Skipped

Even something we create
Requires exceptions to the rule
An extra day every four revolutions
A day of magic and wonder
And those born on this day regret
A lack of celebration

Stillborn Sight

Words worth worlds of whimsy
Whisper from the waves locked
In seashells
While weighty wonders are swept aside
Whisked to where other trivial lies
Gather in piles
Why
Why
Why
The swell of the tides breathes and sighs
Laves at the shore
Asking and telling
more more more
Than after
Or before
Evermore
The song unheard by deaf eyes and
Unseen by ears colourblind
Resigned and unmoving
Raging storm and wriggling worm
Nothing in the hands of the one
Who cartwheels through time
Somersaults in the belly of the Earth
And places hands on the sun
For warmth on a winter night

Last Flames

Flickering
In the darkness
Receding until
Extinguished

A Drawing of Breath

Breathing
So simple a task
We do it
Unconsciously

So much is going on
That we can't see
Supporting the miracle of
Life

Hold it in
Let it out
Billions of unseen particles make
A magical wind

Steady or unsteady
Heavy panting
Or light fluttering gasps
To get what we need

A sigh to exhale sadness
A gasp to take in surprise
Vibrations to speak and make song
A puff to douse a candle's flame

Congested on a sick day
Choked by sobs in grief
Controlled by machines and tubing
Creature, for eons, following this fashion

Are we just a hiccup?
A breath of wind
From the wings of
a butterfly's dream?

The snoring of a dragon
Or the ripples of a spilling-over
From the great clouds of war
Clearing to reveal nothing

We hide
And we seek
And all the while
We continue to breathe

The Wheels on the Bus

Are unseen
The wheels on my suitcase
Get stuck in the snow
That wasn't there a week ago.
It fell the day before my trip
So that driving conditions are not great
But better than yesterday
And walking on the sidewalks
With my suitcase
Is the most annoying
Out of all the past few weeks.
I went home for a week.
Came back today.
Now I am back home

Cat on a Bowl

Swishing tail

Sharp searching eyes

Orange target

Natural Garden

A bright, clear day
Each flower greets
His illumination

Joyously kissing leaves
Marigolds, Nerines
Opening petals

Questing roots,
Searching tendrils

Up veins,
Widening xylem,
Youthful zinnias

in Time

Pressed for time
Ironed out, smoothed
Steamed and pleated,
Folded for her closet
Set away and neatly stacked.
Different patterns and fabrics
Organised to her sense
In the dark, waiting
On shelves handcrafted,
Together, wrinkles relaxed
Creases linger, unwritten lines.
Dust swirls, pricks of light blink
On and off
Time washes everything, and
Returns it, folded, to its place.

All because cats Don't eat fish

Going home in January
Kills lost memories
No
Obliterates problems, queries
Respecting sanctity, togetherness
Under velocities
Warping
Xylem young, zealous.

Underthinking

Looking at my hands
They stop making sense
Folds and wrinkles and lines
Knobs and mounds
The skin slips along the bone
Lines of blue blood
Look a little green.
I know they are a thing of wonder
Marvelous and complex
Taken for granted every day
But now I am
Looking at them
And they are foreign to me.

On Break

Uninspired
To write
When I'd rather read.
Here, I'll do
And then go read.
Don't I also have some homework to do...

Stream of Thought

Watermill turning
wheel paddles
sploosh
steadily
running
down
and

Heartbeat

Drumbeats on chests of
Animal skin
Tightly stretched, reverberations
Pounding, pounding
Hear the din
Dancers take their places at
No recognizable sign
A sudden finish
Twirl and halt
Final bow in one flat line.

Destructive Habits

Sewn into this pattern
The edges frayed and fading
The threads pull ever tighter, cannot break
Cut into my skin, wrap, encircle limbs
Pink, Yellow-White, Purple-Blue, Black, White
Sometimes I look away,
Enjoy a row of colour, a distraction, I think
But the pattern awaits, allows no break
No way to leave
Most of the time I am satisfied by the pattern
Lulled by it
I see the mathematical inevitable of a downward spiral
And make some effort, never enough
Always I follow the pattern, am
Felled by it
This pattern that I sew.

