Tag: poem

a perfect day.

Photobucketa funny perfect thing, this messy house.

it gave no stress.

and was filled

to the brim with

the left-behind touches

of those we love

in fact, the slight disarray

felt merry and warm;

as we had our morning coffee

and laughed about who said this

and who did that…

’round noon, we slurped some warm soup,

and late afternoon we sat with some tea,

all in the glow of our holiday chatter

i felt sad, in the end, to clean it all up.

the bright little bows and the crinkled up paper.

there were pieces of cookies, a discarded sock, and

all those burned out candles…

there was a washload of sheets, and

stuffing the pillows back into their cases

i dusted and swept

and yes, even wept,

as this perfect day

finally leapt to its end Photobucket

an ode to sunflowers. . . and a crying question

a sea of sunflowers

yawn into the light

of the great blue sky above

my eyes sweep across

bright yellow fields

splashed with

black seed centers

i look upward


into wavering radiation

melting sky gas into

an azure ocean

of windy waves


in clouds of




Heart Chakra

The main thing about traveling is this… “things” get jettisoned- quick.  Amazingly fast, in fact.  

At first, the lack of baggage feels weird.

The other day I became so lightheaded I landed in an emergency room, convinced my heart had slipped

its moors.  It (my heart) was usually settled heavy and firm on top of my solar plexus.

But that day it was up in my throat and in the very next minute, out the third eye.  Like a fucking balloon, gone, that fast.  I panicked.

The oxygen the nurse gave me helped.  (Sweet girl, she said she liked my earrings, and I am so very,

very vain and attached to my earrings – it’s one of the reasons I know I could never become a nun.)

(Well, one of the reasons.)

So, I don’t know if it was the oxygen, or the radioactive dye they put in my veins, or the amusement of hearing Steppenwolf’s “Magic Carpet Ride” blaring over the PA while the gamma camera moved this way and that, but all of a sudden I knew everything was okay.  

That this wasn’t, after all, a good day to die.

That despite certain residue and the possibility of glowing in the dark; my heart was fine.

It (my heart), was, in fact, supposed to roam freely through the chakras, one minute in the pelvis, the next in the center of my forehead and then, you know, out and about in the world. (Yogi’s have a name for that, me, I’m a Midwesterner (although some of the sea has crept in).

An old poem, multiple times rejected and unpublished, yet a favorite (and one of the other reasons for not becoming a nun):


patent leather rain pelts morse code

on amber waves of multi-grain  

and christmas geese guard easter goslings from black hawks


there’s a madman at the lake

throwing fishing line into emeralds,

singing to the willow weeping there

he’s looking for the 9am express to Never Never Land

but where’s the door, Alice? no. silly.

Alice doesn’t live there anymore. ask for Tink.

he’s the fool at the lake

mouthing god’s words…

and alarmed at cat calls in infant growls

everything is something else, he says

nothing needs to be what it is

he knows it.

the world is this… mixed nuts

Giger form

heatherwinds sift follicles pores

and places where memories would lie

if memory encompassed happiness

an extension of the mother

in Giger form

jettisoned repeatedly in oft ill waters

too shallow to break a fall

too acidic to nurture a result

the wait

broken glass, old doll parts, buried shoes, roof shingles, pool liner, woodchuck hole, coy dogs feeding, turkey vulture circling and more broken glass

4 hours of sleep in 48

body must not break

it’s all at stake

on summit lake

it’s all at stake today

coke bottles, knives, axes, saws, mud, flies, gasoline, diesel, 220, timbers, fuses, fire and molten dreambirds

4 hours of sleep in 48

mind must not break

it’s all at stake

on summit lake

it’s all at stake today

literal and gullible

the way I always was

slow on the uptake

narrow on the intake

rusty and need some work

penned in a rush

on radiator flush

buffed with sand and cloth

slow minds prefer slow pursuits

that’s where my baby might be

down by the river

an ole lover or three

i set her free

didn’t come back to me

didn’t even look to see

cuz I’m gullible

enough to believe

in parable and entropy

in song and singularity

in spirit sunlight and rarity

in you