imagining what you look like in person

Sometimes I see a stranger,
in the coffee shop, or in the
grocery store, and I think
that is what you must look like

in person-scuffy, hard-working,
big leathery hands,
jeans and boots, a hat of some sort.

I wish I knew, and pictures
of you show only the eyes,

but the eyes are alive, clear blue
and I see you in them, the you
I used to know, when we would

drink underage,
hold hands in the backseat,
kiss on the couch,

listen to the Cult,
me driving that silver Sentra

and I see you now, the you
I am beginning to know,
the Godly, grown up,
still struggling you

the you that said you want to
grow with me, and if we can,
it will be so good.

I will wait to hold you, and
for now, that's fine.
I still have your eyes.

when we run

we are going towards Light
and not towards each other
but
parallel

you know things I am only learning
you run with me anyway

she said, "when you see someone
running next to you, then you'll know"

and as we run
the Light gets stronger
we bend to It

It wraps around us
vines around our fragile
fearful
hearts

fruitful, blooming,
branching to Light

When the dog barks in her sleep it makes me think of you.

I can't divide the pillow into
any more sections now.

There are only so many soft parts,
and it feels like I've got something
extra attached to my throat already.

I am wading through soggy fields
waiting for a sign.

The wet ground makes me angry
sometimes, cause it's cold.

I can't sleep like that.
I don't want to wake up to nothing.

When the moon falls out of the sky
I will see something
in the darkness I never knew.

It will have a name like Isaiah.
One I can roll around in my mouth.

I won't have to look at you when I
brush my teeth in the morning.

I won't have to whisper your name
at night.

I will have my own name.

while the cookies bake

when the floor isn't hard anymore,
and when it's difficult to get up
you dance in between my legs

I tell you I don't need any lessons
on how to do these things
I know which toes to paint

and how to hold your head up
just like your mommy did
when you were a little baby

the fan in the window hums
we stomp to the music
then lie on our backs

on the cold hard floor
which isn't cold or hard anymore
and you tell me you won't

eat raw cookie dough
cause you might get salmonella
and I tell you

that's the risk we take sometimes
to enjoy this life
and you drink another glass

and have already forgotten what I said

If I could,

I'd write a letter to you
with my feet that says,

"I wrote this with my feet,
because my hands aren't good enough
for you."

but then again, neither are my feet.


OR

If I could,
I'd write a letter to you
with my feet that says,

"I wrote this with my feet
because my hands are too good
for you."

but then again, so are my feet.

to Rufus

When I listen to you
I taste it--hard,
like dessert on the sidewalk:

bananas foster,
homemade pancakes,
tortilla recipe on tattered paper
in the new grass.

There's your lips,
and your face is soft
like a violin song.

When the dandelion grows
easily through the cracks,

it's a sweet reminder
that there are some things
we can never leave behind.

on being serious

Cram all the fear
into one big cardboard box
about the size of a fridge.

Stand on it soapbox style.

Scream until your lungs
fall apart, your lips crack,
your nose runs, eyes water.

Form these words with your fingers:
little little little me.

Take a piece of dental floss, and
tie it around your heart.

When the time comes for death,
(you've squeezed your heart too hard)
you can post on your facebook:
"Oh yeah, most of that didn't even matter."

After you die,
Spraypaint the box with the letters
L*O*V*E

Maybe then you'll be able to laugh at yourself.

in the corridor

on the bridge, in the road
she waits, dirty clothes
lice infested scalp
thief of dumpster food

waits for her turn
waits in the long line of life
for now

and when she talks to him
she cries
she cries every day
drips down overgrown eyelashes

and when he asks her why she
cries, she says she doesn't see
how everyone doesn't cry
every day

and she is black and white
in a world of color

people with earphones
drowning her image


and her throat is closed
elongated neck
a knife in the wrong place
and she waits

sitting in the hallway
listening to the cars
smelling the piss-covered streets

she waits in the subway
until there is no more time

it's 13 o'clock, and she has
to move her feet, has to get
out of the line

wash it
and get out of the hall
out of the door
has to baptize herself in the bay

Chocolate Chip Conundrum

As I sit here with melted chocolate on my face, I think about the strangeness of my life. I can pretty much do anything I want, within reason of my budget, which means hang out at my house and make chocolate chip oatmeal cookies...and go on the internet. My oh my...I read about all of my friends on facebook that are married, have kids, and full-time jobs, PhD's, dual income households, or are at least in the process of getting these things. I've noticed that I tend to fret a lot about what I DON'T have lately than count my blessings.