Up in the air

Grey light and pink sun

Diffuse through cracked, dusty glass

Afternoon watching.

Manic Delusions

Gnawing at the bone bare truth
Push to crack the core
Seek the marrow of the matter
Till your jaw is sore

Worrying away at this
Do not let it go
Clenched between lower and upper
This the need to know

Somehow though you cannot seem
To find the taste within
Knowledge ossified is safe
Much to your own chagrin

Suddenly no further sense
Of something else beneath
Just how long has it been
Just you grinding your teeth?

Little Girl There in the Corner

The sparrow flew.  The dog barked.
The girl sat alone in the corner.

Nothing to do. Nothing to say.
The boys would never invite her to play.
Little girl left in the corner.

The sparrow flew.  The dog barked.
The girl sat alone in the corner.

“Say sorry.” said mother,
“Be nice to your brother,”
Little girl put in the corner.

The sparrow flew.  The dog barked.
The girl sat alone in the corner.

Father’s away at war they say,
Fighting for freedom every day
Little girl waits in the corner.

The sparrow flew.  The dog barked.
The girl sat alone in the corner.

Father was strong, but something went wrong,
Now the strange men are coming
Little girl still in the corner.

The sparrow flew.  The dog barked.
The girl sat alone in the corner.

The bullets like rain,
The noise when they came
Little girl hid in the corner.

The sparrow flew.  The dog barked.
The girl sat alone in the corner.

Mother was found
But don’t make a sound
Little girl tucked in the corner.

The sparrow flew.  The dog barked.
The girl cried alone in the corner.

Containing Glee

The air expands and contracts around me
It boils within and escapes
In a steam of giggles and shrieks
Bouncing and kicking
Flailing legs and
Suddenly I have six arms.

First Failure

Just past midnight.
Pretend I live one timezone over?
Apologies to you, myself.

Divinity

Truth in straining muscles
Stretching, reaching
Spinning dreams
Catching strands of golden light
Weaving a new reality
From heart
Soul
Mind
Body
Love
and pain. Expressing honesty in
Movement - impossibility achieved
Keeping the one promise,
To your self, unbroken.
Understanding and pursuing this truth.

Honesty

Grace and unseen power
In moments of stillness
Transitions flow with seamless placement
Of feet and porte-de-bras
Always in the moment
Swept on a tide of music
And naked feeling
Embraced in arms flung wide
Reached with bending knees
Gently circled in sweeping feet
Shattered by a body suspended in air
Abandoned, wrapping in on itself.
Performing for an audience of empty seats
Souls are bound to watch.

Essomenic

Some people care
Some don't
Some will work, others try
Some don't.

What matters?
Searching to find
Or just searching.

Always questions and continuing
In THE END, Oblivion. Definite
Maybe

Rotation

What is far and what is nigh

Seen not only with the eye

Once a sky so bright and blue

Now takes on a different hue

Always changing from the past

Feel a pattern meant to last

Life and death are partners still

Fortune fair and fortune ill

All is good and all is bad

Come what may of wishes had

Shifting always day to night

‘Round the sun’s celestial flight

Humble but with greatness yet

Many different needs are met

Buds and blades burst from the earth

Celebrating wondrous birth

Stretching, reaching, strong and sure

As with grace all does mature

Lush and thriving in the sun

One more phase is nearly done

Vibrant green now turns to red

Turning only to be shed

See the world so stark and brown

‘Till the flakes of cold come down

Falling everywhere in sight

Covering the world in white

Bathed in light so cold and clean

Lying silent as a dream

Ready now to continue

Warming, waking life anew.

Looking Back

Back in my day you could find anything online
Back in my day kids used laptops in school
Back in my day Pluto was a planet
Back in my day mp3s were cool and new
Back in my day we played CDs and marveled at parents' record collections
Back in my day we walked to school
Back in my day music was music
Back in my day we had to fight for the right to vote
Back in my day side-ponytails were cool
Back in my day TV only played a few shows a day
Back in my day we listened to stories on the radio
Back in my day most homes didn't have electricity or indoor plumbing
Back in my day the ocean froze enough in winter to take our horses and wagons out to the islands
Back in my day the world was flat
Back in my day cities were new
Back in my day (cave paintings) graffiti was okay, we called it art.
Now you call it history.

