pad #4

I write cuz what comes out of my my mouth unthinking discombobulates me

I write cuz making sense of the world is like being a cartographer

I write cuz my modesty prides itself in having an art that's nearly impossible to make a living off of

I write cuz I'm not as narcisstic as a musician plus I can't sing in tune

They tell me 'Spit poet!'

Well I already spit whenever I talk

like grandma Shirley and Nana, great-grandmother Eve, did

so maybe I can put that saliva to good use

Will I get something off my chest?

Will I change the world just a little bit?

I speak cuz words move things

I speak cuz I'm from Jersey

I speak because egos wrapped in towers of power rarely chose to listen

on their own

4.3.12 his totem animal is a woodpecker

The woodpecker's last tree

hums softly as the red-crowned fellow

zips over to his next exploration.

To him a vast adventure will be had,

mysterious nuggets of nourishment will be found,

as he proudly continues his regular tap-tap-tap.

'But I know' thinks the tree,

'That he leaves holes in the being that offers him food,

his rhythm is regular but lacks a rich texture,

and he cannot go that deep.

How could he that leaves holes

in those who give him sustenance?'

Expecting no answer, the tree hums,

gathers sun, lifts water slowly up her roots,

feeds and gets fed by and dances with

the many beings in the world of her body,

Rich, deep and whole.

The new holes on her body 

tell the story of her life,

Rich deep and whole.

poem a day #2

ode to you for not being in my life

So many thanks to those who are not my friends

any longer

As I breezily leap past others entangled 

in your narcissistic neuroticism

Sit back and drink tea in the sun

while others struggle to stay awake

through your neverending lectures 

about bands no one has ever heard of,

and for good reason, but somehow

that makes them oh so special to you

I am grateful that you discovered

how much you can't be around me

enough to shun, lie, judge and

even become indifferent to me

So that in my infinite hard-headedness

I could still realize that you were only stimulating

in all the wrong ways

Breathe deep and laugh voraciously

as I realize I will never again breathe in

your particular brand of superficial

Thanks for not being here.

If you show up I really don't care,

as long as you go on your own way,

your favorite way anyway.

poem a day #1 - can I really hang? we'll see

4.1.12

the night slides slowly and smoothly

a rowboat through the lake of dreams

ripples breaking through the perfect mirror of 

the starry starry sky, alive with the dark

underneath this subterfuge of calm beauty

in beds little hearts beat at top speeds

and words and tears of deep sorrow

odes to old times in young eyes

perfectly beautiful memories, full of forgetting

golden and bright regardless of  

the fights that punctuated those days 

with flames relentlessly

but this yearning back from big sleepy sad eyes

keeps a slightly bigger heart up 

through the night, beating at top speed

speak your mind

Many people, especially ignorant people, want to punish you for speaking the truth, for being correct, for being you. Never apologize for being correct, or for being years ahead of your time. If you’re right and you know it, speak your mind. Even if you are a minority of one, the truth is still the truth. ~ Mohandas Gandhi

http://globalgrind.com/news/rep-bobby-rush-kicked-house-floor-after-wearing-hoodie-photo 

transition

Transition. Not as in the sweet rift of evolution and transformation. Not that feeling, no, not the chrysalis of change nor the terrified gut like you're at the top of the roller coaster about to come roaring down.

This is transition, as in birth. The brick wall. The place of 'I cannot go on,' when you really truly know you have to, that there is no other way. The baby's not going back in. Even if it ends up happening by surgery, that baby comes out. Even if the most awful happens and the baby dies, he's still coming out. Even if you die, that baby's still coming out. Usually when mamas feel this way, they're dilated to 10cm and are about to start that home stretch of pushing, a heave-ho for some women, or a grueling marathon for some, like me. Either way, at transition we're close, so much closer than we've been, and that's when it feels impossible. We feel more than doubt - deep despair. Total stark hopelessness.

I've never felt quite this way when I was not in labor. Actually, I didn't quite feel so wholly this way even in labor, though I have witnessed women going through it. 

I feel it now. I appreciate that my boys are with me, constantly showing me why I have to go on. I also sometimes wish I could just take care of myself in this moment. I wish I could let it all go and dive and hit rock bottom with the force of will and gravity together. I do not want to do that to my children. I do want to do it for myself.

After being responsible for some time, I want to be irresponsible. I want to go tear shit up, I want to not care, I want to not be good. Like Mary Oliver says, 'You do not have to be good," and I say 'Hell yeah!' even though she didn't mean it in that badass way. She meant in it in that sanctimonious derisive viewpoint way, equally important. But why not be good? Why be 'free' of the things I most love? It's like when I used to give myself weekends off from my yoga practice... Why give myself time off from something that makes me feel deeply good?

Despite these struggles, the young plant takes root and rises to the light. At least she does if she'll ever go to sleep during the dark hours so she can rise during the light ones.

time to get out

“One final paragraph of advice: do not burn yourselves out. Be as I am - a reluctant enthusiast....a part-time crusader, a half-hearted fanatic. Save the other half of yourselves and your lives for pleasure and adventure. It is not enough to fight for the land; it is even more important to enjoy it. While you can. While it’s still here. So get out there and hunt and fish and mess around with your friends, ramble out yonder and explore the forests, climb the mountains, bag the peaks, run the rivers, breathe deep of that yet sweet and lucid air, sit quietly for a while and contemplate the precious stillness, the lovely, mysterious, and awesome space. Enjoy yourselves, keep your brain in your head and your head firmly attached to the body, the body active and alive, and I promise you this much; I promise you this one sweet victory over our enemies, over those desk-bound men and women with their hearts in a safe deposit box, and their eyes hypnotized by desk calculators. I promise you this; You will outlive the bastards.”
― Edward Abbey