that's mrs. mediocrity to you

::

black and white,

but not quite.

::

when we first met
i used to lay my head on your chest
and listen to your heartbeat.

after all these years
i can hear it
even when you’re
not in the room.

the rhythm of my steps
the patterns of my days
the music of my life.

the shape of
you.

.

Happy Valentine’s Day, Mr. M

::

it’s cold out here.

::

Last year’s growth still clings to its supports, having yet to be cleared away for the fresh new shoots this year has promised to bring.

Soon it will be time to start seeds indoors, the waiting and the watching and then the nursing of baby plants along towards Spring.

This isn’t my garden, it’s a garden I pass on the trail where I run, a huge vegetable garden that someone tends very lovingly. It’s a garden I covet. Or quite possibly, what I actually covet is the time it takes to tend such a garden.

When I am old I shall grow flowers.

Okay, I already grow flowers. And I’m creeping up on old, but you know what I mean.

Some days, weeks, months, years, it feels like I’m running out of time. Time to do the things I always wanted to do, said I would do, planned to do. So what to do?

I feel my priorities shifting. I suppose everyone does as they creep towards another milestone birthday, marking the passing of another decade.

I’m going to be 50 this year, and it feels a bit like a rite of passage. It will be time to draw the slanted line through the other four hash marks, and these five decades will stand together as a unit. The next decade starts a whole new set of hash marks, and only if I’m very lucky will I complete the set.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m okay with it, no regrets and all that, and every day I breathe in the air of gratitude that I am here to even contemplate such things.

But I feel like this year, this well-rounded marker, means it’s time to clear away those old, clingy vines, time to pull up all the weeds, time to focus on standing with my face to the sun.

Mature growth. The bits of bark that have been weathered by time. The base of the tree that supports all the fresh, green leaves.

Old growth.

Yes, that’s it. Exactly.

Already, I feel new roots taking hold.

in my sleep i can skate to the other side
…………artfully missing all the weak spots
…………gliding smoothly in arcs and swashes

…………………but in the light of day i lie on my belly
…………………………….scoot my way across the thinnest places
………………………the ones where i can see bottom and

…………words wave up at me, asking to be rescued
…………or at least remembered (even willing to be
………………………….used) but this ice
…………………………………refuses to shatter

…………………or split
……………………..or splinter and

…………………i have no opening
…………all i can do is watch as phrase and dangling
…………………….participle sink down into mud

…………to be eaten later by hungry catfish, or
………………………occasionally
………………..disintegrating before my eyes
………………………………letters break off
…………………………………………..and slowly
…………………………………..begin

……………….their ascent to the surface
……………………..spelling words i hadn’t thought of
…………………………………that stick
……………..………………to the underside
…………………………………….of this cold glass sheet

………………………………………………….teasing me
………………….………….……………taunting me

………………………………..i can see them,
……………………………hear them,
…………………………………spell them out on
…………………………………….my tongue
……………                   ……………but they remain
……………………………………………………..out of reach

………………………begging
……………………………for warmth as i

…………………………………….press my cheek to the ice

………………………………………………………shivering

.

this post is part of dVerse poets Open Link Night join us!

::

in living color.

::

I stand in my driveway, shivering, camera in hand, trying to capture ever-elusive birds. This is not at all the photo I was trying to record, wings too fast for my cold fingers, but there it is: morning.

I was not standing here to see the sun rise with all its pretty promises, not here to watch midnight blue change to purple and pink, and yet somehow, my camera found its way to dawn just the same.

The most beautiful things are always the ones that find you first, and all you really have to do is be there.

Morning is becoming my favorite time of day. For me, this is a huge shift, having always been a night owl, staying up well past the time that makes sense, always having a hard time letting go of another day. And even now, my bedtime is midnight, I like to be there to watch another day slip through the keyhole and become tomorrow. Which of course, in that split second, becomes today.

A clean slate to dream on, a beginning that is tangled up in the bedsheets of an end. Yesterday, today, tomorrow, all just words that melt together in the space between 12:00 and 12:00:01.

Blink, and a new day is born.

And by sunrise, the hunger sets in, the possibility, the curiosity.

The promise of anything that is everything.

Perhaps it is possible to be a night owl and a morning person all at the same time.

Perhaps I am a midnight to noon person.

There’s a moon in there, somewhere.

Whispering.

is it okay that i’m not trying to change the world?
that most days i’m content just to change my pajamas
and that most months, most years
i consider myself lucky to have made it this far
because it’s all so damn complicated
and
is it okay that all i really have are questions
all i’ve ever had are questions and that i get sick
and tired of hearing all those answers being shouted
from other people’s rooftops when i know they are
in just as much danger of slipping off as i am
and
is it okay that some nights i can’t sleep
because the walls can’t hold all the things
in my heart and my hands scribble scrabble
in a vain attempt t0 clean up all my messes,
knitting words that never see the light of day
and
is it okay that i don’t need to be fixed
because surely i’m not broken, i’ve seen broken
and my soul is nobody’s business but my own
in fact it’s whole and beautiful even if it is
lined with purple shadows of doubt
and
is it okay that some nights i just want to sit
by the fire with a book in my hands
that takes me anywhere but here and it’s not
because i need to escape my life
it’s just that some days i’m tired
and
i just don’t feel like changing the world,
some days i just want to be in it
up to my neck like quicksand in it
feeling it squish between my toes
and dragging me down down down

before i float away?

.

this post is part of dVerse poets Open Link Night join us!

::

and a stack

of blank

pages.

::

stand tall and be proud of your roots.

everyone can use a hug once in awhile.

it’s nice to feel the breeze in your hair.

even after the worst of storms,
the sun will warm your face again.

offer shelter to those who need it.

with age comes character.

there is strength in numbers.

sometimes you have to bend
to keep from breaking.

branching out keeps things balanced.

when times are tough, dig down deep.

inhale the bad, exhale the good.

there are times to be dormant,
and there are times for growth.

mark each passing year in your heart.

we all have scars.

the moon will listen to your whispers.

if the path you are on gets blocked,
just grow in another direction.