Lost Kite

no such thing as reason

2011-09-27T13:01:00.000-07:00

when I want to reach
the unreachable

man in a yellow cab
leaving town all day long
leaving me and her and
all who care

when I think about "us"
or when we held hands
or when we named her
or when we looked
together
in the mirror

or saw her hair for the first time
emerging from me

because I don't want to remember
red scraping cutting words
and his impatience
with everything from the internet
to his shoes

and reason has no place in this poem

because I almost forgot myself
being a mother to his child
listening to him

because there is a stench in
his yard, behind his house,
under his bed,
and I didn't make it

but I did smell it
like it smelled good
and I took it home and wallowed
like a happy dog in it

and there is no such thing as reason
thinking of him

2011-09-21T20:06:00.000-07:00

Here We Are in a Recent Pic!

the "genius baby" list!

2011-09-21T19:56:00.000-07:00

I wrote a list today of things that Izzy has learned over the past month (She'll be 11 months tomorrow). It was enormous!

Highlights:
-she blows kisses

-she dances (knees bending, arms flapping wildly, hands clapping), but has to hold on or be held to do so

-knows how to drink out of ANYTHING...water bottle, sippy cup, regular cup, plastic bottle, Camelbak! and straw

-can pet the cat and dog gently with open hand

-shares food with cat and dog and anyone who is around!

-can brush her hair (and mine!)

-can brush her teeth

-opens and closes cabinets, doors and drawers-she loooves the Tupperware cabinet!

-knows how to help put her arms in and out of sleeves, but hates putting on pants (hehe)

-can feed self with spoon...messily of course

-she is very close to walking!! (can stand on her own if she forgets no one is helping :)

Be Still

2011-09-20T12:42:00.000-07:00

God gently rid me of my fear.

Something so comforting in the abusive words, the ride of addiction, hearing his voice, the lies and knowing at least he’s still alive.

Seeing his unshaven face, thinking I can hold his heart in my hands, like his face, and make it clean and new.

He told me, “You’re not making this easy.” I wanted to explode.

And every time I see our daughter, every time I hug her and feed her and rock her and watch her sleep, I think of him, not doing those things.

And if I join my thoughts to God’s I lose sight of him, and am afraid I’m abandoning him.

Forgetting that being still is the only option, that I won’t change him, that any doing for him is doing for naught.

I want to fill the stillness.

Being alone with God is hard sometimes. It requires silence.

Silence seems useless, but when I’m in the noise, I die, over and over again with him.

2011-06-29T19:36:00.000-07:00

This is my daughter, Israel Elizabeth Hoover. I have been spending the last 8 months loving her so so immensely. She is unbelievable. One of my good friends, Colleen, who is in her 80s, has given probably the most profound and accurate description of Izzy after having only met her and been around her for 30 minutes or so. She said, "She's intense." This is very true. When she was born, they put her on my chest immediately, and she looked at me with her dark eyes, wide, directly into mine. Since then, when she meets people or encounters new situations, she stares very seriously. She smiles and giggles and is a very happy child, but she is a thinker...a watcher...a listener. She loves to explore, as I think most children do, but she loves blocks, puppets and simply stares at and studies every inch of everything in her hands and within her sight. She also wants to touch and taste everything. Again, I think this is part and parcel because of her age and stage, but I also think she studies on such an intensive level as I have never ever ever seen in anyone.

Needless to say, I am extremely proud of her. I also have never experienced such a love as being a mother. I am totally immersed. I have really not written more than a tiny stitch since she was born. I can't wait till my words and hands catch up with all the feelings and experiences I'm having with Israel.

last trimester

2010-09-15T09:42:00.000-07:00

I've been out of the gates for awhile now
pushing towards something bigger than me
bigger than my dreams, bigger than this belly

waddling maybe

connecting my life to some new someones
plugging into this bigness is big business

whatever history I knew, I am changed
will be transformed

before: teacherfrienddaughterchildsinglewomanselfishtalker

after: childwifemotherloverlistenerclotheswashermenderbathroomcleanerdishwashercook

This is what I wanted.
Funny to say it. Even funnier to become it.

2010-08-12T05:32:00.000-07:00

I can see you moving
bathtub water too shallow
for all this belly

you grow

2010-08-05T16:00:00.000-07:00

warmth, light, a newness
something so round, so whole

every image I conjur in this worldly mind
is inept

maybe ones used for centuries--

the egg-
smooth, fragile,
dropped carefully into place
to be warmed nurtured,
a safe place with mother

the flower--
as you emerge from the growing place
bud into light and liquid,
I notice each stem, leaf, bud, petal

precious and perfect
a conversation in my belly
I can't understand
and could never have imagined

all in this body worn by earth and time
and thought

all awkward in light of you

in the air of waiting

2010-08-04T18:36:00.000-07:00

it is the time for waiting

i have your clothes in the closet
shirts on the top bar
pants on bottom

your socks in the drawer
all white

i cry and listen
to the TV in the other room

as you grind your teeth
and listen to the other men
smacking their lips in sleep

it is the time for waiting

i have her clothes in the closet
0-3 months hanging

others in a box under my bed
her blankets and bibs

the cradle is ready
casters attached

i pet the cat
listening to the song of the
air conditioner

as she floats
somersaults
takes her time

it is not my time to do
and that's what it means to wait

it's only prayer time

and prayer doesn't get lost
in air that's alive

Gah Lee!

