my outsides are a shambles
frail and not so wonderfully made
I won’t be winning contests
price for living shows paid
by lines and curves (not
ones you would want) the
lines have blurred and no
amount of dieting will fix
but in this weak and achy
skeleton shell the inside
is still a girl with heart and
soul for all the creation can
be seen and wings would fly
above the earth and travel
miles and miles to see
the glory, story, unbelievable
lightness of creation nature
people in their houses
tending gardens of their
making while they’re taking
time to love each other
and in all the sadness and
the pain wreaked by us
love endures and even
the most sorry has a
moment of indescribable
grace the face of God moves
over all and you can’t see it
but you feel it, it affects the
tides the butterflies the
ripples and I fly and fly
and in my dreams I take the
love I see and I am filled
and inside skilled at holding
it, enfolding it, and keeping it
with me so the outside lies
the inside is the good (and bad)
I am created to create and
carry all with me and yet
to give it and to fill you too
it never ends but multiplies
in calculations we can’t write
but try because how could
we not

Witches wail while I wait
wrapped in winter worry.
White surrounds me, fog confounds me.
I no longer know the edges of the flurry.
Furry thoughts and fuzzy dreams, I’m
Wrapped in frozen moments where you
cannot reach me. Teach me to be
open to the sun. The dark has crept in
through the cracks, it breaks my back.
My bones are weary splintered into
dreary wistful wanderings. My feet,
they slip and trip, and witches lips chant
muttered words that waste this season.
I will huddle deeper in the muddle of
the covers, pulled around and up above my
head. The dread seeps in and like the
cold it makes me brittle, shattered
little pictures in my mind, the kind
I can’t get out. I can’t shout or
they will find me, wind me all around
and through the walls. The witches
walk right through so how can I
protect my heart? The part they
want needs warmth to melt the
toughened outer shell. The spell
they work will never tell you
what is true.

I feel a kinship
with wild things
today was the day after
summer’s last hurrah
the heavy warmth of
summer blown away
by autumn stirring and
just like that
no farewell summer
just waltzed out the door
her scent fading into
the clouds

next door fifteen hummingbirds
played hockey
they moved so fast it
took several tries to count them
The goalies held their
stations and the game was
so fierce there were
frequent visitors to
the penalty box
though it didn’t seem
to matter who won
it was all about the play

the ground action rivaled as
silly squirrels played freeze tag
chasing each other round and
round the tree trunk
lightening fast then
frozen statues as breath held
before the chase began
again but wait
a scavenger hunt
oh we should play
and off they went only to
return to freeze again

The wind played with
the trees and leaves
sang and danced
knowing time is short
and so pouring their
passion into a performance
that would never be repeated
foreshadowing their final
bow as graceful
ballerinas they pirouette
and softly come to ground
they whisper farewell

I feel a kinship
with wild things

you were young then
and music was all
walked on sand
and never felt it shift
under bare feet
brown and shiny
like new pennies and
just as lost
you believed you were
vulnerable to nothing
the north winds couldn’t
chill the limbs that ran
after love and life

first heartbreak left you
raw and bleeding from
a thousand tiny holes
the shock of pain
how could it feel like
that the songs never
told you but still you
listened to the radio
in the night and looked
out the window wishing
and hoping the brown
haired guitar player
would explain it all

turns out he was not
a god but mortal like
the rest of us
the government
unimpressed by his
truths decided that
Viet Nam was his
next venue
he bled from
a thousand tiny holes
the shock of his death
a cold north wind
on limbs that ran

the musician was made up.  The rest of course, was not.

