tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-111675892024-03-07T19:52:38.457-08:00Crimson ThoughtsME. In written form.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03957454443123526866noreply@blogger.comBlogger163125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11167589.post-80307466557694655342015-08-06T04:18:00.001-07:002015-08-06T05:11:19.050-07:00FirefliesYou may think that I have lost<br />
touch with what it means to say<br />
I love you<br />
to you.<br />
<br />
You may think it has become a reach<br />
a plea<br />
a desperate splaying of a<br />
cavernous<br />
and wounded<br />
heart<br />
to manipulate you into<br />
wrapping me with<br />
soothing arms.<br />
<br />
You may think that it has<br />
become an empty attempt<br />
at chasing<br />
fireflies of experience<br />
past<br />
to<br />
hold them in a ball jar<br />
and watch their glow<br />
encapsulated.<br />
<br />
You may think that it<br />
carries not the fresh spring of<br />
now, but<br />
the tinny<br />
metallic taste of water<br />
held still too long.<br />
<br />
You may think that it does not<br />
run in field anew,<br />
but lies in a huddled heap of sorrow,<br />
anguished at moments past.<br />
<br />
You may think that I have lost<br />
touch with what it means to say<br />
I love you<br />
to you.<br />
<br />
And even if all of those things are true.<br />
There is more.<br />
<br />
For the words I love you sing a<br />
symphony of every longing<br />
every joy<br />
every hope<br />
and dream<br />
and laugh<br />
and depth<br />
and peace<br />
<br />
that has been born, or has suffered between us.<br />
<br />
It plays<br />
a melody grounded in<br />
roots, holding<br />
all<br />
of<br />
those<br />
things<br />
<br />
from zygote to death thrall and<br />
onto wings anew.<br />
<br />
Beyond and because of<br />
us.<br />
<br />
A heart born a lifetime ago, reborn through devotion's pain.<br />
Earning its patina and rooted<br />
nonetheless,<br />
takes flight.<br />
<br />
I know<br />
because<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
I love you.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03957454443123526866noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11167589.post-69719804094489571222015-07-28T10:45:00.001-07:002015-07-28T10:45:22.818-07:00I love youHer: I love you<br />
<br />
Him: I love you<br />
<br />
Her: I love you<br />
<br />
Him: I love you. I love you. I love you.<br />
<br />
Her: I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you.<br />
<br />
Him: I love you<br />
<br />
Her: I love you<br />
<br />
Her: I love you<br />
<br />
Him: I love you<br />
<br />
Her: I love you. I love you. I love you.<br />
<br />
Him: I love you<br />
<br />
Her: I love you. Do you love me?<br />
<br />
Him: I love you<br />
<br />
Her: Do you still love me?<br />
<br />
Him: I love you<br />
<br />
Her: I love you. I love you<br />
<br />
Her: I love you<br />
<br />
Her: I love you<br />
<br />
Her: Do you love me?<br />
<br />
Him: Yes<br />
<br />
Her: I love you<br />
<br />
Him: I love you<br />
<br />
Her: How can I know that you love me?<br />
<br />
Him: I love you<br />
<br />
Her: I love you<br />
<br />
Her: I love you<br />
<br />
Her: I love you<br />
<br />
Her: I love you. Can you tell me that you love me?<br />
<br />
Him: I love you<br />
<br />
Her: Again?<br />
<br />
Him:<br />
<br />
Her: Please?<br />
<br />
Him:<br />
<br />
Her: Do you love me?<br />
<br />
Him: I do<br />
<br />
Her: I love you. Please tell me you love me. <br />
<br />
Him:<br />
<br />
Him:<br />
<br />
Him:<br />
<br />
Her: I love you<br />
<br />
Him:<br />
<br />
Him:<br />
<br />
Her: I thought you loved me.<br />
<br />
Him: I do<br />
<br />
Her: Why don't you ever tell me?<br />
<br />
Him: I did.<br />
<br />
Her: I love you<br />
<br />
Him:<br />
<br />
Him:<br />
<br />
Her:<br />
<br />
Him:<br />
<br />
Him:<br />
<br />
Her: I love youAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03957454443123526866noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11167589.post-67873797634643781762015-06-08T06:49:00.000-07:002015-06-08T08:40:22.958-07:00A Small FrogA small frog hopped through the yard. It could hear the water in the pond, the sounds of the insects. It could see the green leaves, and feel the moist dirt under its toes and the yellow sun soak into its gentle skin. <br />
<br />
And then, the frog saw the most beautiful thing. The most amazing, intoxicating thing that it had ever seen. A flower, of pink and red and orange that sparkled in the sun. It sang a song so beautiful. It swayed in the sweet breeze and bent its crown low for the small frog. The frog wept and crawled beneath the petals, so grateful. It kissed the stem and breathed the fragrance into its lungs. The frog had never felt so good. He danced around the flower and wrapped his long, tender toes around it.<br />
<br />
The small frog did that for a long, long time. The little frog began to fear that if it wandered from the flower, he wouldn't find his way back. Or, that it would be gone and he would never find it again. He missed something, but he couldn't remember what it was. So he stayed and breathed and breathed, and danced and danced. <br />