2010-08-04T12:34:00.001-07:00

:) It's been waaay too long since I've been here! I've been without my computer since February, and life has gone incredibly fast since then in so many ways. I'm 26 weeks pregnant with a little girl named Israel Elizabeth. I am engaged. I moved to Florence, AL.

I plan to get back into the blogging world, writing, reading all my fav blogs, etc. I missed you guys. I hope you'll all still visit at some point.

I've been enjoying pregnancy a lot. My mom says I notice all the details. I try to. I am so in love already. Though I had pretty severe nausea for 5 months, I'm feeling better now, and being able to feel her moving around makes the experience that much more real. Izzy flips and slides around inside me quite often! She's almost 2 lbs now. I have a picture of my belly on my profile. I'm getting huge! I love my pregnant belly.

I'm hoping to get past my writing slump and begin writing some poetry again soon.
I've been writing to my fiance who is out of town right now on a regular basis.
I've also been writing to Izzy in a journal. I hope she enjoys reading it one day.

I pray you are all well, and I'll write more soon!
H

a poem he sent me today

2010-01-28T20:50:00.000-08:00

I fell in love with the ocean
and I think of you every
time I look out over it and

always will that's where I'm
going that's where I'll be

waiting when the time
is right I meant what I said
and I always will now that
I understand real God given

soul connected love I'll be
there It's not easy to follow
Him sometimes

but you will find your way
but it won't be back to me it'll

be ahead and above

You stopped running.

2010-01-27T19:20:00.000-08:00

I go faster and faster.
I stumble, skin my knees;
my hips and ankles ache.

I move, and
though I take lots of rests,
I move again.

When I saw you weren't
beside me anymore, I called
and called.

I am still calling.
I can't wait for you to catch up.

Even if I don't ever
hear your shoes thud,
your breathing, even if
I can't ever see your eyes again,
my pace won't falter.

Sidewalks and asphalt
rocky paths and fallen trees
dirt trails and sandy walkways-
He told me to keep walking,

so that's what I do,
and I pray God breathes into you
once more,
and you will be there,
running next to me again.

re-vision

2010-01-22T21:46:00.001-08:00

There's something called discernment,
and it's hard to have from 521 miles away.

It's tough to believe you from that far,
and I want to believe

every single word, from trust to sister
but the rain hasn't come, and neither

has the light, only the waiting.

It's about time for me to stop looking
at you, not being able to see that far
anyway,

turn off the sound, and the picture,
and live in the light of today.

Fear Not

2010-01-20T21:20:00.000-08:00

Just because people make drugs out of household cleaning products and
over-the-counter meds aren't anymore,

just because there are babies born addicted,

just because they are taking over whole neighborhoods
and towns with guns, white powder, and they are
stealing loose change from a car
breaking into a broken down trailer with 16 cats and 3 dogs
knowing where the rent money is stashed

just because some say it's the "end times"

and there are houses reeking of poison and piss

doesn't mean laughter
no longer exists

doesn't mean God is dead,

and when you plan to save them,
what do I do but sit and pray,
keep walking,
and stand out of your way?

the fast

2010-01-15T15:51:00.000-08:00

There's prayer
in the apple
the orange juice
and the broccoli,
the spinach and the
water.

Daniel refused the
King's wine and meat,
and so can I.

When I am with God
things change. My
belly calls, and
only He can answer.

Tears wash my face,
and there is no milk
in the mixture.
I don't need it.

There are never any pieces
of me left when I end
up down there,
knees digging in.

I am calm, until I
climb out
longing for the noise
of men.

Their sounds snake around me,
and my knee holes fill up
with thoughts.

I can't keep them.
They aren't mine.

Listening to Him is hard,
and I get distracted
by the pretty faces,
so prominent,
but not available.

He's sweetly whispering,
constantly,
and I can only ignore for
so long

only sleep for
so many hours
until my empty belly
wakes me

and I can only fill it
when I'm
on my knees.

imagining what you look like in person

2009-12-10T11:04:00.001-08:00

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

2009-11-13T15:31:00.000-08:00

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.

