I got to sneak another post in from yesterday…

It was a good weekend… my friend rescheduled today. I got all the things done but don’t feel creative so I’m not writing. Maybe start a new book.

Had some grief, some loneliness, ate too much. 

Don’t even know what to do with myself. I had a weird spread of tarot cards this morning that I couldn’t make sense of, seemed to go suggest waves… I guess that’s accurate, but not dramatic… just a moment here and a moment there. Like everything is moving forward, and everything is stuck.  That’s how it’s been. 

It’s still

Bright out and like 90+ degrees. I’m in bed. I’m gonna read and probably fall asleep and wake up in the middle of the night and not be able to get back to sleep. 

Five Watts 7/11/26 2:20ish pm

I just finished the second book inspired by Adler “The Courage to be Happy.”

This one is also written in a sort of socratic dialogue, which made it annoying. I used to be really into that stuff, but when it is written out -it always takes on the form of one idiot -easily manipulated and one wise teacher, and that just isn’t real. Or the idiot doesn’t seem to be an appropriated stand in for me as a reader. Consistently I found myself thinking that the character was making really stupid arguments and “won over” when the argument had not been convincing. Not a lot of specific situations discussed etc. 

That being said, the underlying philosophy was not entirely inconsistent with my beliefs. And also I felt myself challenged at times, which is good. But I am glad the book is over… even while I am already preparing to find another Adler inspired book that I am sure I have either read before or considered buying (The Art of Loving -Erich Fromm).

The most challenging part might be something that I’ve been wrestling with quite a bit lately. Premise: You’ll never grow up unless you love someone. Argument: loving is something you choose to do, not something you fall into.

-I’ll add some quotes from the books quick, but generally these things have been on my mind again as I wrestle with insecurity, anxiety and tension with my family.

P. 216

Philosopher: “self-reliance is not an economic issue or a work issue. It is an attitude towards life, an issue of lifestyle … At some point, the time will come when you resolve to love someone. That will be when you achieve separation from your childhood lifestyle and achieve true self-reliance. Because it is through loving others that we at last become adults.

Youth: “We become adults by loving?”

Philosopher: “Yes. Love is self-reliance. It is to become an adult. That is why love is difficult.”

So this is something I’ve been struggling with throughout my life. Generally I feel like I’ve become pretty self reliant in terms of finances, work to some extent, life style, meeting my material and logistical goals.  When I asked my father for help with moving last year I felt really hurt when he wasn’t able to show up at the time we’d discussed. A few weeks later he was able to, but it had felt like an instant in which I needed to depend on him and he hadn’t shown up.  But more so. I had been developing a friendship with my father in which I felt I could trust and work through difficult things.  I had ended up talking to both my parents about my love for E, all my attempts to make it work, and all my attempts to let go… because it wasn’t sustainable.  My parents loved me, and assured me they loved E and so it was comforting to have their support. And as the break up occurred… I suppose I also relied on that support more -since I didn’t have my partner of several years to confide in.

My parents have confided in me my whole life, so it felt like we were equals… but I realize with all the hurt/tension between my Dad and I now, that I was reentering this childhood thing -or maybe had never truly found the exit. 

P233

Philosopher: “You are standing now at the edge of the dance floor of life and just watching the dancing people. You are assuming that ‘there couldn’t be anyone who would dance with someone like me,’ while in your heart you are waiting impatiently for your destined one to reach their hand out to you. You are doing everything you can to endure and to protect yourself, so that you do not feel any more miserable than you do already and so that you do not begin to dislike yourself.

There is one thing that you should do. Take the hand of the person beside you, and try to do the best dance that you can possibly do in that moment. Your destiny will start from there.”

I resonate so strongly with this internally. Throughout all of my relationships from family to friends to coworkers to partners… I hold back. Sometimes it literally is the fairytale thing, some dream that happened 15 years ago and that I hold on to. Other times that weird feeling of chemistry. Attraction. Feeling needed. Or -As the authors suggest in another section, “you’re waiting for some kind of collateral.”

