that's mrs. mediocrity to you

you have your chair and i
have mine and sometimes
at night after you’ve
gone to bed and i finally
get around to pulling on
my night owl
i move over and sit
in your chair
to view the world
through your eyes

every so often
i see myself sitting
there
in that other chair
a book of poems
or a baby
in my hands

and remember that
these chairs
have seen the best
and the worst of us
at times merely innocent
bystanders and at others
the only thing keeping
us from tearing holes
in the walls

and then
i put my feet up
and pretend to be you
watching baseball through
half closed lids and
i never get there really
never quite transition
into a sports fan
but who would have thought
a jock

and a poet could share
these two chairs
side by side all these years
worn and tired though
they are still strong and
mostly sturdy
always silent
about those nights
when neither one of
us could tell
the difference

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

up at midnight up at dawn
shift-wearing shape-shifting
through a night of dreams and
words that write themselves
on the chalkboard walls of
slumber

blue and gold are the colors
of anarchy (or valor)
i cannot tell one from
the other in this toned
down version

of sanity but i know where
my heart is always easy
to find that loud obnoxious
whisperer {not}

that there’s anything to
hide in this corner with
sunrise always there

out of sight
perhaps but never

out of mind

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Linking up with the fabulous dVerse poets for Stream of Consciousness Writing, join us!

i’ve never been in the ocean
oh, i’ve been to it, i’ve seen it,
marveled at the vast expanse of
nothingness that equals everything

but i’ve never dipped my toes.

chances are, i never will,
me being a fire sign and all
hot, hot, always burning myself out
before anyone can douse my flame

content to sit with the embers.

i’ve never been to the moon
either and i’m okay with that,
who wants to travel all that distance
and besides, i’m fairly certain

she looks better from afar.

i spend my days in my backyard
which makes me small and rather
boring, but i don’t need to swim (or
drown) in a salty vat of bitter sorrow

i’ve got this puddle at my feet,

this reflection that paints blue sky
as well as any maxfield parrish and
every so often a water bug stops by
to skim the surface, creating

ripples the size of tsunamis.

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

a multitude of days
add up to make a life

you’ll never know about

you might see edges
and corners

shiny bits
held up to the sun
(reflecting parts you
thought you’d hidden)

or the flip of a skirt
might reveal
a flash of skin
you’d gone
to great lengths
to cover

but in the deep dark
dead of reality
we can’t see
each other

cannot travel
light years
to meet

in the middle

of a universe
always able to add
expand
hold
one more

beginning

bones buried
scrubbed cleaned

polished

on the shores
of gravity’s
existence

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

this place is crowded
standing room only
and they just keep coming
d
o
w
n
that one way ladder
forcing everyone to slither
sideways to make more room
some people slink along
slow and quiet and try to
melt away into the crowd
others come kicking and
screaming gathering handfuls
of splinters as they go
and some even take a
flying leap assuming
someone else will break
their fall
(i’ve seen that and it ain’t
pretty) while
i stand just left
of the bottom rung
handing out flyers
all prettied up and
professionally designed
saying
welcome to utopia
we’ve got 397
flavors and
they’re all called
vanilla

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

you got the moves
and she rolled her eyes
then closed them
raised her arms high
above her head to
sway like pink cosmos
in a hot
summer breeze
and he thought
invitation
when all she really
wanted
was enough decoration
to disguise the fact that
she was already
dancing
with her favorite
partner

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Linking up with the fabulous dVerse poets for Poetics, join us!

yesterday
i broke a mirror

and i cringed because
you know what they say
seven
years bad luck and all
and then i remembered
that i broke another
mirror a few years
back
seven years
more or less and
how much bad luck
can one person have
and perhaps
this means i
broke the spell
of that first
mirror
and anyway
isn’t it time
for new reflections
or at least a
different view
and i’ve heard that
your body
renews itself from
the inside out every
seven years
and seven is my lucky number
and i read recently
that a woman goes through
seven
7-year cycles
of growth in her life
which made me wonder
what happens when you
turn 50
and now i’m
about to
find out

i broke a mirror
yesterday

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

almost far away
she found
an almost disaster
supported by almost
anything but hope
and she saw
with eyes almost open
an (almost)
ordinary life
filter down
through the years
sing song and
pretending
everything
is okay
almost good
almost bad
almost pretty
almost happy
almost broken
almost beaten
almost
turned inside out
almost drunk
almost delivered
angry
almost bitter
hurt
almost fragile
vulnerable
almost hopeful
invisible
almost old
deprived
and
hanging there
in between
every almost
that existed
growing round
like a vine
clinging hard
hanging on
was always
the white space
almost never
of escape

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I found this photo on flickr and was immediately, almost creepily, drawn to it.
The original is here. Poem title is a line from a favorite Cowboy Junkies song.

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A poem a day for 30 days. In honor of National Poetry Month, this post is
part of NaPoWriMo. see more here. And also dVerse poets Open Link Night, join us!

is the one that first comes too early
and then waits too long to deliver

green promises that blindly hover
in too tight bud inside too hot days

followed by darkness that freezes
and forms brittle patterns on glass

that holds you in more than it allows you
to see out and you watch as every bowl

in the house fills with words that are
all the wrong shape and the only one

that makes any sense at all is rage
and perhaps a little bit, disappointment

and it’s not like you didn’t know
this day would come, it’s just that

no one ever tells you that when spring
turns to summer it is time to set seed

or at least they never tell you how much
work that is, all that energy spent just

so tiny bits of something will carry on
after you die and besides it is simply

much more fun to be a flower

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A poem a day for 30 days.
In honor of National Poetry Month,
this post is part of NaPoWriMo. see more here.
Also joining in the fun at dVerse poets Poetics, join us!

outrage
…….makes me tired

i know it’s not supposed to
i know i’m supposed
to stand up
for what i believe in
stamp my feet
bellow
charge

and some days i even
…….consider it

but then these words
fly at me in a barrage
of bellicose belief
…….misogynist
…….broken
…….war
…….fight
…….fix
…….heal
…….demand
and i find myself
turning my head
to dodge
meanings injected
with fortitude
…….and after a while
…….i tune it all out
…….all of it
…….word by word
…….letter by letter
…….bouncing hollow
…….because i just
…….don’t want
…….to fight
…….anymore

…….i want to stand here
…….in silence and sunshine
…….and breathe in
…….the moments of life
…….that still want to touch
…….my skin
…….and besides
…….i’m already
…….hot
…….all the time
…….already
…….bent
…….and so over
…….the differences
…….you vouchsafe
…….in all directions

…….and

…….no matter what you say
…….or how loudly you say it
…….i can still
…….hear the beat
…….of your

…….heart

.

.

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A poem a day for 30 days.
In honor of National Poetry Month,
this post is part of NaPoWriMo. see more here.
And also dVerse poets Open Link Night, join us!