<br />
Soon, the fragrance of the blossom became weaker, the song not as clear. He didn't understand, and he was sad. He realized that he wasn't twirling in glee anymore, but the beautiful flower hadn't changed at all.<br />
<br />
The sun and the leaves and the breeze and the insects were still there.<br />
Right there.<br />
But the little frog chose the flower, and would not look at the other things as he hid in the flower's shade. The small frog didn't realize it, but his little body had become fragile. His green skin not as vibrant. His eyes not as clear.<br />
<br />
The little frog had forgotten that the flowers are just part of all of what is beautiful in the yard, and that small frogs need all of the beautiful, not just the flowers.<br />
Fearfully, he hopped to pond, and felt the sun pierce through him. He filled his small frog belly with insects and rolled in the lush, green grass.<br />
It felt good.<br />
<br />
And when he looked across the yard, he saw that the flower was still there. He could still hear its song, and smell its petals, and feel its beauty.<br />
<br />
And he was glad.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03957454443123526866noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11167589.post-22945787205355400992015-05-02T10:35:00.001-07:002015-05-02T10:35:09.523-07:00In An InstantI wonder when I'll go.<br />
I wonder what it will feel like.<br />
<br />
I wonder if time will pull me in a slow arc over<br />
expectation of loss<br />
and days and days of goodbyes<br />
too painful to say out loud.<br />
Or if I will be swept away in an instant<br />
leaving only a heap<br />
of the me that I thought I was.<br />
<br />
I wonder if I'll know<br />
that night meanders toward me and<br />
if I'll welcome it with a peaceful resignation.<br />
If I'll hold the hands of those who have<br />
walked in my life's heart<br />
and let their fingers slide slowly<br />
off of mine.<br />
<br />
Or if, like a whip, I will find myself<br />
somewhere else<br />
watching. Goodbye already outside of<br />
my grasp.<br />
<br />
I wonder what it will be like<br />
when I go the way<br />
that all have gone before.<br />
<br />
One day<br />
someday<br />
one day<br />
<br />
I'll know.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03957454443123526866noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11167589.post-55908992200928626312015-02-17T05:57:00.000-08:002015-02-17T05:57:09.243-08:00AlphabetArisen from the <div>
Banal of</div>
<div>
Creating</div>
<div>
Day to day,</div>
<div>
Every moment</div>
<div>
Flying by.</div>
<div>
Going from </div>
<div>
Here to there,</div>
<div>
I wondered where you were.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Joker</div>
<div>
Kind</div>
<div>
Lover</div>
<div>
Mellow</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Never ending something,</div>
<div>
Over the </div>
<div>
Presence of all I had known.</div>
<div>
Quiet wondering as to whether a </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Real</div>
<div>
Sweet</div>
<div>
True love might be</div>
<div>
Under the </div>
<div>
Very next stone.</div>
<div>
Willing it to land on the</div>
<div>
X. And then, there came</div>
<div>
You.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Zing.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03957454443123526866noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11167589.post-6771677459084088812015-01-11T14:36:00.000-08:002015-01-11T14:36:08.570-08:00yellow lightyellow light<br />
against the fence behind my house.<br />
yellow light that beckons night.<br />
yellow light that reminds me of color, and the sinking of it into nothingness.<br />
<br />
yellow light<br />
that haunts me<br />
and<br />
calls me<br />
just the same.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03957454443123526866noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11167589.post-77799982070336274592014-07-24T14:09:00.003-07:002014-07-24T14:10:48.115-07:00TapestrySometimes something reaches in and pulls out<br />
the threads attached to<br />
the<br />
feelings connected to a person<br />
the people<br />
the ones<br />
who have taken up residence inside of my heart.<br />
<br />
They aren't fleeting. Or temporary.<br />
They've woven themselves mercilessly into<br />
who I am.<br />
<br />
The feeling is so hard to describe.<br />
<br />
It's a wailing of my spirit<br />
a longing for<br />
a needing<br />
a knowing<br />
a<br />
dance that whips my hair behind me and knocks the breath out of me<br />
while it breathes life into me<br />
just the same.<br />
<br />
Sometimes it hurts.<br />
<br />
But mostly it makes me grateful<br />
to be alive<br />
in this life.<br />
<br />
Grateful for<br />
<br />
every single thread<br />
<br />
that has made up this<br />
<br />
tapestry.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03957454443123526866noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11167589.post-71756162243076086802014-07-09T11:11:00.003-07:002014-07-09T11:14:11.038-07:00Rainy DaysRainy days<br />