2009-11-02T20:06:00.000-08:00

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

2009-10-16T21:33:00.000-07:00

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,

2009-10-13T21:03:00.000-07:00

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

2009-10-11T23:52:00.000-07:00

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

2009-09-09T19:37:00.000-07:00

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

2009-08-20T22:54:00.000-07:00

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

2009-08-04T19:59:00.000-07:00

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

2009-07-28T19:55:00.000-07:00

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

2009-07-27T19:34:00.000-07:00

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

2009-07-25T11:08:00.000-07:00

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

2009-07-03T09:40:00.000-07:00

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

2009-06-20T10:34:00.000-07:00

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

2009-06-11T11:27:00.001-07:00

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

2009-06-11T11:14:00.000-07:00

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

2009-06-04T15:33:00.000-07:00

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

2009-05-20T10:25:00.000-07:00

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

2009-05-20T09:33:00.001-07:00

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

2009-05-18T08:13:00.000-07:00

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

2009-05-13T19:19:00.000-07:00

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:

2009-05-03T13:35:00.000-07:00

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

2009-04-02T10:24:00.000-07:00

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

2009-03-15T07:58:00.000-07:00

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!

2009-03-08T10:28:00.000-07:00

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

2009-02-26T15:48:00.000-08:00

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

2009-02-18T20:22:00.000-08:00

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

2009-02-15T19:15:00.000-08:00

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

2009-02-15T19:10:00.000-08:00

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

2009-02-15T19:01:00.001-08:00

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

2009-02-09T12:13:00.000-08:00

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

an American Sentence

2009-02-07T14:08:00.000-08:00

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

paranoia

2009-02-07T06:50:00.000-08:00

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

2009-02-01T16:49:00.000-08:00

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

2009-01-27T15:35:00.000-08:00

I chunked responsibility out of the sunroof several times today.

Rumors

2009-01-27T15:30:00.000-08:00

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

2009-01-22T12:47:00.001-08:00

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

2009-01-20T10:06:00.000-08:00

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

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

2009-01-18T13:22:00.000-08:00

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

2009-01-13T18:36:00.000-08:00

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

2009-01-12T19:19:00.000-08:00

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

2009-01-08T13:12:00.000-08:00

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

2009-01-08T08:48:00.000-08:00

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

come inside

2009-01-02T21:13:00.000-08:00

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

The Yearly Christmas Letter (uncencored version)

2008-12-28T19:14:00.000-08:00

I was having a conversation with some family while looking at the Christmas cards that were sent to my parents' home this year. A couple of them had the "yearly letter" from people we usually only hear from on the holidays. You know the one. Anyway, I was thinking about what it would be like if people "really" told what was going on with their family. Here's an example:

Dear Friends and Family,
This year has been interesting. I moved in May because I was rejected to 3 PhD programs, and am working at 3 new jobs, and I still don't make enough money to live without support from my parents (at age 35), but at least I have them. My brother has started smoking weed to get through his mental problems. He has had some pretty bad road rage too, but has been working on it. The pot smoking helps, and don't worry... It's okay for him to smoke pot because it's decriminalized where he lives. My sister has had a bunch of health problems but still loves to work on projects around the house all the time. Her partner calls her "the man" in the relationship. They are happy. Mom and Dad are funny. They bicker a lot, like they always did, and dad sleeps in the chair or watches football if he's not working. Mom takes on too many projects, and can't get them all done, and loves to be with the kids of the family. She organizes big get-together's for all of my cousins' kids cause she still doesn't have any grandchildren of her own (though we're all in our 30's). Most of us are in debt up to our eyeballs, and we get depressed a lot, but we have each other.
We hope you had a lovely year, and have an even better New Year!
Merry Christmas,
Love, Us

where to begin

2008-12-23T09:59:00.000-08:00

at the beginning! oh, god, I can't do that...so anyway, I've been at my folks' house in Alabama...loving the family and friends I've gotten to visit...little time for blogging...
I want y'all to go look at my cousin's blog...it's funny! She's a mother of three and workin' her humor on this blog.
Oh Jo thank you!!! She noticed I didn't have a link...such a nerd I am!
madmamma

Dear Christine,

2008-12-12T22:07:00.000-08:00

our secret ingredient

we see stars in the landscape
granite in the corners of our eyes
mica sparkles in our pores

we laugh over mountains
giggle with rivers
chuckle through valleys

time stands under a
peach tree, blossoming,
petals floating, waiting

we grow pods from our fingertips
fill our bellies with dirt and sand
water in our nostrils feels right

we keep our hands in the mixture
the dough of life

The gods and grading papers (American sentence for the day)

2008-12-12T10:47:00.000-08:00

My friend Anna just told me, while taking a needed break from grading term papers,
"The gods are looking favorably on me; I just won at freecell."

Dear Christine,

2008-12-07T14:56:00.002-08:00

Gray

If only the present
was one, but if it is,
it's got a heavy bow
on days of rock sliding
and molten rivers. I'm

blinded by this elephant
of a mountain
tusks growing at my toes,

ears flapping at this hot
breeze, and the stench of
life-manure.

