that's mrs. mediocrity to you

the sun moves in warm squeaky slithers of light
and i have acres of work still to cover today
yet i rest my head on this crumb-coated table
to watch an ant drag his dead friend home

i remind myself that he feels no grief and is,
in fact, simply gathering supper… i can’t help
but admire his tenacity and try not to inject
humanity into mother nature’s mandala

my heads feels as heavy as the body of resistance
that refuses to fit through a crack in the floor
and somewhere in my mind a song starts to play
about the sky and an ant and a rubber tree plant

and i think how easy it would be to stand up,
end the struggle unfolding before me, a squash
and a crunch and futility becomes forever but
i’m tired, oh so tired, and i kind of like the view

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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.

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!

i could fill up a house

with all the things

i need

and you would laugh

at the emptiness

before you

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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.

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!

.

beckons

screams

flails

whispers

.

she knows

everything

except

how to die

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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.

what started out as a run on a day when bones
were too weary tired achy grinding against each other

sorry to carry me further farther faster anywhere
became a walk in which words dropped from my shoulders

like perspiration and all i could think about was what
would happen if i just kept walking kept walking in a line

that’s never straight or to the point or drawn with a
ruler, a line that goes on forever or at least all the way

to pennsylvania and then i decided it might be better
to be a bird with no luggage to carry, no decisions

to make no time for pause or regret or indecision
my only concern would be survival there would

always be food to forage or some kind soul
to set out seed and i would travel light

so light all scattered feathers and
fabulous views and each day

would end with
a 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.

i will take a picture of silence
she said
and giggled into
her tall glass of wine that
should have been lemonade or
at least some pretty russian vodka
and you threw me that look across
acres of time we have both already
crossed in bare feet and blisters
and the only thing left to do
was smile

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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.

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!

i live in a place where quiet roams the streets

and birds are my alarm

windows open all night to a symphony of peepers

and the possibility of predator is

a four-legged shadow that almost never

crosses my path

while silence hides under rocks and slithers

away from the light

never quite reaching its destination

this is the anti-city

overpopulated only by mole and chipmunk

tunnel travelers who dig their own map

bending around rock and rising up

to find the jaws of hunger

or absolutely nothing

just bare sky hanging low

so close you can smell

the fragrance of stars

or feel the brush of a wingtip

on your shoulder

::

::

::

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

the way love can grab you
in the words of a song
playing in your head from
thirty three years ago
when you thought you were
someone whole and perfect
long before you saw the way
the roots you’d grown
had taken a turn in
directions you’d never
dreamed of and everything
you thought was real
became tangled up in
everything you know is true
and there you are growing
towards the sun with all
these bits of you
exposed in tendrils
of yesterday that
look like tomorrow
dancing in the breeze
a broken ballerina
and that is the
tree of life

::

::

::

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