I think the thing that was so hard with E, is that I’d come to that conclusion beforehand, and tried to convey it to her. Tried to say I wanted a relationship in which both people were entering clear eyed, not putting one another on pedestal, entering into an agreement to support and rely on one another. To embrace the challenges together. That I was taking her hand, and that it felt risky, and that there were things she could do to show me that she was taking my hand… and she didn’t do them.  She showed me other ways… took my hand in other ways that changed me, inspired me, etc. But ultimately, I still felt insecure and over time felt taken advantage of. Not that she didn’t love me, but that she couldn’t trust me and I couldn’t trust her.

SO I  find myself back in that place of being a child. Of looking for what is destined* instead of who is next to me. I don’t find a whole lot of folks next to me, is part of it. But also, I keep wanting greater collateral than I’d had, because each time I invest I find myself shaken… have to start over, and so I desire more of a commitment.  

It also comes with this whole recognition and really stepping into the idea of being codependent/caretaker… like, I can’t keep stepping into the same role and expecting different results. I need a partner who shows up consistently, who problem solves with me, rather than waiting for me to figure things out. Who takes on their own difficulties and challenges, rather than making them mine to deal with. And I need to do that too… part of me doing that is saying I need to take responsibility for who I choose to love, because I chose all of these people (who I still love and adore), but who weren’t able to show up in our relationship in the way either of us needed.

The other night I was thinking about J and whether I’d made a mistake by ending our relationship while traveling. We’d had a great three months while traveling… but we were both in the middle of big transitions in our lives, and I had no idea whether our actual lives were compatible at all. It was the equivalent of 90 day fiancé but only during the honeymoon. That didn’t feel like enough to go on.  She went to gradschool after, so did I.

Lately I think about how easy it must have been for M to make the decision that I wasn’t enough. I was exiting grad school, fresh in a new career. Didn’t have my own place. Didn’t have many friends. Was perpetually insecure… and didn’t trust her or myself really.

Ewww.

In the book the philosopher says of the youth’s past relationships:

“But you hope was not to be happy, was it? It was simply the desire for things to be easier.” (p 235).   Is that my desire?  

Life was not easy with E or M… but it was so much easier than doing things on my own for the most part. Easy to play a role. Easy to think about someone else instead of my own feelings and set boundaries. Easy to make excuses as long as I had companionship. Easy to get stuck and not take the steps forward I needed to… because I could use their indecision or lack of communication as an excuse to not make my own choices.  With J, I made a choice to pursue my life… and it was probably the right one… even though I fell more in love after we broke up -both of us trying to make a life in the world again.

I still have no desire to move to Australia… and as far as I know she is happy with her dude.

But I guess what I am saying… is that I think Adler is right on this one. I think the reason I’ve been feeling so incredibly insecure, and struggling so much with the tension with my Dad, is that I am feeling like a child again, when I thought I was moving towards adulthood. I think I’ve fallen back into beliefs about things being fated, because I am afraid of making something happen or changing my routines.  I think that is why I am trying to step into discomfort and go out more, to give myself opportunities minimally each week -just to have the choice.   I notice that on the nights I am home alone… and have decided I am staying in. It’s like… oh you’ve given up on the possibility of making a new choice tonight. The Devil card in tarot… which is Capricorn energy…

But I think it will require more of me to step into adulthood.

 

Life:

I realized today that I fucked up with my taxes (again). I should have paid them last month, but I thought three months from April was July not June… I felt really stupid. But anyway. I paid a bunch of cash today. Likely everything will turn out ok. I think I am making enough money to keep the bills paid even if there are penalties or late fees. 

Yesterday I talked to insurance and got all of Jan -April squared up for 4 clients. That should be like 5k. One more to do but its Medicaid and they said to check online.

