Friday, February 28, 2014

Broken Heart

Its beauty
breaks my heart.

The sweet faithful reaching to a father that they can clearly see,
and I'm not so sure.
As I look at pictures of places
I have never seen
beautiful artistry, scrollwork pocked
by bullet hate
people I have never known
on their desperate knees.


The questions
break my heart

I hear them being asked, all over.
Whispers and screaming fists pounding fingers tightened
around throats until the vocabulary that they do not know
for the very same God disappears.

Certainty.
exclamation.
assurance.

and

I       can't       buy       it.


The silence
breaks my heart.

Staring into ebony sky feeling forever
never ending
no wall with a sign that says "EXIT"
The ever drip of knowledge
confuses with its vast mass
but to me
points only to

holy.


The Love.
It
breaks my heart

into so many pieces they can't be counted
As I do my thing
working creating talking impacting living
and he watches from across the space
deep in his own conversation
about life or family or art or doing or being and
completely ok on his own
he smiles a knowing smile at me.
No ownership
only admiration.

I sit in this
everything
so perfect in its chaos
and all I feel
is gratitude

for my broken heart.


Sunday, February 23, 2014

O L D

Five days and thirty-five years.


moments and newness
and history and
frost edged memories
not sure if they're real or
created from the cast of characters
and sets that I remember.

Digging deep into the storage of my
awareness
to find pictures of people as they were.
As they are.

Interesting
as one ages.
when I was a kid, I'd look at a person that was
the age that

I
am
now

and be sure

they just don't get it.  
How could they?

They're

O L D.


Friday, February 21, 2014

Morning Must

morning must

show you naked
unadorned without
pretense
no coiff or thought to how the world might perceive
simply you.

morning must

tease you into awareness
a soft
float skimming the surface
ripples from tiny thought circles
from somewhere else to where you are.

morning must

create a cliche grey mist
cashmere
toussled hair
sleepy eyes
warm, sleep caressed
skin.

morning must

hold you like hot coffee
eggs over medium
night stretched tshirt
sheets wrapped in folds around
stretched legs.

morning must

invite you to the most
beautiful version of the day
before questions have chance
to root.

morning must

be
lovely.

Monday, February 17, 2014

Propelled

When I was a girl, I would see that glint
that something,
and I would be propelled into
that very simple thing.

He must be mine.

Two initials embraced within the red outline of a crayon heart
an arrow drawn through its center.


When I was just a little older, I would feel that               something.
That wordless
unexplainable something
and be propelled into combustable need.

Orchestrated sitting next to him in a bar
the beat of some earthy heart thump pulsing through
legs touching under sweaty drinks

electric

to find ourselves in a messy knot
candle lit
messy pile of discarded socks and sweatshirts.



When I was a young woman, I would notice

that

person.

Tall and strong, responsible and handsome
makes people laugh at parties and everyone wants to be around him.
I would be propelled
into planning for him to be my Camelot.
Imagination drawings of white picket fences
carrying me over the threshold
longing for me while I stir something on the stove
mowing the lawn and inside at afternoon's exit
his sexy day worn tshirt, my prince.

When I was a woman seasoned some, I would sense that secret smile
as I glanced at someone and would be propelled to wonder
if maybe it was he that
would
could
should
save me from the everyday
work
monotony
mundane
washing clothes cooking meals never catching up falling into bed too tired to make love.


I am a woman.
no longer a girl
no longer on any hunt for
someone
something
it
him.

enticed by my own mind and spirit
surrendered to complexity and layers of grey and nothing really living inside the box that has been
drawn for us.

I still notice.

I notice smart, and sexy, intelligent and creative, tender and strong.  I notice love and security and joy and comfort. I notice loyal and artistic and surrendered and inspired and kind.

I notice.

Thing is, I no longer feel propelled
to anything in particular.

I feel my heart unzip and allow my life to unfold.
I bend to integrity, and honesty, and all of the corners of life that I might have never looked into.
I rejoice in the love that I have and for every love that sneaks into my heart.

Every love is a new color.

A friend.
A muse.
An inspiration.
A memory.
A texture.

Perhaps I am
indeed
propelled,

but
to nothing
in

particular.



So Much Going On

So much going on.

Not to be seen with the eyes
of others.
For to them, it looks of calm and peace.
Glittery pics of pools and sleeping dogs,
holding honey hands
and basking in a bath of plenty.

So much going on.
The going on lives inside of me.
It is made up of

Thoughts,
Questions. Certainties.
Growth. Wonder.
Loss. Pain. Art.
Stagnation. Fear.
Resolve. Decision.
Newness. Panic.
Wanting.
Unresolved creativity.
Undiscovered
everything.

So much going on.

It lies in the processing of what I do, and what I haven't. It lies in
friendships old and new.
What to keep and what to release.
Holding tight to loves gone by,
and looking at the ghostly space that they
held, but
which will never truly have gone.
To me.
It lies in the fear that I am not loved. Judged. Eyes rolling from around the world
so hard
that I feel them crash into me.

It lies in wanting to be      so      me,
so ok with being

me

that I can't even perceive
of
ugly thoughts.

It lies in wanting to know
to dig deeper
to fall with breathtaking
abandon
into

art
you
friends
spirit
deep, deep love
exotic peoples
desperate giving
breaking through self imposed lids on metaphorical jam jars
learning
dancing into dizzy amazing
shifting
adding
exploding with color joy yummy sexy fullfilled connected awe-inspiring
good.


more.
of.
me.


So          much         going          on.