Is it just me, or do the people who can handle kids and 60 hr a week jobs and all sorts of other responsibilities of the "real world" blow your mind too??? I want all of those things, but I can barely keep up with life without burning the cookies because I sat online too long doing nothing and forgot them! I can't keep up with mowing the lawn while my landlord, who is in his 60's at least, can keep all of his land (acres and acres with like 100 goats and a horse and a bunch of cows) mowed and his animals fed and still works on his rental properties...

I mean, I know we do what we have to do, right?...but what if we don't have to do anything? I have trouble even making myself do anything. Why am I not motivated to do things for myself? I always feel like when I had "someone" I was more motivated. I cleaned the house, exercised, and being in love made me, um...rosy and bright...or at least that's how I remember it.

Maybe it's just been so long since I was in love I have some elevated idea of what it was. Either way, I know I need to get my own shit together. I feel like I'm lost in my own head, selfish, but still not taking care of myself like I should. I could pretend like all I need is someone else, but I know there is something else. I feel like all of my friends have what I want, but I know that's oversimplifying things...a lot probably.

So here I am, wiping the chocolate off of my face, trying not to eat all the cookies, and planning for a better day tomorrow, and trying to look more toward God for the answer to my conundrum.

random things to do

Laugh at the bandits filling their
bags with the loot of years.

Lose track of time on purpose.

See Jesus
in a piece of toast.

Take pictures in a junkyard.

Let a goat eat your raincoat.

getting out

In a corner, looking up 9 stories, I contemplate
my death, and the brakes squeak here as people
talk trash walking across a dirty street.
Get on your toes, and don't forget to eat the
leftovers.

Don't talk to me that way because you might
not be ready for the wrath or the glue
that gets us stuck together- little bodies, big heart.
Squat like you've never been that low to the ground
before. Whip hips and bend until you see the details
on the wooden floor. Lines and crevices, red for my
hair and navy for my nails.

Mean and pushy, you catch
my flaws, I'll catch yours-what else are friends for?
What is in between your ears? Under your skin?
Between your thighs? You can't even smile at me
like the sides of your mouth have no muscles.

Shift your feet and your eyes...it's easier to
do these things simultaneously. Don't get behind
my back unless I know you are there, voices and all.
In a corner, there is nowhere to go but out.

the big circle

a butterfly is hit by a car
its yellow powder
left on the windshield

day moon looms over the road
the fat circle shines

on people soon hidden
as they pass under a low bridge

and life moves forward as dead
leaves blow across the ground
piling into ditches

July 4th

floating on our backs
following the flight
of the dragonfly

with soft eyes
back and forth

too much homemade ice cream
in our bellies

we dance until we almost
puke, and twirl on the floor
on our butts

we want to be free of something
the heavy
pressing
darkness

so we light things on fire
and laugh at ourselves

hey you

I remember you with Jim Beam
in hand,
ready to pop my cherry
just like I wanted.

Blue eyes, dark brown hair
sculpted features
you talked about nothing
while we drank from the bottle.

Upstairs, we "did it"
on my futon; don't remember
what I said, maybe "I love you."
It's possible.

I do remember you said
"I don't love you" as you
literally ran down the stairs,
out to your station wagon.

At 18, I thought it was love;
I never heard from you again,
and here you are:
(the internet's a scary place
sometimes)

Chiropractor practice with your
wife, losing your hair,
same eyes.
Can't help but wonder
if you even remember.

I'm not that screwed up

caught up in crap
and particles and
vomit

I unfurl unleash unbutton
unzip undo

miscellaneous vices
(love sex too much,
don't want to be ignored)
keep me tied, fettered
to the floor

there are factory parts,
(my toes and my elbows
get in the way)
and it's hard to get
out of so much packaging

but it's too bad the sky
won't open up
and swallow you

meditation on men

You caught me meditating
but I couldn't do it
hard enough to get you out
of my sponge of a heart.

You didn't realize it meant
thorns and vines and prickly
pear feelings.

I never had much control
over my own thoughts
and listening to you
was like listening
to the last man

that caught my attention
in a crowd of bones and
skin and fat growing around my
all-encompassing waist.

