Fear and/or Sanity

* * *


101031

CUED TO FOOD

Am I hungry? Am I not?
How to tell, I forgot.

I eat on cue (from them, me, you).
Sometimes the cue is them, me, you.

I eat whenever prompted to.
Can there be a way not to?


101030

FRIEND OF A FRIEND
(for Andy)

Zounds,
the man does astound!
Happy birthday,
Ezra Pound.


FEAR AND/
OR SANITY

All is well on the Mall
(here as well—all, all, all).


101029

OPEN GATE

The you
that you are meant to be
is now— at least, can be.

It’s not too late;
why wait?


LET GO

I had a job but it got zapped
and now my energy is sapped.
I feel so tired, but not from toil—
more like a frog that’s slowly boiled.


STRENUOUS DREAMS

Each morning begins
as a wake-up, an emergence,
a recovery from dream-trials
of the night—
trials of exploration,
trials of evaluation,
trials of endurance.

Each morning begins
as an achievement.


101028

NEWLY BEFRIENDED
(Poems through my left hand.)

Let me be your poet.
Let me write your words.
Let me change your heart to sky
and all your thoughts to birds.

* * *
Tell you what…
let’s be friends.
Life is play
that never ends.

* * *
My way
is
the high way.

* * *
Here’s what
every finger knows:
the heavy work
is done by toes.

* * *
Sleep is what
a body needs.
"Sleep!" is what
this body pleads.

* * *
Cat on bed—
be careful, please!
Some cats sleep.
This one pees.

* * *
Oh, me. Oh, my!
Oh, my. Oh me!
She came with the name
Sweet Trouble,
but should be called
Sweet Pee.

[ASIDE: Written with my left hand
in a befriend-your-body exercise.
The premise is that doing so improves
contact with the creative right side of the brain.
Also, Emma-cat has begun to think the bed is her
new pee-place, freshly laundered after every use.]


101027

OH, GOOD NIGHT!

“Bats in the belfy,
worms in the books,”
somebody said.
“Bugs in the bed!”

“Rent the belfry.
Lease the books,”
another said.
“But—oh, good night!—
don’t let the bed;
bugs bite!”


101026

EMPTY EYES

How we hurry—
how unwise—
with unfilled hungers,
empty eyes.


101025

VOIDED

What I take up,
I set down.

What takes me up
sets me down.

That is the cycle.

I am handmaiden
to nothing.

[ASIDE: I’d just listened to a TED talk by Elisabeth Gilbert
on creativity and decided to loan this time/space/venue
to my daemon/genius/muse: “Here, say something.”]


101024

SLOW STARTER

Sunday
is my lazy day
(more so than the others).

The best part
is to read in bed
(or just stay under covers).


101023

FOREVER FUTURE

Two futures
are furiously unfurling:
bliss and misery.

Two futures
are furiously unfurling,
or seem to be, eternally.


101022

COCOA CAMO

Hi, Mom, where ya been?
I been hidin’. Look, it’s me!
Wanna lick my cheek or chin?
I been busy—come an’ see.

[ASIDE: Written in response to an on-line photo challenge.]

Jo'z Julz

* * *


101010

DERE FRENDZ

I ain't twitterd in a wile,
nor writ no poem neether.
Ever now an then (like you)
I jest needz a breether.


101009

RESCUE?

A tablespoon of mouse—
that’s how big it was,
and not yet torn or injured
by tomcat teeth or claws.

I thought it wouldn’t last a day.
It refused to eat,
making every force-feed ploy
a sadly futile feat.

This is the third evening.
Still, mousey lingers on
while Something
toys with each of us
and moves each as its pawn.


101008

eBAY

No “try” applies
when I buy—
but how the hell
shall I sell?


101007

PLAY-PRETTIES

Suddenly,
I’m a fool for jewels
and all awhirl
for mother-of-pearl.


101006

SHOPPING TRIPPED

A blouse in need of buttons,
that’s how it began—
an excursion to a thrift store
to look, to search, to scan;
earrings and a necklace,
purchases unplanned.
Somehow, crafting jewelry
became my heart’s demand.


101005

EXTENDED VACATION

Suit yourself. I don’t care.
I’m in the land of laissez-faire—
I went to visit; I’m still there.

Under my skin? In my hair?
Not one bit. No, I swear.
Suit yourself. I don’t care.


101004

EVERYDAY POETRY

My rule is—
write a poem on the day,
about the day,
or about a thing
that’s everyday...
so it’s okay,
more than perhaps,
to play my way:
to later fill in gaps.

ASIDE: …especially since it can be so hard
and time-consuming to write a poem at all.
Make-up poems can be even more difficult.


101003

TREES THAT PLEASE

Orange-gold
beneath bold blue—
October oaks,
we’ve pined for you.


101002

“DREAM” CHALLENGE

Muse, dear muse,
I dream of you—
even when
instructed to.


101001

HIGH AND DEEP

Each year brings us lows and highs
(greeted, both, by deep-breathed sighs)
and few highs are more highly prized
than deeply blue October skies.


