that's mrs. mediocrity to you

loss is a word

that lives like a snake

all coiled up and hissing

slithering

through tunnels

of comprehension

and coming out

the other side

found

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

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to the

silence.

::

hear it

singing?

::

for a manifesto, of sorts

.. ..   .. ..   .. ..

i want to be the old laughing lady.

i want to notice the things that really matter, always.
the sweet smile, the embrace,
the first daffodil poking its head through the snow.

.. ..   .. ..   .. ..

i live in the world i have made for myself.

i survive in the world at large.

my heart spit out its bitter years ago,
making room for more love.

and more questions.

.. ..   .. ..   .. ..

i run through life at top speed
because i want to fit everything in.

there is too much of everything.

there is not enough of anything.

.. ..   .. ..   .. ..

words are my window to existence.

i am words.

i have always been words, even before i could speak them.

.. ..   .. ..   .. ..

i believe that being alive is a gift.

i believe that being grateful for every breath you take
is the only way to say thank you.

i believe in so much and so little, all at once.

.. ..   .. ..   .. ..

i am a heart that beats out a pattern
like a far-off drum in the night.

i am a soul.

an old soul, a new soul, a wise soul.

a soul that knows nothing.

.. ..   .. ..   .. ..

i am open.

.. ..

….

….

I am participating in Madelyn Mulvaney’s persisting souls photography e-course.
I was so hesitant to do a self-portrait, so hesitant to do a manifesto.
But here I am. This is me, being brave.

it seemed like such a simple question

what would you take with you
if your house was burning down

but it came with too many answers

and then

not enough

and then it sat just there
staring back at me like a mirror

taunting me
daring me
double dog daring me

to answer

if you want to know
i will tell you

on my way out the door

i picked up books and photos

my grandmother’s
gold and white teapot

the christmas bell
my father gave me

the drawings my son
crayoned as a child

a favorite teacup

my journals and poetry

the rose-colored glasses
my mom handed me
on my thirteenth
birthday

cards and letters

my favorite soup pot

the flannel shirt
my husband wore
at our wedding

lace doilies crocheted
by my oldest friend

a necklace made by my sister

my arms grew tired
my burden, heavy

when i got to the door
i turned
and set it all down

all of it

arranged it neatly
in a shrine
to memory

took one step backward
and then another
and another

then finally turned
and walked outside

empty handed

empty handed

heart full

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

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this is life.

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lately I’ve been:

searching my soul

caretaking

shifting

skeptical

catty

grateful

aware of my mortality

aware of my limitations

aware of my humanity

furious

full of joy

impatient

calm

forgetful

nostalgic

open

closed

and everything

in between

this is the corner i live in

…….ripe with seed and detritus

burdened by sun and potential

…….promises, promises

i have

music that will never be heard
stories that will never be written
wisdom that will never be learned

it’s not tomorrow.

…….it’s never tomorrow.

this is hope, all hard and prickly.

you always thought
it would feel like velvet

…….didn’t you?

:

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

::

opposites attract.

::

Okay, it’s quite true that I’ve always taken the road less traveled, not exactly on purpose but just because that was always the one that appealed to me most.

Less traffic, less people, less been there done that. Out of the mainstream. Off on my own.

So where has it gotten me?

Out on a limb, up a tree, tangled in thickets? Dangling from a limb?

Perhaps.

Either way, it’s where I am. I took the road less traveled by and it has made all the difference. And though there are some days when I shake my head and wish I had chosen otherwise, in my heart I know it was the only road I could have taken. My feet walked that way naturally, and to have forced them to do otherwise would have been next to impossible.

Right now, my life is a crazy whirlwind of work and not enough time. This is not new, this is not a surprise. This is not my beautiful life.

Except, it is.

I know this, I know that this is the life I have. I also know that given my druthers, it is the life I would choose. Again and again and again.

It is the only life I know how to live, this life of listening to leaves rustle and kittens cry and whispers of words that refuse be silent.

This is my life. Yes, I could second-guess myself all day long, and on some days, I do. On some days, a 9 to 5 job in an office full of worker bees sounds like the perfect solution.

Here, I buzz around by myself and try to make it all work. Try to fit in a life around the busyness.

Some days, I think I should give up this blog and the other blog, reclaim that time. But I love this place. This place of words and pretty pictures. This place that is mine. Some days, this is my oasis.

So here I am, standing at a fork, again.

And you know what? My feet have already started down that same old same old path.

The one less traveled. Because that’s who I am.

Come along, walk with me.

yesterday i read old poems
and laughed at myself

all that anger
leather
tethered
to skinny arms and broken heart

made up armor for mixed up girl
tough skin to hide behind
all painted red and pretty

somewhere along the line
i let it go

all of it

released it into air
that cradled and promised

watched it float away

waved goodbye

shed no tear

now, now

i sit in this same old kitchen
hard chair
curved back
worn slightly by years
of useful

use

i know the scars and scratches
that run beneath my fingers
each one could have been a sentence

or at least
a perfect word

etched along the surface
of sanity

marking time

yesterday i read old poems
and laughed at myself

:

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this post is part of dVerse poets OpenLinkNight join us!