that's mrs. mediocrity to you

.

sometimes

you need

the support of others

to help you bloom

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In the morning,
I am always part bird.

Ready to fly
and hungry for adventure,
lightweight
and grateful for dawn.

I live in a heart filled with song.

The sky is a playground
of minutes,
ticking off wingbeat and
leaf warbled landing.

A canvas of sunset,
undrawn.

.

.

.

you climb to the top and you stand there
inhaling sunshine

the rains will come again and you will drink
not caring for the purity
of washed-out clouds

you will slip and you will fall
and neither one will destroy you

just as long as you keep laughing

it isn’t courage you need
so much as tenacity

lion-hearted is not the same as lion

fighting for survival is not the same
as unenlightened

holding jewels in your fingers
is not the same as sincerity

the seedhead is never as fragile
as bloom

there is no wisdom taller
than observation

and the view is ever changing

sun is the only constant
and even that is actually

star

.

.

.

.

few things

are more lovely

than the blush

of hope

.

.

.

.

thirteen years later
that’s what we call it

not nine eleven oh one
not September 11, 2001
just
nine eleven

two words

three digits

two towers

four planes

thousands

of

mothers
fathers
daughters
sons
sisters
brothers
wives
husbands
aunts
uncles
girlfriends
boyfriends

not statistics

falling

from

the

sky

not dates
or where were you’s

just whole hearts
in odd numbers

each one

the only necessary

evidence

of love

::

.

I wrote this last year as the 10-year anniversary
of this tragic, horrid event approached.

I am re-posting it again today, in honor of all those hearts.

Never forget.

.

.

some days
i let my camera choose the focus
and fall in love
with imperfection
all over again

.

i dream myself awake and wander
through corners of remembrance
there is no hope
there is only hope
there is only keeping on

we all climb the same mountain
weight-bearing and moon lifted

and the snail that eats
the lily
must surely taste
sunshine

i cannot blame her
for surviving
though i admit
there are times
when i toss her into weeds

where she will climb
and eat the flavor
of absent-minded forgiveness

just as content
with a broken down aster

alive

.

.

.

.

some days

you just have to tell the rain

where to go

.

.

.

.

I went outside last night at dusk and the grass was already covered in dew and it took me right back to my childhood, when I was always barefoot. There was a strip of red sitting on the horizon, a perfect half moon just clearing the trees, and I walked to the end of my driveway to look out across the fields.

I love living in farm country, love this spot on this hill, love the “sheltering sky” that defines my world.

It was a very busy day in a very busy week, and I’d barely looked up from the work at hand all day. And today will be the same. But I had that moment, out looking for my naughty kitten, when life caught my eye.

Funny how easy it is to forget to notice. And how simple it is to remember.

I just had to look up.

There is food growing all around me. Stars peeking out from behind day’s curtain. Eternity stretching out above me as a grasshopper jumps into my path.

The cat was nowhere to be seen, but I knew he was watching. He wasn’t ready to go inside yet and I couldn’t blame him.

He knows exactly how to live.

all your flaws are evidence of irony

mother nature has a sense of humor
but also, a quick temper

she sends flowers as apology on a regular basis

you have to cut your own path in the forest of existence,
with a quick-sharp, heart-forged machete

courage is your metronome and
labyrinth is another word for learn

live lost and laugh at life’s thunder

the sky remembers every flash of lightning

earth is just a pattern of old scars
hiding shy beneath a veil of tattered stars

.

.

mirror morning silence
on the break of september

reflecting every definition
of impermanence

we whisper together
in the corners of summer

not ready to come out of hiding
not ready to escape our escape

climbing each other in a tangle of mime

rain drips from my shoulders
and you trace a path

with a broken-cut
bent branch finger

turning back time
and the last fallen leaf

from the tree
of itinerant shade

.

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Joining in today over at Imaginary Garden with Real Toads,
where Kerry has been lovely enough to feature
some of my photos in a poetry challenge.
Thanks, Kerry!

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