But the world develops differently
In different places
At different rates.

So much can be said
For some and not for others.
What do you want to say?

Slavery existed "back in the day"
Racial inequality existed "back in the day"
Women fought for equal rights "back in the day"
Homosexuals and other minorities fought for validation "back in the day"
Now we call it history, looking back.

All Night

Tears dry leaving a salty stretch
Down my cheeks and under my chin
Itchy skin, wants to be washed
Set on a rough towel over a pillow
Goodnight, it is morning
See you in the afternoon.

What's your favourite colour?

When I was little I knew
My favourite colour was purplepinksilverandgold.
I liked sparkles and horses and unicorns and things with wings.

Now when I think about it I wonder
Was it really my favourite? Or was it chosen for me
I can't remember.

I remember when I moved to Maine
In the summer, it took a while to make new friends.
There was this one girl who was
so cool. I figured out that she was popular.
She lived in my neighbourhood and we were friends.

I wanted to be cool, too.  We were at the age where it was
Cool for girls to like boy colours.
I liked blue. Blue was a cool colour.

I told her blue was my favourite colour.
I think blue was her favourite colour, too.

I had a lot of blue clothes. Blue looked good on me
Looks good on me
With my skin, my hair, my eyes.

Years later, when I thought about my favourite colour
When I choose between colours for a shirt I like
My mood isn't as clear anymore.

This shade of purple goes well with the grey stripe
Or this orange feels bright and summery
The green is nice too.

I thought back to when I decided blue was my favourite colour.
I recognized it for the decision it was. Not a realization.
Was it my favourite colour now?
Is it still blue above all others
Or is it blue and purple and maybe green, too

And oh the shades.  And where you find them
Each sunset a magnificent blend of royal purples and
burnt orange, rouge, pink, and gold
Or a gentle wash of rose-tinted clouds.
Beautiful and always different.

I love the bright green of leaves in sunlight
Darker needles of pine, and key lime pie.
I love a bold, sexy red, the darker shades of wine
And the rustic tones of Autumn.
Orange, citrus bright, cantaloupe or paler peach
Yellow lemons, morning light, cookies and envelopes.
Lavender, lilac, mulberry, and mauve. Mountains and
Berries and my bed sheets, too.

And ocean blues. Slate gray and hints of steel
Crests of white and sea-foam green
Deep, dark depths,
And warm, shallow tropical shelves
All so captivating, pools reflecting sky
The sky at morning, noon, and night
Cloud-strewn or clear, always a sight
Of beauty.

I remember when I was little
And kids discussing favourite colours
Could always agree upon one thing:
Brown is not my favourite.

But brown is beautiful.
Coffees and chocolates,
And oh the shades found in nature.
Different striations, rock formations, sands
Horses and puppies and foxes.

What is gold, but a paler bronze,
yellow Glorified.
Silver and gray, I appreciate both
And while we're on the subject,
Black and white, too.

Not colours, you say? I don't care.
White all colours in light
And black all colours in paint
An absence or contrast
And worth our attention.

Zebras and books, snow covered branches
Shadows and light.

What's my favourite colour? That's pretty hard to say.
It changes more than twice a day

What an annoying question.

Winding Wind

Whisk me away with your gentle strength
To your airy currents on high
Salty at sea, or pine in the breeze
That whistles in gusts or at length

Sanding stones smooth
Wind buffets the face of the earth
As it puffs and it blows
Except for those crevices tucked in a corner
Secrets untouched in a groove.

Tired

Tell me a story, the nightingales whisper
Into the night, the swish of dry fronds
Reality dimming through quiet and grace
Everything outlined in shadow and song
Dream of a still, far-off moon.

My Word

Expressed with straining, aching chords
No need for other, middling words
Futility and hope amuse
While others search for some excuse
A promise now, some form of boast,
But always lacking, just at most
At least is true as well for this
The word that fails the great abyss

almost