that's mrs. mediocrity to you

watch time float by
on the whisper of living

breathe in blue sky
and never exhale

light the candle
of forgiveness
and forget to blow it out

speak the song
of the silenced
or rather, start to sing

watch a heron
kiss the water
in a solitude of sunshine

stand taller
than the mountain
you just climbed

ride the train of broken tears
that barrels down
each side

embrace the clouds
that hover close
to the places you last cried

.

give it all away

.

and watch time

float by

on the whisper

of living

…

and deep dark
late night lists
of the ways we are all
just a little bit
broken

and the revelation
that all we can do
is open our arms
our minds
our fear closed
scared scarred
sacred
hearts

and face the sun

one more time
one more day
one more moment

today
today

today
and love

that’s
all there is

ever

not forever

just this
minefield mountain
of now

the present
of presence

and these shard blue
sheltering smithereens
of moving sky

…

…

like the gathering jay
landing indigo dark
at this goodbye leaves fly sky

waving summer’s
last muleta

…

and this hollow black horizon
fielding landings
for cold flight frenzy bright geese

holding court
in a flurry of age

…

and you treading merlin’s tall night
through a landmine
of lost forest season

no frame can contain
or define

…

and the brink of soft light
through these brittle bone trees
of tender sight not quite description

guiding current the truest
way home

…

listen here

stand tall in the light
of your own deliverance

bury nothing
but roots

grow rings
of truth

spin buds
of grace

and wait

time will spin
your story

into fresh green
dappled

shade

none of us are free

we all come at great cost
to ourselves
to others
to this bold green earth

to those we love
and those we hate
to those
we cannot know

own yourself

pay the price of reflection
add loose change
to the plate of collection

pick up your actions
hold them high
look deeper

examine

have the good guts
to stare yourself
in the eye

have the true grace
to accept
all consequences

own yourself

none of us
are free

the sun is shining just now, but it’s so cold.
the snow is glittering with that false, enticing promise.
beautiful to look at, brutal to hold.

and now i’m thinking of you again.

it’s a vicious circle-cycle.

life and loss and the truth of living.

survival of the fittest.

survival.

of.

we all have our own sky.

as a child, i was often told I saw the world through rose-colored glasses. i could use a pair of those these days, when my sky is gray and life keeps handing me hard lessons.

these days, i’m thinking a lot about truth, betrayal and strength, and grace. digging deep, healing wounds that keep re-opening, cutting a crooked path through the tangled forest of fortitude.

it’s dark in here, but i never have been afraid of darkness. how else can we measure the light? besides, once your eyes adjust, it’s easier to see what lurks in the shadows, who your cellmates are, who reaches out a hand to guide you.

perhaps i’ll put a new garden over there, just around that bend. maybe a bench and a book with a view of the sunset. perhaps i’ll build my own mountain in the backyard of bafflement.

and then, just when i am ready, i will climb to the top and belt out the song of my survival.

. . .

writing again, winding my way through some things. finding my way home.

*from The Ubiquitous Mr. Lovegrove by Dead Can Dance

integrity is honesty in words and actions

damn the game-playing,
word-changing,
hide-and-seek
gladiators

: :

i’ll take the bird singing joy
surprised by each sunrise

the child’s new word
wrapped in giggle and smile

i’ll take the plate washed with love
to complete a good meal

and the call in the night
to remember what’s real

i’ll be quiet and staid
in a world filled with pretense

wrinkled and worn
in the fountain of youth

i’ll walk steps on the path
my own feet have created

humble-quiet and found
through dark forests of pain

: :

i will listen with love
and be your best mirror

shining back your lost song
from a field
sown with grace

being a sagittarius, i’ve never been a water girl. i barely even know how to swim.

but this year, something changed, something shifted, life delivered the cruelest of blows, and suddenly, everywhere i go, i’m drawn to water.

it’s a mystery, but one that makes me smile in weird ways at odd times. perhaps it’s the desire to float away from this pain i’m standing here holding, held in place by roots wrapped hard round my feet, refusing to budge until spring.

and i’ve been thinking a lot about anger.

the way we’re told, especially as women, that we’re not allowed to be angry, at life, at other people, at circumstances beyond our control. that we should be nice, accepting, nurturing, we should let it all go. that it’s our job to be happy every minute of every day.

i disagree.

there are times when anger is the only answer, when anger is deserved. when anger is the flame that keeps your light from going out.

i keep thinking back to the old “just smile and look pretty” maxim. the one so many of us were conditioned to follow as little girls and young women. the one we’re still held to as grown women, by those who want to fit us into those little, quiet, smiling boxes.

anger is a normal emotion. it’s part of life, part of living. it’s a catalyst for change. it’s a response to injustice, to intentional harm, to tiny daily abuses, to the constant squelching of basic human rights.

being told i shouldn’t be angry ends up being part of what makes me so angry.

one of my goals in life has long been to not grow bitter as I grow old. and it’s still one of my goals. but you know what? we have every right to be angry at intentional harm. i can be angry and see the beauty of a lone leaf clinging to a tree. i can be angry and cry at the beauty of a sunset. i can be angry and open my heart to all the world has to offer. i can still look out my window and smile at the titmouse cocking his head at me as he feeds.

we always want to see things in black and white, and we always think anger is red.

but i’m holding mine in a circle of blue, that place in a flame that holds the most oxygen.

one of these days, i’m going to use my anger to walk right through the fire that’s burning in my heart. and then i’m going to march right past all those rules til i reach the wide open shore, and cool my feet in the healing forgiveness of water.

perhaps that will cauterize my anger. crystallize it, temper it, transform it. but i shall always refuse to drown it.

you will hear me howl and the faint crackle of tough skin.

when that happens, i hope some part of you will smile.

yesterday i saw
just floating along
on this river of tall information
a tiny white scrap
inscribed with the words:

survival isn’t enough

a meme or a tweet or a post by a host
dropped by someone post-haste in the knowing
as with so many lines caught deep in the waves
of this infinite brick-brackish water

and i smiled to myself
just a flash
before thinking
oh child just you wait
because darling
survival
is
plenty

and yes
there is always much more
we can do with its gift
more to learn
more to love
more to cherish

but oh, my friend

in the color of end

survival
is quite simply

being