that's mrs. mediocrity to you

This is my favorite tree. Actually, I think of it as my tree, though it is nowhere near to being mine, it being some 30 miles away and all.

Still, I have claimed it, at least in my heart. It stands in the middle of a farm field. I’ve always wondered how that comes to be, one lone tree left guarding all those seedlings, offering the best perch for miles around.

I’ve never gone to sit beneath this tree, though I would like to. I’m fairly certain the farmer wouldn’t appreciate me trampling his crop, and so I resist.

But I sit there in my mind, enjoying its shade and wondering how it came to have that finger pointing straight for the sky. Secretly, I’m glad I don’t know. Secretly, I know it means my tree is a survivor. It’s much larger than it appears to be in this picture, and I want to know the stories of the years that formed this anchored, ancient witness. Stories of hope and disaster, good years and bad years, floods and drought. I get the sense that if ever there was a tree that needed hugging, it is this tree.

I bet it remembers every Spring.

Scarred but not broken. Standing tall while bending with the wind. Rooted in one place as time marches on.

Yes, this is my tree.

I’ve got this quilt and this basket and this book, and if you squint a little, you can see me there, whiling away the afternoon.

i’ve never been in the ocean
oh, i’ve been to it, i’ve seen it,
marveled at the vast expanse of
nothingness that equals everything

but i’ve never dipped my toes.

chances are, i never will,
me being a fire sign and all
hot, hot, always burning myself out
before anyone can douse my flame

content to sit with the embers.

i’ve never been to the moon
either and i’m okay with that,
who wants to travel all that distance
and besides, i’m fairly certain

she looks better from afar.

i spend my days in my backyard
which makes me small and rather
boring, but i don’t need to swim (or
drown) in a salty vat of bitter sorrow

i’ve got this puddle at my feet,

this reflection that paints blue sky
as well as any maxfield parrish and
every so often a water bug stops by
to skim the surface, creating

ripples the size of tsunamis.

.

.

.

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

::

her exterior

gave no indication

of the astounding

beauty within.

::

there’s always something creeping
through the cracks and crevasses
peeking out, peering in
whispering instruction

camouflage can only take you
so far into the forest

stillness is a temporary reprieve

your scent will always reveal
the truth of who you are

you can run and hide
bolt and fall
get up again and stare down
your predator

scream at the sun
for daring to shine

if you are wild enough
your strength will save you

a multitude of days
add up to make a life

you’ll never know about

you might see edges
and corners

shiny bits
held up to the sun
(reflecting parts you
thought you’d hidden)

or the flip of a skirt
might reveal
a flash of skin
you’d gone
to great lengths
to cover

but in the deep dark
dead of reality
we can’t see
each other

cannot travel
light years
to meet

in the middle

of a universe
always able to add
expand
hold
one more

beginning

bones buried
scrubbed cleaned

polished

on the shores
of gravity’s
existence

.

.

.

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

::

We are the music makers,

and we are the

dreamers of dreams.

~William Edward O’Shaughnessy

::

Last weekend, after having rediscovered some music that I hadn’t listened to in years, I declared it the summer of music.

Just a few days later, my friends at the New World Creative Union
issued a challenge to create a piece of art
based on the quote above.

Serendipity, me thinks.

And so, let it be.

(no pun intended)

It all started with

The Ubiquitous Mr. Lovegrove

which is one of my favorite song titles, ever.

And a favorite song, as well.

And now I hear that Dead Can Dance
are back together for a new album.

It was meant to be.

The Summer of Music.

Care to join me?

Let’s dance…

::

running, especially in a light misty rain

lilacs and forget-me-nots

popcorn and movies with bare feet and windows open,
lemonade on the side

sundays in the garden with nothing else to do

hummingbirds and dragonflies

an endless stack of books

thunderstorms

staying up late and counting blessings like stars

notebooks filled with words

notebooks filled with empty pages

the golden light of sunset filtering around that corner
and landing just where george used to sit

music i’d forgotten i knew

music i haven’t discovered yet

baby robins

strawberries, dipped in dark chocolate

midnight

an outside fire with dylan and a glass of red wine

a morning serenade by a mockingbird

these buds that spell hope

again and again

::

this place is crowded
standing room only
and they just keep coming
d
o
w
n
that one way ladder
forcing everyone to slither
sideways to make more room
some people slink along
slow and quiet and try to
melt away into the crowd
others come kicking and
screaming gathering handfuls
of splinters as they go
and some even take a
flying leap assuming
someone else will break
their fall
(i’ve seen that and it ain’t
pretty) while
i stand just left
of the bottom rung
handing out flyers
all prettied up and
professionally designed
saying
welcome to utopia
we’ve got 397
flavors and
they’re all called
vanilla

.

.

.

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

you got the moves
and she rolled her eyes
then closed them
raised her arms high
above her head to
sway like pink cosmos
in a hot
summer breeze
and he thought
invitation
when all she really
wanted
was enough decoration
to disguise the fact that
she was already
dancing
with her favorite
partner

.

.

.

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

::

from

a whole

new

life.

::