Tag Archives: love

A Free Woman

Caretaking my day job
and tending to my valued
friendships, my words lay
dormant inside of me for
days on end
my fingers lazily
flicking the turn signal
with the underside of my
pinkie finger
my feet are on the pedal
and is it sunny and busy
outside–I am outside for
once

Later in bed I am trying
to wind down
I swat away thoughts
with my fingers and the
turn of my head like
the thoughts are flies
and it is summertime

I hear the click click
of my cat’s tongue
across the room
and the up and down
of conversation out
on the back porch
it is Thursday night
and my boyfriend is
hollerin’ out there

I left the music on (Tom Waits)
in the kitchen
so I wouldn’t be tempted
to stretch my ears and listen
to the stories grown men tell
as I have done in the past,
waiting for the drop of a
questionable manstory
–a story about a woman
or women and nakedness,
something controversial to
make me sweat and panic
and feel sorry for myself

But never have I overheard
such a story
and it’s not that I try to listen
it’s just the combination of my
natural inquisitiveness and
the fact that they’re fukin
loudmouths that I ever
end up eavesdropping

The sunshine has kept my
heart hurt at bay but I
cannot help but see
heart hurt coming down
the lane
as always things
are changing in “love”
But I’m not sabotaging,
No I’m not sabotaging

Though I do rifle through our
existence for weakspots
and I poke at them like
the bruises of a brother
I shudder fearfully acknowledging
the power he was over me
my future wrapped up in him
like a thin-linked silver thoroughly
knotted necklace

I don’t want to be pushed
to my limit anymore
So why do I take myself there
I want my home to be
a meadow of peace
So why do I search for
the imperfections?
Strain my ears to
hear them
Then spell them out
for everyone to
see when the only
one making a mess
here is me

I walk the plank
everyday in this love
and you and everyone
we know would say
I’m making too much of this
and I am
in just about every way
Like any good woman
eager for a baby,
I scare us both

I vow to dry out my
moistened wounds
in the springtime sun
and think
fresh and
trust and
first things first
First…Things…First
Me,
in bed,
alone.
As it was in
the beginning
and then thereafter
and as it will be again
in the end

I cannot, should not
control him I think,
as he shouts, emphasizing
a word in conversation
I cannot track his words
I cannot control him
I am enough as I am–
Ignorant
and trusting
A free woman as
he is a free man
and we are unmarried
and probably happier
than most

