Sweet, sweet smile

You're a slow ride down a country mile.
You're the smell of apple pie to the blind.
You're the last light on a July western sky.
You're the center of the watermelon,
You're a sweet, sweet smile.
-- Martha Scanlan

hear me

hear the words rising
from the breathe in my body
i am not afraid

it's true...i do.

Tectonics

We fit so easily,
So effortlessly.
We were naive to think
The world would move to
Fit around us.

Smiley

Plain 'ol mean people
Who think they're being funny
As they insult you,
Need a forced smiley bagging.
Schwap! I'm just saying.

Con-Fused

"Dearest, when you go,
You take me with you."
The notion, so sweetly cliche.
In practice, so shockingly raw.
My love turned to fear.

I didn't feel it happen.
Was there a moment,
While I was sleeping,
When my senses abandoned
My body for yours?

Without you I waver and bend.
Confused. Unfused.
Like my magnet has lost true north.
Or could it be that I now point
To a truer north.

Happier than...

Apart

The pain of missing
Softened by this, though apart
Together in heart.

Our History

Pieces of who we are, who we were, only hours ago.
Moments I want to keep but surely will forget.
How can I hold to the ether of this feeling?
Stop and preserve each sensation?

I dive back into the history of us
The waters are shallow,
Spilling over with an influx of the new.

How can I expand the holding place
Not simply watch our history overflow and fall away?

Heat
Those first days when we conversed in a fever like we were on fire and our breathy words might blow it out.
Sweet
The taste of the yellowjacket cocktail on your lips when we kissed like teenagers in front of the Friday night bar goers.
Wave
The shock then anger then confusion then relief of hitting the wall and being okay.
Ever
Your hand on my back in the crowd and the noise.
Your eyes on my face so focused, so honest.

Our history boiled down to a word, a twinge.
I can't trap the escaping steam.
Put a lid on it!
Build the tank higher!
It is no use
These memories will be made and lost.

Still, there is comfort.
It is what remains of our history, my love.
It is this love, our love.

Haunted

Ghosts live in this place.
Secrets clinging to the moss
Pollenate the breeze.
Bringing to my cheek the chill
Of lonely long lost.

Complete

Complete.
A sweet river burns
The back of my throat.
It fills the pit
But painfully.

Painfully full,
This feels like home.
Far better than
The lonely hell of
Fearfully empty.

More Than You Knew to Ask For

Humility is not one to command.
Power, control, impatience
are patriarchs of our small universe.
Prized, practiced, perfected.
But with a little humility,
timid and small though it may be,
the greater universe --
the one we feel but do not know --
will provide with grace
more than you ever knew to ask for.
It is a law of nature,
like gravity, relativity, mortality.
An open mind and an open heart
beg to be filled.
Closed, controlled, corrupted,
they beg to be opened, forcefully.

Trying to fit in

Belonging

an affinity
so simple
and still
so strange

wanting so long
to belong

never belonging
with anyone

now here is one
with whom to belong

belonging
so simple
and still
so strange

i belong to me
with you
i belong with you

Toothpick My Eyelids

Too happy to sleep
Time is at a premium
Caffeine required

Cycle of Red

Red of a blood sun
So short a time remaining
Brown, dead, again green

No More on the Riverbank

The river runs and here I wait,
Standing on the riverbank,
Watching others jump with ease,
Rag-doll limbs, all smiles and knees.
They thrill to fill the space within,
Until the water tumbles them.
They struggle, sputter back to shore.
I never cared to jump before.

And now a new, warm breeze blows in.
The current quickens, waters spin.
Surprised, I feel the need to jump,
Hoping, thrilling, scared but willing.
I raise my arms, run for the ledge,
and take off from the grassy edge.
Waves of cold, both fast and deep,
Cannot conquer, cover me.
Holding to the rock I've found,
I float and find I feel at home.

People Are So Strange

    People are so strange.
    You never can predict them.
    Shhh, just go with it.

     photo: Parke Harrison

If You're Happy and You Know It...

Yesterday I didn't know.
Today I do, but wait...nope, don't know anymore.
Wednesday I was afraid.
Today I'm not, oh...well...yea, maybe I am.
Tuesday I really wanted it.
Today I'm ambivalent, actually, give it.
Monday I squeeled in joy.
Today I'm subdued, but Yay!!!!
Sunday I woke up with a frown.
Today I fell out of bed, but I'm smiling.

Spring is on its way

Spring is on its way.
Tart, light, sweet. It is waking.
Puker...bask...release.

