that's mrs. mediocrity to you

.

and hummingbirds, too

.

tree frogs and sunshine

and a big bowl of sky for breakfast

.

my heart dances on the morning

when spring came to town

.

.

.

i’m pinning all my hopes on you
tired of this ride and this blue tide and
this ancillary stream
of consciousness
you pull my way
every day
may
slips away
weeds twining
up parallel ankles
everything’s growing
and this mud is downhill shifting and
i’m pinning all my hopes on you

.

.

.

Comfort zones. They get tighter as we get older, much like that favorite pair of jeans. We get set in our ways, and we like that, mostly, we find comfort in routine and pattern and the familiar.

But life is too complicated to allow us to stay in any one place for very long. Just when we settle in and start feeling all warm and fuzzy, something happens, something changes, and we have to learn how to move through life all over again. And I’m okay with that. It keeps things interesting at the very least.

We go through phases. And they’re called phases because they are slices of time that have a beginning and an end.

The leaves on the oakleaf hydrangea just outside my studio window are just about to open. Dozens of buds waiting for just the right moment. Each one unique, if you look closely, yet all part of the same mother plant. Yes, that’s a metaphor. A nice reminder to myself this morning, a sunny moment in a week that’s been filled with clouds both literal and figurative.

I am learning new things. It is making my brain hurt, which happens as you get older. My body is holding me hostage with hormones, and I keep reminding myself that I am becoming. Moving on. Getting ready to open to a new season of life.

Pfft. That makes it sound pretty, and quite honestly, it’s not. But it’s going to happen just the same, and I’m going to embrace all of it, even the rage. (Yes, there is rage.)

Maybe you lose something as the years go by, bits of innocence and wonder, but you don’t forget they exist.

I think.

Maybe I’ll find my way back, or perhaps I’ll end up in a different place altogether. Yes. I’m pretty sure that’s the answer.

But I’m still asking questions. And I’m still going to open, even when it is painful.

Because there is sun to feel on my face, and a garden to plant, again, and all these people to love with the heart of a crone.

Reasons enough to spread my arms wide.

Reasons enough.

.

.

.

and you cling to the thread of recognition
stitched up your arm proclaiming you
mended

when torn is what you are

not broken

torn and sewn
back together
with the needle
of forgiveness

and these aren’t neat, tiny stitches
these are meant to leave a scar

a mark you’ll wear as badge
as you walk into battle

fragile and crumbling
paper thin

unyielding

.

.

.

what’s around
the next corner is always mystery

walk anyway
heart open

be a little naive
on occasion

grin at corny jokes
and let a child win

there are a million second chances
and there are no second chances

the path always starts at the beginning
but we never know where it ends

keep walking

sing

spread your arms wide

twirl in circles

be the fool
filled with wonder
be the fool

laugh like there’s no
tomorrow

.

.

Whew, I didi it! A poem a day for 30 days, in honor of National Poetry Month: Day 30
I’m participating in NaPoWriMo, and the Writer’s Digest Poem a Day Challenge

Today’s theme is PAD’s write a dead end poem.

i remember:

racing barefoot through wet grass at first light

northern lights glowing green above a broken picnic table

three moons on three nights

innocence and wonder (lost and reclaimed)

the sound of my own heart breaking

forgetting to look both ways

holding the feather of your hand in a sea of rough sheets

scattered petals on a bridge leading forward

the owlish sound of love

being here being there being here

remembering

.

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A poem a day for 30 days, in honor of National Poetry Month: Day 29
I’m participating in NaPoWriMo, and the Writer’s Digest Poem a Day Challenge

Today’s theme is a combo of NaPo’s I remember: and PAD’s write a haphazard poem.

buy me an election and i will sing a song
or crow at least
about
wide avenues and what we all deserve

as if deserving
was a right handed down
by a king in midas disguise
and you think that’s a joke

but i saw him once
touch a baby and just after that
a dark weapon
and neither one has the nerve
now to tarnish

and no one’s listening

no

one’s listening

there is music in every
hallway
but the lights are out

and we are all pretending
not to hear

we are all too busy
being busy
fighting
for the corner office
in a building
shaped by vaults
and steal

.

.

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A poem a day for 30 days, in honor of National Poetry Month: Day 28
I’m participating in NaPoWriMo, and the Writer’s Digest Poem a Day Challenge

Today’s theme is PAD’s write an important _________ poem.

thanks to frost
we all have a path
mapped out in our minds
marked with the sign
of less taken

the squirrel doesn’t care
if you’ve been here before
he only knows
you’ve disturbed
his last nap

he’s marked anyway
with numbered days and
peanut offering
drowning out the sound
of fancy rodent

and you take possession
of land you’ve just stepped on
thinking mine and wild
and go away and
meanwhile the sky

is laughing

.

.

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A poem a day for 30 days, in honor of National Poetry Month: Day 27
I’m participating in NaPoWriMo, and the Writer’s Digest Poem a Day Challenge

Today’s theme is PAD’s take off.

we spend our lives
learning the truth about love

how some days it shares
a pocket with hate

and there is never enough
or too much
or any amount just right

we get all twisted with
lust and false longing

in over our heads
thinking we must choose

there is never a choice
and it all seems so
brittle fragile

strong enough to kill us
strong enough to be there

on a day sixty years and
several winters from freedom

when a heart left hanging
stops beating and we know
we know

the (w)hole
we’ve fallen into

.

.

.

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A poem a day for 30 days, in honor of National Poetry Month: Day 26
I’m participating in NaPoWriMo, and the Writer’s Digest Poem a Day Challenge

Today’s theme is PAD’s write a love poem, or, write an anti-love poem. Clearly, I couldn’t decide.

The tulips turn to me, and the window behind me*

singing red in a song i have no words for

and you think blood, but i think crimson

and that is the way of things

between us

always

.

.

.

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A poem a day for 30 days, in honor of National Poetry Month: Day 25
I’m participating in NaPoWriMo, and the Writer’s Digest Poem a Day Challenge

Today’s theme is a combo of NaPo’s use a line from another poem and PAD’s exercise.

*This line is from Sylvia Plath’s “Tulips”.