Hands fasted

 

 

Traveling he comes

The priest into town

To bind us all

One to one

We stand in crowd

And stand our ground

Til cords wrapped

Are set free

Our turn comes

For a year of bliss

Let us pray

It holds for true

One more day

And everlast

That’s my love

For you 

Moving

 

 

I woke up this morning

Swimming in a good space

The sheets were soft against my skin

The air was gentle

Blowing scents of flowers

Over me

I had to move

Finally

Had to get out of bed

I had to call you

You know what was said

Hiking down off my mountain

Into the here and now

It hurts and it sucks

Now so full of dread

These serious talks

Can’t we move on instead

But then we were done

And a swan song began

In the back of my head

I strolled on again

Whistling my way

Back into

My blissful state

Of awakening

One To Five: Haiku

One

 

Awaken to beauty

Thinking then

Day all shot to hell

 

Two

 

Woke up happy

Memories

Forced their way in

Uneasy now

 

Three

 

 

Open my eyes to the sun

Darkness follows

Drifting memory lane

 

 

Four

 

 

Open to the sun

Bursting with beauty and trust

One dead man kills all

 

 

Five

 

 

Can’t quite stop shaking

Memories drifting too fast

Ax falls—darkness claims

 

 

Poetic Asides Day 20 Poem

Mentioning

 

 

Shall we mention

A new lease on life

Maybe

A phoenix

Screaming up

From the flames

Why go to

All those

Lengths

I fall asleep

Smiling and content

I awaken

Happy and smiling

Surrounded

By your scent

Your touch

Lingering

Upon my skin

I am

Suffused

With your breath

I am renewed

I am reblessed

I am Home

You have given

Me

New life

New love

New joys

Thank you 

Poetic Asides Day 19 Poem

Angry

 

I don’t know what to say today

My anger was here

It left yesterday

Went out with the trash

Blew away in the wind

Here I stand

Now

Feeling safe again

Rocking

 

 

Rocking in the waves   

Tucked into my dreams

It never dawns on me

Til your knee is in my spleen

We so need a bigger bed

All I Want Is

All I want is

Too keep smiling

No one prepares

You

For the good times

You always hear

Prepare for the worst

Learn

To weather

The storms

You can be told

Embrace your bliss

If you should be

So bold

No one teaches you

To smile

They assume you know

You might be told to

Might just hear

Stop and smell

The roses

But no one seems

To mean it

No one ever really

Seems

To do it themselves

I guess it is

Up to me

To embrace the bliss

In every day

And truly

Make it

My own

Loving You

 

So small inside me

Little blossoms are blooming

Your love overwhelms

Cerise

 

Battered and bruised

In days gone by

Blacks and dappled

Maroon

Days clouded over

But the rain came in

Trickling at first

Then the steady downpour

The water falling

Such a good thing

Cleaning and clearing

Edging things out

Washing away the

Unwanted

Bringing in the new

The fresh

Cleansing the wounds

Allowing healing

To enter

Those bad dark wounds

Tear up and cry

Suppurating no more

The scabs fall away

Even the cerise scars

Fade to nil

 

Cherry-Land

 

Feather light

Of palest pink

Burgeoning over white

Floating

Drifting

Catching the wisps

Of melodious air

Settling in

So daintily

Atop the water’s spurn

Sauntering by

On the chill spring dawn

The cacophony of scent

Piercing

The air

 

 

Time To Go

Dahlia got the message all right. First, there was the note left for her at the hotel’s concierge. She had almost dismissed it, so vague had it been. Then there was the series of phone calls, one whispered word each time. Whoever was calling never hung up on her. He or she waited for her to hang up. Dahlia had stayed on the line, not speaking for ten minutes, listening to the absence of silence, not panicking, nearly proud of herself for her composure. But when she went to the bar for a drink, as was her usual habit after work, the air had unmistakably changed. She felt all the eyes turn towards her in judgment. It was time to go. Yet again.