Baby Suggs Sermon on Love from Beloved by Toni Morrison

Baby Suggs called the women to her. “Cry,” she told them. “For the living and the dead. Just cry.” And without covering their eyes the women let loose. It started that way: laughing children, dancing men, crying women and then it got mixed up. Women stopped crying and danced; men sat down and cried; children danced, women laughed, children cried until, exhausted and riven, all and each lay about the Clearing damp and gasping for breath."

In the silence that followed, Baby Suggs, holy, offered up to them her great big heart...“Here,” she said, “in this here place, we flesh; flesh that weeps, laughs; flesh that dances on bare feet in grass. Love it. Love it hard. Yonder they do not love your flesh. They despise it...No more do they love the skin on your back. Yonder they flay it. And O my people they do not love your hands. Those they only use, tie, bind, chop off and leave empty. Love your hands! Love them! Raise them up and kiss them. Touch others with them, pat them together, stroke them on your face ‘cause they don’t love that either. You got to love it, you! And no, they ain’t in love with your mouth. Yonder, out there, they will see it broken and break it again.What you say out of it they will not heed…What you put into it to nourish your body they will snatch away and give leavins instead. No they don’t love your mouth. You got to love it.”

“This is flesh I’m talking about here. Flesh that needs to be loved. Feet that need to rest and to dance; backs that need support; shoulders that need arms, strong arms I’m telling you. And oh my people, out yonder, hear me, they do not love your neck unnoosed and straight. So love your neck; put a hand on it, grace it, stroke it, and hold it up. And all your inside parts that they’d just as soon slop for hogs, you got to love them. The dark, dark liver - love it, love it, and the beat and beating heart, love that too. More than eyes or feet…More than your life-holding womb and your live-giving private parts, hear me now, love your heart. For this is the prize.”

Saying no more, she stood up then and danced with her twisted hip the rest of what her heart had to say while the others opened their mouths and gave her the music. Long notes held until the four-part harmony was perfect enough for their deeply loved flesh.

Lo (ahhhh!) ve

"Hi, my name is Love."
"Oh, um, take a step back please,
You're a bit too close."

What is this crazy
thing that I want so badly
but fear so deeply?

Happy

Goblin Market by Christina Rossetti (1862)

Lately, I've been reading my favorite works to try to get my inspiration back. Goblin Market is one of my absolute favorite poems ever written.

MORNING and evening
Maids heard the goblins cry:
"Come buy our orchard fruits,
Come buy, come buy:
Apples and quinces,
Lemons and oranges,
Plump unpecked cherries-
Melons and raspberries,
Bloom-down-cheeked peaches,
Swart-headed mulberries,
Wild free-born cranberries,
Crab-apples, dewberries,
Pine-apples, blackberries,
Apricots, strawberries--
All ripe together
In summer weather--
Morns that pass by,
Fair eves that fly;
Come buy, come buy;
Our grapes fresh from the vine,
Pomegranates full and fine,
Dates and sharp bullaces,
Rare pears and greengages,
Damsons and bilberries,
Taste them and try:
Currants and gooseberries,
Bright-fire-like barberries,
Figs to fill your mouth,
Citrons from the South,
Sweet to tongue and sound to eye,
Come buy, come buy."


Evening by evening
Among the brookside rushes,
Laura bowed her head to hear,
Lizzie veiled her blushes:
Crouching close together
In the cooling weather,
With clasping arms and cautioning lips,
With tingling cheeks and finger-tips.
"Lie close," Laura said,
Pricking up her golden head:
We must not look at goblin men,
We must not buy their fruits:
Who knows upon what soil they fed
Their hungry thirsty roots?"
"Come buy," call the goblins
Hobbling down the glen.
"O! cried Lizzie, Laura, Laura,
You should not peep at goblin men."
Lizzie covered up her eyes
Covered close lest they should look;
Laura reared her glossy head,
And whispered like the restless brook:
"Look, Lizzie, look, Lizzie,
Down the glen tramp little men.
One hauls a basket,
One bears a plate,
One lugs a golden dish
Of many pounds' weight.
How fair the vine must grow
Whose grapes are so luscious;
How warm the wind must blow
Through those fruit bushes."
"No," said Lizzie, "no, no, no;
Their offers should not charm us,
Their evil gifts would harm us."
She thrust a dimpled finger
In each ear, shut eyes and ran:
Curious Laura chose to linger
Wondering at each merchant man.
One had a cat's face,
One whisked a tail,
One tramped at a rat's pace,
One crawled like a snail,
One like a wombat prowled obtuse and furry,
One like a ratel tumbled hurry-scurry.
Lizzie heard a voice like voice of doves
Cooing all together:
They sounded kind and full of loves
In the pleasant weather.


