003 as a way to heal. I would have started sooner but it took me a year to stop crying every damn day, morning, noon and night. Journaling turned to poetry quickly.
So I didn't mean to be a poet. (But I'm sure Dahmer never meant to turn cannibal.) I set out to be a novelist; science fiction, fantasy, gore and yes, even romance though that latter genre bores me infinitely now. When I was young, I cut my teeth on C. J. Cherryh's "Drinking Sapphire Wine" and "Down Below Station", on Asimov and Heinlein and somewhere along the way, I became learned.
It's a silly thing but after Robert died, I whispered to his spirit, "I will live for both of us." I can finally admit it was not all his death that drove me to tears but the turning inward and facing – that I was not living. What I had was not a life but an existence.
You know, a broken bone can mend crooked when left unattended and sometimes has to be reset to heal straight.
I don't know. I suck at metaphors.
January 6, 2008 - Sunday
and her tail wags
she comes to me in the living room
dropping a mouth full of food at my feet
looks up at me
and proceeds to eat
one bite
then a glance my way
another bite
and a glance
then nuzzles my hand
as I turn to scratch hear ears
the top of her head
the soft spot between her eyes
she still doesn't trust me with the comb
but we have time
"what a good girl," I coo
and her tail wags till her body shakes.
January 5, 2008 - Saturday
the whole of the moon
In this winter of discontent
under the gray grey ash
of a once bright flame
lay red hot coals aglow;
a slow deep simmer
of a blushed heart free
and on the brink of a madness
well deserved.
January 4, 2008 - Friday
in absentia
I
pretty soon
there will be no one left to work the land
to walk the earth
to dream
to cry
for the others
for who they become.
II
I am in this limbo
graced
something brilliant gleams
in the corner
his words eat mine whole
I want
to be eaten whole
it was a very nice week
some of us never lose hope
but accept things as is
on some level
and then a thing happens
you question as is
only to realize
you want
you want this thing bad.
January 1, 2008 - Tuesday
knock knock
what do you do when your lover who is leaving in two months messages;
I love you
and your admiration for the thousand mile man is growing?
have coffee with cream and raw sugar
two toasted English muffins with whipped butter
write poetry that no one will ever read