paint by number and color coded
autumn’s billboard splashed
with spring’s discarded paintbox
david hockney meets matisse at eleven
and jackson pollock just keeps painting
brush tips touch sun lips
and time becomes golden
or
tomorrow
.
.
.
.
sometimes
you need
the support of others
to help you bloom
.
.
.
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
::
.
.
.
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
.
.
