that's mrs. mediocrity to you

i refuse to say

hang in my heart

on bits

of knotted thread

and wrinkled ribbon

swaying

in a barely moving breeze

wrought

from distilled smile

and cornered

memory

the super sweet blueberries dropped into oatmeal

the smell of lilacs, just outside an open window

a new loaf of bread popped in the oven

a robin, a cardinal, a chickadee

a messy house, a messy garden, a messy life

in need of sorting, cleaning, scrubbing, tending

waiting to be torn from disarray

and pasted back in perfect place

as i sit here

contemplating nothing

sipping tea

and mostly,

smiling

.

.

.

.

quickly now

tell me what you love
who you miss

how you
survive

if the rain makes you weep
if the stars make you shiver
if the ocean brings you to your knees

quickly now

show me the heart
that’s fallen from your sleeve

read me your mind
from the book of deep night

tell me the story that races
through the tunnels
of your soul

quickly now

.

. . . . .

.

here i am again, doing this again–30 days of poems, hoping the words will come.
hoping hope will come, as well.

.

the changeling

post-mortem
and i’m still standing

here

in front of
scarcity

just the way
i did

when you
were
more

.

. . . . .

.

here i am again, doing this again–30 days of poems, hoping the words will come.
hoping hope will come, as well.

.

ample

what is enough
when you have no pantry
no cupboard
no shelf?

what is too much
when you have
empty rooms?

.

. . . . .

.

here i am again, doing this again–30 days of poems, hoping the words will come.
hoping hope will come, as well.

.

if you need to bleed

let it go

if you need to weep
if you need a river
if you need to wail
if you need to shiver

let it go

if you need deep silence
the despair of solitude
if you need to repent
or the bliss of belief

let it go

if you need to laugh
if you need a mountain
if you need to howl
if you need a fountain

let it go

if you need to bleed

let it go

.

. . . . .

.

here i am again, doing this again–30 days of poems, hoping the words will come.
hoping hope will come, as well.

.

remnant

from the upstairs window
a glint of light in the back field

driftwood?
i thought

as I walked back
to discover
a large pair of wings

white
with some grey

but mostly:

empty

silent

pristine

.

. . . . .

.

here i am again, doing this again–30 days of poems, hoping the words will come.
hoping hope will come, as well.

.

life is a poem

we forget

;

each breath

adding song

to existence

.

. . . . .

.

here i am again, doing this again–30 days of poems, hoping the words will come.
hoping hope will come, as well.

.

liberty

i can walk forever
(and some days i do)
but never really

get

anywhere

.

. . . . .

.

here i am again, doing this again–30 days of poems, hoping the words will come.
hoping hope will come, as well.

.

delivery

a walk to the mailbox
late at night

darkness makes me feel
my way along

and these stars
so bright and silent

i can always find
north
orion
cassiopeia
those dippers

a short walk
to
lost
and back
again

.

. . . . .

.

here i am again, doing this again–30 days of poems, hoping the words will come.
hoping hope will come, as well.