aglorioustrainwreck

(t h i s) . . . (w a y) . .

t h i s . . . w a y

 

mom

the pain resides here

a trajectory

straight-line-nose-dive

to the

heart

head

gut

like an unmarked car speeding out of control

tracks bent beyond recognition as the train approaches

til your head spins

(dizzy)

(scattered)

somedays you walk through the pain

sit and rest with it by the side of the road

confident

“it’s transitory” (they say)

“you won’t always feel”..

t h i s

w a y

you take a bath

take a walk

eat an ice cream cone

try to sleep

get up

make breakfast

scramble eggs

arrange blueberries on a blue plate

see a man about a car

an apartment

a haircut

buy a new pair of shoes

then do it all again tomorow

“it’s transitory” (they say)

“you won’t always feel”..

t h i s

w a y

you wake up

count stars long since faded

look for silver

find gold

try not to stare into the sun too long

your soul feels a million years old

bangs against your chest

you try to write about how it feels

the cats love you becasue the floor is littered with crumpled pages

words flow when you are driving

walking the dog

and a pen is not handy

so you seal them off

m e m o r i z e them

you know when you get home you can release it

let it go

but then the phone rings

the baby cries

the laundry is piled high in the corner

you have an appointment

an obligation

your to-do-list  just transfers from one day to the next

(and then)

when you least expect it

you rise slower than usual

wipe the mud off your shoes

comb the cobwebs out of your hair

dab the tears from the corners of your eyes

turn on the lights

turn off the lights

fill the car with gas

d r i v e

the circle you have been endlessly walking until you can draw it feehand

becomes a path

not too steep

not too rocky

….soft sand beneath your feet.

(my heart)

my heart

sometimes. at the end of the day or even first thing in the morning, i feel way too many things to keep in my heart. it feels like stones, bricks, the weight of the entire world rests here. deep inside. something ancient and heavy follows me. drags me from place to place. it is draining. oh so exhausting to carry this weight around. it makes me long for the days when i felt only the lightness of feathers, birds-blue and forest-green, a mystical-magical-YELLOW, sometimes variations of red. pink. even orange. butterfly wings. infinite patterns to get lost in. colours rule my world. rule and rue my heart it seems. and it always goes back to blue. the winter shades of blue are so light. they hide and my eyes strain to find them. transparent against the gray sky. un-inspiring, mostly. dull. the blue-black sky filled with stars calls me, but i am asleep at the hour they shine the brightest. so i miss the moment. and start over again. maybe today i will not wear my pajamas all day and long for my blankets. maybe i won’t drink gallons of milk. maybe i will figure out how to give some of this burden away….package up the pain and emptiness with ribbons and bows….fly a little bit….

penny candy

penny candy 2

random arcs of light

spark a milky way

a private constellation spirals

silvering celestial eyes

named stars

un-named stars

burning ever so gently against a sky undressed

into the cradle of the crescent moon

these stars

fall

graze

your hands

your heart

your eyes closed to the

ceaseless thunder that is your dream(s)

a pattern of verse imprints

adheres to an inky-blue

you repeat these words

over and over

learn them by heart

out trail the enchantment

an elixir (of sorts)

sits on the tallest shelf

you can never reach

but (always always) try

my inclination

(when things turn upside-down-inside-out-way too far out west)

is

to lay down beside you

in the wet evening grass

(and)

very quietly

without waking you

without staining this sacred ground

remove all the bits of penny candy from your hair……

stars

monday morning rail

 

12.3.12 waves

there is a distant roar in the early hours

you should see her face

soft in the shadow of constellations burning their way home

eyes wide like it’s christmas morning

(every day)

yesterdays tragedies

a distant call to arms

yesterdays weapons

gather dust in the corner

you blink the sleep from your eyes

rearrange the dreams

while she is rearranging the stars

just a touch more cerulean

add some more cream

two teaspoons of sugar today

and all the while the sun rises

birds circle the sea

wings span sand and rocks

beginning again

she has already traveled to Morocco

bathed in the Nile

shot ten photographs of the Red Sea

tamed a wild pony

wandered through a field of poppies

hand delivered sweet prayers to the boy on the border of hell

as you fall back into sleep

what if she can stop a train in it’s tracks

a freight train rounding a curve

70 miles per hour

no time to slow down now

engineer asleep up front

last nights party still raging in the back

hidden among the static

…….half way home…there by morning…

the rhythm of the rails lulls you deeper into the warmth of your bed

you miss the calm

before and after the storm

the sound of laughter and tears mixed with

only a hint of fear

that train releases a last breath of smoke

taking the long walk home

looking back

she marvels

as flattened copper pennies still glisten on the tracks……

 

SAM_0592

pink

a tangle of signs

etchings of whispered promises

flutter and brush against my lips

in the middle of winter

in the middle of the night

stranded on a street corner

we taste

bits of pink amid the blue

we stumble upon

traces of silver

prizes before breakfast

an open book in which to fall

with eyes closed

we listen

one breath at a time

one heartbeat slowed  to catch up

the magic returns

waits

anticipates

crawls forward on

wings made of honey and lace

our birds journey inward

seeking warmth

a tonic

or

a tincture

just enough

to venture out again…

lucky ~ ryan adams

right here in the frozen clip

of this city

and everything before and after it

i sit

nothing but a tremendous yours

lucky

right here in the blundering white

of shift clouds

and cotton mountains of ice breath

i walk

nothing but a tremendous yours

charmed

over there in the sun-drenched west

my last home

where calm is stirred by gusts of smiles

i’m loved

nothing but a gigantic heart

shines

over there in your arms fit for a nap

born so kind

your heart sails above us all, your soul

perfect in that it feels everything

down here

so lucky i am to know you

lucky

we are to know your name

charmed

to be yours, i am

this world is

so yours

so so yours

lucky

(2009)

….a beautiful freak….

slow motion

…wrapped in a wave…

untameable

oceans of desire

wake me in the morning

rock me to sleep at night

for days i am lost at sea

on a raft of twigs

leaning into a wild blue

i aim for the coast

visable under a mantle of crimson clouds

my heart steers this vessel

my hands

my dreams

give it all

day after day

the immense power of the sea settles in my bones

becomes a part of me

the journey of riding a thousand endless waves

is bittersweet

raw

rough

bearable only

because each night the stars appear

one by one in the slowest of motions

intricate sighing ribbons

that stop time

to remind me

that the essence is.