Laura stretched her gleaming neck
Like a rush-imbedded swan,
Like a lily from the beck,
Like a moonlit poplar branch,
Like a vessel at the launch
When its last restraint is gone.

Make a Wish

Woody's World - Three-Minute Fiction Round Six

Charlie perches on a red vinyl stool belly-up to his usual, hot roast beef on white bread, smothered in brown gravy. Outside, the icy drizzle mimics fog. Charlie shivers and rubs his rough hands together. Vernon, his current boss and future father-in-law if he plays his cards right, sits beside him, scowling and poking at his mashed potatoes.

Though every table in the Story City Café is full, only the clink of forks and the occasional satisfied grunt breaks the silence. They’re the regulars – hard Iowa men at their midday meal. No need for discussion. Charlie picks up a newspaper and skims the funnies between bites.

The bell on the door rings out as a mother and child crash into the café, dripping and frenzied. Arms at his sides, the boy wails open-mouthed. His mother kneels in front of him and, brushing the water from his coat, begs him under her breath to be a good boy.

Forks still and the diners watch unabashed as she pulls her screaming son to the counter, plunks him on a high stool and orders a milkshake from the frowning café owner.

“Look, honey,” she pleads near her son’s tear-stained face. “You’re gonna get a milkshake! Doesn’t that make you happy?”

The howling continues.

“Don’t make him happy,” Vernon grumbles loudly to his mashed potatoes. “Make him behave.”

The color leaves her face as the mother looks from Vernon to the ground.

“Hey there, kiddo!” Charlie calls in a loud voice. He grabs the newspaper and makes his way to the boy, all eyes following him with interest.

“Look at this comic. It’s real funny.”

The boy quiets and looks where Charlie is pointing.

“It’s Woody’s World,” Charlie continues. “See, in this one Woody’s driving his truck and trailer but some oaf crashed into the trailer from behind. Otis, Woody’s horse, has gotten outta the trailer and is kicking the ever-living craaa….” he stops himself, “car like to dent it, cause he’s mad. And look! Here comes Woody and says to his horse, ‘I’ll handle this, Otis!’”

Charlie chuckles and looks up from the comic to see the child is wholly unimpressed, his bottom lip quaking, but his mother’s face beams with gratitude. Right on time, the milkshake arrives with a tall twisty straw that corks a new eruption of sobs. Charlie returns to his stool and the clinking and grunting resumes from all corners.

Later, after the milkshake is gone and the bell signaling the mother and son’s departure has quieted, Vernon mumbles, “Lemme see that comic.”

Charlie hands the paper over. Vernon reads for a moment, then, slowly, his face appears to crack and his lips bend. As he starts to snort, Charlie, watching in amazement, copies him inadvertently. Vernon begins to laugh, first in a hoarse chuckle, then in a loud belly-shaking guffaw, and Charlie follows suit. Soon the two are slapping each other and gasping for air, tears streaming from their eyes. Forks stop again as the diners turn to stare at the second outburst of the mealtime.

Their laughter finally quieting, Vernon looks over at Charlie’s plate. “You pert near done?”

“Yeah, I guess I am.”

Sliding simultaneously from their stools, Vernon and Charlie head to the register.
The price of the lunch special is always the same, but the owner tells them anyway. “That’ll be two bucks each.”

Charlie pulls two bills from his fold, but Vernon steps between him and the counter and lays down four bills. Turning to Charlie, he smiles and says, “I’ll handle this, Otis.”

ABC I'm JK, LOL

I can say the alphabet as a word,
but you can't hear it because this is a blog.

"I once had an abcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwyxz,
but it ran away and I cried."

                                                             Say it with me:
AB(like ab)-C(like k)-DEF(like deaf)-GHI(like gee)-JKL(like jekyll)-MNOP(like men-op)-QRS(like cris)-TUV(like toov)-WYX(like wicks)-Z(like zzzzz)

Art by Paul Thurlby

This Forever Coming of Age

I can't remember how
To attend to my feelings alone
Like my infant self
Who smiled at the sight of light on the ceiling
And cried at the twinge of pain if it offended.

Rather, now I hide from offense behind smiles
And cry instead at beauty like an angel fallen from grace.
I have learned too well to dissemble, even to myself.
So well I no longer know how to align sense and response.

Likewise, in this forever coming of age,
Reaction no longer follows action
As it did when I was young.
My small smiles do not bring joy and praise.
My wailing cries do not bring help and comfort.

But I would like, in just one lucid moment, to know -
Is it so because they know I lie
Or do I lie because it is so?

