that's mrs. mediocrity to you

::

seems as

good a place

to start

as any

::

So many different ways to turn in this life, so many things to be and do and say and make. And all the accomplishments I have not yet accomplished sit stacked in a corner, mocking me. It’s okay though, I am good at turning my back on them, ignoring their whispers, re-straightening their pile when they get out of order.

I don’t want accomplishments anyway, I want to stand in the sun and breathe in the crisp smell of autumn.

The trees are especially vibrant this year, and I suppose the drought had something to do with that. The dried stalks of corn across the street are the perfect foil for a backdrop of orange and gold and crimson against the blue of sky that only happens after summer stops stealing its deepest hue.

I want to walk for days with my boots on, kicking up leaves and listening to the sounds of another year getting ready to put itself to bed. I want to choose the prettiest leaves and make a bouquet for the mantle. I want to hear the thud of apples dropping to the ground.

I miss the geese this year, with their raucous all-night parties ringing in my ear. I wonder what new place they have found to rest their weary bones, if they miss the swamp as much as I do. My monkshood is blooming right on time, the deepest of purples against the yellow leaves of hydrangea against the fresh pink of anemone that surely got its seasons all mixed up, for that color can only really belong to Spring.

Mother Nature has accomplished everything on her list this year. But then again, she always does.

I wonder if she ever stops to smile and listen, to feel the sun on her face and take in the beauty her brush has painted. Or does she hurry on with her nose to the ground, making ready for the next set of chores?

Maybe none of this is meant for her, anyway. Perhaps it’s all for us.

And she’s just waiting for someone to notice.

.

i hear her whispers in the dark
as i lie staring at the moon
hanging in the center of my window
telling me stories i wish
i had no need to know

the apples she offers
are not spiked with poison
only withered dreams
and the juice of death
running down
through bony fingers

.

i catch all the drips
as they fall from her wrist
with a tongue
i know cannot save me

yet there is no fear
in this bracelet of decency
no menace in her offer
to share

she comes as hollowed out friend
in a cloak i choose
to wear
but makes no move
to hang it
on the shudder of my shoulders

.

she is

happy to wait

the empty space
of ticking seconds

barren and fruitful

the silence of scream
to the motherless child

she is

answer and question
one
in the lace
of each veiled eye

.

.

.

.

.

Fifty days from now, I turn fifty.
And while I thought I would be dreading this birthday,
I find myself looking forward to it.
On that day, November 27th, I want to host a
“celebrate life” blog-link party here. More details to follow,
but I would love to have you join me!

Linking up today with the fabulous dVerse poets for Open Link Night, join us!

for seventeen years
we’ve been crossing bridges
as we’ve come to them

sometimes together

sometimes separately

sometimes meeting in the middle
from opposite sides

always finding our way home

to hold hands in the dark
watch the moon dancing with the stars
warm our toes by the endless fire

we’ve been here

there

and back again

it all started
on a bridge

from one heart
to the next

spanning years

as together
we watch it
flow

.

Happy Anniversary, Mr. M

She’d spent her entire life dancing on the edge of perfection, cutting hands and face and feet on the razor-thin precipice of need. Growth occurred, but randomly, and in all sorts of crazy directions.

The light was always what attracted her, when it was the dark she should have been reaching for. Everyone knows that all the real truths lie hidden in the shadows.

But she avoided the gloom like a child afraid of the monster beneath her bed.

She just wanted her moment in the sun.

When it came, she was surprised to see how many scars she had acquired along the way.

Even so, she tilted her face up and she smiled, opening her arms to embrace the warmth upon her skin.

.

.

.

Linking up with the New World Creative Union’s  Wednesday Wake Up Call. Join us!

split and peeling,
cracked and scarred

still, it’s not that hard
to look
beauty
in the eye
on the days when
all around you
defeat is the ritual
of rising

and death sits
just left of the sun
right where you always
thought he’d be

though it isn’t fear
you see on the face
expected to be
so ugly

just the kaleidoscope
of promise
glinting off
the corner
of dawn
giving you
one more chance
to get it

right

.

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

he brings her flowers
and that is what she will remember
as they walk her into
the cage of old age
too old to fight
and too weary to cry
but strong enough
to understand
that life is filled
with wrongs

he makes his way
back to a car
filled with forms
and receipts
cat hair and missed
moments and he sits
for a moment with tears
in his eyes before setting off
towards the comforts of home and
cold sandwiches

.

.

.

A dear friend of my family (really more like family than friend)
who is 86 years old, had to give up her independence this past week.
It was hard, oh, so hard, to watch.

Linking up with the fabulous dVerse poets for”people” at Poetics, join us!

Also linking up with 100ThousandPoetsForChange” at Tashtoo’s Place.

.

it could be

the road to nowhere

it could be

the road less traveled

either way

here i stand

right smack dab

in the middle

.

my wit has left the building and
elvis is everywhere

i have wrinkles on my ankles and
my favorite pajamas
are unraveling

i love crows but that
doesn’t make me dark
at least not as far
as you know

i survive on
hope and chocolate
wine and water
pickles and promises

i spent the first 49 years
of my life hatching
a wise old crone

i expected to hate her
but find myself
suddenly falling in
love

my sister cried when
elvis died
and all i could do
was hold her hand

while she said
yeah yeah yeah

and that’s from a song
you’ve probably never
heard

.

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

you never know
where life will take you

we like to think we know
or at the very least

can guess

but

we are born
with all the knowledge
we need and
spend the rest
of our lives

forgetting

each step brings us
a tiny bit closer
to understanding
that in the end
we know

nothing

because even in
the worst of years

the driest hottest
drought of summer

can bring forth
the perfect blush

of one september
rose

.

.

.

Linking up with the fabulous dVerse poets for Unexpected Poetics, join us!