that's mrs. mediocrity to you

there is always tea in my kitchen

and almost always, a cup in my hands
filled with a history that rolls on my tongue
as collective souls take their places by my side

sipping

offering advice and gathered wisdom i know
i should follow, but, being stubborn i am
always setting off to learn things on my own

rituals

become pattern and pattern becomes design
and whispers get woven in the fabric
of the living and the dead, all the women
who came to this table before i even existed

strong

like this brew that warms my fingers, my heart
stronger than despair, or anything i have endured
strong enough to stand here before me

revealing

secrets that make me smile and shore me up
against everything yet to come in this life

one season, one cup, one breath at a time

::

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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.

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

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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.

the symbolism was so obvious

one wing

one match

and icarus took flight in my mind

soaring closer and closer to the sun we all worship

though it burns and ravages

we can’t help but love

the fact that it rises

in the east and lights our way

through another day

of living

on this earth, this good earth

this landing pad for myth and feather

and though i tried not to

i could not help

but wish

i’d been there

to see him

fall.

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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.

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

::

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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.

i’ve looked in every corner
upturned every stone
…………blended shadows
…………and reached into
…………black places

………………there is nothing to be found

………………in the darkness
………………i grasp and i grab
………………as everything you’ve ever said
………………slips through my fingers

………………mercurial
………………mirroring back to me
………………the echo of a voice
………………that never existed
………………a face i cannot know
………………a heart that has
………………no rhythm

………………i sing songs
………………in the cave of existence
………………i build you a fire
………………that burns without
………………smoke

………………i breathe in the dust
………………of your desire

………………hold my breath
………………hold my breath
………………hold my
………………………..breath

………………waiting for

………………the shape of you
………………to form
………………beneath my
………………………..fingers

.

.

.

In honor of National Poetry Month,
this post is part of NaPoWriMo. see more here.
and also dVerse poets Open Link Night, join us!

he rises every day in the hours of deepest
darkness without complaint and filled
with the satisfaction that duty calls

coffee is prepared the night before
a cup stands by as silent guard
clothes are arranged in proper order

morning’s puzzle is solved without variation

he is dressed while you are dreaming
and at work before the sun

sweat pouring from his brow
for no one else to see

from one day
to the next

steadfast

::

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In honor of National Poetry Month, this post is part of NaPoWriMo. see more here.

in my next life

i will be
a gypsy

live in a tent
made from petals
and jewels

sing all the words
on a butterfly’s
wing

whisper secrets
to each phase
of the moon.

in my next life

i will
bear witness

paint the night
with humanity’s
folly

crunch bones
in my teeth
for sustenance

birth hope
in the form
of trees

reveal nothing
to everyone

and everything
to no one.

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In honor of National Poetry Month, this post is part of NaPoWriMo. see more here.