that's mrs. mediocrity to you

windows
wide open
for a moment
of fresh

inhale
exhale
bounce off
horizon

bird song dawn
and sunset singing

we’re all here
spreading green

it’s all new
all old
the same
same
circle

always here
lending

a hand

…

watching the way you peeled an onion
hiding tears in a scented candle
rose-sandlewood-something when really
it was the smell of smoke you hoped to hide
long after you’d quit and we both knew
it was him again
lingering in places you’d already scoured
as i peeled carrots, chopped celery, sliced
a moon down the side of one finger
before either of us noticed it was raining
and you were gone

the world is on fire

stop what you’re doing
no
stop

nothing is fair and the sky is lit
broken

stop
listening
smiling dancing and buying
stop building hiding
breathing
complaining

stop spinning

stop spilling

stop drilling
for rain

i’m an ocean of echo
on the tilt-shift of dragon

i am gold and philosophy
still and bespoken

i am school with no student
blinded by billow

i’m the cloud of refrain
in a field of forgotten

stop

squirrel fight

dove coo

blue jay belligerent

.

skin soaking up sun

anti mirror

wide smile

prismatic

.

desiderata

forgotten

.

and she walked
the center line
straight past the pond
of forgiveness

.

i listened for so long i went silent

mute as a river drinking dawn in the forest
mute as a sky bright with stories of stars
mute as a heart bleeding love like a wound

there are no words for any of this
no lexicon
for racing blindly through the darkness of reality
hawking bliss and deprivation in quiet turn

i am echo
singing jagged edge
across each mountain

you are breath
and something
less tangible

or everything

it’s all there
ramshackle and ready
prepared

but we’ve forgotten
history
her story
our collective
mind

i walk this path
i have traveled
too often

watch two bluebirds
savor sunshine
just the way March requires

i remember you there
on my windowsill
all magic and tragedy

survival
so often depends
on kindness

i say nothing

. . . . .

. . . . .

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

.

.

.

there are leaves on the trees again
and the crabapple is blooming

the robin sings me awake
and then puts the sun to bed with

a story that has no words
and a song that carries sky

there’s a starling
trapped in the chimney
scratching code
in night-blind terror

and i cannot tell you
how much
i need

to listen

.

.

. . .

.

(p.s. i rescued the starling)

.

.

.

.

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.

.

hinterland

i miss you
the way a flower
grieves lost petals

still
i set seed

feeding hungry birds
and ravaged wildlife

refusing
sun’s command
to wither

.

. . . . .

.

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

.

the dead fox

kitten
curled in a ball
at the side of the road
has been there
for a week
now

yesterday
the turkey vultures
arrived

squawking rudely at me
as i skirted by:

circle!

circle!

circle!

before rising
into deaf grey sky

.

. . . . .

.

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