Friday, April 29, 2011

The Forgetting


We wrestle with the monster
which we perceive as sometimes you
sometimes me
why we do, say the things 
that come out wrong in a war against each other
when it is the Monster who fucks with our heads

Monster robs you of your cognizance 
makes rationality impossible
coupled with loss of short term memory
extreme frustration and irritability
over the struggle with everyday tasks
that now seem insurmountable

as you lose your patience
I invoke composure, compassion
all the while I am frightened
tense in our world that is upside down
where you who have always been supreme
now must take the backseat to me

I must make the decisions
not just what's for dinner but financial
selling the house, buying another
preparing for the questionable future
I don't feel up to the tasks while I wrestle
with the Monster

Tuesday, April 26, 2011


 Am Not A Leader

I am a leader in absentia
I demur but then I strike
with suggestions
ideas of how things might go
how it could be better

I never want the podium
never the limelight, I just
see a way and I suggest
often to resistance
falling on deaf ears

I am not a leader
prefer to abdicate
let those with vision
take charge while I am happy
to ride on their coattails

I prefer equality
yet leaders are necessary
someone to take charge
make decisions
for the benefit of all

I am a wise woman
perhaps I should
step into my shoes

Monday, April 25, 2011



Oh Lady so many to pray for
but you are life without control
the original cell
every bit of you mitosis
it is you growing into each of us
physical mutations 
psychological mutations
we are all happenstance
many weaving a Magic Carpet
that I believe we can fly away on
in prayer 
chanting heats up atoms
gets them shaking
sometimes a miracle
if we believe

I pray
I chant



I jerk awake
just before I hit bottom
my heart feels as though
it will explode out of my chest
I gasp for air
it is always dark

I am not one 
prone to falling
in love or for a gag
I protect myself
rarely physically fall
I'm great at correction

Sometimes I go down hard
just laugh and never cry
until recently I seem
to have lost all control
stumble flayed
go down in tears

From the War Zone

Little Acts of Sedition

Little acts of sedition
are my sanity
or spawned perhaps
by my insanity

Little acts go unnoticed
I flush with excitement
a way to be about danger
not the one waiting

I need the warmth 
running through my veins
from playing little games
harmless I promise

Little acts of sedition
living in a war zone
no chance of escape
no way out

Wednesday, April 13, 2011

Blue Martini

Support Group

Today we 
at Blue Martini
met to be
I startled didn't fit here
they had moved beyond

Monday, April 11, 2011

Maybe Tomorrow

Maybe Tomorrow

The reel will reverse
no ocean deep earthquake
no tsunami in Japan
no radiation threat
twenty-five thousand people alive
no families searching, no families
grieving, no families displaced

The reel will reverse 
no 9/11, two thousand seven hundred fifty one dead
no war on Afghanistan, or Iraq, 919,967 dead so far
soldiers sent to attack countries who did not attack us
innocents in both countries dying and we're not talking
about all the maimed, about lives destroyed, torn apart
and there is Egypt and Libya, and yet another war

The reel will reverse
no earthquake in Haiti, no hurricane in New Orleans
no ozone layer depletion, no financial meltdown
no Vietnam, they're still counting casualties forty years later
no Korea, no Third Reich, no genocide, no camps, no ovens
no more atrocities the reel must spin madly ahead to find
a peaceful world that respects all needs, no wars

Maybe tomorrow we will stop warring in our own government
between the haves and the have nots, and the parties who
pretend to represent each all the while they are representing
their own interests and it has nothing to do with the people
it is their own posturing, their own agendas, whoever is lining
their pockets and we are the dupes, once upon a time there
was dignity and honesty and best interests for the people

now the parties have people fighting people over the things
that will help the people, but everything is cloaked in innuendo
and no one without a law degree understands what is real as
they take up the cudgel to smash that which benefits them 
because they are too easily led to the slaughter of big business
self interests with politicians in their pockets and so nothing
happens on The Hill because morality is dead

The reel reverses all the way to the beginning of homo sapiens 
and not a thing changes, we look after our basic needs, clan together
to protect ourselves from the enemy, our brothers and sisters in the
rest of the world, create our weapons of destruction to defend or attack
just chimps chewing on ligaments, meat eaters, when we should eat
leaves, and we wale away on each other with drones and stealths
and it will only end in war or cataclysmic events we are unprepared to face

Sunday, April 10, 2011

Never Again

Never Again

Never again will I bear a child
my body no longer lays eggs
Never again will I phone my Mom
her body now lies in a grave
Never again hear my Dad's stories
he and his Liar's Club passed on
Never again enjoy my Grandmother's
old fashion garden of flowers and herbs
Never again eat my Grandfather's 
own homemade sill and lutefisk 
Never again romp with Max
Bufo Toad took him down
Never again hear cousin Nancy
play guitar and sing folk songs
Never again look for Norm
to pass me in a sports car
Never again run an eighteen minute
5K, runners need not laugh
Never again will I not write poetry
no matter how bad
Never again will I not thrill to beauty
nature and love all around me
Never again will I not give thanks
for every blessed day that I live

