that's mrs. mediocrity to you

.

from both sides now

.

it’s all beautiful

.

.

and i am basking in her glow.

.

and you climb on the back of that beast
without hesitation
singing some song about how good
always conquers evil

and i admire your tenacity

wanting to sing along with you

but some days i see darkness
everywhere i look

and it’s not even hidden
sitting right out there in the open
like a mouse on the edge of the road

and the hawk, the hawk is not evil
only hungry

and the storm, the storm is not evil
only angry

and the fire, the fire is not evil
only out of control

and the sky, the sky keeps returning

holding me down, tethered
even as i threaten to fly off the handle

there are always three doors
and i can never choose

no light creeps in
beneath those cracks

but that’s never true, really

there is always light
there is always darkness

the yin and yang of sanity
are always intertwined

two lovers on a bed of redemption

clinging to the light that pulls

delivers

offers up
the sacrificial shadow

and then you are gone

white horse

red cape

floating melting drifting

into an almost

invisible

sunset

.

.

.

.

Linking up with the fabulous dVerse poets for Open Link Night – join us

i stand here wondering

(wandering)

about now and the clarity
of a chrysanthemum

grounded and brimming with growth

what it would be like to live so simply

sun water soil
and perhaps wind
to worry about

and those creepy things that eat at you
leaving holes to let the air whistle through

i have no answers

(pondering)

but i am just as fine with that
as the clove scented rose

clinging to a vine no one wants to climb

growing hips (ha!) for fuel and tea

so much stronger than the
colored bits of beauty
you sniff around

thorn and cane build bud and blossom
roots wrap fingers around earth’s core

i stand here

(wondering)

And they never fail to make me smile, these ultra-smooth birds that somehow seem a bit more sophisticated than all our other feathered friends.

It took time to get them here, first I planted mulberries, and then the elderberry patch. These days, they are regulars.

If you had told me thirty years ago that I would be a gardener and a bird watcher, I’m sure I would have laughed. If you’d told me I would plant trees and bushes to try to lure cedar waxwings to my yard, I probably would have snorted (right after I asked what a cedar waxwing is).

But both birds and my garden have become part of my daily life, offering joy and rhythm and and a presence I am constantly learning from.

Life lessons.

Patience. Acceptance. Being present.

And how to fall in love with the sky.

My own small way to fly.

you were whispering something about vestibules
and i kept staring at the cloud that
reminded me of promises

music played softly in the corner of reprieve
but my feet stayed restless and
the anklet i wore like a young gypsy girl
jangled with pale pink impatience

you circled that white elephant for hours
pretending to ask for forgiveness
with a smile that’s always loaded

because you know how much i need deliverance
even as we both admit it is never yours to offer

and i kept throwing shiny bits to the curb
gifts for crows to covet, gather, hoard
this ring, that sequin, those tomorrows

your voice in my ear was a sunset of description
and i had nothing but rhyme to gift in return
but you kept wrapping and i kept smiling
at those clouds always changing

ever dancing

mirror making

.

Ripe with possibility.

.

Last night I went to buy groceries, even though I didn’t really have time to stop and buy groceries, but you know, a girl’s gotta eat. It had been a day at the races, a day with my nose to the grindstone, getting stuff done, meeting deadlines, time running out.

That kind of day.

That kind of week.

When I got home and opened the car door, I was blasted by the sound of hundreds of blackbirds in the tree at the end of the driveway.

I could barely see them, they managed to blend in quite well with the leaves on the tree, but I couldn’t possibly miss their raucous party sounds.

And so, I stopped rushing.

I listened.

And I smiled.

After a few moments of standing there, grinning like a fool, I closed the car door and they all flew from the tree out front to the tree out back. By the time I carried all the groceries in and my camera back out, they were moving on down the road.

But it was enough, that little reminder. It’s a big, big sky…

Slow down.

Pay attention.

Smile.

i hold this day like a jewel in my palm
knowing soon enough
my gypsy soul will be trapped inside
with fire

this morning there was rain
pulling moisture from the air
in a long grey exhale

everything is damp

and i sit here weaving
magenta colored bracelets

while you dance above my head
with your promise

kiss me over the garden gate

i would, if i could reach
the beauty in your title

instead i sit at your feet
and water you with gratitude

the sky feeds me
and i am always hungry

you know this and still,

you bend slowly
touch your lips to mine

somewhere high above
i see a cloud
shaped like winter

the cat drops a cardinal
at my feet

forcing me to remove it
or watch him eat

all the while
in my arms

i carry
your bouquet

.

.

.

.

Linking up with the fabulous dVerse poets for Open Link Night – join us

p.s. the flower in the photo really is named kiss me over the garden gate

::

AugustMoon2013:

If you had one wish – guaranteed to be fulfilled by the end of 2013 – what would it be?

::

That you, yes you, the one who says I just want something to be real, would go and sit beneath an ancient tree until you weep with the joy of your own insignificance. Yes, the joy of it.

That you, yes you, the one who says I’m afraid of being unaware of absence, would go outside on the darkest of nights to look for the moon (which won’t be there) and instead get a glimpse of the Pleiades, which can only be seen from the corner of your eye.

And you, the one who says I want to be authentic, look at your hands, right now, any now, and hold them up to the light, any light. If you cannot see through them, then you are as authentic as anyone has ever been.

And you, yes you, the one who says I am lost. Look into your heart. There are flowers growing there, right now.

Bloom.

Wonder.

Wander.

Breathe.

::

Wish.

::

.

.

.

This post is part of AugustMoon2013. You can find out more about the project here.