The Words That Get Her Through

Psalm 23

1 The Lord is my shepherd. I shall not want. 2 He maketh me to lie down in green pastures. He leadeth me beside the still waters. 3 He restoreth my soul. He guideth me in straight paths for His name's sake. 4 Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for Thou art with me. Thy rod and Thy staff, they comfort me. 5 Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies. Thou hast anointed my head with oil. My cup runneth over. 6 Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life and I shall dwell in the house of the Lord forever.

Winter Lovin'

Wishing you the joy
of family and the warmth
of the holiday.

Still Fighting

Still fighting but the
fight seems long and her strength wanes.
Time for inner strength.
(And some revolver platforms.)


BBC's 100 Books

Colleen from http://andotheradventures.blogspot.com/ gave me a challenge. She asks:

Have you read more than 6 of these books? The BBC believes most people will have read only 6 of the 100 books listed here. Let's see if you are the book nerd that you claim to be.

1 Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austen
2 The Lord of the Rings - JRR Tolkien
3 Jane Eyre - Charlotte Bronte
4 Harry Potter series - JK Rowling
5 To Kill a Mockingbird - Harper Lee
6 The Bible - I've read some, but not all.
7 Wuthering Heights - Emily Bronte
8 Nineteen Eighty Four - George Orwell
9 His Dark Materials - Philip Pullman
10 Great Expectations - Charles Dickens
11 Little Women - Louisa M Alcott
12 Tess of the D’Urbervilles - Thomas Hardy
13 Catch 22 - Joseph Heller
14 Complete Works of Shakespeare - I've read many but not all
15 Rebecca - Daphne Du Maurier
16 The Hobbit - JRR Tolkien
17 Birdsong - Sebastian Faulk
18 Catcher in the Rye - JD Salinger
19 The Time Traveler’s Wife - Audrey Niffenegger
20 Middlemarch - George Eliot
21 Gone With The Wind - Margaret Mitchell
22 The Great Gatsby - F Scott Fitzgerald
24 War and Peace - Leo Tolstoy
25 The Hitch Hikers's Guide to the Galaxy - Douglas Adams
27 Crime and Punishment - Fyodor Dostoyevsky
28 Grapes of Wrath - John Steinbeck
29 Alice in Wonderland - Lewis Carroll
30 The Wind in the Willows - Kenneth Grahame
31 Anna Karenina - Leo Tolstoy
32 David Copperfield - Charles Dickens
33 Chronicles of Narnia - CS Lewis
34 Emma -Jane Austen
35 Persuasion - Jane Austen
36 The Lion, The Witch and the Wardrobe - CS Lewis
37 The Kite Runner - Khaled Hosseini
38 Captain Corelli’s Mandolin - Louis De Bernieres
39 Memoirs of a Geisha - Arthur Golden
40 Winnie the Pooh - A.A. Milne
41 Animal Farm - George Orwell
42 The Da Vinci Code - Dan Brown
43 One Hundred Years of Solitude - Gabriel Garcia Marquez
44 A Prayer for Owen Meaney - John Irving
45 The Woman in White - Wilkie Collins
46 Anne of Green Gables - LM Montgomery
47 Far From The Madding Crowd - Thomas Hardy
48 The Handmaid’s Tale - Margaret Atwood
49 Lord of the Flies - William Golding
50 Atonement - Ian McEwan
51 Life of Pi - Yann Martel
52 Dune - Frank Herbert
53 Cold Comfort Farm - Stella Gibbons
54 Sense and Sensibility - Jane Austen
55 A Suitable Boy - Vikram Seth
56 The Shadow of the Wind - Carlos Ruiz Zafon
57 A Tale Of Two Cities - Charles Dickens
58 Brave New World - Aldous Huxley
59 The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time - Mark Haddon
60 Love In The Time Of Cholera - Gabriel Garcia Marquez
61 Of Mice and Men - John Steinbeck
62 Lolita - Vladimir Nabokov
63 The Secret History - Donna Tartt
64 The Lovely Bones - Alice Sebold
65 Count of Monte Cristo - Alexandre Dumas
66 On The Road - Jack Kerouac
67 Jude the Obscure - Thomas Hardy
68 Bridget Jones’s Diary - Helen Fielding
69 Midnight’s Children - Salman Rushdie
70 Moby Dick - Herman Melville
71 Oliver Twist - Charles Dickens
72 Dracula - Bram Stoker
73 The Secret Garden - Frances Hodgson Burnett
74 Notes From A Small Island - Bill Bryson
75 Ulysses - James Joyce
76 The Inferno - Dante
77 Swallows and Amazons - Arthur Ransome
78 Germinal - Emile Zola
79 Vanity Fair - William Makepeace Thackeray
80 Possession - AS Byatt
81 A Christmas Carol - Charles Dickens
82 Cloud Atlas - David Mitchell
83 The Color Purple - Alice Walker
84 The Remains of the Day - Kazuo Ishiguro
85 Madame Bovary - Gustave Flaubert
86 A Fine Balance - Rohinton Mistry
87 Charlotte’s Web - E.B. White
88 The Five People You Meet In Heaven - Mitch Albom
89 Adventures of Sherlock Holmes - Sir Arthur Conan Doyle
90 The Faraway Tree Collection - Enid Blyton
91 Heart of Darkness - Joseph Conrad
92 The Little Prince - Antoine De Saint-Exupery
93 The Wasp Factory - Iain Banks
94 Watership Down - Richard Adams
95 A Confederacy of Dunces - John Kennedy Toole
96 A Town Like Alice - Nevil Shute
97 The Three Musketeers - Alexandre Dumas
98 Hamlet - William Shakespeare
99 Charlie and the Chocolate Factory - Roald Dahl
100 Les Miserables - Victor Hugo