(5.12)

mango

i am a gringa

and

proud to be

your Mexicana Girl

hangs in the distance

just so

just out of reach

pictures that tell a thousand words

or is it a million?

i forget

from one day to the next

(so many things)

that waver

in the distance

the miles

spread before us

like

all kinds of wonderful

while i wait

on that street corner

i know

east l.a.

i know

chinatown

i know

the secrets the gypsies tell

foresaken

beside a lone campfire at night

while the moon hangs

by a thread

it is the tightrope i walk each morning

to you

to this

we call it blue

four seasons of bliss

we build a nest of only the

sweetest beams

and call it love

we sit beside a cinnamon fire

i cut the mango into slices

my knife carves

just so

just out of reach

as you watch me

in anticipation

in a whisper

how is it we do this, my love

navigate

slowly

tenderly

gingerly

through this echo of time

looking for a home to call our own?

(10.23.12)

Gringa is the spanish definition for a white female usually used for english speaking persons, it doesn’t matter if she is american, italian, french or whatever as long as she is white and speaks any other language different from spanish….and a mango is a succulent fruit..

10 things i never knew i could do……

tempt. lie. shelter. love. trace. feel. render. live. give. long. (always)

1. Tempt silver.

2. Lie in a bed of roses.

3. Shelter stars in my pocket (and keep their wonder and luster in tact).

4. Love the space between summer and winter.

5. Trace lines of clouds with my eyes closed.

6. Feel the warmth of a butterfly’s wing.

7. Render the colour of winter.

8. Live in a caravan of jewels.

9. Give words away like prizes.

10. Long to be that place your thoughts call home.

between winter and spring……

there is a hint of spring in the birdsong

last nights falling stars land like lucky charms in my pocket

i carry their radiance with me

next to your intention(s)

i long

to go back to that day

it was winter and you dove into a blue-green mountain lake

and waited for me to come ashore

much later you said

“you are my chance of a lifetime”

so i keep that (too)

in the stillness of my heart

next to the ripple of a tiny ocean

one that ebbs and flows against the memory of this

and

the anticipation of that

knowing that the beauty of our tomorrows

is an asylum

resting its breathless moments

between winter and spring

(3.7.12)

#7 navigating this magical mysterious wreck of blue….

you see

it was the last day of autumn

the sentry was asleep at his post

basking in the fading warmth

my orphans were off playing in the acacia trees

their laughter like bits of silver in the breeze

you see

it wasn’t supposed to happen this way

the gate was strong

the heart not entirely laid bare

the children should have noticed

but they turned their heads

for me

i suppose

as you slipped inside and made a home in my heart

you see

now when i tuck them in at night

tell them bedtime stories of their mothers who were regal queens

and their fathers who were the kindest of kings

when i wipe away a stray tear or two

listen to their prayers that we send up to the waiting moon

i always think of you

and

this magical mysterious wreck of blue

(1.29.12)

silver mirrors ~ jim carrol

A horse moves

this weekend

into our living room

he says “Oh, quickly

form a ring around me

as to prevent the merciless

insane hounds from attacking

my weakened legs in atempt

to drag me back to the icy

palace in the wintry regions.”

“Then you are the one they sent?”

“yes”

“Very clever, did you bring it?”

“yes”

tiny stars…

…….below the surface

of the place i go to pray

of course it begins with the sky

tiny stars fade to early morning ribbons of muted colors

the stillness of the map

has drifted

it wanders aimlessly

as we awake in distant lands

alone together

the sweetness

waits

buried in a sea of words

across this divide

something missing

something hiding

something (borrowed)

something blue…….

this i know

i have lived

the parenthesis

the boundaries

the puncture wounds to the heart

i know

the fine line in the sand

not to cross

i know

to stay miles away

from where angels fear to tread

how far to stray

how close to reign in

i know

the temptation

is an omen

the sign is baby birds circling

(again)

their intoxicating feral dance

is a warning

i know

to be still

to let in

that which

heals

harbors

affirms the beauty

and i know

to exhale

the lies that mar

to never sell out to 2nd best

when you

oh my dearest one

deserve

nothing less

than the moon

laced with stars

the price of admission

like a thief you stole some of my wonder and awe

in it’s place we unearthed my deserted passion for

wanderlust

a fair trade

that constant desire to hear the ocean waves

the lull

again

now

today

you said

“talk to me”

and then you put your fingers in my ears

so I could not hear

(ah)

but I rambled on anyway

about the only sound that matters

i closed my eyes

as we traced the ripples just at the edge of shore

you laid a fragile tiny bird to rest on my stomach

your hand stroked him

so very tenderly

outlined by ivory sea washed twigs in a tiny square

we both agreed

beautiful. exquisite. soul(full).

the vision still resonates along the price of admission

endlessly traveling west of your imagination

you end up east of this

while i

never a ballerina

would make a perfect pirouette around the moon

for you

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