just make me wonder<br />
where the sun be shinin' now......<br />
<br />
Rainy days<br />
they bring asunder<br />
the sadness that fills our hearts<br />
sometimes....<br />
<br />
Rainy days<br />
grey softness covers<br />
as I hide beneath its heather mist<br />
and thunder rolls<br />
singing our heart's<br />
felt demise....<br />
<br />
Rainy days<br />
they<br />
make me wonder<br />
if everyone else is feeling it too...<br />
<br />
Rainy days<br />
the make my heart cry<br />
knowing<br />
that it just has to feel this way<br />
sometimes.....Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03957454443123526866noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11167589.post-9652151753725757252014-07-07T08:28:00.001-07:002014-07-07T08:29:53.218-07:00Ever ThinkEver think you've got it all together<br />
and you just keep moving<br />
toward<br />
away from<br />
here and there to where you think you<br />
need to want to have to<br />
go.<br />
<br />
Ever think that you<br />
put one foot in front of the other like you've always been<br />
told that you should<br />
and trusted what is coming next<br />
watching it work<br />
not work<br />
fall apart<br />
smoothly sail<br />
but you don't really<br />
know.<br />
<br />
<br />
Ever think you've got the tools and<br />
you know that<br />
from the outside<br />
from the eyes of all the others<br />
that are watching you from their vantage points<br />
into the view master that you've created<br />
and you wonder if they can tell<br />
that it doesn't feel as<br />
nice and easy and perfect and charmed<br />
as it looks through the lens of your iphone.<br />
<br />
Ever think you thought you knew what you were doing<br />
and then<br />
a page turns<br />
and you realize that<br />
you have no idea<br />
what you're doing<br />
at all.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03957454443123526866noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11167589.post-64411227086610469462014-06-03T14:04:00.006-07:002014-06-03T14:08:26.843-07:00It Laughs.<br />
I spin my thoughts<br />
grabbing air<br />
with certainty and<br />
forming it into the shapes that I want it to hold.<br />
<br />
Futile act,<br />
and the wind<br />
<br />
it laughs.<br />
<br />
<br />
I reach into the careening stream and<br />
will the movement to promise me<br />
that it will travel just the<br />
way that I want it to.<br />
<br />
Determined girl,<br />
and the water<br />
<br />
it laughs.<br />
<br />
<br />
I stretch my arms into the sky<br />
my paintbrush in hand<br />
sweeping color into the<br />
above<br />
sure that it will turn the<br />
very hue<br />
that I dream.<br />
<br />
Bold attempt,<br />
and the clouds<br />
<br />
they laugh.<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03957454443123526866noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11167589.post-2915074087882368942014-05-18T08:20:00.000-07:002014-05-18T11:33:20.400-07:00SanctuaryFrom when I was nothing<br />
in the moment I became<br />
<br />
something<br />
<br />
cells breaking into building into me.<br />
<br />
From nowhere<br />
somewhere<br />
where<br />
I came into your hiding place.<br />
<br />
my sanctuary.<br />
<br />
In a moment that<br />
not even you knew<br />
a silent burst of me<br />
from dream to being<br />
I was held in warmth<br />
<br />
soft<br />
love<br />
red<br />
dark<br />
you.<br />
<br />
my sanctuary.<br />
<br />
In a secret not even you yet knew<br />
your body my walls<br />
my buffer<br />
protected me from all that might harm<br />
as I grew<br />
from a something<br />
into a something<br />
into a something<br />
<br />
new<br />
<br />
my becoming<br />
certain and loved<br />
in<br />
<br />
my sanctuary.<br />
<br />
As my being grew<br />
larger<br />
able to hear you, feel you, know you.<br />
The walls whispering that I might have<br />
to soon leave<br />
and see where it is that I came.<br />
<br />
Violence and tumult<br />
pushed pulled<br />
forced and longed for and<br />
loved and<br />
coerced<br />
softness gave way to harsh<br />
and soothing darkness to light.<br />
I mourn<br />
<br />
my sanctuary.<br />
<br />
My passive fish lungs failed<br />
and in a heave of death<br />
this planet blew life into my body.<br />
So confused, wordless questions.<br />
Where<br />
Why<br />
How<br />
Is this the end of<br />
<br />
my sanctuary.<br />
<br />
<br />
Newness of angst in tears<br />
down my tiny face<br />
and in the face of<br />
who's arms<br />
surround and sooth<br />
her breast my nourishment<br />
her skin my clothes<br />
her voice my song<br />
I have fallen in love with<br />
<br />
my sanctuary.<br />
<br />
As I learned my boundaries<br />
you were there.<br />
My voice<br />
you were there.<br />
My song<br />
My fears<br />
My pain<br />
you were there.<br />
My growth<br />
you were there.<br />
My art<br />
you were there.<br />
My mistakes<br />
My learning<br />
My falls<br />
you were there.<br />
My wings<br />
you were there.<br />
My leaving<br />
My returning<br />
you were there.<br />
My choices<br />