Though I'll be meditating
again
on the last one
that got away or
never looked at me that
way,

my tattooed arms,
the flowers growing from
my shoulders mean
I still won't wilt.

Needmore Road

You peer into the darkness
listening to this river;
"It's really high tonight,
way over the banks."

But you keep staring at it
until the sun comes up,
like it's gonna go away

talking about the tree
that used to be over there
growing above the water,
how you climbed it.

About walking through the river,
about being there with
Michael and Holly

and how this mountain laurel,
(you point), and that rhododendron
and that kudzu weren't there before.

You tell me how you signed a petition
to keep them from paving the road
next to this river.

And how you rode bikes 6 miles
down this road with your neighbor.

How you want to stay here
get so drunk here you
sleep on a hollow log.

bounce

crack my head on the
radio banging
to your songs

bleed on the floorboard
and if I could see your face
in the windshield

I'd smash it too
remembering my face
in your lap in the car

driving drunk laughing
at my 80's music
singing out the window
"you give love a bad name!"

and you told me,
"God brought us together,"
(and that you'd date other people)

to manipulate: to handle or control,
typically in a skillful manner,
yes, skillful

then she moved in to your
house in the suburbs
that looks like all the
other houses on your street

next to the highway,
and you make love to her
to the sound
of the cars

roundhouse

kick to the chest
blah blah written in
stone on his grave

they buried him in a
sleeping bag
stuck him in the dirt

when he was alive
he drank warm whiskey-
a shot before every
road-trip

honkytonk
bars on his breath
wild women gathered
around his handsome lips

he cracked open
hearts all over the place
till finally

he pissed off the wrong barmaid

morning

winds turn the leaves
to their underbellies

and my mother's yard
is green
this time of year

with hints of lavender
rosemary yesterday's rain

flip squirrel
leftover seeds

of her thoughts hanging upside
down from trees
feet gripping

Kiss my grits

or whatever is the closest
bowl of mush you can find.

Tongue the tiny grounds
of hominy...buttered and
warm,

and when you finish
wipe off your slobber
from the side of the bowl.

lesson for a day:

one more time, step
forward, walk

nothing takes as long as waiting

and the clock at the end of the
sidewalk is smashed

gears scattered
hands out of place
face cracked

so she can't tell time

clouds are in her hair
the sun hides above her

she drinks the stagnant fog

asleep

I'm having trouble beginning,
but I know the earth still
rotates:

I know the sun goes down,
sometimes wonder if it's "up."

I'm on the edge
of the atmosphere
hanging by kite
strings
attached to tree
limbs, flapping
in this dead wind.

I'm left in the clouds of
March, full of that heavy
heavy rain.

I squeeze it from my eyes,
the heaviness showing
in my eyelids.

Ouroboros Review

The second Issue is up. It's got some incredible poets in it! And I am lucky enough to be in there with them. The art and other writings are awesome too! Here's the link:
ouroboros review

Rowlf the Dog and other Muppets!

I went to the Museum of the Puppetry Arts in Atlanta yesterday with a friend. I cannot begin to describe how excited I was when I saw the sign out front that said, "Jim Henson Exhibit"!!!! I could have cried! I am in love with the Muppets, especially Rowlf the Dog. He is a piano playing music connoisseur! I am in love with him. Did I say I'm in love with him??? hehe. He's the sexiest of all the Muppets, with his nonchalant attitude, and cute ears...:)

So there I was standing in front of these Muppets that had been well-used and brought joy to millions for decades...It was very overwhelming. I was giggly!
I saw Big Bird...who is VERY big...at least 6 feet tall! I saw Kermit...what a frog, Dr. Teeth, the Swedish Chef, Ernie from Sesame Street (with his well-worn rubber duckie!!). And then I saw Rowlf the Dog.

He had these awesome paws/hands. The fur on his fingers was thin from tickling the ivories for so many years...his face had a small "scar" on it from where the "skin" had ripped. He had a picture of the real live Rowlf the Dog with him. There was a pic of him holding a puppy that looked exactly like him! Oh I can't begin to tell you how beautiful those Muppets are!

There were also other Muppets, from the Fraggle Rock ones to the Labryinth and Dark Crystal characters! This was a mind-blowing experience for me, as I grew up on these characters. I also got to watch the Muppets being manipulated by their human counterparts. Apparently, that took some serious arm muscles! I learned other things I didn't know too.

