that's mrs. mediocrity to you

in a world filled with too many choices
how do we ever decide?

and why is the apple always drawn
to the battle of good versus evil?

adam and eve, snow white and
the wicked, hello my little pretty
and one bad can ruin the barrel,
crab and golden, eye and pie
caramel candy truths and
half-baked sugar coating

delicious, filled with life and seed
s(k)in and marrow

i wonder, tiny orb, as you hang
from your dreary tree of ornament,
why i was drawn to you and not
all the others, those brothers

of fall and folly and, of course,
you do not answer, being all ripe
and ready for the picking

you hold no wisdom beneath
the blush of skin, just beautysinbeauty
and the flavor of earth
in your heart.

.

.

.

.

Linking up today with the fabulous dVerse poets for Open Link Night, join us!

::

all

she ever

thought about

was

destiny

::

no one ever said it was going to make sense, this life. and yet, we try to make it so.

when things get too crazy (and things have gotten very crazy), i turn to nature for comfort, trees for solace, fresh air to move fresh thoughts through my mind.

i find all the beauty i need in a single crab apple hanging low against a backdrop of fall colors. a flower fighting to stay in bloom despite cool days and colder nights. a crow landing on the very tiptop of a newly-bare tree, watching.

this is the world i walk through best, a world where silence means breezes and bird calls, and solitude means surrounded by forest. if i could live in this world all the time, i would. but this is life, and there are other things that must be done, and so, of course, i must walk down streets filled with people, buildings, politics, trash.

i have the heart of a hermit and the mind of a citizen. and in my dream of dreams, the soul of a poet.

i can be silent forever. and then i must speak.

i’ve never been very good at fitting into boxes, or groups, or categories, or round holes. in high school, i never managed to belong to any one of the dozens of cliques that formed my social landscape. i could walk through occasionally, mingle, say hello. but always, in the end, i was the lone tree standing just off to one side, watching. back then, it broke my heart. left me wondering what was wrong with me.

of course, now, i know, and i accept, my introversion. i no longer fight it. i no longer wish to be someone other, though considering the possibilities as stories in my head can be quite entertaining.

i am who i am, and i have reached the age where i can say that without cringing. i am multi-faceted, with many, many flaws and imperfections. i am no diamond in the rough, no emerald, no ruby. my kind of jewels hang from branches and stems. all the magic in my world comes from love and living.

my heart is always on my sleeve, where i can hear each beat, beat, beat.

it is how i know i am alive.

with the posture of a perfect impostor
the kind that can look you in the eye and make you see
blue
when it has already been established
that green is the color
of tomorrow

and

i want to kiss your neck
nuzzle in a little
settle down

get to know what makes you

tick

tock

and which words are your favorite

but of course
we both know
you have already
erased them

covered them over
with hatch marks and
strips of black
marker

no looking back
no turning the page
no deciphering
because

everything you say
is code for someone
who isn’t
gone
yet

.

.

.

.

Linking up today with the fabulous dVerse poets for Open Link Night, join us!

::

learning

to love

my scars and

wrinkles

isn’t easy,

but it is

interesting

::

This is the view from my couch, the door leading upstairs.
The other night, as I lay on my couch (moaning) because
I could barely walk after having spent the weekend
installing a new kitchen floor, this is the pattern
that was created by the sun streaming through the windows.

24.

X marks the spot.

24 times.

So then, of course, I had to start wondering…. 24 what?

24 words, 24 chapters, 24 people to miss.

24 years, 24 days, 24 hours.

I like that one the best. 24 hours.

I think that was it. A simple reminder.

There is only ever today.

And I am here.

when i was young
it was a well-known fact
that i was the girl
who tripped over the pattern
on the kitchen floor

always falling in puddles
bumping into walls
stubbing toes and once
breaking my arm
while getting out
of the bathtub

these days
i’ve learned to navigate
a little better as i stand upright
but i find things in my basement
i’d forgotten i had
and i see myself spending years
tossing promises and
possessions

making space
that i fill with more

space

hollow bones

unchartered maps

vessels to carry me

forward

and this weekend
i installed a new floor
just like the old one except
i turned the pattern on its side

and now i wonder
what will happen

next

.

.

.

Linking up today with the fabulous dVerse poets for Open Link Night, join us!

::

seems as

good a place

to start

as any

::

So many different ways to turn in this life, so many things to be and do and say and make. And all the accomplishments I have not yet accomplished sit stacked in a corner, mocking me. It’s okay though, I am good at turning my back on them, ignoring their whispers, re-straightening their pile when they get out of order.

I don’t want accomplishments anyway, I want to stand in the sun and breathe in the crisp smell of autumn.

The trees are especially vibrant this year, and I suppose the drought had something to do with that. The dried stalks of corn across the street are the perfect foil for a backdrop of orange and gold and crimson against the blue of sky that only happens after summer stops stealing its deepest hue.

I want to walk for days with my boots on, kicking up leaves and listening to the sounds of another year getting ready to put itself to bed. I want to choose the prettiest leaves and make a bouquet for the mantle. I want to hear the thud of apples dropping to the ground.

I miss the geese this year, with their raucous all-night parties ringing in my ear. I wonder what new place they have found to rest their weary bones, if they miss the swamp as much as I do. My monkshood is blooming right on time, the deepest of purples against the yellow leaves of hydrangea against the fresh pink of anemone that surely got its seasons all mixed up, for that color can only really belong to Spring.

Mother Nature has accomplished everything on her list this year. But then again, she always does.

I wonder if she ever stops to smile and listen, to feel the sun on her face and take in the beauty her brush has painted. Or does she hurry on with her nose to the ground, making ready for the next set of chores?

Maybe none of this is meant for her, anyway. Perhaps it’s all for us.

And she’s just waiting for someone to notice.

.

i hear her whispers in the dark
as i lie staring at the moon
hanging in the center of my window
telling me stories i wish
i had no need to know

the apples she offers
are not spiked with poison
only withered dreams
and the juice of death
running down
through bony fingers

.

i catch all the drips
as they fall from her wrist
with a tongue
i know cannot save me

yet there is no fear
in this bracelet of decency
no menace in her offer
to share

she comes as hollowed out friend
in a cloak i choose
to wear
but makes no move
to hang it
on the shudder of my shoulders

.

she is

happy to wait

the empty space
of ticking seconds

barren and fruitful

the silence of scream
to the motherless child

she is

answer and question
one
in the lace
of each veiled eye

.

.

.

.

.

Fifty days from now, I turn fifty.
And while I thought I would be dreading this birthday,
I find myself looking forward to it.
On that day, November 27th, I want to host a
“celebrate life” blog-link party here. More details to follow,
but I would love to have you join me!

Linking up today with the fabulous dVerse poets for Open Link Night, join us!