100930

NACRE

naked beauty

iridescent
opalescent

beauty named
an ugly name


100929

GLORY US!

Glory at night.
Glory at morn.
Glory—all glory!—
that we were born.


100928

DAFT FOR CRAFT

Muse,
I make confession.

Out of the blue
(if not from you),
I have a new obsession.


100927

ERRATIC

yesternight:
a restless night

a restless night
again tonight

a restful night
would set this right

so wistful for
a restful night


100926

STUMPED

I wish...
I want...
I might like…
I would choose to…
I could make a difference by…
My ideal life would be like…
I wish.
I want.
I do?


100925

THE ONE EXCEPTION

I’d rather pet a cat
than write a poem;
I’d rather cook a meal
than write a poem;
I’d rather go shopping
or visit a friend
or read a book
or watch buzzards fly
than write a poem—
except, that is, when
I’m writing a poem.


100924

BEACHED

Lately,
the ebb and flow
of the ebb and flow
seems to ebb and flow
just fine without me.


100923

EVEN THE PAST EVOLVES

Was it this way—or that?
What didn’t I know—then or later?
What do I not know now?

The story of my life
changes with each telling.

Now, even when I try to tell it true,
I have to keep my fingers crossed.


* * *

Stress, Distress, De-stress

* * *

100625

CAT SPAT

And then there was the day
the neighborhood white stray
chased Emma on the deck.
She fought and squealed like heck
as I came running.

The stray took off, but what a scare!
Gray-fluff fur was everywhere,
but not one sign of blood;
that, at least, was good.

By luck or cunning,
Emma’d located a nook
from which to fight. I took
her in my arms and nearly wept;
she had started purring. Then she slept,
and then went back outside—
my blind battler, and my pride.


100624

AFTERNOON AFTER

To bed at four.
Awake at ten
to write this pome
then sleep again.


100623

SKYLIGHT

Today at dawn
I shut the blinds,
then was surprised
to wake and find
the room so bright;
I’d been sleeping
in the light.


NOT ALARMED

Except for skylight,
I would still
be sleeping.


WRITING IT OUT

Perplexed.
Panicked.
Inadequate.

Whatever my biology,
whatever my upbringing,
whatever my adaptations,
hurry reverts me
to juvenile feelings:

Not good enough.
Don’t know enough.
Don’t know enough
to get it right,
or, even, just to get it.
Can’t think.
Can’t think.
Can’t think.
Can’t remember
enough or fast enough.
And didn’t write it down.

What is the proper sacrifice
to hurry? In the work of writing,
if my strengths are my weakness,
do I become stronger by weakening?

Where is the center,
the balance point?
How much can balance?
What is the point?


100622

UNFAMILIAR VOICES

Which birds were those,
the first of dawn,
serenading his departure?


100621

WAKE UP, WAKE UP!

What is this—
an exercise in depletion,
or simple self-deception?
—working ‘round the clock
designing training courses
on how to manage time
and keep a life in balance.


* * *

Intimations of Mortality

* * *

100405

DRIFTER

Where the road ends—

where ceaseless waves of water
and waterlogged debris, suspended,
drift in and out, out and in—

someone faces the wind, chilling;
clouds, darkening;
day, dying;

someone stands immobile,
but for easeless waves of air
breathed in and out, out and in.


100404

WHY?

Doesn't it seem
that people's suffering
is out of all proportion
to any harm they've done—
or even
might have done
in purported prior lives?

What gives?
Who set this up?
If it’s all a game, who’s laughing?


MAD CHATTER

Don’t tell me you don’t have a thousand
voices in your head clamoring, ranting,
fuming, lampooning, and issuing commentary
via a thousand points of view. Don’t tell me you
don’t squelch them rather than belch them, or,
if warranted and you’re in the mood, invite them
to stay for tea or a similar heart-to-heart.


100403

LIMERICKS ON FREELANCE WRITING

There once was an Everyday Poet
who said, “I write well; let me show it.”
Her lance—like her fee
and her spirit—were free,
so soon she went broke, don’t you know it?

There twice was a writer who freelanced.
The first time he quit, his affianced
insisted he do.
Bad clients (time two)
showed him how, with his free lance, to be lanced.

And my favorite...

“Writer for Hire” is my trade.
Of blood, sweat and tears, I have made
my very life’s ink—
but freedom, I think,
is worth all the dues that I’ve paid.


100402

BUMMED

Want work an’ money, like other folk—
tired o’ bein’ so dam broke.


100401

PERSONAL FAVE

Chocolate cake—I gave a look.
Carrot cake—I partook.

Chocolate cake I can decline.
Carrot cake is too sublime.


100331

SWING SHIFT

woke up
half an hour early

rolled over
(big mistake)

showed up
groggy, surly—
half an hour late


100330

GLIMMERS
OF SUCCESS

Holey moley—,
‘bout damn time!

(Making progress slowly.)


100329

ASPIRING POETS—

You want to write right, right?
You want to read, read, read.


ELSEWHERE (for Carrie)

Missed the party;
don't know how.
All that fun!
All that chow!


* * *