Not too shabby and now I have a list of books to read next!

Book Bath

Three-Minute Fiction - Round Five

Yes.. I entered again. This time the Judge is Michael Cunningham, author of The Hours and A Home at the End of the World. His requirements were that we begin with the sentence "Some people swore that the house was haunted." and end with "Nothing was ever the same again after that."

Here's my entry.

CONQUERED

Some people swore that the house was haunted. I didn’t care about that. I thought it was beautiful. Falling porches, shutters hanging by a hinge, white paint long since rained away. It sparked my imagination. It made me wonder who had lived there. What had they left behind -- in between the floor boards -- hidden in secret cubbies in the walls?

I had to know. So I committed my first crime at the age of 13. I trespassed, army crawling under the barbed wire and sneaking up the front walk while my little brother waited by the road. No amount of coercion could convince him to come with me. He was afraid of the ghosts. He asked me not to go, but not as heartily as he might have. I thought he felt sibling pride because I was so daring.

When I got to the door, I turned and waved. I didn’t notice that he had wondered dangerously close to the road. As I turned and pushed the door, I barely heard his squeaky, terrified voice asking me to come back. It wasn’t funny anymore. He didn’t want to be left alone.

The door gave way, screeching as its base dragged the floorboards. I stepped into the former great hall, like an explorer onto a new continent, I imagined. The staircase, partially missing, twisted up to the second floor in front of me. Two large rooms flanked the high-ceilinged hall. On the right, an old fireplace, ringed by ornately-carved tiles, held court in an otherwise empty sitting room. To the left, a single arm chair, its color and pattern obscured by dirt, sat in the middle of the former dining room. Beyond the stairs, stretched a dark hallway and at the end another door. Certainly behind that door lay all the mysteries the house was waiting to offer up. I moved down the hall, my mind on fire with excitement. I heard no noise from outside, only the boards beneath my feet and my loudly spinning thoughts.

The door was missing its knob. I pushed. It wouldn’t budge. I put my hand in the hole where the knob should have been and pulled once, twice, harder a third time. The door came out of its socket with a crack. I couldn’t hold its weight. It fell heavily on top of me, knocking the wind from me and showering me with dirt and filth.

Terror filled my heart and the fearless explorer was reduced to a 13 year-old girl. I choked on dust as I sucked for breathe and struggled to squirm out from under the offending door. When I was free, I didn’t pause to look into the room that had only moments before been my personal King Solomon’s Mine. I ran for it.

Still wheezing, I cleared the hallway, jumped the threshold and sprinted up the walk toward the road. I didn’t see Tim, but I couldn’t stop -- the ghosts were hard at my heels. I threw myself to the ground and crawled under the barbed-wire fence.

I stood, brushed at my clothes, wiped my face with my sleeve and looked around. “Tim.” I called, sure he had wandered into the bushes somewhere. “Tim!” I called louder and with twisting worry. “TIM!” I ran along the road. The fear I felt under the door a fraction of the fear now growing ever larger in my screaming brain. “TIM!!” On the other side of the road, I found the blood stain. Nothing was ever the same again after that.


Follow the link to read some of the judges favorites. He has not yet picked a winner. (Fingerscrossed!)
http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=105660765

The Truth

Adeline was 78 years old before she understood. And, boy, was she mad.

Jesus, I know you're not accustomed to being spoken to this way, but you're about to get an earful. And you can't run like Billy used to, cause you're everywhere. So sit down and take your medicine.