Reconfirmed with JS today that NYC is happening. I am starting to get excited and look stuff up. Maybe a couple days in Brooklyn and Queens, a day in the Bronx, a few days in Manhattan. I was trying to figure out if I should take a quick jaunt to New Jersey or way out on Long Island. Probably not necessary. I decided a future trip could be DC and Baltmore, or Philadelphia and something…. Maybe I’ll do the east coast a week at a time all  by my lonesome.

In the fall I am doing a training my therapist recommended. I am looking forward to it. She asked me if I wanted to join a group she is starting for men (focused on adult children). At first I was interested and as she started sharing more, I realized I wasn’t. I was kind of turned off by the session on the whole. It seemed like she was really excited about her new project, but wasn’t all that invested in my life -and neither was I… so kind of hard to keep the energy or focus. As it became more about her… I wondered why I was paying 180$ for this and why I would want to pay more in the future for a group in which I’d probably end up feeling like I need to jump into my role. Maybe they all would too… but meh.

The networking thing the other day kind of felt like that too. I know I was not in anyway like the specialist or expert… but I felt more knowledgeable and somewhat responsible for keeping up dialogue. Felt a little like performing rather than chilling. Felt like I had to be charming so as not to be awkward. The lady who presented seemed really interesting. V was there, and I was reminded that she does ExRP for OCD… and that she has dogs and is invested in them. Its funny… she seems charming too, but she doesn’t need to perform. The hosts of the event did the bare minimum after setting up. They passed out stuff for the quiz, they gave us a tour, but they didn’t necessarily facilitate… they let us be adults I guess.

I am so used to being a facilitator, jumping into the role. Its not that I dislike it… I like it, its just not fully truthful. I am uncomfortable so I jump to fill in the gaps.

The nice thing is that my reaching out to the consult got people checking in again. We might end up having some get togethers -seems like everyone wants it… SO even if the networking event was kind of a bust, a chance to connect with others for the future. Having a consult group 1-2 a month would probably help a lot.

Yesterday after feeling reasonably productive… I went for a walk in the 85 degree heat and felt like I was gonna pass out. Got some Cains, with the idea that I was gonna go to a 9pm movie, and then fell asleep at 7:45 -woke up a couple times to turn over, but didn’t really wake up till 11pmish. I was feeling like I missed out. Still kind of do.

Tonight R and I are going to a 1 hour performance by a poet I saw at the open mic a few weeks ago. I felt like it was something to do. Its about their coming to terms with their gender -for the most part. We will grab some dinner beforehand.

Part of me is a little disappointed I won’t make it to the movie this weekend. (Its at riverview at 9pm -so unless I am feeling daring… probably wont make it at all).

Tomorrow another friend for dinner?

Not sure… I should probably try a new church. -all the leaders I like left mine.

Other than that… most of my tasks for the weekend will be complete. Got an oil change. Paid taxes… maybe a little prep for next week.

I want to do some creative writing (which I might be procrastinating right now). But also wanted to finish reading this book… so maybe I’ll write a chapter today or tomorrow.

I am kind of hoping this performance tonight is inspiring.

Tarot keeps saying big changes are coming. Maybe it reinforces the magical thinking -divine timing – destined love… but I think the readers always say, it starts with a change you make.

What changes am I willing to make? How am I stepping into life?  DO I have the courage to be happy?

 

 

Potato (?)

 Sometimes you just sit with the nuisance,

The alarm in the background that

Becomes the white noise of the day to day

Clanging? No, just the underlying vibration

That keeps a tension headache on the horizon,

That keeps a stomach from settling.

Who would give you their full attention?

Knowing it will never be enough,

To soothe the dull ache, the inflamed limb - which

As long as you don’t jostle it,

Is more bearable than flailing in an unknown direction for possibility 

Stay still, motionless, convenient

You’ve already spent too much

Goodwill, or energy

Conserve, retreat, isolate. 

Intention

One time you told me 

You lied to everyone 

Even your therapist

And I questioned their capabilities

Rather than noticing 

You were motionless, 

And staring. 