My hurt<br />
My children<br />
My successes<br />
My risks<br />
My failures<br />
My life<br />
you were there.<br />
My life<br />
you were there.<br />
<br />
my sanctuary.<br />
<br />
And then, as I had chosen you so many<br />
years before<br />
I chose you again<br />
and I choose you<br />
again.<br />
<br />
my sanctuary.<br />
<br />
In my heart, you began to release<br />
the stronghold that you have always had<br />
on life. On yours. On mine.<br />
In slow steady moments lost to forever<br />
I have watched you take steps<br />
away from<br />
who I have always known you to be.<br />
I long for<br />
<br />
my sanctuary.<br />
<br />
As I sit close to you<br />
and hold your hand.<br />
As I hold close the you that you will always be to me.<br />
I love you more than I<br />
ever thought<br />
possible.<br />
<br />
and I know<br />
beyond any shadow<br />
that<br />
<br />
You will always<br />
<br />
be<br />
<br />
<br />
my sanctuary.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03957454443123526866noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11167589.post-9041272549972828902014-05-10T10:41:00.000-07:002014-05-11T16:23:43.635-07:00Mother's DayMother's Day<br />
<br />
I've always said that days that are calendar-ized are<br />
man made. Meaning given not by life, but by someone else.<br />
Yet, they come around as the sun rotates and I feel air as my butt finds metaphorical earth<br />
after my legs are kicked out from under me.<br />
<br />
I feel silly being public about missing my mother.<br />
You get it. I say it enough.<br />
She's been gone for 37 years.<br />
Get over it. How much can it actually pain me at this point?<br />
<br />
Sometimes I want to ask myself those very things.<br />
<br />
and much of the time, it doesn't hurt. but then a day comes<br />
and the calendar says that we are all to sit and think about<br />
our mothers.<br />
<br />
And I can. I do. I am.<br />
<br />
She was so beautiful.<br />
Everybody loved her. That's what everyone says.<br />
She was likable.<br />
She was talented. She was loved.<br />
I didn't have her very long. My sister had her for even less time.<br />
And I don't have a lot of memories.<br />
<br />
I remember her making dinner when American Pie was on the radio<br />
as Carrie and I sat at the round table with the bright yellow vinyl table cloth<br />
waiting. The walls were wallpapered with yellow zig zag fabric.<br />
<br />
I remember her hair. It was so pretty and simple. Her face so warm and pretty. <br />
She didn't have to try hard at all to look that way.<br />
<br />
I remember her making bread dough ornaments with us in the kitchen for Christmas.<br />
We sat at the Shakey's table in the breakfast nook.<br />
<br />
I remember eating spaghetti at that same table. The whole family. Candles were lit<br />
for ambiance. Could that be why I'm so nuts about soft lighting?<br />
<br />
I remember snippets of more. The memories are like snapshots that I might find in one of the almost too faded and worn by years gone by to really be able to look at anymore photo albums.<br />
<br />
She was a good mom.<br />
Maybe I don't have enough data to know that for sure, but for 10 years, she was a really good, warm, loving, all-in mom. It broke her heart that she knew she would die when we were young. It still breaks mine.<br />
<br />
There is more to Mother's Day. <br />
<br />
I have a step mother, Maxine, that has been a lovely and stable presence in my life since I was 12. I have aunts that I love like mothers. I have Anna, who is as much like a daughter to me as I will ever have. I never met my mother-in-law; she died when Eric was 21. I have a step-mother-in-law who is sweet and lovely. My sister is an amazing, real mother to Hudson and MyLinh. So many of my best friends are mothers to their heart-filled kids. One of my friend's mother is fading to the unrelenting sorrow of Alzheimer's.<br />
The world is filled with amazing, painful, gone, sick, loving, courageous, tender, nurturing, real, complicated mothers. Just the thought of all of the mother stuff takes my breath away. In a good, and in a not good way. All rolled into one deep breath suck.<br />
<br />
I have a hard time just saying, "Happy Mother's Day" as a blanket statement. <br />
There is so much wound up in the word mother.<br />
My wish for all of us is that we hold those relationships, those memories, and those feelings close, and give ourselves a break if it's not easy.<br />
<br />
I miss you, mom.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03957454443123526866noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11167589.post-25780062313417617962014-05-01T14:23:00.003-07:002014-05-01T14:47:37.946-07:00HonestI still think about what it could be like.<br />
If you were someone<br />
that wanted<br />
to have something<br />
worth having.<br />
<br />
I still start to plan on calling<br />
and wishing<br />
that we could talk about<br />
what happened.<br />
why.<br />
what if.<br />
I'm sorry.<br />
Let's change it.<br />
I love you.<br />
We can start today.<br />
Yes,<br />
I've always loved you.<br />
<br />