You are in trouble, Mister. Would you like to tell me why you made me wait until my knees won't bend, my eyes won't see and my body is a roadmap of wrinkles to figure this out? This little nugget, I could have used when I was 24 with three babes under three, thank you very much. This smidgeon of information that would have come in handy when I caught Andy rolling in the barn with that Schmidts girl. Might you have whispered in my ear when my Alan got colon cancer and we lost the farm?

I've spent my whole entire life worrying. Worrying myself awake at night. Worrying so that my breath came too fast and my fingers tingled. Worrying and fretting out loud until my husband was ready for his early grave.
And now...now, you show me the truth. A truth that might have made all the difference.

No matter what, everything is going to be okay.

Make a wish

I need a big one.
I'm talkin' deep breath, eyes closed,
Lips pursed...BLOW! (Big one.)

Afraid

This fear sits along
My collarbone; its slimey
black toes grip my heart

The Cancer Day

Today is the day that my mom told me she has cancer. Cancer! Seriously? CANCER?!?! I didn't cry... at first. I was MAD. I'm still mad. How DARE this thing grow on my mother and make her sick. I'll teach it to mess with us. I want to take a cleaver to it, Lizzie Borden style, except mom says it doesn't hurt right now and that would most definitely hurt. No, she said no fighting yet, we just have to wait. WAIT?!?! Wait for her first appointment with the specialist. Wait for the specialist to decide what to do. Wait for them to cut off the offending tumor. Wait for the tests to tell us if the tumor has sent assassins into other parts of her body. Wait for them to give her the treatments that will sap her strength, take her beautiful hair and steal the fight from her. And then I'll give her all my fight. And will we fight. FIGHT, FIGHT, FIGHT! That thing will RUE the day it chose to grow on a Lee. And remission will be our triumph and a long, long, happy, healthy, LIFE. Did I mention LONG? I can't do without her. This is the only possible outcome. You higher powers better be listening. I'm not taking no for an answer.


P.S. I don't intend to fight fair.

A story to tell

Conflict

America
Stands between them
Arms outstretched
Hands on their hearts
Beneath beats anger
Inside each chest
For the other
Never-changing
Churning
Mindless
Hatred

How can we hope
To understand these conflicts
How can we make
Them see the other side
Peace at a price
They are unwilling to pay
If they must
Stop the pulsing
Churning
Replicating
Hatred

Goddess

Always after me
My face, my voice, my body
Am I a goddess?

Magpie to the Morning

By Neko Case

Magpie comes a calling
Drops a marble from the sky
Tin roof sounds alarm
And wake up child
Let this be a warning says the magpie to the morning
Don't let this fading summer pass you by
Don't let this fading summer pass you by

Black hands held so high
The vulture wheels and dives
Something on the thermals
Yanked his chain
Smelled your boring apex
Rotting on the train tracks
He laughed under his breath
Because you thought that you could outrun sorrow
Take your own advice
Thunder and lightening gets you rain
Run an airtight mission, a Cousteau expedition
To find a diamond at the bottom of the drain
A diamond at the bottom of the drain

Hear the mocking bird sing
In the middle of the night
All of his songs are stolen so he hides
Stole them out from whiporwills
Screaming car alarms
He sings them for you special
He knows you're afraid of the dark
Come on sorrow
Take your own advice
Hide under the bed
Turn out the light
Stars this night in the sky are ringing out
You can almost hear them saying
"Close your eyes now kid"
"Close your eyes now kid"

Morning is too far lit
They are waiting
Waiting
They are waiting

Tuesday

They said they'd be nice
If I gave them my twinkie
I guess this is nice.

Thirsty

There has been no rain
For three whole weeks together
All living things thirst

The Part That's Torn

The flag on flagpole hill
Is in three pieces now
The man that pulled it up and down
Is underneath the ground
The wind caught tiny tears
And pulled them to the core
But no one's there to care anymore

The explanation letter
That just did not explain
The reason for the falling out of
Love and in again
With another woman who
Just happened to be near
Is in sixteen pieces floating in the air

Mind and body ready
To take the burden on
He traveled to the battlefield
Became a loaded gun
Three brutal tours complete
His body battered, worn
His dreams like waking nightmares, endless war

Sweet Irony

Mr. Evans

Mr. Evans favorite fantasy was the one where there's a knock at his door. Young, prim men in suits and ascots inform him that he is the last heir of a Welsh line of royalty and he must return to Wales to claim his inheritance and the family castle. He boards an ocean liner. His is a first class cabin. They disembark in Cardiff, spending the night in a plush, expensive hotel. The next day they travel by coach through wide, green countryside to an enormous white stone castle.