Life is Art

If life is art today is a work by Salvador Dali               deconstructed         fragmented                        independent          sparse     calm       melting                       roomy                  brave                 and                           pieced    together helplessly, brilliantly, randomly.
divider
Today is holding itself together, pink and black and hurting.
divider
If life is art I am food. Manipulated, folded, dusted, brushed, beaten, whipped, fondled and put out on display. If I am food I am fresh then rotting then rotting then fresh. I am frozen and thawed or laid out to dry. Too hot to handle and left, forgotten, to rest. If life is art I am food revived, ravaged, digested. I am appetizing and colorful.
divider
If life is art then last night’s dreams were movies that jumpstarted me to wake, frightened in the night beside him. Shaking him awake, pointing at the robes hanging black on the bedroom door, “Look! Look! It looks like a man! The devil!” I whisper-shout, scared and kid-like. To my comfort, he agrees (the robes look like the devil) and knee walks to the end of the bed and shuts the door for me. “Hold me,” I whimper, never more myself than in the night. And he holds me. Tight. Tighter than anyone ever has. If life is art my lover is a geisha. Masked and beautiful, teasing, obedient, and entertaining in the old ancient way.
divider
If life is art then last night’s dream-fantasies were a collection of the greatest. But fantasy does not hold up well in reality and I roused awake, ripping off my nitetime pants and I tried to wake him again, murmuring nonsense and coaxing and humming with my hands. Thinking thinking thinking about hard man arms long man legs wide man fingers tender man hair wild man hair and beard my body his body soft lyrics and bells pleasant but vibrant like angel sounds. These are the thoughts and feelings of that stage between sleeping and wake….does anyone else sense that they are in heaven?
divider
In the dream there was more than enough, in the bed there is less, not enough. But in the bed there is truth, and it is here that we both get closer to heaven then anywhere else on earth. Both of us, in-between worlds, together. We are so kind there……I come to wake and whisper-beg with my body. He laughs amusingly, innocently, at my desire and like a man I jump out of bed and spout something I can’t remember now but included the words sex, frustrated, and Not Funny. If life is art then I stomp to the kitchen, sleepy, dramatic, and deserving of a stage. For a show which nobody would ever enjoy to watch.
divider
If life is art then there is work left unfinished. I drag it around with me today, during the morning commute, on my way for coffee, clocking in and out at work, like a project I cannot wait to touch up and complete. I cannot do it alone and in the wake of this interruption I growl with my eyes and smile with my teeth at the many of those who cannot help me. I aspire to go home and release myself.
divider
If life is art I am black today, red on the inside. Human with a capital H today. So I go outside of and above my body. I see a few pieces of the puzzle that are fitting just right. But I remember how the earth it always moves, our bodies grow and shrink, and the pieces that once fit here might later there and so on. So I don’t lay my puzzle pieces in concrete, but in dry sand, allowing for the natural shift in things, for the pieces to fall where they may and move and they please, or as I see fit.
divider
If life is art then nobody’s getting paid what they should. But we’re all doing it for the right reasons.
divider
If life is art then everything is messy, all the time, and aint that right.
divider
If life is art then I was right to blast live rock n roll first thing this morning, before I even turned on the coffee.
divider
If life is art then I hope he’s armed with the hardware to ground me today. I am all watercolors and old acrylic paint tubes, hardened and plugged up, holding back, else on the page. If life is art I need a frame and nails to keep me down today, to keep me sane.
divider
If life is art I am free.
divider
If life is art then I am living.
divider
If life is art then I am a mess or a masterpiece, depending on the angle.
divider
If life is art then what is standing in front of the space heater crying.
divider
If I am art then I am waiting for the audience to burst into applause.
divider
If life is art then I applaud YOU you crazy, talented, sonnofabitch.

divider

If life is art then I am distracted by all the colors and modern flashing things.
divider
If life is art today is a work by Salvador Dali               deconstructed         fragmented                        independent          sparse       calm           melting                       roomy                  brave                 and                           pieced together helplessly                    brilliantly                            randomly.

Love Blues Balance

Twelve cups of coffee later and I have (finally!) completed my book of poems Love Blues Balance. A project I have been compiling for weeks now has a cover and 108 pages of material. Just awaiting approval from Createspace and then I will a) order a copy for myself and b) order copies to distribute. A special thanks to friend and photographer Kirsten Lara Valenzuela who provided the lovely cover image you see here.

Can’t wait for distribution! Stay tuned!  ❤

BookCoverPreview

At the Post Office

So full of dreams
like me
a young woman
comes in for keys
I’ll be here for life!
She tells me
through her bright
blue eyes
through her strait
young teeth
I don’t hesitate for
a second
I don’t skip a beat
What’s your lucky number?
I ask her
So we can get you
a box that you like.
We wrangle the woman a
mail square to last a lifetime,
should mail last that long
I swallow the knowledge
of divorce
and betrayl
all stories
my boxes tell
We talk for
over one hour
about the land
our man
our jobs
and plans
the girl’s got
a grand plan
though not
yet a roof
I mean she’s
got a place
it’s dilapidated
and out in
the rain
but I can see
given her stance
that failure doesn’t
stand a chance
like me she’s
banking on
her man
her vision
and most of
all her strength
I withhold from
shouting friend!
Long lost
counter-part!
I withhold from asking
What is your sign?
I’m betting it must be
fire like mine
I simply nod my head
and shake her hand
and wonder if there’s
more in store
for her
for me
for us
for our men
for our stories
for our boxes
for our lives
A young woman
comes in for keys
so full of dreams
like me
I swallow the knowledge
of divorce
and betrayl
all stories
my boxes tell
I keep the faith
and I keep it well
for it is my very own story
that I’m trying to sell

