that's mrs. mediocrity to you

you climb to the top and you stand there
inhaling sunshine

the rains will come again and you will drink
not caring for the purity
of washed-out clouds

you will slip and you will fall
and neither one will destroy you

just as long as you keep laughing

it isn’t courage you need
so much as tenacity

lion-hearted is not the same as lion

fighting for survival is not the same
as unenlightened

holding jewels in your fingers
is not the same as sincerity

the seedhead is never as fragile
as bloom

there is no wisdom taller
than observation

and the view is ever changing

sun is the only constant
and even that is actually

star

.

.

.

all your flaws are evidence of irony

mother nature has a sense of humor
but also, a quick temper

she sends flowers as apology on a regular basis

you have to cut your own path in the forest of existence,
with a quick-sharp, heart-forged machete

courage is your metronome and
labyrinth is another word for learn

live lost and laugh at life’s thunder

the sky remembers every flash of lightning

earth is just a pattern of old scars
hiding shy beneath a veil of tattered stars

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.

you gave me a shield to stand behind
sharp edged and burnished spike

for protection, you said

and i laughed because
you were always running
and i was always lost

at least it looked that way
when the off center sun came
shining through varicose leaves
of false forgiveness

and i raised my spear
but you said no, like this

and handed me a polished stone
of blue lace agate tied with twine

i held it up
to the center of everything

hoping for music

but somehow silence
was the perfect fit

.

.

.

is that truth is most beautiful when it’s honest

and it almost never is

.

we bury the hard parts, hands scrabbling in hard rock soil

digging a space to place all the real bits

because we can’t bear to smell their lack of perfume

.

my yard is littered with these mounds disguised as anthills

and sometimes when i go outside, i kick them

just to make ants scurry

.

how dare they make food of my truths

feeling so at home amongst the words

i have buried?

.

i tunnel through these thoughts and recognize the folly

.

everything i hold sits in my heart

beneath a layer of crimson glaze

.

i prick my finger on the thorn of a flower

grown past its own revision

.

i let go

i let go

i let go

.

and ten drops of blood stain the thirsty dustbin soil

.

i cover my tracks with the swipe of a heel

sucking sweets through my teeth

remembering the rhythm of unbroken

.

the sun finds my face and claims me

with the scorch

of yet

again

.

.

.

.

and all you can do is listen

the sound of petals opening is a whisper of countenance

growth is always louder than stasis

rushing headlong into the light can leave you blind

all the answers lie

in the space between seconds

where the song of eternity echoes

two hands one heart

weaving songs of forever

left to dance on the wind

of intention

.

.

.

she wore crinoline and ruffles
tacked on with sap and honey

earrings made from dewdrops
and a necklace of morning glory vine

(each leaf a green heart of forgiveness)

she danced with the whirl and the twirl
of a long lost travelling gypsy

(which is to say she was barefoot)

and the music called forth
by the bells on her ankles
echoed throughout the hall

and the prince
(oh, the prince!)
how he carried a shoe
on a satin-faced
sleep-wrinkled pillow

offered up with a bow
and a deeply felt flourish
and (of course)
the perfect fit

but she’d already chosen

the sky as her lover

the moon as her (k)night

and so,
in the end

she sipped champagne
from the toe
of a willow bark slipper

raised her arms
with a smile

and invited
each and every
singing soldier
painted lady
purple wallflower

to tango
a path to the door

and her dance card
left behind

(with gratitude)

became a blank-faced
notebook

of possibility

.

.

.

the ripe ones are always waiting

closed up holed up sewn up
biding time like the best of new mothers

and you think you know how to birth them

“sounds like so and so” i hear you snort
as you rustle past with your wrinkled paper
on your way to tea and toast

all posh and proper
confessional only on bitter days

the rest of the time you’re sure to rhyme
though you much prefer to couple

and i always listen

ears pressed to the floor with fingers tapping

waiting for more

there’s always more

cadence calls and you’re off to supper
swilling syllable and savory refrain

waving your fork in the air mid-rant

even as the knife continues sawing
through the vein

i serve cold soup and sorry sentence
in a too-tight apron laced with stain

and hope that later
once you’ve finished

we’ll invent a new word
for dessert

.

.

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An ode to poets, both here and gone,
and all of my friends over at Dverse Poets Pub,
celebrating their third anniversary this week!
Come on over and join the fun!

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.

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i remember when romance and hope were the same thing
he loves me, he loves me not
tattooed in a circle round my ankle

an ink drawn fresh dried forever shackle
offered in exchange for the customary key

but a young girl’s heart is always moving forward
ready to burst into star-struck song and
a brief exchange of whiskey serenade

until she learns with a crone’s bold eye
love is not the flower, but the root

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.
Linking in over at
Imaginary Garden with Real Toads for July’s Word List prompt.
Join us!

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all the memories
become a jumble
of forgotten chances

paint peels
and the sky
blinks

clouding birds
with gun flint
steel

a southern hurricane
whispers blindly
through the poplars
i planted

one day long ago
when i could not
say your name

now those same trees
shade our bedroom
telling secrets to a
clear clown canvas

and i paint circles
on your chest
with knobby-edged
fingers

wondering
if the rings
at the heart of those
tall twin trunks
are made of time
or gold

or if it matters

shadows dance
as leaves shimmy shake
across the surface of a lake
we never managed
to explore

and we watch the sun
set down color
like a promise

or a platter
filled with food
from a picnic
never taken

.

.

.

half is half and whole is whole
and open is never closed

the sky is unconcerned with your welfare
even as it paints your evening red

silence is impossible to silence

full or empty
black or gold

drink it in with your pessimist’s stare
pour it out with an optimist’s grin

overflow

and the earth will take your offering
run it downhill to the pool of purpose

gather
mingle
transmogrify

despair and hope and courage

and puddle them all
at the feet of fortitude

an elixir of entropy
reflecting

cirrus clouds
and broken blue

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