He is escorted inside to be greeted by his household staff who call him Sir, and sometimes Milord. They bring his coffee in bed at 8:00, lemonade on the terrace at 11:00, tea at 3:00 in the study, French wine in the formal dining room at 6:00, brandy in the men's lounge at 7:00 and a nightcap at 10:00 just before bed. A vivid fantasy life is the only way to survive the factory.

Clank-clank-whine - "Your coffee, Sir. Would you like your daily newspaper?"
Press-pop-push - "Your lemonade, Milord. Will you be taking your midday turn in the garden?"
Clack-lackity-clack - "Your tea, Sir. Would you prefer roast or lamb for supper today?"

Clank-clank-whine - "Your wine, Milord. The roast is prepared with potatoes au gratin. May I serve you?"
Press-pop-push - "Your brandy, Sir. May I light the candles in the chandelier for you?"
Clack-lackity-clack - "Your nightcap, Sir. May I help you on with your nightclothes?"

Clank-clank-whine - "Your coffee, Sir. Are you feeling well?"
Press-pop-push - "Your lemonade, Milord. Would you like to read you mail?"
Clack-lackity-clack - "Your tea, Sir. Would you prefer spotted dick or cod for supper today?"

Clank-clank-whine - "Your wine, Milord. The cod fried just as you like it. May I serve you?"
Press-pop-push - "Your brandy, Sir. Would you like to put your feet up on the devan?"
Clack-lackity-clack - "Your nightcap, Sir. May I bring you anything else?"

Only Singed

I would have done it
I could have done it
I would have taken your hand
And led you right out of hell
But you turned your back on me
You made me walk out of hell without you
Fire licking at my heels
And now you dance amid the flames
Laughing, ignoring the burn
Certain you're only singed.

I don't know why...

Sometimes you just need a little pig in galoshes.
Doncha just wanna jump in a puddle with him?

Cookie, cookie, cookie, cookie...

Do you remember
When Cookie Monster ate all
Of Ernie's cookies?

That crazed blue puppet
Gulped them down. How the crumbs flew!
And how I laughed.

But what of my kids?
What will make them laugh like that?
Cartoons scare me now.

Is it possible
That thirty years ago was
A much simpler time?

Attagirl

She never knew why they teased her, only that they did and always had. She was used to it. But the new girl, knees curled up under her green corduroy jumper, crouched in the corner, hiding tears with pigtails - she didn't seem to understand.

"Can I sit with you?"

Tear-filled eyes looked up squinting in fear and then opened in hope as they saw the sweet face of the speaker. "Okay."

"I brought my favorite book, well at least my favorite book right now. Today its Peter Pan. Have you read it?"

"No."

"Do you want to read it with me?"

"Yes."

"I love how it begins... 'All children, except one, grow up.'"

The Hardest Thing

The Escape

The jaunty whistling grew louder like a nearing train. And just as deadly, she thought as he burst into the kitchen.

"I bought Heather a hat!" His face was blazing, his barrel-chest puffed out in pride as he presented the crumpled and dirty white hat to the room. Arlene could smell the tell-tale sickly-sweet scent wafting in waves from his mouth, clothes and skin.

Here we go.

"Bill, did you spend your paycheck on that hat? I need to buy diapers and milk." Time slowed as the words left her mouth. She felt her skin try to crawl inside to avoid the torrent she knew would come.

His eyes squinted nearly shut and his face turned the purple color she had come to dread. He threw the hat emphatically to the floor and raised the hand that had held it.

"Arlene, I swear to Gawd, can't you just let me enjoy one single thing?" His hand stayed aloft as he stomped on the hat.

"There! Now we don't have diapers, don't have milk and Heather don't have a new hat. You happy?"

Heather's timid face peered around the doorway. Arlene stepped back and to her left to bring Bill's gaze from her eldest daughter. "Is there any money left?"

The hand landed. Arlene fell against the sink with a thud. It had happened so many times before, she thought she shouldn't be surprised anymore, but everytime it hurt the same.

"No! There's no money left, banshee! Maybe if you ever did any work there would be!"

There's no money. I'll have to go empty-handed. So be it. "Of course, dear, you're right. Go put your feet up, I'll fix dinner."

"Damn straight you will and get me a gawddamn beer while you're at it.

After he downed his beer and a double-serving of boxed macaroni and cheese with hotdog pieces, Bill fell loudly to sleep. Not, however, before he could yell to Arlene that his dinner tasted like the ass-end of a skunk.

Arlene fed Allison, Hattie, Katie and Paul, got them cleaned up and put to bed, all the while aware of his rhythmic snoring. They were so quiet on nights like these. They seemed to know that to be a normal loud and enthusiastic child would be to invite danger, so they were silent and subdued. Thank god for that.