Lean forward, they say!
I'm almost touching the ground
with my face. I don't need

a trunk, swaying, grazing
the dust.
The thick gray of clouds

incarcerates me on this hill-pile
of days.
Fog grows roots.

Dear Christine,

2008-12-01T18:52:00.000-08:00

You're unfettered.
I'm unfurled,
open to the wind,

rolled out like a mat
to be trampled, mud and
sand and fiber.

I'm spread out on a table
hungry for the feast,
burning with candles.

I'm released from the
sternum of romantic love
cracked open and falling

out onto the floor
like yards of intestines
stretching snake-like

basking in sunlight.
I'm an uncoiled slinky
no longer slinking.

I'm tentacles flat
on the ocean
floor.

This is in response to Christine's poem
"Dear Holly.": balanced on the edge

she was just

2008-11-30T19:20:00.000-08:00

"the cat lady" to most.

They didn't know her husband
left her when she was pregnant
with their first
and only child, which she
lost a month later.

They didn't know she read a book
a week, kept black swans in a pond
behind her house, cooked for
homebound AIDS patients.

They didn't know she had the longest
legs of any girl in her high school
stockings only reaching to mid-thigh.

They didn't know she had traveled to
twenty-two other countries, and
had lovers in all of them.

They didn't know she was christened
"Liliana Cornsilk Whitfield"

She was just "the cat lady,"
but she didn't mind.
She painted the pictures from her
memories, and kept making more.

alone?

2008-11-30T18:53:00.000-08:00

First of all, I believe alone is much more a state of mind than a situation. Being by oneself is really quite nice. A person can read, write, pray, go hiking, go to a movie, go out to eat, do yoga, explore their own thoughts and ideas, learn to LOVE THEMSELVES! I believe that God has taken away many things (people) from me that I didn't need, that made me less ME. If I didn't believe this I could go on feeling sorry for myself and living life the way I see so many people live. Sometimes I'm lonely, but it's really not because I'm ALONE. I have some amazing people in my life. I live alone (well, I do have an awesome dog and cat that are great company). Plus, my family ROCKS. Anyway, I know I can still feel sorry for myself, but I'm learning that it is a waste of time to feel alone. Being by myself can be good. I have always known that and felt it. It's part of being a writer (people watching, etc). I have traveled alone to other countries. It was WONDERFUL. I became more me because of it. I am not perfectly happy all the time, but I know I no longer "need" a romantic relationship, or "need" to be around other people all the time.

Secondly, I am tired of watching people move from one relationship to another (You know, the whole flavor of the month thing). It makes me sick. Why? Well, maybe because I'm slightly jealous on some level that people can "get" that many guys or girls, maybe because I was one of those flavors at one point (albeit a radical, outstandingly delicious flavor), but mainly because I think it is SO sad that some people don't know how to be single and happy. I have spent a long time wishing I had a partner and could have a baby and a family. I turn 36 soon, and I kept thinking it would happen. I even did the whole "If I don't have a partner by the time I'm 30, 35, 40, I'll just have a child on my own." I don't NEED someone else (child husband anyone) to make me happy. As much as I would have denied in the past that I thought that way, in some sense I did. I am not giving up, but I'm GIVING IT UP. I believe that God will give me peace. I give it all away, send it up par avion baby!!! I believe I will be a happy person, not because of what or WHO happens to me, but who I am, who God helps me to be. This is about being true to oneself, and to God (since I believe the divine is in all of us).

I have watched my ex-fiance, who decided he wanted to be a "swinger" turn into a lonely, unhappy person. I watched other exes and friends who decided to "move on" from one partner to another, looking for just the right match, fall flat over and over again. I have myself been guilty of "looking," but it is over. I may be an "old maid" a "spinster" a "cat lady," what the fuck ever...but I will be happy because I see the divine in me. I see the divine in life.

Amen brothers and sisters...carry on. I know I will. :)

Thanksliving

2008-11-27T06:27:00.000-08:00

This is a post I wrote a couple of years ago when I first started this blog. The news is old, but the message is relevant every year, so here goes.