I still hurt knowing that it's rarely been you<br />
that reached<br />
or called<br />
or remembered<br />
or tried<br />
or asked for forgiveness<br />
or just made a fucking effort<br />
at<br />
all.<br />
<br />
I still wonder what you've been thinking<br />
all of these years.<br />
Why my heart hasn't<br />
<br />
mattered enough for you to love me.<br />
<br />
Why you haven't reached or called or tried or remembered or taken<br />
responsibility<br />
for the fact that you were<br />
the adult and<br />
it wasn't my job<br />
to keep you in my life.<br />
<br />
But I did.<br />
<br />
I still long for that feeling<br />
when I was a child<br />
and I looked at your<br />
cool<br />
strong<br />
charming<br />
dazzling smile<br />
intoxicating handsome way<br />
and thought<br />
you'd be there forever.<br />
Just like that.<br />
<br />
I still sweep up pieces of my heart<br />
from all of the<br />
days moments years events milestones<br />
that you gave away to someone else<br />
and instead<br />
sat in the dingy tv glow<br />
with your lover in a bottle<br />
while<br />
<br />
<br />
i<br />
<br />
<br />
grew<br />
<br />
<br />
up.<br />
<br />
<br />
I still wish for the father I always hoped you'd be<br />
and<br />
as the years<br />
stack upon one another like<br />
bricks and boxes and dusty repeats of things I have seen<br />
again and again and again.<br />
<br />
I wish<br />
I wonder<br />
I long<br />
I weep<br />
I try to make sense of how you could love me so<br />
little.<br />
<br />
and<br />
<br />
I wish you didn't make it so easy<br />
to try<br />
to<br />
forget.<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03957454443123526866noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11167589.post-80020605176211146822014-04-21T06:33:00.001-07:002014-04-21T06:33:23.703-07:00Feet GroundedI saw you in the corner of my eye<br />
I was simply doing little things that I do<br />
nothing special<br />
nothing expected<br />
stepping forward in contented banal.<br />
<br />
and I felt you sweep softly into view<br />
familiar presence<br />
and grab my hand.<br />
Your eyes caught mine as if to ask<br />
if I might join you<br />
and without time for response, you jumped into the sky<br />
my hand held tightly in yours<br />
my body slid into upward motion<br />
and we flew.<br />
<br />
For days and weeks it seems<br />
above the everything<br />
safe together<br />
wings laced as we felt the wind at our faces<br />
and the perfection of love<br />
only laughter and flying and joy<br />
with little thought of the<br />
whats and hows and dos and needs and nails and hammers and wallets and calendars and.....<br />
<br />
we flew and flew.<br />
<br />
One day, our feet touched down. Our eyes connected, we laughed<br />
at just how breathtaking it had been.<br />
And<br />
the whats and the hows and the dos and needs and nails and hammers and wallets and calendars<br />
beckoned.<br />
<br />
Still our wings reach to touch, and we fly with one another.<br />
In and around the hows and the dos and the needs and the nails and the hammers and wallets and calendars.<br />
The air still at our faces.<br />
<br />
It is finding the laughter and the flying and the joy<br />
with feet grounded<br />
and trust that the sky is certainly there<br />
where our love lives.<br />
<br />
I will always reach for your wings.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03957454443123526866noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11167589.post-35407909325329378812014-03-28T05:59:00.000-07:002014-03-28T06:00:39.937-07:00TroubleIf I were a child,<br />
being parented by myself,<br />
<br />
sitting low in a high back chair<br />
finger wagging at me<br />
by my very own self.<br />
<br />
lectured for<br />
patterns repeated<br />
again and again and again<br />
asked and pleaded with<br />
warned and cajoled<br />
threatened with consequences for<br />
<br />
choosing yet again<br />
to do<br />
say<br />
react<br />
whine<br />
scream<br />
throw tantrum over temper tantrum.<br />
<br />
If I were a young subject<br />
sitting in front of a very large desk<br />
an ominous me sitting a front.<br />
my smallish legs dangling still from a chair<br />
much too large<br />
hands shaking on my lap.<br />
Hearing that big voice tell me that my<br />
choices<br />
my attitude<br />
my failure once again to do what I have been asked.<br />
<br />
If I were that girl<br />
getting a talking to from<br />
the part of me that knows better.....<br />
<br />
I think I'd be<br />
<br />
in<br />
<br />
trouble.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03957454443123526866noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11167589.post-66955058642052815172014-03-18T07:53:00.003-07:002014-03-18T07:53:29.041-07:00Feel itI hope you can feel it.<br />
<br />
The center place in you that is connected to something,<br />
everything....<br />
tethered to the everything.<br />
<br />
I hope you can feel it.<br />
<br />
I hope that when you wake in the morning<br />
when you look at your children<br />
when you touch your lover<br />
when you make a new friend<br />
