Mummy's Favorite Day

I can't believe that this is
My mother's most beloved
Holiday - I don't know her
Like I don't know who is
Beneath the masks that come
Pounding at my door demanding a
"Trick or Treat!"

Is this a trick not knowing who
Birthed me and helped me
Unbirth a potential birth that
Would have secured the family
Bloodline?

Or is it a treat to have a slow
Unveiling of the multiple masks
This woman has worn for as long as
I have known her? She keeps changing
Masks like the changing of the guard...

It's quite scary like the shadows cast
On the alley of memory lane forgetting
Most of the fact that I loved her so much
At one time and now I'm much less
Loving of the sugar and spice and
Everything nice she dispenses at the
Door when I come knocking not
Declaring, "Trick or Treat!" NOR even
Demanding it - passive-aggressively
Awaiting a change in my own being -
A change of costume or scenery -
The scenery has changed - the costume is
Hermetically sealed in some areas
Mostly around the heart.

Hallow Eve Eve

Oh Halloween Eve! You're just as
Great as the day itself because of the
Taffy apply anticipation.

Letters of Rec

CRAP more letters of rec. -
Where does time go but with
The youth I "make a difference" with
Off to college

Pirouettes

I love this month with all
Its fallness! Crisp air,
Crunchy leafs that twirl as
They fall - like ballerinas
Practicing pirouettes.

Secret Code

Is DMF-B here with child
In tow?

Oh, and
thank goodness
I
Have
My wheels
Back
Today!

Who Was It?

Will one of my best friends from
High school really be here soon?

No Connection

No connection yet... and
even still not unpacked.

Hungering

I need to read The Hunger Games
I am told by some very young adults
Young Adult literature fans.

The library has a waiting list of
151 people.

I will be hungry a long time.

Cin & Sug

I could eat cinnamon and sugar everyday
With melty butter - on toast... I think!

Just REType It

It's Saturday... not Friday...
I messed up yesterday's offering and
That's okay... in the future
I figured out how to fix the past...
Just type it.

Skipped Out

Accidentally I somehow
Amidst the mess that was my
Anxious and messy life
At this time last year I
Allowed myself to get off track
And make my creativity take
A backseat to the ugly voices
Attacking my psyche and life
Alternately in ways not seen
Around the neighborhood but
Anchored and
Announced to my soul
After the fact... got skipped.


*Written on October 3rd, 2012 for
Friday, October 21st, 2011 

Isn't/Wasn't & Thursday TV

I hope this day isn't/wasn't
Full of WOE because my
Toes are still swoll from the
Toll the too small, cute, red
Leather, yellow leather
Italian boots I forced my
Footies into compliance.

This is my favorite day of the week

And I'm not even sure why! I just

LOVE Thursday... maybe it's the

Good TV that I don't get to watch

Anymore... with my feet reclined.

Clutch's Exit Interview

Tuesday... what will you bring but the
Next day full of woe...
I know it's cuz my clutch broke 3 days ago and
I don't have the cash to scratch together to
Make the scratchy sound of the gears grinding
Out their exit interview without as much as
An invitation or a request for being excused from the
Table - how rude!

Amplified

Monday, I must take this day off to
Recuperate and continue to unpack and
Get it together until later where I go
To be recorded and heard amplified!

Days of Births

Jen's birthday... she must be having a
Grand ole time across the pond...
Ron's birthday... I spent with him
Even when he didn't want me to know
It was HIS day and he'd say,
"You're on a need to know basis..."
About so many things I came to
Discover under the freezing cold
Waters of Lake Michigan where
Kayla was born again...

Unpacking

The day after the move in!
OOOOH! Unpacking!
It's a sin to be this
IN to getting out of the
Boxes I will be crawling
Into again when it's time to
"Slough off this earthly shroud..."

Moving Day!

Away I go into the
Wild blue yonder
Away from a hole on the
South side of
Hellacious at the cross
Streets of
71st and Woodlawn
Artists' Row my
Donkey
Wouldn't subject itself to
The sad sack corner store
Front that souled out to
Kids and junkies
50 yards from where
I no longer
Lay me down to sleep
Where I don't hafta
Pray to keep myself and
My belongings safe
One eye open on the
Front and back of my
Head

Almost Extinguished

Too much happened today to be poetic.