Killers amongst us (2/20/26)

 

I’m standing in front of a

bouquet of flowers, 

                        and a display case

      of sandwiches, croissants, 

                        scotcheroos, 

 

I’m standing somewhat

            impatiently

                        w/ memories

            of past experiences, 

                        I’d rather not 

                               recall,

Reading the names of the

            teas           as

               the elderly lady tries

                   her stack of cards.

 

American Express…   tap it   -Declined

            try to slide it…

            Declined.

            try to stick in in the card reader…

            Declined.

She returns the card to the bottom of the stack.  (I notice her VA –ID amongst the others)

 

Citibank   -Declined.

            try to slide it…

            Declined.

            try the card reader…

            Declined.

Another to the back of the stack.       (her elderly friend comes over)

 

Visa     -Declined.

            try to slide it…

            Declined. 

            try the card reader…

            Declined.         

Another to the back of the stack.         

 

I watch the barista continue to make their coffee, 

-wave him a few $20s

 After all, I came to the 

            neighborhood  because of increased ICE reports, 

            clearly I want to be the 

            hero.

I tell her not to worry –and hand him my cash

            

She doesn’t understand and 

            pulls out her check book.

 

The barista says

                        he paid for you.

 She and her friend thank me, 

            but one more graciously, 

            she turns and plants 

                        herself   -  square

"You paid for the coffee of a flying killer

                        you should know that."

 

            oh? *I ask awkwardly

 

“When I trained pilots

            at the air academy, 

            that’s what we’d tell people… "  

 

(I’m intimidated by an octogenarian)  ...her friend thanks me again, pulling her arm, 

 

she stays square off. 

-letting me know 

            no man had ever saved her, 

            she is her own hero, 

            her own killer if need be, 

 

“Mostly I just kill flies and mosquitos though…”

 

...I thank her for her service. 

"...when I speak my knees bowed" (fall 2025?)

 

…when I speak with such great authority

when I speak my thoughts already three

       sentences ahead

when I speak mimicking the creator  

       when I speak the anxious babbler

when I speak tongue tied and twisted

       when I speak blessing and curses

              when I speak, the teacher, the nurturer

when I speak amalgamated sources 

              when I speak the child, the elder

when I speak mumbles and laughter

       when I speak, the silence, the holder

              when I speak vocal fry and valley girl

when I speak calmly and half smiled-soothing 

       when I speak validation or judgment

when I speak the sound of my Mother

       when I speak the gifts, of loved ones

when I speak a slip of the accent, a foreign lingua

             when I speak a muse come through me

when I speak, a plea and a prayer.

* the title is a song lyric from Jeremy Enigk from "Shade and the Black Hat" - "can they hear me (?) when I speak, my knees bowed."  He also says the line "can they hear me, when I speak my tongue's tied." Which is why I darkened that line.

*how to help, when to help

My mind is blank, 
yet underneath I
know there are caverns
full of words, adjoining
rooms, hallways of doors, 
some just closets, others
ballrooms, lounges, 
meditative spaces.

I pass judgment
and analyze,
I listen to my guts tumbling, 
my shoulders rolling
into their vice grip
position.

 

We take sides, draw lines, 

dig trenches, divide

and conquer.

All the while

I’m just trying to

say is this a 

true fit

            or a moment

            of despair

and if it’s the latter don’t call it sacred. 

*found this in my hand writing on a scrap of paper and I don't know when it is from...

Phoenix (Feb 2026 work in progress?)

What will you rise for?

What calls you from sheets, 

and the fantastic unreality,

calls you back into connection

with singed wings, flaunting 

and bright as the sun,

tail feathers, a smile on your beak

a home in your heart, not yet created...