Sudan is making some headway with a meeting in Addis Ababa (love the name of this city), Ethiopia trying to get help from the UN for the Darfur region. I had some students in Denver who were from Sudan. I know for sure one was in the Dinka tribe, spoke Dinka...the Lost Boys...If you haven't heard of them, look them up online. One student told me his story in a Narrative Essay. I was given a strong dose of "you don't know jack" from these students, from this story in particular. I will never forget it. When this boy, only 8 or so, was living with his tribe in a small village, extremist Muslims came into the town. They proceeded to bomb, pillage, chop with machetes, rape, etc. Almost his entire family was killed, except for his brother and grandmother. He ended up hiding in a swamp, riddled with mosquitos, being bitten over and over for 2 days with some people in his tribe. When they emerged, the village was virtually destroyed, but he, his grandmother, and his brother, along with other survivors, had a lavish (for them) dinner to celebrate just being alive...
We should all be aware of what we have.
THANKSGIVING is coming up, and whether you celebrate it or not, it is good to be thankful every day. This country lives in unbelievable luxury. A friend of mine made a t-shirt that cracked me up. It said: Freedom is CONvenience. The con was in red, the other letters in blue. Convenience is no longer a luxury, but people in this country think it is a NEED. So ridiculous, really. We lose so much nutrition, literally and figuratively by purchasing such "conveniences" as food and clothes that come ready-made, when we could take the time to cook, sew, create. I am not immune to this either, of course. I bought some earrings yesterday, and I praise myself for recycling, and reusing, and forget about reducing. It's really quite sad. We can all do something.
I have no real answers because we all have our own way of helping, but being aware is important. I want to hear, feel, see, taste, and smell the blessings that are everywhere around me. They are everywhere around us. Be aware of them.

it seems

2008-11-23T13:58:00.000-08:00

Like in the poem below, my poetry often reflects the "me" I want to be, or the "me" I think I am somewhere. I sometimes think I'm stronger and have more clarity in my poems than I do in "real life." There is that place. I get to be that person every time I read the poem. Though not all my poems are "about" me, they certainly all reflect me.
I like the way Joan Didion says it: "I write entirely to find out what I'm thinking, what I'm looking at, what I see, and what it means."

child pose

2008-11-22T18:18:00.000-08:00

fold of limbs
skin doesn't cover much
of your corners

elbows knees chin
little left of your bones

deteriorating songs
your throat closed

you forget I am stronger
than that
(I almost forget)

and you cry on the floor
knowing I listen

head tucked, you
weep

and I want to weep too
but that time is over

the sun warms my upturned
face

you hide face down

response to a poem by Christine

2008-11-16T18:32:00.000-08:00

Christine's poem is called "How I Made Friends With Fear"
Her site is: balanced on the edge

A Larger Size

The buttons on my sweater
strain at the thread.

This is partly because I am
growing, but also

because I am scared of moving on
to a larger size.

That big-girl world
runs rampant with responsibility.

To hang from the side of a
skyscraper, cleaning mirror glass,

to stare at myself
rub splotches made by birds

breathe the cold clouds
from my lips.

This is a balancing act
I'd rather skip out on-

shimmy down the tower and
crawl underground,

allow the buttons to burst
from their holes.

american sentence for the day

2008-11-11T06:25:00.000-08:00

Slowly rocking, something cradle-like about a day with Mom's support.

ALSO

2008-11-06T17:37:00.001-08:00

Here are the other poems I made from the work of many many wonderful poets.

I NEED SOMEONE WITH SKIN ON
Unseen,
the gossamer curtain
falls
divides my soul.
Truth stumbles blindly
bruises and bites.

I go slow because I am
practicing non-attachment, but
pieces of me stick to whoevergetstooclose
& must be surgically removed.

Trees are my main weakness.
They grow into me.
You may have seen me high in the elbow
of an elm,
silhouetted against the night sky.

I find a mate once a year
on the coldest night in January,
& our duet makes even the coyotes
cower in their dens.

We block the fist, ease egos,
broker detente. Bandage
wounds. Tend the bruise,
the insult, the scab. Glue
and mop. Grab our time like
dropped money.

LITTLE GIRL LOST
likes chocolate ice cream
her favorite possession a
yellow bike
with a banana seat, plastic basket, streamers gleaming
she reads old men’s minds and chapter books
by judy blume

ribbons of her thoughts
tie her down, sometimes
with meticulous care

strainer of her mind
filters out what ails her
survivor that she is now
but with austerity takes out
the inherent spirit of hers

she stops eating meat
notices the shoes, the belts,
bags made of leather,
feels a shiver when she eyes
the skin stretched
over the couch, the ottoman

skullfingers banjo her ribrattle lids
her barebones grin–

if she carries enough chips
eventually they will become
too heavy to hold or swallow or
chew or lug in a massive bag
she will have to start letting them
fall away

SPEED TRAP
He sits in a corner
like a wombat and watches the flow
of people, the shuffle of feet
with their different sounds
according to the shoe
and to the shape of the person’s face,
to how the line of their lip
curves into the morning

beneath the warm smile
and pleasant gesture the radar eyes
scan the forgotten creases
ruffled hair and smirks
at clandestine getaways

The patrolman’s beam blinds the stars,
in her eyes, his own reflection.
He stands above the mirror
looks down into her pupils.
One of them can learn
a thing or two tonight
but someone must release the light.