when you sweetly care<br />
<br />
I hope you can feel that you are touching<br />
<br />
love.<br />
<br />
That word just never captures it.<br />
Maybe it's because it's been so tired by the uses that we've given it.<br />
When really,<br />
it's not elusive<br />
or small<br />
or tinny<br />
or what you find in $11.75 movies.<br />
<br />
It's the<br />
<br />
everything.<br />
<br />
when you close your eyes, and there is nothing else but you<br />
and what you know and what you feel and who you love. It's there.<br />
<br />
I hope you can feel it,<br />
because it is so beautiful.<br />
<br />
I hope you can feel it. <br />
<br />
The color and the love and the flow and the peace and the patience and the quiet<br />
that resides<br />
everywhere you look. <br />
<br />
I can feel you not believing me, as life can be hard<br />
and pointy<br />
and painful<br />
and lonely.<br />
<br />
You're right. It can.<br />
<br />
But it's there. I promise.<br />
<br />
<br />
I hope<br />
you<br />
can<br />
<br />
feel it.<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03957454443123526866noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11167589.post-80203681867954598322014-03-02T17:39:00.002-08:002014-03-03T14:07:28.828-08:00Dragging Lightly in the SandIn the stir of the day<br />
with every possibility swirling about,<br />
<br />
I can feel you.<br />
<br />
<br />
In the movement of life,<br />
footsteps into running,<br />
wind of fast against my face,<br />
<br />
I can feel you.<br />
<br />
<br />
In the questions<br />
and<br />
the<br />
certainties,<br />
the<br />
scary<br />
and<br />
the<br />
comfort,<br />
<br />
I can feel you.<br />
<br />
<br />
In the past and the future,<br />
the nevers and the always,<br />
<br />
I can feel you.<br />
<br />
<br />
I bend my back across the strength of your arm,<br />
invisible across every mile between us,<br />
my hair dragging lightly in the<br />
sand.<br />
<br />
Your heart's fortitude suspends me.<br />
<br />
I can feel you.<br />
and.<br />
<br />
I.<br />
am.<br />
yours.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03957454443123526866noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11167589.post-39769678635830232212014-02-28T08:00:00.001-08:002014-02-28T23:19:55.463-08:00Broken HeartIts beauty<br />
breaks my heart.<br />
<br />
The sweet faithful reaching to a father that they can clearly see,<br />
and I'm not so sure.<br />
As I look at pictures of places<br />
I have never seen<br />
beautiful artistry, scrollwork pocked<br />
by bullet hate<br />
people I have never known<br />
on their desperate knees.<br />
<br />
<br />
The questions<br />
break my heart<br />
<br />
I hear them being asked, all over.<br />
Whispers and screaming fists pounding fingers tightened<br />
around throats until the vocabulary that they do not know<br />
for the very same God disappears.<br />
<br />
Certainty.<br />
exclamation.<br />
assurance.<br />
<br />
and<br />
<br />
I can't buy it.<br />
<br />
<br />
The silence<br />
breaks my heart.<br />
<br />
Staring into ebony sky feeling forever<br />
never ending<br />
no wall with a sign that says "EXIT"<br />
The ever drip of knowledge<br />
confuses with its vast mass<br />
but to me<br />
points only to<br />
<br />
holy.<br />
<br />
<br />
The Love.<br />
It<br />
breaks my heart<br />
<br />
into so many pieces they can't be counted<br />
As I do my thing<br />
working creating talking impacting living<br />
and he watches from across the space<br />
deep in his own conversation<br />
about life or family or art or doing or being and<br />
completely ok on his own<br />
he smiles a knowing smile at me.<br />
No ownership<br />
only admiration.<br />
<br />
I sit in this<br />
everything<br />
so perfect in its chaos<br />
and all I feel<br />
is gratitude<br />
<br />
for my broken heart.<br />
<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03957454443123526866noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11167589.post-2877178738207504442014-02-23T07:05:00.002-08:002014-02-23T07:05:20.857-08:00O L DFive days and thirty-five years.<br />
<br />
<br />
moments and newness<br />
and history and<br />
frost edged memories<br />
not sure if they're real or<br />
created from the cast of characters<br />
and sets that I remember.<br />
<br />
Digging deep into the storage of my<br />
awareness<br />
to find pictures of people as they were.<br />
As they are.<br />
<br />
Interesting<br />
as one ages.<br />
when I was a kid, I'd look at a person that was<br />
the age that<br />
<br />
I<br />
am<br />
now<br />
<br />
and be sure<br />
<br />
they just don't get it. <br />
How could they?<br />
<br />
They're<br />
<br />
O L D.<br />
<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03957454443123526866noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11167589.post-2981904090897914612014-02-21T08:59:00.004-08:002014-02-21T08:59:46.451-08:00Morning Mustmorning must<br />
<br />
show you naked<br />
unadorned without<br />
pretense<br />
no coiff or thought to how the world might perceive<br />
simply you.<br />