It did eventually end on a good note until,
WELL a friend of mine ended up with
Someone I used to like a lot... she is much
Prettier and thinner than I am  and so I figure that's
A HUGE reason why AND she is also extremely
SPIRITUAL... my flame is almost extinguished.

The next weeks worth of poems are set to be
delivered via an automatic "scheduled delivery time" 
Because I won't be at a computer or on-line
For quite a while...

Wooden Sleeping Bag

Age cripples because it allows
Gravity to have its way and it
Then pushes and shoves you to
An early grave...

Your bones don't object, nor does
Your flesh - they sag, and they bend
And they break, and they splinter in to
Unrecognizable pieces who welcome a
Final resting place with worms who
Then feast upon what used to support and
Uphold what was - can only be held up
In a box made of timber - lined with
Satin that you'll never enjoy... aching to(o),
Hurting bones that will finally get to sleep in this
Silky wooden sleeping bag sealed tight
For a final good nights rest for eternity.

Philosophical Twilight Zone

Being philosophical seems very
Much like an apostrophe poem.

Hello feelings, we are now going to
Take a journey on a different plane
Where you too will be able to comment
On all you think and feel about what
I think and feel using you to get in touch
With what I feel... if you feel sad, press
1 on the touch tone pad - press 2 on the
Touch tone pad if you feel numb - press
3 if you feel giddy - press 4 if you need
The options repeated - uh, uh, uh - touch
Tone pad buttons you are not allowed to
Weigh in on how you're feeling about
Feeling - so no touchy!!

The "world spirit" knows everything and
Nothing and neither do you. Just breathe and
Relax - as someone once said, "Memento mori."

We all die.

Outside In

Sitting on the curb watching
The feast.
How do I get invited?
I need to eat.
Laughter, embraces, shared
Amongst all that sit at
The table enjoying it all.

Feeling like a dog under foot or
Under the table afraid to get kicked
By the ones who are able to ask
For a serving that is being
Dished out to everyone asking
Even the guy I thought a louse.
Whimpering silently, aching for love

Tail between legs, scooting ever
Closer to the edge to limp to the door to
Scratch on it for entrance... please,
May I join you? I'm really famished.
I have been watching the fun that
You all have been having... met with
A split second of silence then bludgeoned
With, "OF COURSES!! COME IN!
THERE'S MORE WHERE THAT
CAME FROM!"

Full from gratitude and grateful to boot,
The walk was the longest because of
The commute from outside to in in a
Matter of welcoming hoots.

Nature's Parchment

They fall in gentle spiral curls and
Are lovingly caught in the dark arms of
Asphalt - also by curbs, grass, windshields,
Summer wicker furniture - the wind gets
Envious and blows them this way and that -
Trippingly twinkling across these surfaces,
They land at a destination definitely not
Their final one - and crunch beneath feet
That can't wait to hear them cry, crackle!
Especially after being piled high and jumped in.

Itching

AAAAAHHHHHHH!!
I need to be still.
I can't get used to it.
I don't know how to
Trust and wait.
I often attack and withdraw
After I've been too aggressive.

Sometimes that's needed.
Most times it's not.

Who am I letting down not
Doing something?
I haven't anyone to provide for -
So I feel the need to provide for
Everyone I empathize with and
Lose myself in order to lose the
Feeling of incompleteness in
Not having a significant other or
Children I have birthed -

I raise children, other people's, and
Friends who need nurturing -
I need some too, but I don't know
How to be still, be patient and receive it...

Because it itches like an allergic reaction.

Gracefully

The sound of a wind chime is
Seen in gracefully falling leaves
As they fall to their final resting place
Before being blown skitteringly
Along the street south and west
Sounding like a crackling fire that is
Being alluded to by their journey to
Their graves in gutters to be trampled on,
Scooped up, thrown, crunched under
Boots that have come out of hibernation
Every year around the same time as
A sweet smelling reminder of rejuvenation
Through the final attempt at
Reassurance in the bursting colors
Blinding you leaf by leaf when you
Look up and down as they fall like snow -
Perhaps as a warning of what's to come -
Shortly thereafter their everafter in a
Crisp whiff of this life cycle picked up
In all sizes of fingers, embraced and
Released over and over again.
They do not grow tired of the attention -
Collectively or individually even when pressed.