 

Will it be a grail

of your own design,

or a passion

pressed upon you

by a world in need of guidance,

of purification, 

of…

How they corner and break us

The claustrophobic holding, waiting, attention contracted in each creak and sound, the bending forward, the ache and burning, the way the mind races forward trying to know every single aspect of the feeling of despair, the fear, the grief, the strength of certainty that there is a limit, a breaking point, though it remains unclear whether it is this moment or a distance still, and the lack of distance between the grip of the walls, and the flexing in preparation, the agile made concrete, to pounce to pound to wail on the predators stalking, should they dare reveal themselves, crouched in ready, crouched in hiding, crouched until exhausted… devoured by the encroaching, inevitably consumed by it all… so that maybe when death reveals itself in a uniform, maybe there is at least sky beyond him… maybe beyond the endless terror, there is freedom again.

 

 

 

 

Dear Kevin (this probably won’t be a poem)

It’s funny how you jump in and out.

Jess said you show up in her dreams every few months,

I said, wait - me too. Though in truth 

I think it’s only been two or three times since.

We kind of laughed a million miles away from one another, about how easy it was to imagine 

-you-  doing that to everyone. How many people do you visit? Making the rounds? Is it one each night or do you bounce like tigger between each pillow

Into people’s sleep-

to this one you say hi,

to this one you share news,

this one sing a lullaby,

for this a hidden truth,

I think I’m still mad at you. 

Like I’m mad at everyone who died too early. Krystin and Hallie, Tyler and my Uncle. Whether I was close and personal or distant… sad at the loss of what could be. Pissed at the emptiness where you should be. 

But death is also funny like that. Because you jump in and out, and sometimes it’s a sadness, and sometimes a laughter, and sometimes an anger and sometimes a memory that can’t really be categorized so easily. And in between, these days I don’t remember… and that’s ok. 

But keep visiting, sprite like, as long as it doesn’t tie your soul to some agony. I know a lot of people would be happy to see your smiling face. 

Sloth

 

What good are my thoughts and prayers, 

when the children were shot while praying?

My empathetic heartbreak, my sending good vibes, my words spoken or unspoken, 

when they were bombed while their heads were bowed? 

My learning, my teaching, my shouting from the roof tops,

when they died with G-d's name on their nutrient deprived lips?

My holding space for, consoling, and rage filled grief, 

when news of the next preventable tragedy is already breaking?

When the sin is not that the devil took up arms in the mind of an individual, 

but our collective inaction, without malice, stumbling into utter negligence, 

witnessing each tragedy unfolding, and doing nothing,

when the creator has given us all the ability, tools and reason...

and we can't be bothered to raise a finger. 

 Near my home 

There is an anorexic Eiffel 

A radio tower cousin, dominating the skyline 

I can see it from my office a mile away

But today

As I approached

It had nothing on the beauty 

Of the creator’s sky, the reflection of the sun on the clouds behind,

And I wonder if that French tower knows the same truth.

Note

 I just saw the funniest thing, a poem from a long time ago got flagged with a content warning. I'm not even really sure why, it was about feeling hurt, left out, ashamed, guilty, defensive, etc... angst? drama? relationships!!! I don't think there was even anything in it that was like violent or sexual. 

But it's funny that someone would take the time to flag that one since there are posts on here about violence and sex and other "adult" topics. So weird...  I don't even really know when this post was flagged... maybe it was way back in 2011?  I wonder if it was a single word choice. Kind of like how the administration is banning things based on a word list and not really looking at the content.  I don't really care to repeal... seems silly. I was just looking at the content guide, and it said they can erase your blog and your google account for violations. I can't even imagine... I mean... maybe I should be printing this stuff or backing it up elsewhere. SOOOOO WEIRD. 

Maybe my poem for today should be about censorship and burning the american flag (it is in the news again). 

Anyway, this is a blog of personal poetry and creative writing. It's not meant for everyone... and reader be warned... it's bad poetry, so much so that sometimes I don't call them poems but flowings... as in, flowing out of my mind.