THE NECESSITY OF PLAY
One Sunday morning
kids sneak onto the construction site
nothing but a cage of studs & trusses
they play for hours
running from room to imaginary room.

They have layers
and they peel away
all of the layers
thin by thin
skin by skin
and at the core is a hallway with
only open doors.

From my prompt,

2008-11-06T16:21:00.000-08:00

over at Read Write Poem, people came up with some great stanzas.
Here's a poem I made from some of them. Others are in the works.

Office Romance
I move through the world
rough as a rope, taut as all
the promises I’ve ever made.

I lean into you, whisper.
You step out from behind
your executive desk, tell me
I smell like oatmeal
And your mother.

We meet for early lunch amidst
the line of white cheese sandwiches.
I interrupt with a warm bowl
perfuming of foreign lands.
I am what I ham what I eat.

Back in my office I leave the door
open for you to peek
over my shoulder, onto
my multicolored screen.

Joy!

2008-11-05T04:32:00.000-08:00

I'm thankful for the people's choice. I love this historic moment. Beautiful.

To All the Stealers of Hearts

2008-11-03T18:25:00.000-08:00

Here you go, take it.
This heart is for you.
It's cool. I don't use it anymore.
I grow new ones all the time.
It's too bad you don't.
You could probably use this one anyway.
Try not to lose it.

(in response to a ReadWritePoem prompt)

hmm...

2008-11-02T10:22:00.000-08:00

This was going to be a rant, but it turned out to be sort of a healing write, as it should be. (I need to let go of my "record of wrongs.")

Now I know I am a sensitive type, and more than way too often, I find myself becoming upset because of others. I am a Christian, and I believe that Jesus' true example, the true meaning of love is what is important..."Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always preserves."
-- 1 Corinthians 13:4-7
Well, I try to have hope...often put my hope and trust in people I shouldn't...I guess. I mean, what I have really learned in my spiritual life is that I can only truly have faith in God, but I will always love people and have hope for them. I try to not get angry or be envious or proud.
But what gets in my way? What do I LET get in my way? The damn chip on my shoulder. The one that keeps a record of wrongs:

1. You look at me funny because I don't dress like you, I have tattoos, and I'm obviously more liberal than you are. I smile at you and you don't smile back.
2. You think I should dress differently..."wear more tailored clothes and makeup, so you won't look like a kid, like your students-then they will respect you more."
3. You tell me my new blog name is better, so I say, well isn't that a backhanded compliment? Honkycackle...like me...is kind of an in-your-face sound...in-your-face kind of laugh, and honky is a word which can certainly have a derogatory meaning to whites...but lordy, I am one, and I think I should be able to laugh at my "whitebread self"...go to www.stuffwhitepeoplelike.com
4. You don't talk to me anymore, you 3 or 4 people over the past few months that I thought were my friends...you stopped communicating with me...for no apparent reason...I cared about you, but you didn't/don't care about me. wow. I just don't get it.
5. You told me God brought us back together after all of these years. Then you started seeing someone else. I was your whim...not just once, but at least 3 times over the past 14 years.
6. You decided that I must be stupid and racist because I'm from the south.
7. You decided I must be stupid, and a "follower" and a zombie of society that can't think for herself because I'm a Christian.
8. You used/use me because I am someone who is a true blue REAL friend with real belief in your good, and I want to be there for you, and I don't run away...and it takes a lot to make me leave you. I am loyal. You don't get that. Maybe you think I'm "dependent" when I know good and fucking well how independent I am.

But I still get hurt by people, probably way more easily than I should. I guess it's just a part of being sensitive. Friends and family tell me that I can't let people get to me so much, but if I was a more cynical person, less "emotional," less trusting, I wouldn't be me in many ways.

I found a Bible verse years ago after my ex-fiance broke up with me two weeks before our wedding that we had been planning for a year. It is one of the only things that really keeps me going sometimes:
"Enlarge the site of your tent, and let the curtains of your habitations be stretched out...For the children of the desolate woman will be more than the children of her that is married...For your Maker is your husband...For the Lord has called you like a wife forsaken and grieved in spirit, like the wife of a man's youth when she is cast off...with great compassion I will gather you." Isaiah 54:1-7

I look at that passage as a symbol of hope for my future...that I too will "get what I need"...though not necessarily what I want. I am learning the difference. I am seeing it. God is emptying me out. I need it. I can't hold on to all of this hurt, the hurt of this world.

