“The knowledge of my years is ever with me, a sort of binding torment, like an armhole that is
—Kate Trimble Sharber, At the Age of Eve, 1911
“The knowledge of my years is ever with me, a sort of binding torment, like an armhole that is
—Kate Trimble Sharber, At the Age of Eve, 1911
my life is a mess
but this moment is perfect
my life is perfect
All these years
I thought ‘barren’
meant of the womb —
but now my body
has threatened me
with menopause
and I realize it
means of the heart.
If this is to be my end, what would I want to tell the world?
Sometimes, starting over is the best medicine.
Everything you care about can teach you something about yourself. Everything you hate can teach you even more.
Most things don’t really matter. And the things that do really matter, keep them as simple as possible.
Learning to let go is the most valuable life lesson.
What you see is gossamer compared to what actually exists.
The human brain may be the deepest, most amazing, underutilized miracle in the universe. And the most abused.
Fear is a poison to every part of our systems. So are worry and tension. And hatred.
If little things make you happy, you are very wise.
Walking is good for the whole body, but it works the gears of the brain the most.
All of life is poetry. Listen.
Night is a dark, magical place we can curl up and relax into.
Those whom we love are the meaning — the meaning of life itself.
Mingle your mind with other minds, your heart with other hearts.
It can all be over in the blink of an eye, so treasure every blink.
The music of your soul lives on.
My life thus far has been
Since the day I was born, I’ve been nothing but emotion. With frequent intervals of coldhearted reason.
Get drunk once in a while. It makes the world make more sense.
No matter how much human wisdom there is, the best teacher is always nature.
I love you.
a writer tries valiantly
to transform his insides
into an intricate beautiful painting
and publish himself inside-out
for all the world to see
in dreams
time is broken
we ride the shards
or they pierce
our sight —
we see with
different eyes
and know with
deeper mind
Watering the hibiscus
this afternoon —
its weary
parched-green leaves
wilting
in this too-early April heat —
I saw a gecko
who
climbed up the side
of the splintering planter box.
My first split-second
thought —
Alice Walker’s garden gecko.
Crouching,
perfectly still —
the both of us —
I stared at it
and took in
the wonder
of it all.
It didn’t move —
was it asking
for some water?
This bliss,
it was my Paradise.
Gray, rough-coated
nature —
staring right back at me
a foot from my face.
Slowly I moved the hose
just an inch in its direction.
Walker — I’d already
named it Walker —
disappeared so fast
I didn’t even see
it go.
I wish it would’ve stayed.
I had water to give
and troubles
to wash clean.
referencing my favorite Alice Walker poem — “Going Out to the Garden,” 2011, in The World Will Follow Joy: Turning Madness Into Flowers, 2013
green & light shimmering
dancing in the sunlight
little red fuzzy flames
burn quietly in the breeze
mottled blue patches
of serene springtime sky
blaze beautifully behind
a lively bejeweled scene
medallions of shade and color
twinkle in the afternoon
a mama hummingbird hovers
with wings so fast, silence
is no longer golden — she is
the sounds of the winds
overtake my soul and
carry it far off into the skies
—Terri Guillemets
A trio of virile grackles
skyward tilt their bills
puff up blacklit plumage
shriek and cackle and shrill
fan their great-tailed fannies
as knights in shining ardor
they strut around each other
just to try and get the girl!
trapped in a bottle
thrown out to sea
trapped in a bottle
my wishes are three
trapped in a bottle
that’s drunken me
trapped in a bottle
emotions stormy
trapped in a bottle
flashing brightly
trapped in a bottle
this vessel empty
Have you ever seen anything more beautiful
than a heavy dark-silver cloud
taking up half the sky
ready to lavish the gift of rain
unto the waiting earth —
than huge wandering clouds
marbled in every subtle shade of gray
bordered with light and hope
shifting and swirling every moment
in a slow dance with the winds?
Have you ever felt anything as beautiful
as the breeze on your face
or that first, fat raindrop
that falls on your head —
as the sun caressing every inch of your flesh
warming and calming you to the core?
Have you ever heard anything more beautiful
than the wind in the palms, the pines,
the cottonwood leaves and tall green trees —
than the sound of merry birds singing
or water trickling through a forest creek —
than soul-shaking booming thunder
filling the width and depth and height
saturating with stunning sound
the infinite and electrified sky?
Have you ever tasted anything as beautiful
as pure, clear, cool water
the essence of earth and life
the most refreshing, primal elixir
a quenching, flowing vitality
the distinct taste in each satisfying sip
of both nothing and everything —
or the raw power of the earth
in the layers of an onion
the fresh energy of vibrant greens —
or the sweetness of the soil
in a dense crunchy colorful carrot
or a perfectly ripe juicy berry
staining your taste buds
and delighting your soul?
Have you ever smelled anything so beautiful
as orange blossoms in the nighttime air
with a perfume more intoxicating
than any other seduction —
as a rejuvenating and serene pine forest
with a thick carpet of aromatic green needles
or the dust-earth smell before the rain comes —
as salty, nourishing scents of the nearby ocean
or invigorating crisp clean air of the mountains
breathing so close to the fresh, free, blue sky —
as the warm, exciting aroma of springtime
giddy and green, flowery and pristine?
moonlit winter trees
bare branches paint gray shadows
ghostly risen roots
I am searching for my feelings
through shelves of dusty books
can’t help but feel I’ve left them
in some forgotten ancient nooks
as if an author long before me
captured my emotions in his day
and saved them in fine poetry
for future me to find someway