Which Is Where We Are Now

  • I took this journey for love,
     not death.
    Each night, Captain reminds me,
     could be my last.
    Each day, I'm blessed
     with light, wind, and salt.
    Strange, my being taught
     to command men.
    My duties I fulfill,
     thankful for my life.

    Dred

    –––––––

    20 Feb 2012
    heart book
  • Petals cry as the sunlight,
     so long gone,
     returns, oblivious to small sadness.
    Life pulps through cold limbs;
     corpuscles burn.
    The flower opens its eyes
     and takes in the sky
     and the fire.
    Red petals soak up the blues
     as they stretch in ecstasy
     and throb till they spy sunset.
    The joy that laughed with the sun
     whispers to the stars.

    If love were a wound, it would be a flower

    –––––––

    10 Feb 2012
    heart book
  • I’m tucked away in a small cabin
     ’mid your vast forest
     and float upon your world of love,
     breathing in and out your atmosphere,
    the stars twinkling ’neath your sun.

    Tucked In Nonesuch

    –––––––

    29 Jan 2012
    heart book
  • For you: fine lines.
    I press with care;
     the ink bleeds.

    Splotch

    –––––––

    26 Jan 2012
    heart book
  • I wear a white dress with a pink ribbon in the hem.
    I hold my white parasol,
     sit, and exchange glances with your sharp eyes.
    You lean in and my lashes fall.
    A red-hot poker melts a fat candle without touching it
     and the exposed wick ignites.
    You just want to play around.
    My strings lie loose on my chest.
    Fiddle with them.
    Wind them taut to a perfect pitch.
    Play till they sing.
    Wind, wind, wind
     till they snap.
    Break them.
     All along I just wanted you to break them:
     just break them well.

    If Umbrellas Could Talk

    –––––––

    17 Jan 2012
    heart book
  • Gazing at iridescent coals
     we remember at leisure
     the wet logs we used then jettisoned,
     the dry ones we trucked too many of,
     the rolled magazines the fire choked on,
     the lighter fluid the flames absorbed as quick as we poured,
     the ineffectual pop of the lighter sacrificed to the pile.
    When we placed
     leaf next to leaf,
     stick over leaves,
     stick next to stick,
     log over sticks,
     log next to log,
     tending over logs,
    we had s’mores for a time,
     tending fire.

    Tender

    –––––––

    12 Jan 2012
    dragonfly book
  • I’ve driven into the garage of this old man, a neighbor. He has 2 MGs in their original antique green. I’m driving a newly issued one, white with black trim. The dogs are with me, in the back seat. He looks at me, turns the lights off, and closes the garage door.

    I sit there for a couple of minutes in the dark and don’t know what to do. He peaks back in and asks if I’m going to come in.

    We walk past his first driveway which is where I probably meant to park and overshot to that second one, which had a drive branching from the first one. I walk into his house; it’s a converted office. There are people under his employ, including a bored secretary. It’s the kind of boredom where the employee isn’t appreciated and the employee finds no value in the organization she’s helping.

    He seems to think that I like Benzes. Well, I like my MG. I try to say that of course I don’t like Benzes but feel too rude to say it.

    I finger my way through his metal stand of papers on display. There is a religious bent to him. I pick up a dry, medical-oriented write up on women entitled Demon. I’m kind of laughing to myself in disbelief. Just then, his wife peeks out from the inside of the office. There is a kind of I’m-trapped-here-with-this-intellectual-domineering-man shift in her eyes. Well, I put it back.

    I continue to look for the Benz write up. I pick up a proposal for school lunches. So, people can just sit down and write up school lunch proposals like this… at the same time I consider a possibility I hadn’t realized before, then the sadness of one guy thinking up an entire school lunch for kids… Poor kids.

    Demon Documentarian

    –––––––

    2 Jan 2012
  • I’m a very good student at a military academy. We go through combat exercises, one troop against another, and our troop does excellently.

    Now, I find myself in charge of my own troop. We come across one reconnaissance officer from the enemy troop; my entire troop is all thumbs. I realize I needed to have been giving them orders. They didn’t know what to do.

    The games are halted by the commander trainers. They are dismayed at my lack of readiness.

    I lay down in my bunk. The other group of trainees have left for games. I’m tired; there is no one left in the room; maybe one other person, a girl.

    I think, spitefully, “if this is just becoming a place where I am giving the orders, then all of this is bullshit. I don’t have to do this. This just isn’t for me. I’m not doing army stuff if I don’t have to.”

    Now I’m Commander and I Quit

    –––––––

    22 Dec 2011
  • After dropping you off,
    I find myself in a friendly gaze
     with God
         or The Great Mother.
    I smile for a blissful moment,
     returning occasionally,
     humbler each time.
    It shifts a twinge
                       down right,
       down left,
             journeying its way
       down
                 the hidden pathways
      in the glass
                   it clings to.

    Precipitation

    –––––––

    17 Dec 2011
    heart book
  • A certain inner peace,
     quite safe and pleased with herself,
     wherein there is a certain
      knowing of the world
     whereby
      wherever she alights upon the world
      that same pleasant fastidiousness
      whereupon she chuckles with herself
       she chuckles with her acquaintance
     wherewith the unknown and uncouth
      are handily known and tamed:
    
       a traveling tea party

    Essay on Grace

    –––––––

    9 Dec 2011
    strawberry thieves book
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