The Load

We all have our love woes
they come in their own unique
shapes and sizes
Often lopsided
Old married couples
have big love woes that
make for strong foundations
Things to fall back on like
joint accounts and children
Things that makes people say
“Oh what the hell” and stay
Young couples have little
love woes they pick at
til they bleed
and when they dry
they pick at them again
I’ll let you guess which
love woe I have
I’m walking with my
love woes today &
who put Valentine’s Day
in winter?
We bundle up against
the wind, our faces
sadder than ever &
everyone I see,
including me
walks alone

Fiber

I am everywhere
I am sitting on your head
I am raining on your home
I don’t even try
I shower but I
smell
I keep mum but I
shout
I chipper ‘good morning’at your placemate
he mumbles inaudibly in return
I play my music
and I play it loud
the birds seem to
sing to me
a hummingbird stares
treading the air
a breath of hope
like a dragonfly
or a new moon
I sit on the porch and write
I am everywhere
but I wouldn’t dare
my hair clogs your drain
my saliva is yours
your coffee
is my coffee
I fear
I beg
behind my mask
I am an open slice in my flesh
I am addicted to love
and unsure of its meaning
I am attached to you
lecherous and brave
I sink into the corners
come in from under the door
give myself too much power
take myself too high
stare in the mirror
too much or not enough
think too much
think all over your house
spill my selfy-ness
on the counters and floors
Am I cleaning anything up
when I scrub?
Or am I pounding myself
into the fibers that were
just you

Little Robby

Some people are firestarters
others rain
others rock
women are animals
that men hunt
men are butterflies that
can’t ever really be caught
I am free and I am burdened
I use the fire to get me hot
I put it out when I get lost
I was never my mother’s
not even in the womb
a psychic on Alder street said
when the seed was planted
I was bloomed
I raged out of her fists up and
how do I shake it?
Angry babies are not funny
they just try to fake it
I was always my father’s child
If at a distance
I was a grown man,
a grown woman
I am fire, ice
all of it

Love in Chains

Am I seeing you
or seeing things?
Was it your truck,
your face in my
waking dream?
Place me
in front of you
don’t waste me
It’s not him
It’s not him
I need to taste you
Cruel
Sun
Cruel
Day
Cruel
Life
She wasted
away when
she intended
to take flight
Why crash course
me, why not time?
Why not now?
Do you have a
problem or your
own vendetta?
Why so hard
Why so hard
Why doesn’t loving
get better?
My love’s not
free anymore
it’s bolted and
chained
My desire used
to fly in the wind
now it lays in the
shade
I’m cross
I’m brash
I’m nasty
It’s not him
It’s not him
I need to taste you

The Fine Line

There’s this fine line
with strangers, lovers
I step too close,
and I tend to,
you recoil
like I do,
afraid of snakes.
You wave too
earnestly and I
am disinterested
afraid of your need
like you are afraid
of my need
All we can do
is watch one another
and wait for a move
a move we can both
live with
It is amazing
we are even oriented
facing this same line
at the same time
time time time time
time always brings
us together
don’t wave
don’t step
don’t shudder
whisper at this
love
or get drunk
and battle it out
in tongue
So afraid
so afraid
we are of
one another’s
need
time
time
time
time tells
us when
to love
when it’s
okay
Lately
I                      scare it off
sudden movements
and I have lost
sudden movements
and I fight too
so afraid
you are so afraid
of me
I am so afraid
of you
I can’t house
your need
I don’t have
the energy to
Handsome one,
tell me how high
and yesterday I
would have jumped
but today
this
time
time
time
I bid goodbye
until that day
when we will stand
eye to eye
at the line
the fine line
and the timing
will be right
just right
finally right
for love
to fly