black eyes and broken bones
rainbows and sugared donuts
overthinking and over-loving
have gotten me to this point
and still I’ve never yet made
a five-year freaking plan —
and even if I did — nothing
ever actually goes
according
to
plan
anyway
terri guillemets
composed by yours truly
Morning lover
I don’t party at night with alcohol. I party hard in the morning with coffee and oatmeal.
Spiraling
midlife changes curled-up
forties are fiddlehead ferns
it doesn’t look like much
until it becomes unfurled
and once we get it open
things may break apart —
eventually nests unwind
but will we bear fortitude
to turn that new life into
something just as beautiful
and yet even more free
spiraling towards fifty?
Vein
i bleed words,
ink drops, and
poetry merges —
blackish-crimson
autobiography
Monsoon love
for the harsh heat wave
wet apologetic gift
from clouds to tree roots
A million invisible nothings
Sometimes I get overwhelmed by nothing.
20/20
Hindsight —
a.k.a.
I was a fool,
such a fool!
Enclosed
Our bodies are meant
for the sun, the rain
the gusty winds
starlight and moon baths
fresh air and seasons —
so why do we trap ourselves
in indoor cages?
If we can’t hear birds sing
or feel invigorating breezes —
how are we to be refreshed
to heal, to know the world
beyond the borders
of our bodies?
Cheers!
Let’s drink to hope
and hope to drink!
Splat!
I don’t cry over spilt milk, but a fallen scoop of ice cream is enough to ruin my whole day.
See me, hear me, I am fifty.
the world may see dried-up and irrelevant —
they may not even see me at all —
LOOK! i’ve re-blossomed with beautiful new petals —
strength, focus, perspective, poetry, silver wisdom —
i am roaring out all that i have held in,
taken on, and put up with — for all my life —
i roar for myself and for all women
i roar at the top of my lungs with all my midlife rage —
LISTEN! no longer can i do it all, nor do i want to —
i may be getting old, but also i am brand new —
Poems that stick with me
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
Cozy
hiding in my winter cocoon
not coming out again until June