I had forgotten there is a "Jim" Muppet that looks like Jim Henson, and that he was in a country band with two other Muppets: anyone remember-"Don't mess around with Jim" done by these guys!? I also didn't know that one of Jim Henson's first famous Muppets was a dragon (from 1969 I believe?) that was the La Choy Dragon, and advertised that brand of Chinese food! It said something like "I'm the La Choy Dragon!" and then shot fire out of his mouth. hehe. What a culture these characters created...brilliantly simple and fun...just sing and dance to life...embrace your unique qualities, LIVE!

When I think about the people who were, and are still touched by the joy of the Muppets' songs and dances and silliness, it gives me chills. We should all be more loving and community-oriented, and sing with our food like the Swedish Chef, and dance uncontrollably, hair feathering up from the tops of our heads! Rest in Peace, you wonderful man, Jim Henson...We will keep the Muppets alive!

untitled

I want to be a song
lilting across
fields, playing with the

wind, rising
through the night
ready to be taken
to bed

like a wet dream
the stain leaves
a memory

a singer rolls me
in her throat
a player fills his
fingers with me

low pedals moan
resonate me
I trill in the
mouths of birds

and curl around
branches
bright and mellow
rich and deep

I am the scream
in a leopard's throat

storm

lightning strikes at night
trees against a white sky

the bolts leave me
breathless, blinded

i turn to my dashboard
and the car drives itself

because i am no longer
part of it

i look into the
blackness
waiting

collaboration with Brian

This is a first draft of a collaboration I did with a good friend and talented poet, Brian Dickson.

Her laughter rings

her limbs hang loosely

from the Coup Deville her jovial face
puffing on a large cigar, a swell of smoke rising
let it fall like a flat tire

Lay – Z – Boy in a wheat field
comfort clouded in a lonely dust of chaff
swirling in dusk
the soft clink of chaff
dust clings

to echoes
like branches on the side of a jagged bluff
she bluffed the clear day in her pocket
gray on black, outlines of her figure

have a rigid language
immersed into the foreground
laughing at the lilies blown sideways,
bent east

the sky rings out with bells of flowers
stung by the horizon
rising, rising into the sun

socks and vegetables

sometimes we slide on the linoleum
holding hands

sometimes we're not animals
just vegetables

we're always late to the party
wherever it is
whatever time
and when dinner is served

we're not ever the main course

Asphalt Sky

is cool. There are lots of great poets in it, and it's put together very well! Cool art too. Check it out here: Asphalt Sky

American sentence for the Day

Blew a bubble and it stuck to my face-try to have a little fun...

an American Sentence

In my dreams, I can fly, but my teeth are rotting out.

paranoia

It stretches over my eyes
rubber-band like
over my mouth, my ears

and then I only have
reverberation.

All I need is a ukulele to serenade you out of my heart

The shadow of my hand
across this page
clashes with you.
I write these words:

You are crouched,
emergency blanketed,
having lost your belief in
spring long ago.

Nothing is so complicated
you can't let it
leak from your pores,
or risk living face up,
face out
in the middle of all the
wrath and reconstruction.

You dump out your milk with
your pills
down the same anonymous
chute.

I want to clean your face,
watch it change,
but then there would be no chance
for me.

You stopped production,
ran out of wishes.
You can only remember the number
Zero.

You forgot about your cells.
They all sit dormant,
reciting the same lines.

The cemetery tells you:
“Go away.
There’s a holy city
just down the street;
shrines and comrades
for you to soak in.

There is no myth except death.
Including and communing are
necessities.”

You are not cut, but
slowly severing,
and the thinnest string
can tie you back.

Please don’t behead your own
flowers.

You have plain-looking
lovers on the other side.

We are not experts in belief,
or advisors on how to build shrines,
but we do have wishes for you.

They are in the melodies
of a broken ukulele.


This is an old poem. Just thought I'd put it up because I'm too busy to write at the moment. I was doing a little editing instead. Will be back around after papers are graded (hopefully by the end of the week!)

American Sentence for the Day

I chunked responsibility out of the sunroof several times today.

Rumors

do a body
no good. We can

live inside the may be,
the cold windshield
fogged with half

truths. Lines
of mouths whisper
half words in quarter
ears.

