that's mrs. mediocrity to you

.

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.

.

forty-eights
masks

so far

miles of
fabric
and neat rows
of stitches

bent neck
sore back
pricked fingers

today
that counts
as poetry

.

. . . . .

.

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

.

silence
(you said)

and i refused
to listen

in the stillness
that followed

i remembered
the sound

of recalcitrance

your breath

and

six miles
of liberty

.

. . . . .

.

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

.

mo(u)rning song

a grey veil
of fog

does not stop
the red, red cardinal
from singing

from the topmost branch
of the still-bare tree
planted by the echo
of ancestor

in the hedgerow
red-winged blackbirds
harmonize

crow vies with jay

together we begin

a new day

.

. . . . .

.

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

.

window

everything is clean
and the world
is awash
with disease

dis-ease

ill seas

i watch the sky
not certain why

searching for signs
or rhymes
or lines

pointing
in the right

direction

.

. . . . .

.

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

sanctity
(sanity)

holding on

to:

your hand
your love
your whisper of hope
possibility
tiny miracles
tomorrow
grey clouds
sunshine

orion high
in night’s dark sky

a robin
builds a nest
in the tree
outside my window

she is my
hero

.

. . . . .

.

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

perhaps in a book
or under a rock in a garden
dotted with daffodil

or a path down the side
of a long empty road
dancing sideways and laughing
in that way no one ever
wants to hear

there’s always folding laundry
into perfect measured
squares

or washing dishing
slowly
just as the sun
begins to settle

there are six snowdrops
by the back door

nine crocus

ten thousand leaves

(i counted)

but at night
in a room
filled with ghosts and
fraught silence

there is no way around
this bitter elephant
crushing my chest
and building a home

in the corners
of verity

i see you
eating darkness

feeding fear
and ancient bear

i see you bleeding tears
of collective memory

and you
keep visiting
my dreams

as if

there is something
left
to say

i let the dog out
and the moon was singing

down at the swamp
one thousand geese
honked the words
to a universal melody

polaris twinkled

guiding each of us

home

.

.

.