Dahlia had no clear idea how they found her. She always used different names. She altered her appearance as much as she was able, sometimes even resorting to surgery, when she could afford it. No one ever saw the mark on the inside of her thigh, the brand announcing to one and all to whom she belonged. She never stayed in one place long enough to garner a Presence. She worked hard to maintain the façade of one of the faceless many. And yet, they tracked her down, every time. Forcing her to move on. Forcing her to give up what small amount of peace she had found. Forcing her to give up what little bit of grounding and foundation she had managed to procure for herself.

Not that Dahlia ever gave up. She knew what awaited her should she return to that house. She knew the price she would have to pay. She knew the punishment that would be meted out to those who had been so lax at the time of her escape, if any of them remained.

Dahlia dashed into her grand hotel room. There were notebooks and pages of hand-written scribbles in piles all over the room. She tried so hard to keep track of things, but it always seemed as if things melted through her brain and she lost herself again at every turn. Her clothes had been dumped on the chaise at the foot of the bed, so it wasn’t difficult to gather them in great armfuls and dump them into her duffel bag. Dahlia felt a small sense of pride that she had managed to pick up her laundry that afternoon rather than her usual mode of procrastinating til she had nothing else to wear other than what she had on at that moment. A quick traverse of the dresser drawers netter her lingerie and her little bits of memorabilia she refused to live without. There too in the bottom of the drawer was the rough and crumpled remnants of a paper doll her mother had drawn and cut out just for her, all those years ago. Dahlia did not fight back the tears that trickled down her cheek; she simply ignored them.

There was still room in the bag, so Dahlia grabbed various notebooks and pens and papers and stuffed them alongside her muddled clothing in the bag. Then she ran into the bathroom, gathering toiletries and tossing them in as well.

She stood in the middle of the room, knowing there was too much of her presence left, but unable to do anything else about it. She took several slow deep breaths, not to calm herself really, more to prepared her mind for the next part of the trip. She wasn’t certain how long she had before they would descend upon her. She had to determine if she had the time and the cover to walk boldly out the front door of the hotel, smiling at everyone a little as she went. Or did she need to covet the darkness and the back ways and sneak out like a murderous thief in the night? She had done both too many times in the past to have any fear of either at this point.

She also knew that if they caught up to her, if they caught her, she would not go without a large fight. They did expect her to fight. She knew this. She fondled her latest acquisition, a very small pocket knife with a serrated edge. They would expect her to fight to hurt one of them. All Dahlia planned was to struggle enough to fight herself, to end her own struggles. If they did catch her, there was nothing worth the pain and torment that awaited her back at the house. Dahlia had spent the past year coming to the realization that death was a more pleasant and hospitable road than returning there ever again.

With a sigh, Dahlia hitched her bag up over her shoulder. She didn’t bother to switch off the light as she left the room. She barely managed to close the door. She slipped into the hallway like a shadow, disappearing yet again around the edges of the world, hoping never to be seen again.

The Box

He gave me a box, that day, when first he told me he loved me. He did not let me open the box while he stood there. He bid me wait til after he had gone away, gone back to his home, to his other world, the one without me. I could do nothing more than obey, so deep was my love for him. How was I to know what I held in my own two hands?

I was not used to being trusted. Then again, I was not used to being genuinely loved or cared for or enjoyed. Here was a man who took my breath away, with every moment, with just a smile, and the leprechaun light a twinkle in his eye. This is the man who saved my life, more times than I care to remember. It was for him, although unbeknownst to me at the time, that I shifted my path and my direction. I chose him, much earlier than when the future had deemed appropriate, but much later than Spirit would have had us together.

I turned my back on a world that would have given me, after much work and determination, everything I had ever asked for from it. But then again, I had asked for so little in the grand scheme of things. In this man, I was given my heart’s truest desire: honest true love. How could I turn away from that?

So, there I was, with that small golden brown box clasped between my two hands, my breath too fast, my head a little achy. I worried my palms might be too sweaty to carry the thing. I stood in awe, looking at the intricate carvings over the top, along the sides. There was a patch of green velvety felt along the bottom, to protect it when I set it down. I fingered the edges tenderly. What could he have possibly given me?

