that's mrs. mediocrity to you

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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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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in my dreams

there is a house with too many rooms
painted in colors i don’t really care for
filled with someone else’s furniture

books fall from stacks on a staircase
floors have paths worn deep into filth
bedrooms are all filled with strangers

i am lost in the heart of nowhere
where no one ever offers a map
there is always light when i want darkness

and no one has ever heard the word

escape

::

::

::

A poem a day for 30 days, in honor of National Poetry Month.
This post is part of NaPoWriMo. see more here.

you couldn’t call it insomnia
exactly
this lying here staring at the moon
but you would never call it sleeping
either

even when i lie
still so still so perfectly still
she weaves her way
through branch and blind
writing long letters on misty pane

inscribing
sentimental signals meant for
no one and everyone

in some long forgotten language
always cryptic and teasing,
mocking and daring

until i take the bait and rise
to plant warm feet on cold hard floor
and finally look her in the eye

all proud and angry and defiant

to discover nothing more
than my own moon face
round and white and staring back at me
in a flawless transparent reflection
i almost never

recognize

::

::

::

A poem a day for 30 days, in honor of National Poetry Month.
This post is part of NaPoWriMo. see more here.

oh, i won’t be quiet

i will not go gently
or silently
or even gracefully

i will kick and scream
claw and writhe
curse and bite and
throws things at you

your thumb
may leave its print
on the corner
of my heart

but even if
i have to tear
that corner off

to get away

to be heard

to stand alone
in the forest of
farce
you call freedom

i won’t be quiet

and if you try to
silence me
shut me up
sing me to sleep

i will climb my way
into your dreams
reveal all your

secrets

to the monster
of your

nightmare
but i won’t whisper

i won’t be quiet

::

::

::

A poem a day for 30 days, in honor of National Poetry Month.
This post is part of NaPoWriMo. see more here.

I’ve been thinking so hard lately that my brain hurts. Thoughts swirl around in my head until all I can hear is the howl of wind. I wish I could say that I’ve been thinking about something profound, but, no, just ordinary, everyday, very mediocre things.

Of course, there has been a lot to think about with all that is going on in the world. And while that has all been added to the mix, most of what’s been swirling around inside my brain is internal, what I should, or should not, be doing with my life kind of stuff.

It feels like one long experiment.

Of course, that is not necessarily a bad thing, it is precisely that constant change that keeps us on our toes. But you can only stand on tiptoe for just so long before your muscles start to ache. A little stability would be nice, I’m thinking. Perhaps some alignment would be good.

The other day, as I was whining to myself, it occurred to me that I have it all wrong. That no one, nowhere, ever said it would be easy. Or if they did, they were talking out both sides of their mouth. It wasn’t so long ago, in the history of man, that day to day life was simply a matter of survival. That all our time was spent hunting, gathering, defending, surviving. In fact, for some of us on this earth right now, that it still the way of it.

There is no easy button. We keep trying to find one, though. I see it everyday, everywhere around me, people searching for the magic that will make life perfect, or meaningful, or safe, or continuously happy.

But it doesn’t exist. Nothing will ever make every single moment of life perfect. There will always be bouts of wind and hail and sleet and rain to batter you as you try to put down roots, stand tall, keep growing. There may even be the occasional flood, or blizzard, or tornado. Those are the moments when you hang on for dear life, and if you make it through, when they are over, you are grateful just to be alive.

You straighten up, stand tall, reach for the sky.

Because the simple truth is that life is hard.

But also, it’s beautiful.

some days you have to peel back some skin
just to be certain who you are.

the pretty face you put on for the world
can only disguise so much

and then the mystery starts bleeding through
the edges, those places that are frayed

and torn, held together with yellow cellophane
no longer necessary to hold that old wound

together, but a comfort of habit just the same.
lift it away and your scars are revealed,

white-edged and deeper than anyone can guess,
even you. smooth planes are only for

the innocent, the unscathed, the empty-handed.
it’s the skeleton that always tells the real

story, dancing alone in the closet like a fool.
at night i can hear the wind whistling

through all the cracks and patches
in my heart, and every so often

the sound finds a way to mimic
the cut of yesterday’s knife.

.

.

.

this post is part of dVerse poets Open Link Night, join us!

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by dawn the stars have been forced behind the curtain
all sparkling chitter chatter must be silenced
as the boss man takes his place in the sky
defeating darkness inch by inch and
rapping at windows to prove his prowess

i shield my eyes and make wishes on pennies

rise to stand here sipping tea and folding laundry
feeling small and perfectly ordinary creating
order from chaos one shirt at a time living
always in the circle of my mind that glows in
patterns as rich as sunshine and at night

i simply try to remember the light

.

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this post is part of dVerse poets Open Link Night join us!

in my sleep i can skate to the other side
…………artfully missing all the weak spots
…………gliding smoothly in arcs and swashes

…………………but in the light of day i lie on my belly
…………………………….scoot my way across the thinnest places
………………………the ones where i can see bottom and

…………words wave up at me, asking to be rescued
…………or at least remembered (even willing to be
………………………….used) but this ice
…………………………………refuses to shatter

…………………or split
……………………..or splinter and

…………………i have no opening
…………all i can do is watch as phrase and dangling
…………………….participle sink down into mud

…………to be eaten later by hungry catfish, or
………………………occasionally
………………..disintegrating before my eyes
………………………………letters break off
…………………………………………..and slowly
…………………………………..begin

……………….their ascent to the surface
……………………..spelling words i hadn’t thought of
…………………………………that stick
……………..………………to the underside
…………………………………….of this cold glass sheet

………………………………………………….teasing me
………………….………….……………taunting me

………………………………..i can see them,
……………………………hear them,
…………………………………spell them out on
…………………………………….my tongue
……………                   ……………but they remain
……………………………………………………..out of reach

………………………begging
……………………………for warmth as i

…………………………………….press my cheek to the ice

………………………………………………………shivering

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this post is part of dVerse poets Open Link Night join us!