 On the 466th day, or just each yesterday since 1948, or the crusades, the exodus, the unfortunate story of humanity…

I heard a story on the waves of another hospital bombing,

And I noticed I didn’t say my customary prayer,

               As I would, had an ambulance sped by

               Or a bus gone off road

               Or a shooting (with disgust on my tongue)

And I was reminded of what Alyssa said about holding too much empathy at once,

Short circuiting the system, burnout, compassion fatigue

And how Ani said rather than holding anyone to account, we’ll drive out of range

And how my anger, sometimes, is the only thing that remains

To hold the line,

 

And when I asked what we should do, (when tearing everything down is the only real answer,)

- we could only come to an agreement, to ask of ourselves, of others

to keep the worry, the outrage, the prayer on our lips.

To seal their deaths with a kiss

(Missed yesterday😒 wrote this this morning about yesterday, I guess we will see if I write another tonight) 

Social anxiety

If you had seen me today,

I might have appeared triumphant,

Arms spread wide,

In my casual stride, 

With a smile just as bright and eyes sun lit. 

And on the inside, I was rehearsing lines, 

affirming my life, 

Softening the tight knotted 

muscles of my stomach

I walked the block for 15 minutes, 

Arriving too early for our summit,

And when you arrived

I wrapped my arms for a hug 

And pushed the thought out

That I’d already buggered it

And for two hours I fought

with a backstage thought 

About the volume of my voice

Amongst the clamoring noise

And the croaked choked passage  

where by breath caught

Like my pancakes, my stories were half chewed

No punchline to make, cart besting the horse 

Dismissing the intrusive thought to turn the joke lewd,

My tongue jumbled my words,

 and made the awkward worse.

But as I faded into mumbles to end it, 

You left me with a compliment…

said I’d been the best part.

So I should have left -a full heart, instead

My mind spent the next part

Worrying…

Have I given her the wrong impression? 

Walt’s Maple

 I used to think of that tree as ours

One side turned to the road another towards

the screened in porch.

We’d marvel 

     Not knowing anything, except it’s curious 

Bloom, how the leaves took different shapes,

How half reached for the sky while the 

Other clung,

How outwards vibrant green turned to red

While the inward yellowed and browned, 

A divided tree, 

      We wondered aloud at its differences

   Wondered even if, it was a graft some part gifted to the whole, an addition, too special

But this year, I watched the tree alone, 

as the branches reaching toward our porch did not bud, 

Walt told me the roots -not pruned, had choked it dry, 

And I,

By myself, cleaned the porch in which you used to sit, 

   The living room in which we played,

The dining area in which we ate,

The bedroom where we once laid,

     And then set out, saying goodbye alone, to Walt’s maple, no longer yours and mine

 (well maybe still mine). 

New life

 G-d carved her knife along the lines of my feet, find myself walking down a new street, murals of divinity, geometric patterns, an icecream shop to be, and me with my dance moves, at the walk up coffee dispensary,  waiting impatiently for an Americano.

She with a blade so thin, I couldn’t feel it move within, and still sometimes wonder if my path was divided at all. Multiplied, and I am in a brand new St. Paul apartment staring at the lightning grasping across a breath of sky. Forking, a life untied, unmoored, set free, and somewhat ruefully seeking new security. 

And of the limitless paths unspooled, which will this thread bear? I ask for the highest and greatest- of that which is unfathomable, my pleasure a trifling annoyance as is the drip of chalk dust in my office -off hundred year old bricks which she is scraping, to me a nuisance, to them a returning, a riffing, a new way forward. 

Everything expanding, and all of us cloying to what we once knew, or believed we knew, or at least felt at one time determined to hold, and she with her sharp embrace, telling all of us no. Be!  she commands and scattering we flee, shards glorifying that infinite synonym of me. Each division compelling us forward, into what we can never be certain. 

Dinosaurs (may 2018?)

 Amongst the flighted, 

at the lake of isles,

I spot,

The long legged, narrow beak.

A hose necked, high rise

blue and white and black,

Surveying the glistening waters, and the prairie surrounding,

In all it's majestic prehistory, 

Still skittish to my presence. 

I spot also,

a tiny brown thing,

Fluttering, waving from stock  to stock of the weightless golden pond grass, 

A burst of a launch each time,

across the distance from flowing strand to flowing strand,

Always catching talons first, in show 

of minuscule carnality. 