many languages-for Misty

2008-10-30T13:48:00.000-07:00

yellow flowers painted on
her heart, she sings songs
in her sleep of pretty birds

plain talk is her favorite
but her abstract mouth blooms
words and pictures we can only dream

she makes rain fly across the yard
one way, then the other
something magic in the

photograph she sees in her mind
Kodak paper that grows tentacles
of light and bright water colors

red for the long way home
yellow for the candlefly fluttering
green for her feet

and in an instant, death comes to
life in a postcard or swimming pool
where steam rises from the warm

water into the cold air
snowflakes melt before
hitting the water

her face is long like a shadow
and we don't know what she is saying

but we still like the way the words and pictures look

feather bed

2008-10-26T19:13:00.000-07:00

she sinks slowly into
her bed of
cancer, ignoring
the pain that is-

looking only at the delicate
feathers wedged
in her organs for protection

white silken plumes
translucent shaft pushing
into tissue

whatever was, isn't now

every day is new

so she can listen
to wind and song
float on the breeze

make dinner for her daughter

even if she has to sit
cutting board on the floor
to chop the vegetables

she knows that now
that's what to do

skeleton poem, inspired by Dana and ReadWritePoem

2008-10-22T19:37:00.000-07:00

IMMORTALS

We hear grandfather clocks
chime on eons
take liberties with time
elongate days and pinch nights

in the ass smiling nicely
in circles and lines, hands
drip of hours, faces
of generations.

Today, we ride a second
hand. Tomorrow,
the pendulum jerks, a piece
of creation severs. We sway
in time to the tides.

We're not lost here
in the ocean of mortals,
where fish drown in the sea.

We transcend
the ancient idea, time.
Those damn fools the astronomers
thought they could measure us
with the gauge of orbs.
Please.

The mothers and planets
know better.
We transcend the fabric of
home hole
haven and heaven.

I took some liberties with the skeleton.
dana

the truth

2008-10-20T11:49:00.000-07:00

it's not written where you
can read it, so stop looking

it's hidden under piles of eggs
a nest no one can find

it's not the appearance of saints
locked in half-witted minds

it's not halos robes angelic
faces without flaws

you can't rescue it from the sand
it's the oil-covered

creatures in distress
laughing at your kindness

it's a lunular anomaly showing
signs of congestive heart failure

it's a place that has feet and hands
paws and claws, canines for biting

it's more unearthly than dreams
that take flight when you wake

it's the white head of a
Mississippi Kite lost in Louisiana

drunk tank

2008-10-15T17:58:00.000-07:00

jack-hammering
a sound that's
hard to ignore

now you're tight in the concrete
screwed in

demolish the glass,
cask, and barrel
smash the flask
jug, and bucket

scaffolding's not permanent
only a maze of metal and wood
volatile steps

the world glares at you
you picked the loudest tool

scream from the driver's seat
forget that there is a world but

hope it won't forget you

fuck you

the world stares you down
and you flee

"What does an alien feel like?"

2008-10-13T19:41:00.000-07:00

dad asked this after
I told him I felt like one

they (all the not-me's)
are wearing faces and bleeding

under their noses, red and yellow
sunshine pokes from behind their

clouds on a TV not far from
their faces, eyes dried and frozen

they saw pieces of wood from a half
broken home to make a new one
(makes bedtime easier)

but the not-me's are facing ground
constantly walking deeper into dirt

cutting the limbs they stand on
putting together puzzles on the linoleum
(forcing pieces that don't match)

I want to tell them to look up

she has layers

2008-10-09T19:30:00.000-07:00

lives in a molten place
heartburn infests
her innards

her skin is new and
bright like white-slate
paper

doorways open

scars on her fingers
swell, reek red

face ruddy, black-pored
wrinkle-ridden

snakes spiral
up her legs sexy
she steps
into the night

breasts droop
stretch like balloon
animals

she scratches with
remnants of fingernails

is taut
is tired
her eyes dance

she feels the veins
on her neck
caresses them
with nimble fingers

puts the fire out with her
arms
embraces what's
next

(I guess this blog has become just as much of a need as my have-to's)

busy busy

2008-10-08T06:07:00.000-07:00

Hi folks...
I know you drop by, and I know you have plenty of other work you read on blogs, and I know you will be around until I get back. I want to be producing every day again, but with the amount of work on my plate (5 classes of grading and planning anew), it is just getting to be too much.

I am tired of putting up mediocre work just for the sake of putting something up...I was doing so to get it out, which is good, yes, but I have to slow down for awhile. Doesn't mean I might not be here tomorrow posting something...just means I'm not being able to write as much in this realm right now.

Hope all of you are well, and understand that is why I'm also not reading or commenting on your work as much. I am thinking of you all and your inspiring work. I enjoy reading all of you! I had no idea that blogging would open me up to such a new and huge world of such incredible writers with such overwhelmingly good work!

American Sentence for the day-on privacy

2008-10-05T10:25:00.000-07:00

Kitty nuzzles my leg as I pee, reminds me I don't live alone.