<br />
morning must<br />
<br />
tease you into awareness<br />
a soft<br />
float skimming the surface<br />
ripples from tiny thought circles<br />
from somewhere else to where you are.<br />
<br />
morning must<br />
<br />
create a cliche grey mist<br />
cashmere<br />
toussled hair<br />
sleepy eyes<br />
warm, sleep caressed<br />
skin.<br />
<br />
morning must<br />
<br />
hold you like hot coffee<br />
eggs over medium<br />
night stretched tshirt<br />
sheets wrapped in folds around<br />
stretched legs.<br />
<br />
morning must<br />
<br />
invite you to the most<br />
beautiful version of the day<br />
before questions have chance<br />
to root.<br />
<br />
morning must<br />
<br />
be<br />
lovely.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03957454443123526866noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11167589.post-80315367125282575832014-02-17T10:26:00.001-08:002014-02-17T11:41:35.092-08:00PropelledWhen I was a girl, I would see that glint<br />
that something,<br />
and I would be propelled into<br />
that very simple thing.<br />
<br />
He must be mine.<br />
<br />
Two initials embraced within the red outline of a crayon heart<br />
an arrow drawn through its center.<br />
<br />
<br />
When I was just a little older, I would feel that something.<br />
That wordless<br />
unexplainable something<br />
and be propelled into combustable need.<br />
<br />
Orchestrated sitting next to him in a bar<br />
the beat of some earthy heart thump pulsing through<br />
legs touching under sweaty drinks<br />
<br />
electric<br />
<br />
to find ourselves in a messy knot<br />
candle lit<br />
messy pile of discarded socks and sweatshirts.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
When I was a young woman, I would notice<br />
<br />
that<br />
<br />
person.<br />
<br />
Tall and strong, responsible and handsome<br />
makes people laugh at parties and everyone wants to be around him.<br />
I would be propelled<br />
into planning for him to be my Camelot.<br />
Imagination drawings of white picket fences<br />
carrying me over the threshold<br />
longing for me while I stir something on the stove<br />
mowing the lawn and inside at afternoon's exit<br />
his sexy day worn tshirt, my prince.<br />
<br />
When I was a woman seasoned some, I would sense that secret smile<br />
as I glanced at someone and would be propelled to wonder<br />
if maybe it was he that<br />
would<br />
could<br />
should<br />
save me from the everyday<br />
work<br />
monotony<br />
mundane<br />
washing clothes cooking meals never catching up falling into bed too tired to make love.<br />
<br />
<br />
I am a woman.<br />
no longer a girl<br />
no longer on any hunt for<br />
someone<br />
something<br />
it<br />
him.<br />
<br />
enticed by my own mind and spirit<br />
surrendered to complexity and layers of grey and nothing really living inside the box that has been<br />
drawn for us.<br />
<br />
I still notice.<br />
<br />
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. <br />
<br />
I notice.<br />
<br />
Thing is, I no longer feel propelled<br />
to anything in particular.<br />
<br />
I feel my heart unzip and allow my life to unfold.<br />
I bend to integrity, and honesty, and all of the corners of life that I might have never looked into.<br />
I rejoice in the love that I have and for every love that sneaks into my heart.<br />
<br />
Every love is a new color.<br />
<br />
A friend.<br />
A muse.<br />
An inspiration.<br />
A memory.<br />
A texture.<br />
<br />
Perhaps I am<br />
indeed<br />
propelled,<br />
<br />
but<br />
to nothing<br />
in<br />
<br />
particular.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03957454443123526866noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11167589.post-16284741452385287992014-02-17T05:23:00.004-08:002014-02-17T08:48:14.665-08:00So Much Going OnSo much going on.<br />
<br />
Not to be seen with the eyes<br />
of others.<br />
For to them, it looks of calm and peace.<br />
Glittery pics of pools and sleeping dogs,<br />
holding honey hands<br />
and basking in a bath of plenty.<br />
<br />
So much going on.<br />
The going on lives inside of me.<br />
It is made up of<br />
<br />
Thoughts,<br />
Questions. Certainties.<br />
Growth. Wonder.<br />
Loss. Pain. Art.<br />
Stagnation. Fear.<br />
Resolve. Decision.<br />
Newness. Panic.<br />
Wanting.<br />
Unresolved creativity.<br />
Undiscovered<br />
everything.<br />
<br />
So much going on.<br />
<br />
It lies in the processing of what I do, and what I haven't. It lies in<br />
friendships old and new.<br />
What to keep and what to release.<br />
Holding tight to loves gone by,<br />
and looking at the ghostly space that they<br />
held, but<br />
which will never truly have gone. <br />
To me.<br />
It lies in the fear that I am not loved. Judged. Eyes rolling from around the world<br />
so hard<br />
that I feel them crash into me. <br />
<br />
It lies in wanting to be so me,<br />
so ok with being<br />
<br />
me<br />
<br />
that I can't even perceive<br />
of<br />
ugly thoughts.<br />
<br />
It lies in wanting to know<br />