The pink of what should be
red. The gray of what
should be white.

We find ourselves alone
in a tiny box
at the end of the
story.

(for an Easystreet prompt)

I Hear America Spinning

This is a poem I wrote years ago that went into my manuscript for my Master's Thesis. It was the last poem in the thesis. It sort of sums up how I feel about where we were, and where I hope we are going.

I Hear America Spinning

the lush land is divided
by the line of the body
in the loneliness of tall grasses

Barn with ten yellow birds
Perched on the peak of its roof

Grotesque cadaver behind the anthill,
melting into the earth
redness, brown and yellow
death juices seeping into black dirt

Worms and eaters like buzzards
take long thin pieces of meat
sail slowly with them
hanging

Hair growing
Nails growing
The land listening to the body,
body never hearing land
Soak up rain, rigor-
mortis sets in

Mother, Mother, Mother
Courage to take her Beloved
by her own hand in lieu
of rotten black slavery

Strange cutting machines under
purple-lipped observers
hands ready for bouncing and circling
on stage in the moonlight

White America running from
the Brahmas in a field of low grain,
green still, not yellow or brown
sky dark christened with
hundred-thousand pound clouds

Whirling dervish, spinning
mystic in the morning to
try to make the world right

I am thankful

for this amazing day. Lovely speech, prayers, and poem. WOW.

don't make me do it (or, Ode to Someone)

I want to take your face
and smoosh it up
like putty, soft clay

watch your features change
listen to the splotch of
gums against teeth

lips touching nose
breath becomes a whistle.

I want to twist your earlobes
pinch your cheeks till they're
purple.

Bite your lips till they
bleed.

If you have any sense at all
you'll know you need to listen
and not say a word.

brother

Your broken bones
are not the problem.
All the mushy parts are
rotting, angry, neglected

in your young flesh. Your
vigorous outside doesn't match
the sludge produced

from spinning tires
melting into the gray air
circulating inside you.

Angry headlights
a sleek body with a
sad engine drowning.

We can see what's under
your hood, the soot
and oil of years.

You are your fiercest foe.
You have a night stick
inside you, a gun in
the glove compartment.

Black battering your heart,
your brain leaving you
restless, broken.

When you were born,
in jealousy I said,
"I'm gonna hit him"
But I never needed to.

wedding poem for some friends

I am going through poems to put together a manuscript. I did this a couple of years ago, but was not satisfied with the poems. Since then, actually this past year, I have written a LOT. Thank you to my supporters (fellow bloggers) during this prolific writing year! Because of this, I am more satisfied with the group of poems I have together. Hopefully I will successfully get a cohesive manuscript together in the next few months!

This is something I wrote for my friends' wedding a few years ago. It's one I might use in my manuscript.

Sacred Mary
has you in her wings.

and when I see you both,
I see the color of watermelon
chili and petal.

You steep your roots for tea.

Candles are lit along the edges
of your streets,
celebration
for the mother you know.

She follows you into the corners
of the sky, and yellow fields
are lit with her soul.

Seeds form your pictures,
make your words; teachers
you open your hands to
language, learning.

There is grace in your love.

Paper skeletons surround
your heads in a dance,
ready to be blown into the wind,
like bubbles.

There is an elegant fruit that
weeps from our mouths for you.
It is admiration,
the water of protection
that drops from Mary’s eyes.

I pray for you in this place
of laughter, the ground of our sky.

Flags wave during life and death.

There is a fragrant vision of a
young woman and man,
balanced like rocks
with sacred persistence.

As your loved ones,
we give you beans to arrange
or mix or cook, or build.

You are rising like bread.

cartwheels

barefoot in the grass
I tumble light
heavy temper

left hand right humor
three-tiered trick-kite
between my ears

I am upside down
flipping painful
spirit right side up again

wander from the floating
herd
clothed in light
slip back in

quick humor
a heavy cloud
low and dark

a graceless goddess
tone turning topsy turvy
helium light

my voice changes key
and I'm only as good
as my last mood

publication

My New Year's Poem is now up over at Breathing Poetry. Check out the site!
breathing poetry

come inside

because today is a place
not a time, and

laughing is how we live

there are coils of arms
waiting for us to climb
inside

but too often we
live in skin, muscle, fat
a place of pulling

pain and pushing
we're not landing
on our feet

because we rely only on them