Saturday, April 9, 2011

Thoughts After a Mary Oliver Reading

Thoughts After a Mary Oliver Poetry Reading

"Appreciate the violets before they disappear,
The heron swooping over the pond is the poem 
I wish I had written"...her voice fades away.
The US in financial ruin, one trillion dollar debt
every year for the next ten years, no hope.
Climate, education, health care, police and fire
protection, jobs, homes, industry all crumble.
Politics as usual, a dirty little game played to
stay in office, line pockets, laugh all the way
to the bank, while the middle class disappears
two classes now, many poor, wealth concentrated 
Wars the world over, brothers killing brothers
Japan devastated in the latest natural disaster 
while Haiti and New Orleans still strive to recover
Donal Trump is campaigning for President
courting the Tea Party vote, a ticket I envision:
Trump/Palin in 2012, "and the beat goes on."
"Some days it's not worth even chewing through the restraints."

Friday, April 8, 2011



They're family you see
one week housed
visit as they please
immunes doused

they could stay forever
no possible eviction
as hard as we endeavor
to rid the affliction

our armies reconnaissance 
goes after their own troops
autoimmune intelligence
kicks us with their boots

I am rising from 
my week of misery
coughing done
I'm ready to make history

I do a 5K in the morning
hope I walk across the line 
I will give the golf carts warning
I might need to take a ride

Thursday, April 7, 2011



Rain rises
off cherry stained pavement
I skid along in torrential
Sam are you
my Guardian Angel
circular you appear
from your blog that
rounds back to my
Guardian Angel poem
et vous timide?
Your poetic responses
play pinball psyche
with my soul

Wednesday, April 6, 2011

Against My Window

Against My Window

No rain appears across fields
that roll gold to the wind break
hazy sky over blue mountains 
sheers billow in on breeze
moisture coming I hear his truck
grind up the road kicking dirt
while I watch by the window
he's been gone three days
his customary practice for which
he allows no conversation
I suppose I should be happy
that he returns home to me
takes me to bed and pounds 
out his fury upon me

No rain appears across fields
burned to brown to the wind break
clouds over blue mountains
sheers lash in gusts
lightening strikes I hear his truck
grind up the road kicking clouds
while I wait by the window
he's been gone three days
his customary practice for which
he allows no conversation
today he gets his chance to talk
rain is here sheeting in rivulets
running quick to gully washers
flushing everything away 

Tuesday, April 5, 2011

From the Tropics

From the Tropics

Don't let summer come too soon
this spring day will float away
brief butterfly two months gone
iridescent wings flutter my cheek
grown damp in summer advance

Monday, April 4, 2011

It's April

It's April

I want to write a poem
a poem a day for April
National Poetry Month
but, I'm down and out
a bad cold, exhausted

I want to write a great poem
the best poem for today
but I am tired and worn
my whole body hurts
drugs waft through my brain
coagulating my intension

I want to write a poem today
I know it's stuck in gray matter
disrupted all night by coughing
not sleeping well, just tired
so damned tired, third cold
this year, what gives

I want to write a great poem
I am limited by my slow brain
so I am trundling through 
getting words down to try to
explain why I am stymied 
I can't write a poem today

Sunday, April 3, 2011

If The World Never Knew Me

If The World Never Knew Me

Is the timbre of my voice such
that it rhythms perfectly 
cascading outward forever
a part to balance the universe?

Some say there is a lesson in everything.
Was I an instrument of edification for those 
whose paths have crossed mine?
Did I bring pain because I was pain's purpose?

Was I a vehicle of growth or destruction?
If destruction, was our karma intertwined?
Would the world be unfolding better or worse
or no different if I had not been born?

Were there people I touched who were happy
because they knew me, angry or disappointed?  
I have known both and not known how or if
I may have affected some. 

Would the world have missed my daughter
could it have gone on without us, could it
have been better or worse?  Are we born
for a reason or is there no plan, no design?

Were there lovers I knew who still remember
that night we lay together in sweet new bliss?
Do they wonder where I am, if I am or whether
I was a figment of their imagination?

Has the world heard my sweetness and my
anger and were they both part of the whole?
Is the world a big jigsaw puzzle and I don't fit
and are there others who wonder the way I do?  

Saturday, April 2, 2011



White snow world
black tree branches
glimpse of tan deer
leftover berries startle
winter worn existence 

Friday, April 1, 2011

How I Got Here

How I Got Here

I seem a sharp spiked bit of plant
a seed stuck on a flannel shirt ride for thirty years
exotic invader without direction
ever on the move farther and farther from my roots
unable to loosen my fierce attachment
put down new roots and bloom on my own
at last I look from this flowerpot at a foreign scene
can only hope my chosen vehicle 
remembers to water me