to dig deeper<br />
to fall with breathtaking<br />
abandon<br />
into<br />
<br />
art<br />
you<br />
friends<br />
spirit<br />
deep, deep love<br />
exotic peoples<br />
desperate giving<br />
breaking through self imposed lids on metaphorical jam jars<br />
learning<br />
dancing into dizzy amazing<br />
shifting<br />
adding<br />
exploding with color joy yummy sexy fullfilled connected awe-inspiring<br />
good.<br />
<br />
<br />
more.<br />
of.<br />
me.<br />
<br />
<br />
So much going on.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03957454443123526866noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11167589.post-1326297296736305032013-10-12T05:19:00.002-07:002013-10-12T05:19:31.296-07:00MorningI love the sound of water moving.<br />
It sounds like soft wet<br />
bells that don't really ring.<br />
They blurb and bubble and dance a song<br />
that no one can sing<br />
but it.<br />
Gently touching<br />
some secret place inside<br />
of us.<br />
<br />
<br />
I love the sound of leaves<br />
bumping against<br />
one another. <br />
Even if they bump hard<br />
wind bends branches<br />
whipping,<br />
the violence of leaves bouncing against one another<br />
ferociously<br />
sounds soft to<br />
me.<br />
<br />
<br />
I love the feel of air on my skin<br />
when it is just the right<br />
coolness<br />
just the right<br />
speed.<br />
invisible caresses to my body and joy that comes from<br />
not my mind.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03957454443123526866noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11167589.post-84208613889725824752013-09-17T05:44:00.000-07:002013-09-17T05:44:13.562-07:00The Way it IsSeems like there's always something going on.<br />
Something to recover from.<br />
Something to work through.<br />
Something to challenge and to conquer.<br />
<br />
Seems like there's always something <br />
looming.<br />
<br />
A heartbreak.<br />
A disappointment.<br />
A driver that gets in my way.<br />
A question that I cannot easily answer.<br />
<br />
Even just after I <br />
see <br />
the most beautiful<br />
golden<br />
fire<br />
rise of our star<br />
<br />
or<br />
<br />
the most delicious hug<br />
or breathtaking connected conversation with a friend<br />
or a phone call<br />
I've been waiting for<br />
but didn't even know it<br />
<br />
or<br />
<br />
a quiet, full of nothing and everything moment<br />
while I rub the belly of my<br />
innocent dog.<br />
<br />
<br />
There is something.<br />
<br />
The memory of that time that hurt so much,<br />
The rejection from that person that I thought I needed.<br />
The loss of what I thought was the core of me.<br />
The boss that doesn't appreciate me.<br />
The midnight trips to the freezer for ice cream.<br />
The argument from a million years ago that still echoes in my mind.<br />
<br />
There is always something.<br />
<br />
<br />
Seems like that's just the way it is.<br />
<br />
Experience beauty <br />
and <br />
work through stuff that challenges me.<br />
<br />
And maybe<br />
that's just the way<br />
it is<br />
supposed to<br />
<br />
<br />
be.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03957454443123526866noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11167589.post-53217821226568594432013-09-05T15:34:00.002-07:002013-09-06T08:33:42.566-07:00KingdomKing of his world<br />
All the people all the things<br />
under his capable command.<br />
<br />
The world outside<br />
<br />
just a story<br />
that someone else tells.<br />
<br />
He keeps the walls of<br />
his fortress<br />
strong<br />
and impenetrable,<br />
his subjects adoring and loyal.<br />
<br />
It had always been enough.<br />
<br />
For a moment,<br />
or just a little longer,<br />
he was distracted.<br />
His eyes averted from<br />
his kingdom.<br />
He allowed his mind<br />
to wander from the painting that<br />
is his world.<br />
<br />
Like a hook in his fleshy cheek,<br />
he was pulled.<br />
His breath taken away as<br />
he saw<br />
what lie outside of<br />
his kingdom.<br />
<br />
Humbled and afraid<br />
intrigued and intoxicated,<br />
he knew that<br />
there was more<br />
than what existed inside.<br />
<br />
But<br />
what of<br />
those that<br />
looked to him<br />
for their everything?<br />
<br />
Their hope.<br />
Their love.<br />
Their adoration.<br />
Their loyalty.<br />
Their need.<br />
<br />
Ultimately, he could not continue to look out of the opened window.<br />
He could not bear the thought of their knowing that<br />
he wanted more than his kingdom could provide.<br />
<br />
So he grabbed the edge of that tiny, opened wooden door<br />
that showed him the wonder<br />
of more.<br />
He swung it slowly on its hinges<br />
and<br />
he<br />
closed<br />
it.<br />
<br />
A sliver of light shown through the edge of the door,<br />
yet the latch<br />
as it sunk into its lock<br />
made an audible sound.<br />
<br />
He knows that there is wonder outside of his kingdom,<br />
but he will not taste it today.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03957454443123526866noreply@blogger.com0