that's mrs. mediocrity to you

you hold all life’s gifts in your heart

all folded up and tucked
into the tiniest of pockets
held in place with
a gilded button flap

and you might even
forget all about them
for years at a time

but then one day

a moment will come and
you will sit down
quietly
in some corner
somewhere
and

unbutton

unfold

unforget

everything you’ve ever known

hold it gently
in your palm

slowly
breathe life
back into
that tiny body

offer
strength
and air and
vision
and hope

until eventually
both of you
begin to smile

in recognition

.

.

.

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

::

into

the

possibilities

of life

and

basking

in the glow

of

never mind

::

This November clematis was one of the last gifts
from my garden this year.

Two days ago, a heron flew over my house through a light snow.

This morning, three goldfinch stopped by my window feeder.

Life is full of surprises, gifts, moments.

And the older I get, the more these things feel like treasures.

Being alive feels like a privilege.

Breathing in the crisp fall air on a morning that’s
using frost as a blanket is all I need.

In less than two weeks, on November 27th, I am turning 50.

Fifty!

That seems like a number worth celebrating.

And so, I invite you to join me on that day in a celebration
of life, here, with a blog-link party.

Share how you celebrate life, in any format you wish,
a post, a photo, a poem, a song… and then
come back here and add your link.

Let’s celebrate life, together.

Okay?

Click here to go to the celebration post and add your link!

.

i like a nice cotton blanket

warm from the dryer and smoothed
out just so, laid to rest
just beneath that quilt he
bought for christmas one year

flying geese in all my favorite colors

and i bring it out each winter
tuck in corners, tsk tsk about the tiny
rip right there on the edge

a sign, i think
of wear and tear

or love

whichever you prefer

.

tonight i will take a long hot bath
so that later i might slide
clean toes between cool sheets

and this heavy cover of birds and blue
will weigh me down just enough
to keep me centered through those months
of white and wind that always threaten
to carry me off somewhere

now

you might think
i’m just a silly old woman
writing poems about ants
and apples and cotton blankets

but i tell you

this is where life is

.

.

.

.

.

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

is hope.

::

birds become leaves

blown fast from trees

in a hurricane of light

::

.

.

.

.

.

My small stone for Mindful Writing Day. Join in here.

::

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.

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

.

.

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