I went inside, curled up in my chair against the wall so the sun’s light could tumble in, burnishing the chair and me, enshrining the contents now sitting on my knees. I knew where he was, on his journey home. I knew in my heart, so deeply connected we were. I sat patient, allowing him the time to arrive at his home, to greet his dogs, so start going along with his other business, the business that would never include me, but at its conclusion would never again bother me nor raise its weary head.

I took very slow very deep breaths, practicing my meditation in the space of the few minutes I needed to feel him calm down once he was inside his house. With intrepid fingertips, I caressed the glossy wood, stroking it as I often stroked his cheek, his arm, with utmost attention to truly feeling him with all my being, not just my skin. There was no lock. There was no calamity. I tilted the top back upon its hidden hinges. The heady scent of roses greeted me.

Inside there was a note, written in his hand. “Within this box you will find my heart. I leave it in your care as it has always belonged to you.”

I knew right then I would marry him. I have never looked back. I have never wavered. And I never will.

No Love, Then Love

Anti-Love

I can’t do this

I can’t trust you

I can’t touch you

I have to walk away

I can’t stand you now

My heart was betrayed

Love

This is not a love song

Even though

My heart is singing

My soul’s at peace

I look around

My mind’s eye reveals

The darkest blue sea

Crashing against

Craggy cliffs

Surrounded by a ring

Of molten gold

Sounds like Home to me

I love you

I cannot show you

Enough

It turns me inside out

To mean it so

Altered

Carefully ripping
The cute
Glossy pages
Pulling back
To reveal
The plain white
Pressed board
Slathering on
Gesso
Thick coats 
And thin
Adding colors
Bit of whim
Fragrant flowers
Tats of floss
Draw some circles
Include some flash
A brand new book
Made out of trash

So We Decided To Do It

So

We decided to do it

We decided

To let go

Dive in

And see

Where it all goes

Compromises

Secrets kept

And told

Shivering delight

Hands to hold

Breath caught

Held there tight

One step at a time

Patiently

With love to bear

We’ve decided to do it

This could lead anywhere

Friday

Running around

Last minute cleaning

Do we have enough food

Are certain things

Put up and away and out of sight

Where’s the dog

Is the girl in a good mood

What time

What time

You never know

There they are

The boy is here

Two more days to go

Raw

I am still to raw

To open

I am too easily

Undone

By what should be

Small stresses

Usual things

Too much television

Crumbs fallen on the floor

Dog barking

Kids arguing

Running back and forth

So many things

To do

I am overwhelmed

I turn aside

Turn within

Try to hide

To wait out the chaos

The cacophony

Until in a quieter time

I can come out

And just

Be

 

In

In
One small word
Counting high

Breaking through
To another side

Touching me
Where no man could
Blinding me

Softly grazing
Never phasing

Holding tight
Coiled in a ball
Alive at last

After so long
Now to stand tall

Faltering
Halting
Uneasy in faith

Must believe
Learning to trust

Broken inside
Shoved aside
Just so lost

Struck now by your eyes
And their embrace

If I close mine
To step inside
Who holds my hand

While busy
Holding on to yours

The fragile state
Like floating breath
Glassine butterflies

My heart is there
Too scared to be frozen

Love is a simple thing
You open your heart
That is the thing

Soul depths
No hiding

Stepping in
Inside my brain
Inside my night

My hearts burns there
Just for you

Touching me
Holding me
Falling in too

Memory

 

It wasn’t the day we met.

It wasn’t our first kiss.

It wasn’t the first time you held me.

It wasn’t the first glimpse

Held close within that space

In time.

It wasn’t the color of your eyes.

Or the taste of your breath

In my mouth.

It was the first time you spoke

From your heart to mine.

The time you made me cry,

Dizzy and soft.

Nothing else in this crazy world

Has ever felt so right.

Routine

Find your center

Deep breath in

Pause to expand

Let it out slowly

Arms float overhead

Stretching into it

No arching

Fold over

Touching the floor

With fingertips

Or palms of hands

Remember to breathe

Halfway up

Flat back

Look up

Then fold closer

Head to knees

Floating up

Slowly

Vertebrae by vertebrae

Arms glide back up

Over head

Then drift down

Hands together at the heart

Namaste