what is this thing
this infatuation
that brings me again and again
to this keyboard from hell
would you tell me
connected obsession
lately more perspiration
less inspiration
less breathing in of life
more breathing though strife
but a wise author said
to write you must do one
thing every day and I care what
she said so I care and I do it
put my ass in the chair
and it feeds me and shames
me slaps me and claims
me brings peace and
divides me and often
derides me I love it I
hate it and just can’t escape it
the one place where only
the boundaries define me
and boundaries here are
the ones that I make
I can take to the edges and
hang by my nails
climb to the heavens
jump off a cliff and best
all my enemies of
which there are many because
I am the chosen one don’t
you know in my frozen world
made up and jade eyes can
mesmerize heros have issues
oh pass me the tissues
flowers can eat you and angels
can greet you or maybe I
bore you the words are so good
but I tend to tear them
on their way to the paper
holes in my knowledge preclude
true perfection confection
the frosting but sometimes
the meat is withheld punctuation
can cause critical conflagration
I just know this thing that’s
inside of my head it will shake
me it takes me I go
where I’m led

through my eyes
the wrinkles fade
the years part
like the red sea
and I journey safely
to the place
to a wedding with
bluebonnets on an arch
love is a feast
that never ended
forever is now
and then and
tomorrow we bring
all the moments
to the table
hunger grows up
and never satisfied
perpetually filled
by your eyes

a man once sang out
he rang out
how many roads
must a man walk down
can we lay it down
we’re still asking
still finding the chords
still writing the songs
that ask all the hard
questions the battles
still rage young men die
children hungry
politicians lie preachers
run laps for the money
we search for the truth
for proof there are
answers the planners
time passes and
somewhere a bell rings
a man sings
how many times
all the bombs
forever banned and
a little girl picks up
her weapon to fix up
and strikes all the chords
that she knows and the
words that ask it that cry
for those in the between
the man who once sang
about roads about dreams
about cries all who die
how many times
must a man walk down
til we’re found

in spring love bursts
like blossoms purple yellow
brightly decked and robust
rain and sun both mellow
friends in spring love
stands impervious
feet planted, hearts open

sun climbs higher in the sky
the sky that looks down on
the wheat that stretches golden
hands to reach for light
and share a bounty
feeding all the hungry
marching together row
upon row arm in arm

grey rain and crispy breeze
gives way to gusts that bend
and curl us round ourselves
foreshadowing cloaking
covering blanketing we
smile and bite the apples
hurrying home to comfort

light the fires close the shutters
each withdraw to hold their warmth
for winters season pulls us from
the streets and fields and meadows
once were green but now asleep
huddled up against the cold
turned inward and half gone
leaving love to melt

poem prompt:

“We Outgrow Love Like Other Things” by Emily Dickinson

We outgrow love like other things
And put it in the drawer,
Till it an antique fashion shows
Like costumes grandsires wore.

I’m tired of seeing big picture
I’m tired of inside of my head
round and round I go and find
there’s nothing here
there’s nothing here
I want I need I feel
so much that words
just fly away
before I see them
they are behind my eyes
inside my heart
over my head
under your feet
could you move just a little
I know I could see
I could sing
I could write
it goes round and round I find
the inside of my head
there is a big picture and
I’m tired

hope dripped from stars
this no moon night
I stretch out arms to
catch the light

Hope slips past silent
jeweled and bright
bracelets of regret
clasped too tight

don’t play staid hymns
and dignified
marches through arches
carrying boxes of
kleenex and talks of
the stories of past
over glories I’d rather
a rainstorm a cloud
formed of droplets a
breeze through the
trees and smooth stones
in my pockets with holes
leaking breadcrumbs
telling you come
where I am but later
for now chase a
rainbow a moonglow
a starshow love
things that I love now

if you can count the moments
that make up our love our years
our days of work and play
and sleep and kids and bills
and if you can count the hours
we have slept in stayed up
rocked a baby sat in
a hospital or waited for
a phone call a windfall a
short hall that leads to
a drink tall of ice tea
of cool water when garden
is picked and the chores
are all done and we
watch setting sun if
you can count the why
the when the where
the who of the moments
when we fought for
nothing for everything
for a hold on our selves
or a bond with each
other  be mother and father
and sister and brother
if you can count the
ties the lies that bind us
blind us twist out lives into
one long string  wrapped
in gold or in straw
wrapped in love then you
can do math beyond
world renowned genius
and master the playdoh
of playgrounds of
forever lands small hands
know secrets and numbers
that keep us on earth
and in flight every night

Prompt: “Not everything that counts can be counted, and not everything that can be counted counts.”