that's mrs. mediocrity to you

after a while, you get used to chaos

hunched up shoulders and a crick in your neck
become the norm

while time plays no tricks
but marches on around the corner

and then you start stealing moments
gathering them up on the sly for hoarding
in a crackled lightning bug jar

so you can see them after dark

the red cardinal feeding his mate
these roses spilling blooms like confetti
this mirror that is always too honest

languish becomes a lost word
a distant memory

the life you imagined becomes
the one you are living
in stolen snippets of illumination

your heart keeps right on beating
you dance beneath the same yellow moon
you fight your way through another nightmare
to see the sun split wide the horizon

you survive

and one afternoon
you hear yourself

singing

on a broken heartsick mandolin
behind this curtain of sunlight
some would call glare

her tears mix with dewdrops
her dress is mistaken
and the wind in her hair
makes her whimper
even as she nods in the breeze
at all sailors passing

just in case
just in case

beauty is meaningless
to a flower
folly prescribed by
obscure tradition
and those who destroyed
her ability to run

but she stands and she sings
and her heart is made
from one shade of golden

heavy ballast to keep her
grounded

ripe punishment
for hollow dreams
of dancing

.

.

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Linking up with the fabulous dVerse poets for Open Link Night
– a celebration of 100 weeks – join us!

because that’s where i live
just now
and that island is still
a long ways away
and from where i sit
i can see the bottom
all swirling mud and nibbly-toe fish

i see the sun glinting off steel iron
dead weight placeholder
settling down into dawn
and about to be moments
of absolutely imperfect clarity
because nobody wants to be perfect
no how

and this water is cool
and my arms are so tired
all that rowing my way
’round this big blue circle
hollow bowl
amateur can’t hold me in
life cloche

i think
i’m just going to sit here
(beneath this glass)
and laugh for a while

this is the silence
you sing about

echoes bounce off
the fragile egg
you hold
in one hand

sister bits
broken
at your feet

yesterday
owes you nothing

time pays for itself
each morning

tomorrow
waits for you
to color in the lines

growth is not
profound
but a function
of survival

there is nothing
to do

but listen

.

.

.

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Linking up with the fabulous dVerse poets for Open Link Night – join us!
Lots of work on my plate this week, but I will do my best to catch up with everyone…

slightly disheveled
always busy
growing (old)
setting seed
rambunctious and tenacious
in equal measure

filled with promise
and hope
possibility and time
overcrowded and
under the weather
(quite literally)

birdsong soaring
on time’s
cheap passing
the same every year
but different
every hour

ants moving mountains
and thunder
looming large
butterflies
and dragons and
wrinkly toad kisses

wasps building nests
on the promise
of tomorrow
always at the ready
to sting you
today

drawn to the scent
of life lived hard
open and blooming
too enamored of the sun
to strive for anything
resembling

perfection

icarus played the molten fool
at mother nature’s ball

and we watched with fascination
as he tumbled to the ground

holding our breath until the sun
returned the gold of favor

and i crawl through this dirt
like an old brown beetle

scarab girl
warmth seeker
latent love hunter

pulling weeds and pressing
white through old lace curtains

looking for a way to singe my
skin and dress my bones

as seed and root are married
in eternity’s hollow middle

i no longer feel the need
to ask permission

.

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Linking up with the fabulous dVerse poets for Open Link Night – join us!

some i’ve known for years and others
i’ve yet to be introduced to

i’m walking down this road
that always leads me home

remembering faces and places
and voices long forgotten

whispers on wind telling tales
no one ever stops to hear

the white waving flag of
existential discourse

extend your hand
take my place
lend an ear
a shoulder
an old pair of shoes

this is the forest we all live in
trees and concrete and wisps

of tired translucent souls singing
songs less music than ballad

into the surrender of sky and grey
and blue smoke metaphysical ribbons

all these lost stories folding deep
into rivers and seas and oceans

returning later, much later
to rain down upon us

.

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Linking up with the fabulous dVerse poets for Open Link Night – join us!

i need to eat and you’re not hungry
we are mind mirror
life miners

asking hope to keep promises never made

i feed you prawns for breakfast
and there is never enough

you are sage and i am curry

you are silence and i am angry

you have too much and i
get lost a lot

of course I don’t blame you
for accepting what was offered

i am
quiet
standing
balanced

blown but not destroyed
by the way of things

you need to eat and

i am hungry

plate, fork
salt, knife

round table

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Linking up with the fabulous dVerse poets for Open Link Night – join us!

tick tock goes the clock with the certainty of proven
………….your heart is the art of discovery
………….and we play the blame game
………….as you are driven
………….through the trees to the track
………….of distinction
………….eyes blindfolded

…………………..not to keep you lost
…………………..but to prevent
…………………..the hound of found
…………………..from following
…………………..your eyes

………….down the paths
………….you did not take
………….to all the promises
………….you could not make

…………………..and you are lost as the
…………………..silence in a sea of dead souls

………….which is to say
………….i hear you

…………………..singing

.

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A poem a day for 30 days, in honor of National Poetry Month.
This post is part of NaPoWriMo. see more here.

.

i want to marry earl grey and move to the mountains

live on scones and color song, dreams and folded lawn

breathe in fresh and ripple and whisper pine

.

on a raft in the center of a lake named time

.

we’ll dress the moon in ribbons and hang petals from stars

strip the sunset of orange and use it as fire

never-wait for dawn and sip the scent of every howl

.

from an island of boulder, shoulder and bone

.

to warm our toes in the quilt of forgiveness

steep our hearts in the river of revolution

soothe our skin with the afterglow of room

.

beneath our sky tent bird fingered curious home

.

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A poem a day for 30 days, in honor of National Poetry Month.
This post is part of NaPoWriMo. see more here.

Also linking up with the fabulous dVerse poets for Open Link Night