Heart Song (Nov 2019?)

 Heart song

What does it mean to know someone’s heart song? To vibrate just so,

Perhaps how to manipulate the strings, to pluck, to push?

The sound of longing for

someone,

to hold your heart just so,

to make room to allow for bounds,

Reverberations, 

To hold that breath,

In rhythm, 

to hold that space, 

In concert,

To be sensitive enough to the tone,

That as it swells, they grow

And as it wanes they enfold. 

A mindful musician, allows the melody to evolve, 

to change, 

to repurpose old notes and bridge them to new movements, 

a medley is unfolding, 

a dissonance 

giving way 

to a joyfully familiar refrain.

Forgive me these tears

 

Why have I not written you a poem?

I asked myself that throughout our time, 

not wishing to malign, to concretize, or mislabel,

because the muse did not move me to feel so drawn - I worried that I didn’t feel compelled, and that that meant something. 

And it did mean something.

 

I sit with my heartbreak now, most days managing well, 

That’s what they say, anyway.

 

Sometimes, 

I miss the subtle ways, you infiltrated my day with comfort and ease. 

The created space, in which I could shift the weight and just be, 

The lack of task, of drive to compete, 

The loving gift -to feel rather than editorialize,

That was my why – each and every time. 

 

And sometimes even, I miss the twist, 

the way I could ignore my existence -and dwell on yours, 

that care taking role, the letting go 

myself on hold, to be yours… 

overthinking each little thing, 

despite it not being asked for, 

and not expected. 

 

I guess this is your rose, 

And maybe now with the floodgates open, 

I can close out our chapter, and move to the next 

I’ve never been great at letting go,

But forgive me, I’m also not so good at remembering. 

(An excerpt)

 ...but alas  I am for now,

      no  teetotaler, 

I’m a drunk for 

                soul and romance,

And the Chemist’s sun drop elixir,

                                 -even if it’s always cloudy,

          the fog lifts now and then 

to spill daylight upon 

     my dreams

             and make them real. 

This job

This job is…

Being pulled in thirty directions at once.
Responding in a way that validates, while also holding ground.
Grounding. Holding. Pushing it back on them.
There is a mindfulness that must be maintained,
an appreciation for the flow, and the gifts,
to get through each rift, breach and repair.


And yet, there is a steadiness that must exist,
a structure, a brace,
and also, a constant wobble -to embrace the ever-changing circumstances.


There is a preparedness,
a resolve,
that at times, will be faked.
And the shakiness beneath,
will be breathed into -though never quite concluded.


A deep sigh, a belly laugh, an un-consolable wail,
The sounds of release, in their myriad forms,
Tummy grumbles, guttural growls,

And the snarkiest, oh,
prepare to be bowled over by the charging sarcastic defense


The places the mind goes,
It will be interesting,
One must stay curious, and focus on sifting
-knowing full well anything important will return.


It takes belief,
A knowing that the cognitive dissonance is necessary,
that from the gray unknown, magic can appear,
a faith in the heart’s ability to break and expand,
to burst forth from the old shell,
and renew from a truer self.

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I have been editing this for a few days, but lost steam... so this may or may not be the last incarnation. 

Vessels of Love

When we met, you were an intricately blown glass vase, bright orange, yellow, red, and rich blue pulled through the crystal. Handles, wound corners, fragile at a glance, but solid to touch. You poured out a half dozen directions, a roman fountain, sustained by unseen aqueducts, life giving, and pure.  

When we became friends, a punchbowl, delicately adorned with images: secretive, tantalizing, deceitful and delicious. You ladled out knowledge and treasures. At times marveling at your ability to gift, nourish and enchant, but grumbling all the while as others pulled into their own cups. 

When we coupled, a colander, deep welled to conceal the cavities. Unaware of what was being poured in, covertly and singly focused on watching it spill out everywhere. Neither the syrup of security, nor the bold zest of love, remained to entice or refresh. 

