write a (sloppy, half-formed if need be) poem every day (or so) during November 2009

How odd to be happy,
Even one’s aches tied to
A growing joy out of
Sync with fearful, frantic
Complaint, to know
Yourself sweet in a bitter
Time, to nearly check your
Trail for glimmer, feel glow
On your skin, fresh as juice
From wild peaches, rogue
Plums, to wink at babies as
If you knew their secrets.
How odd, how perfect,
How strange to be loved.

goal here

You know, if you write one line of a poem every day in December, you’ll end up with a 31 line souvenir of 2009. I’m just saying…JOIN!!

The dark one who stops time
Spirals to a mild eddy and
Contemplates sleep. She has
Destroyed much in creating
More; even now in her resting,
Worlds spring up beneath her
Fiery feet to be extinguished
In spark-edged exhalations.
A nap has been, for centuries,
Unthinkable. Today (it is always
Today), the temptation of
Movelessness, more than mere
Stillness, reversal of self into
Undoing silence, licks her hands,
The serious pet of eternity,
Promising restoration, as if she
Were not Life’s darling, Death’s
Playmate, as if she were merely
Inevitable and not necessary. She
Shakes herself into a new storm of
Birth, riding laughter into a million
Fresh stars. As if she could be less
Than she is. As if anyone can be.

Twice a year, the wind
Blows west; he remembers
Oleanders in his grandmother’s
Front yard, train tracks littered
With gears and grease, the tart
Taste of warm plums from the
Mean neighbor’s yard, all of it
Layered deep enough to barely
Register. He works out a few
More hours, drinks an extra shot,
Takes the long way home, begins
Tiling the bathroom, until the wind
Turns and he finds himself out the
Door early one Tuesday, bereft as
A puppy alone the first time, lonely
As the child he once was.

i tried to
ignore it
but the morning light
wouldn’t let me
ok
i relent
i will frolic in it
but only for a second
the walls were orange
but not obnoxiously so
warm
they were warm
like the inside of a shell
or the backdrop of an old cameo
we were younger
but there were
no undiscovered places
between us
our world was silent
except the old oak
brushing the window
when the west winds blew
our eyes never opened
we knew each
satisfying step
of this intricate dance
where
your head on my thighs
palms on my breasts
soul in mine
always signaled
our final step
i do not ache for you
from you i learned perspective
and
that godforsaken emotion, apathy
but
sometimes
i do long for
the sound of footsteps
against an old pine floor
bringing me hot coffee
while
my flesh
is still pink
from loving

perhaps
this is how
healing begins

She, who cried over imprisoned
Lightning bugs as a child, admires
Her dim glow’s reflection in the
Incurving walls of her life, takes
As love that the holes punched in
The metal lid burst inward in sharp
Teethed stars, a reminder that leaving
Requires the loss of flesh, returning is
Smoothed and hurts less, a dull ache
One barely feels in the rush to capture
That too free glow, serve as lantern for
The night of a thoughtless child who
Admires what he can possess, dismisses
The scant proof of her tattered wings.
We are what we were before civilization
Domesticated us. We have hands as well
As wings, will as well as habit, love large
Enough to shatter glass, soul enough to
Survive the explosion and thrive in our
Moments above the back lawn, blinking
Our intimate, personal signal, wooing
Life itself to be our mate, from this day
Forward, ‘til death do us part.

She is steady in the way of
One who too soon chose
Maturity over tantalizing
Foolishness. In her teens,
She worries over the youngest,
Reassures her anxious mother,
Smiles calmly and watches,
Always watches. All agree
She is a lovely young woman,
But surely there is more to be
Aspired to than never giving a
Moment’s worry. She gives lip
Service to freedom and clings
To her moral decisions, handed
Down from a church it is hard to
Respect as a woman. She is not
My child, not mine to shepherd
Into adulthood, and yet I wish I
Could take her somewhere wild,
Foreign, away from assumptions,
To let her spend days with no one
To impress and see what gorgeous
Foolishness she would create in the
First true growth she would know.

as my
parking lot shrink
shameless admirer
fiercest protector
i find it fitting
to confess to you
my new love
“how will you live?”
you ask simply
reminding me of my
penchant for unemployed dreamers

“don’t be ridiculous!
we will feast
from the fees
he charges stunned commoners
to gaze at the
colored sand mandalas
he carefully carves
across the soft surface
of my quiet flesh”

rolling your eyes
feigning disdain
at my once again
fiscal irresponsibility
and
female inclinations
but
I know that secretly
you are wondering
what shade of pink
he would choose
for my thighs

i love you for this

fatigue
combined with fury
at her own inability
to say ‘no’
left her dazed
bewildered
irritated
by a wordless radio
yellow lines
blurred trees
endless demands
bitter boss
cocky client
another loverless holiday
an unglamorous chaos
then
there was the view
in the
westward facing mirror
a salmon and lavender sky
that reminded her
of the song
her papa used to sing
about sailors
when they rode home together
at sunset
and the
black limbs on the long trees
spread
across the horizon’s chest
like a fine lady’s fingers
as if writing her
a letter
reminding her
to be grateful
for
this mediocre obscurity

Her head is full of yellow
Light, warm flickering joy
Feeding cells a diet fit for
Flight. It gives her blue
Eyes a greenish glint, a
New transparency soothes
Her skin into laugh lines
Not seen the last fourteen
Years. The staff, wise in
Transformation, tells the
Family, who look at her
Flowering smile in surprise.
Such things force a belief
In kindness that transcends
Luck. Her daughter will
Never speak of the flame
She saw as she bent for a
Final kiss, as she has not
Spoken of the money
Nearly gone, the
Move to come,
Her fear, replaced by an
Image of bright golden
Light, unimaginable
Peace.