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.

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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.

my wit has left the building and
elvis is everywhere

i have wrinkles on my ankles and
my favorite pajamas
are unraveling

i love crows but that
doesn’t make me dark
at least not as far
as you know

i survive on
hope and chocolate
wine and water
pickles and promises

i spent the first 49 years
of my life hatching
a wise old crone

i expected to hate her
but find myself
suddenly falling in
love

my sister cried when
elvis died
and all i could do
was hold her hand

while she said
yeah yeah yeah

and that’s from a song
you’ve probably never
heard

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the unspoken syllable that catches in your throat

.

the kite caught in the high bird branches of a tree

.

the smile that plays across your lips on a thought kept silent

.

the reflection of a life in another broken mirror

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the leaf that never made its way to freedom

.

apparently i’ve forgotten
how to be offended on my own
i need instructions
reinforcements
coaching and
missives, shouts and apoplectic
derision

to come to the conclusion
that everything you say
or do
or think is wrong
even when it is

i wander these streets
lost but not wanting
to be found

listening

shhhh

listen

here
i can hear
myself think

remember thinking

back before it was
all done out
loud

and i’m craving grey
with its less than stark
observations

something soft and not
at all cataclysmic

to rest my head on

for just

one minute

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

::

what you see

is what you get

::

the corn is thirsty

the farmers are hungry

vultures are sated

and herons

have moved on to greener pastures

i can’t see the beginning

or hear the end

i am cracked and bone dry brittle

i dance beneath the blue

of the somebody said so moon

i am alone but not at all lonely

i pitch a tent and

sit cross-legged in the dark

trees whisper of water

longing is an empty form of love

dehydration is the blind form of longing

and forty days would never be enough

to save us

from the landscape

of our lives

The swamp down the road from us has dried up on one side, leaving small puddles filled with frantic fish and no escape.

For the birds, herons and turkey vultures and seagulls alike, it is a smorgasbord.

For photographers, it has been a gift.

This is the second time in the past 10 years this has happened. Heat and drought adding up to evaporation.

The food chain forming its own long necklace of death, and life.

I walk down the road and watch it happen without knowing why. Herons by the handful when usually, seeing one is a gift. Vultures making beautiful tracks across the sky, too far away to reveal their own ugliness.

And all the while, little fish, swimming their way towards nowhere.

it’s easy to miss
all those tiny trapped wishes
held aloft in tight spots and spaces
holding breath and
harboring hope
or at least something
resembling optimism

fragile
diaphanous
ethereal

that’s what you think
when you see them there
hanging on for dear life or

shuddering in the slightest breeze
just waiting to be set free

when in truth
they are stronger
than you

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the rules of karma
are hard to follow

…….so much is unintentional
…….and yet, pain is caused

…….i never kill spiders
…….but stay away from me
…….if you’re a fly

…….that hardly seems fair

…….i am biased
…….despite all attempts
…….at magnanimity

i sit here in this garden
i pull weeds that want to grow
i displace ants and snails
…….simply striving to survive

…….we all play god
…….in our own small way

bending rules
breaking promises

…….forgiving
…………forgetting
……………..pretending

…….awards are given
…….for best posture

…….stand tall

…….reach for the sky

…………offer penance
……………..for a pittance

……………..next time,
……………..you will soar

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