When we finished, a shallow plate, rimmed in gold, and ornamented with tiny gargoyles. Sleekly finished and slippery, so that every offering would not tarnish or remain. A porcelain wall, a museum piece, cold and non-functional, leaving the bitter ache of what could have been. 

Everything owned and nothing known

 I am not a farmer

I do not know this land

I cannot say whether the golden seeded strands beckoning the sky for a kiss, swaying, not dancing, as the growls of angry motorists pass by, caged into this sidewalk display, cemented in, just a flash of green along the busy byway, is prairie grass

Or 

The origins of all of this western culture.

This coffee grown elsewhere

This iPhone manufacture elsewhere

This Cotten shirt sewn elsewhere

This metal chair mined and smelted elsewhere

But like I said

I am not a farmer. 

Flowers

The Buddha raised the flower and…

As if it were that simple.

As if the mind did not stray, like pollen lifts

As if the longing did not pull, like petals to the earth

As if the stomach did not turn, dizzy stems yearning sunward

As if the back did not strain, vines grasping to the nearest firm  

As if the muscles could not be scratched, thousand pest bites taunting

And the heart bleed into itself for thirst, this perennial karmic binding.

The Green

My heart loved you, 

The way the sun lights the million green things, 

Delighting in the attunement to each angle, each pitch

Desirous of the epochs locked within each chlorophyll cell,

In awe, inhaling the multitude of contrasts, 

And sighing in wonder at the majesty of the all.

So now with a careful tweeze I pull thorns, 

Ravaging the flesh, that once filled with breath,

And wonder what poison should come from the next, 

What pitfall of darkness the forest dares me to embrace,

What malice is in store for the romantic in haste. 

(July 2018)

Darling,
     When every exhausted muscle is
     solidifying into its angry strain,
          what words can I offer, 
                    what amusements or reassurances, 
          to bow you over in laughter
                    or cathartic release, 
          to remind you that you've done
                    everything in your power thus far
          and perhaps offer a lens
                    to reconcile your needs, 
          with a world that seems
                    so ceaselessly demanding?

(Sept 2019)

It used to be we,

and the we was expansive,      growing

Me and you,

that's why my heart hurts

My ego desires an 'or'

My soul knows a self oriented comma

would do

My mind is still rattling with question marks

(Nov 2019)

I've got no job,
no kids,
no partner,
no pets,
paid the rent,
and no substantial debts,
in need of nourishment,
yet of these prospects,
I'm circumspect,
tell me which
is heaven sent
and I swear
I'll bend my will, this time
for the blessing.

Rot (Jan 2020)

Attached to the pain, the dirtiness, the regret and guilt.
I don't find myself dwelling on the positives, but the putrid.
This is the bond of trauma, the vortex, 
sharing this pain doesn't cause connection, 
only further cutting away, 
it doesn't expand, 
it doesn't shift the paradigm to that which was once unseen, 
it blocks and distorts, 
maligns the beautiful, 
sours the sweet,
In desire to pair the complex notes,
another spoiled batch, 
only one way to find a better match,
move forward. 

Dissipate (Feb 2020)

I dedicate this to you,

            but first, 

                        fire

            -scorch the earth collected 

            blow out the flame, 

                  watch,     inhale,   let go

the whispers reach heavenward,       

the scent broadens through the space,

-and with it,

the taste of

            the first painful bite

            an outline traced

            as plumes of smoke

            recreate your face

a memory, 

            twirls, salutes

                    twists into nothingness

                                                let go

snakes across my collar bone, 

            knotting into my chest, 

branching across the bridge of my nose

to aggravate my eyelashes

                                                let go

cascades, 

            diving, colliding this;

                        sorrow swirls,

            taut and flaring,

                        a maelstrom uprooting

                                                let go

                        watch them narrow, eddy

            watch them divide,

forked fingers,            fearful

            bent knuckles, twisting,

                        tapping the vaporous

            scratching 

                        until dissolution 

                  watch,     inhale,   let go.