Morning Meditation 5.9.14 – Nebulous
The morning is heavy. It waits with stilled breath for shoving or parting, for breaking out or lying in. A lone woodpecker hammers diligently. Continue reading Morning Meditation 5.9.14 – Nebulous
Tag: Poetry
Morning Meditation 5.7.14 – The Gulf
The morning air is moist and expectant and smells like frothy white waves pushing sand between bare toes. when I close my eyes I feel the briny breeze, the familiar cries of gulls floating between here and there. Continue reading Morning Meditation 5.7.14 – The Gulf
Morning Meditation 5.6.14 – Squirrels
A flash of brown and red scrambles up a spire of green, holds on tight at the top like a desperate man on the ledge of a burning building. Squirrels in the bamboo. Continue reading Morning Meditation 5.6.14 – Squirrels
Morning Meditation 5.5.14 – Constellations
Ferns glow in the morning sun like constellations in the night sky. Rustling palm fronds reveal O.J. the cat peering down from his tropical perch, on the hunt for careless birds seeking breakfast. Continue reading Morning Meditation 5.5.14 – Constellations
Hunting
The unexpected humidity of a late April night curled the wisps of hair on my damp, exposed neck. The stillness of the air lay as heavily as a predator patiently waiting, the stars shining like sharp white teeth in the moonlight. Continue reading Hunting
The Big Picture
From the window of a moving train you can see only the big picture. Clouds and a wall of green move past like a dream that vanishes when you wake. To focus on one tree or one house or cloud makes your eyes cross with a feeling of hurtling into space from the broken safety harness of a runaway roller coaster, causing the hours old coffee in your stomach to rise thickly into your throat. Continue reading The Big Picture
Driving To New Mexico, 1973
Stuckeys signs rise into the sky like lamp posts lighting the way from rest stop to bathroom break to late night motels with swimming pools (yay!) In between the miles I read every passing billboard – especially the ones showing sophisticated grown ups holding cocktails and cigarettes (temptation!) White and yellow stripes disappear behind us in the endless flatlands of Texas dotted with pumping rigs like giant grasshoppers bolted in the earth. The first glimpse of purple mountain slopes rise on the horizon like a wonderous mirage after the boredom of dusty plains. Green valleys and twisty roads meander through … Continue reading Driving To New Mexico, 1973
Muddled
used to mean confused bewildered disorganized messy Now it means something smooth refreshing piquant palate spritzing is being prepared by hands sophisticated dexterous graceful buoyant just for you. Cheers! Continue reading Muddled
Summer of Mary
You taught me how to shave my legs, the downy almost invisible blonde strands of silk falling to the razors swath, the last vestige of a child’s body helpless against the vanity of a teenagers critical eye. But I loved you, that summer, loved your shiny pageboy flip, your tweezed eyebrows and ice pale lips. You were sophisticated in a way I didn’t understand but coveted. Shaving my legs was only the beginning. Continue reading Summer of Mary
Transitioning
Disjointed dreams widen the cracks in a shifting foundation. Digestion creeps by degrees beneath the eroding surface swallowing right and wrong, skewing the underpinnings, cracking the ribcage, scattering rocks around disillusioned hearts. Continue reading Transitioning