Hostage Situation

One of the most glorious days of the year yet!
How I will miss this month when Old Man Winter
Comes and takes it hostage as well as all of its
Faithful followers for who knows how long or
When he'll show up with his whip and chair
Pushing us into the pits where we will hibernate
Till next year.

Places

Around the corner or
Around the bend...
It's coming... it's
On it's way... it's
About to be yours
Any day...

Just wait, don't give up
Or give in to the idea that
You've gotta settle for
What is it again?
Something beneath you?
Isn't that Mother Earth and
Isn't or hasn't she been
Supporting you since birth?

You go back into her crust -
A pie crust cracked and
Spackled shut after your
Burial in the gooey warmth of
The blueberry filling you
Willingly plunged into to
Plant your being so it can
Grow into the nooks and
Crannies of a life you were
A bit too excited to exit for the
Underworld under the world
You treaded upon not long
Enough to do and see all you
Wanted on the bare back of a horse,
You - wearing brown, white stitched
Tony Lama cowboy boots.

Billy... with a "Y"

Billy with a "Y" has tried so hard
Not to cry when talking about his
Past... "the abuse that was done to
Me was both physical and mental and
It has left scars that you can and can't
See..." he stares with a gaze that's
Both creepy and sad - his crystal, clear
Blue eyes betray the metaphor of
Swimming in the pool of his eyes
Because a drowning will occur instead.
Stormy seas can't even describe what
Is projected from his eyes and yet there is
A placidness...

"I'm Billy with a "Y," yep, and I
Find it hard to smile sometimes."

And I find it hard to believe that
This still occurs to so many that I
Have become blind to his eyes
Staring at me for comfort and
Friendship - I can handle only a
Few measured minutes with him as
I keep checking the time because
The fear he wears as scars bite into
My flesh leaving wounds of empathy...

"Let's practice laughing!" I say, and
We do and he's happy for that second
Or two.

LEAVE ME

Shut your mouth!
Please get out!
I need some space.
I get it. This is yours.
Not mine... but what
I'm seeing is that you're
NOT allowing me
Any grace and holding
It over my head that
What I have is yours
On loan and now
Counting down till
I'm out - I, too, can
Count and I'm counting
The days till we part.

Black + White = Blite

Ansel Adams knew how to capture a moment
In black and white - there is a majesty in his work - and yet
Her, Majesty, sat upon her swing pumping her
Little legs in and out in order to touch the sky.
Both legs the color of hot chocolate with a touch
Of whole milk poured in - not one black and the
Other white - that's not how it works being a
Mixed race child - her lovely body was not
Born sectioned off with who she looks like:
Her father's mouth and golden almond shaped eyes -
Her mother's cherub cheek bones, and pudgy pug nose -
Combined chocolate and vanilla DNA made Majesty's
Hair a cornucopia of delicate, if not quickly tamed,
Curls, spilling forth like corn cut off the cob the
Color of pennies - and yet she is both of her parents -
Two different races - one little person to run it - from the
Starting line a challenge - who does she identify with?
The gun was shot - she has begun the race of her life -
Being called a blite - she is not such a thing -
There is no beauty in blight - but majestic beauty in
The black and white of this little miracle called Majesty.
Ansel Adams could capture her perfectly - she is
A beautiful subject and a work of art from Heaven.

Daisies...

I LOVE him; I love him NOT,
I love HIM, I LOVE him not,
I love him, I love him not.

Pluck the petals away
Pluck the thorns out of
Your fingertips... and
Love him regardless of
The end result...

He loves me;
He loves me not;
I love him; I love him not.

We love, pluck out petals and
Are left with just a stem and leaves
Leaving behind the parts of us
That don't regenerate anything but
Memories of being stripped of the
Beauty of petals from loving
Each other or not.

Beatings...

Knuckles to the gut -
That area right above the belly button -
Left a mark, an impression that of
The fist doing the job of
Knocking the air completely
Out of her being - through
Rejection - over and over
Again and again - these
Beatings that come so
Frequently and yet something
Makes her resilient to the pain -
The repetition - because it teaches
Her to keep going until she has
Perfected the process of not
Giving up, not lying down on
The job of living after the beatings
Of life have completed their
Circuit of whoopings on her
Heart, mind, and soul leaving
Her stronger, calloused in
All the right areas but blinded to
The good that tags along side her
Near the gutter she keeps kicking
It back into so she doesn't have to be
Found in it first.