Dear Life,

2008-10-03T20:30:00.000-07:00

are you trying to scare
me?
cause it's not working

your long sharp claws can
slice and pluck

all my eyes are ready
I
will
still
see

you don't have a chance next to
my family of trees,
roots and branches stronger
than your brittle lies

dying dying dying
I have the arms of
a mother gorilla

to embrace all death

cause there is laughter
in the afterlife

and I choose to
learn from the dead
how to dance

(love, Holly)

my muse

2008-10-02T18:51:00.000-07:00

uses letters formed from
light paint
to find her
self in a poem room

she figures on yellow scrap paper
scribble scratch cross dot loop
(numbers and letters look the same)

division signs
plus cross
subtract circle
multiply (exes)
equal signs

writes by rote

she punches keys
brightens the room
one
l e t t e r
at a time

little pleasure

2008-10-02T17:32:00.000-07:00

coffee ice cream from the container
scrape around the sides
get the melted part

a glass of water
waiting

American Sentence for the day

2008-10-01T14:15:00.000-07:00

Hurrying makes me a bobble head stuck to a dashboard; shit, hang on.

Southern Zen Master

2008-09-29T11:25:00.000-07:00

He laughs easily at naysayers
plodding in his cornfield of life

is never concerned with
small-town gossip

brilliantly focuses on
smiling
life
into
submission

eats collards on Sunday
sees green as green
and red as red

knows his grand-children's
favorite ice cream and
biggest wishes
for Christmas and birthdays

finds pleasure in a green bean
a five-and-dime harmonica
and in helping his wife
hang
the
laundry

tummy

2008-09-24T18:28:00.000-07:00

I look at my tummy in the mirror
push it out - suck it in

it's not concave like
the corners of
that thin like wings
fragile girl

my belly is convex but

not

pregnant-
full of possibility
ripe watermelon
poking
outie belly button
pushing
I want to be
heavy with child
expectant
expecting
knocked up Nelly
fertile Myrtle

I feel empty
and I cry
because
I'm only full
of pizza

A 27

2008-09-24T07:43:00.000-07:00

a twenty-seven: a syllabic count poem invented by a friend in Chicago (see the website below): 5 syllables,4,5,4,4,5 per line...so 6 lines

27s

kinda fun...here's one I wrote:

In the heart of my
dandelion
a century of
butterflies curl.
My pants ripping,
the wings unfold there.

American Sentence for the day

2008-09-23T18:29:00.000-07:00

The most southern thing I like to say is "dadgummit!" (and I mean it)

the nature of the mind and body

2008-09-22T17:20:00.000-07:00

the majesty of a forest floor hovers
in the brain, thick with vines and fever
bursting from

poison ivy, curling leaves emerge
from the dark breast of loam, while

hallucinations of squirrels and sparrows
push through the unconscious,

scampering, flitting, floating
in the wind of uncertainty

pantomime the words of nature
in an unending song of flailing arms
finger-puppet plays, and toe-sock dances

thrust the body into the motion of a river
splashing foolishly for meaning

moist limbs move slowly
forgetting that they ever fought
for air

This is from the readwritepoem (link to the right) "word fishing" prompt.
It turned out kinda weird, but fun!
Thanks guys!

soma

2008-09-21T13:46:00.000-07:00

My body becomes heavier and heavier
after the 6th nap of the weekend.

My organs push into one another
eyeballs into skull
tongue dead in my mouth.

My intestines heavy rope
sink into the ground of my
mercurial stomach.

I have dirty dishes and unfolded
laundry making my head so
my weak neck won't hold it up.

someone new already leaving

2008-09-20T20:24:00.000-07:00

I woke up in darkness
same as when we went to sleep
looked at you, realized how much
you looked like David Byrne in his
Talking Heads days.

I felt your callused hands,
said in my sleepy voice,
"That must be from plumbing."

Between discussions of Brat Pack
movies and "being in our 30's" stories
we slept, but I kept waking.

I heard your teeth grinding,
something you said you didn't know you did.
Had no one ever slept
that close to your mouth?

When light came, I giggled
told you how you smelled of beer
reminded you, "We were trying to remember
Anthony Michael Hall's name last night."

You said, "It's easy now isn't it?"

I looked at your paintings, stacked
against the bedroom wall, waiting to be packed
in the U-Haul in the front yard,
said,"the depth, the color...I want to
climb inside that one."

A plumber and a painter, I suggested you do
pipe art. You said,
"I was never good at 3-D."

lips

2008-09-20T13:55:00.000-07:00

The wind cracks a smile.

grace

2008-09-19T06:57:00.000-07:00

Grace eludes us, often hiding
behind the chair of resentment
or under the bed of frets.

She's plain as day, fluttering
wings of light, but plain as day
sometimes seems too bright.

And by the time we realize
we're just ignoring her
she has already given us
her wings.

Thank you, as always, Easystreet, for the inspiration.

American Sentence for the day

2008-09-18T19:04:00.001-07:00

I had a poetic thought, but it went away-hellfire, shit, fuck, damn.