She told Heather the plan in a whisper as she packed two suitcases.

"All I need you to do is watch Bill. I ground up a pill and put it in his beer to make his sleep. Just watch him while I get the others into the car."

"What do I do if he wakes up?"

"I don't think he'll wake up, honey. Take this suitcase. Be very quiet. I'll bring down Allison and Paul first. I can trust them to stay in the car while I go get the others. Take that suitcase and get in the car after I bring Katie. Then I'll run back for Hattie and we'll go."

Heather held the suitcase but didn't move. Arlene knelt in front of her daughter and took her small shoulders in the palms of her hands.

"Baby, if he wakes we'll tell him that Allison and Paul have a fever and need to go to the doctor, we didn't want to wake him, so we thought we'd take them along. But he won't wake up. This time we'll get away and he'll never touch you ever again."

Arlene turned back to her silent packing. Heather watched her for a minute, then spoke again, softly. "What will it be like at the shelter?"

Arlene felt tears coming. "I don't know, baby. Probly loud. Probly horrible, but better than here. I promise to figure this all out. I promise no more stepdads. I'm so so sorry. I'll make it up to you. But right now we just have to escape. Can you be strong and help me?"

"Yes, momma. Don't worry."

Arlene closed the suitcase and latched it with a small click. She touched her battered cheek gently, thinking the bruise may help her plead her case at the shelter. She turned to Heather.

"Okay. We're ready. Go on, my brave soldier girl. Take up your post."

Manifesto of Encouragement

I didn't write this, but it is giving me hope and I want to pass it on to my loved ones.
From: http://whitehottruth.com/white-hot/the-manifesto-of-encouragement/

Right now:

- There are Tibetan Buddhist monks in a temple in the Himalayas endlessly reciting mantras for the cessation of your suffering and for the flourishing of your happiness.

- Someone you haven't met yet is already dreaming of adoring you.

- Someone is writing a book that you will read in the next two years that will change how you look at life.

- Nuns in the Alps are in endless vigil, praying for the Holy Spirit to alight the hearts of all of God's children.

- A farmer is looking at his organic crops and whispering, "nourish them."

- Someone wants to kiss you, to hold you, to make tea for you. Someone is willing to lend you money, wants to know what your favourite food is, and treat you to a movie. Someone in your orbit has something immensely valuable to give you -- for free.

- Something is being invented this year that will change how your generation lives, communicates, heals and passes on.

- The next great song is being rehearsed.

- Thousands of people are in yoga classes right now intentionally sending light out from their heart chakras and wrapping it around the earth.

- Millions of children are assuming that everything is amazing and will always be that way.

- Someone is in profound pain, and a few months from now, they'll be thriving like never before. They just can't see it from where they're at.

- Someone who is craving to be partnered, to be acknowledged, to ARRIVE, will get precisely what they want -- and even more. And because that gift will be so fantastical in it's reach and sweetness, it will quite magically alter their memory of angsty longing and render it all "So worth the wait."

- Someone has recently cracked open their joyous, genuine nature because they did the hard work of hauling years of oppression off of their psyche -- this luminous juju is floating in the ether, and is accessible to you.

- Someone just this second wished for world peace, in earnest.

- Someone is fighting the fight so that you don't have to.

- Some civil servant is making sure that you get your mail, and your garbage is picked up, that the trains are running on time, and that you are generally safe. Someone is dedicating their days to protecting your civil liberties and clean drinking water.

- Someone is regaining their sanity. Someone is coming back from the dead. Someone is genuinely forgiving the seemingly unforgivable. Someone is curing the incurable.

You. Me. Some. One. Now.

51%

Words of wisdom from my younger brother, Ben.

"The key to being a good man is trying really, really hard to be a good human being and accomplishing it at least 51% of the time."

You're hitting something more like 81%, for sure. Thanks, Bro.

Greater than the Sum

What does it take to protect a heart?
Box it in bubble wrap and carry it upright.
Call it by an alias and keep its location secret.
Defend it from outsiders with weapons and cunning.
Cloister it jealously and idolize it.
Do all this and more to preserve it
And it will still be broken.

The heart is not a substance I recognize
But I know now it was not created to be kept whole
It must be filled, broken, repaired and filled again
Each time stronger. Each time greater than the sum of its broken parts.
The pain, though acute, is a side-effect of its miraculous power to heal and grow.
So, open the box; call it by its name; let the outsiders in.
Grab it from its altar and bravely run toward the sun.

If only it were so easy...