Fear —
not running-from-bear
but running-from-life
Courage —
not getting-up-the-nerve
but getting-up-every-day
poems
The spaces
And do not forget the spaces. When earth’s
Heaviness pulls hard, turn to the spaces.
Their breezes will brace us — and we shall know.
—Cave A. Outlaw (1900–1996), Fugitive Hour, 1950
Seed in the wind
flowers are fragrant metaphors —
happy colors sing “carpe diem!”
wilting whispers “memento mori.”
A January day that lives forever
In my mind —
I’ve tried a million
times to go back
to that day —
tried to change
my choices
begged a do-over
from the universe
I’ve crippled myself with
guilt
sorrow
thrashing the quicksand
sinking in
layers of grief
fighting a sticky web
trapped in
regret-regret-regret
I don’t even care about
my own
broken heart
I’m sorry
I broke yours
Winter sparks
snowflakes fall from the sky
in peppermint perfection —
i kiss you with quivering lips
but cold is not the reason —
you set my winter heart on fire
and keep me warm all season
Grief bores holes
Grief bores holes
in our hearts & heads
like a woodpecker
— peck peck peck
— knock knock knock
You can’t make it stop
Eventually it flies away
— but leaves pits
that never fully heal
Glows & blossoms
The glow of the moon is poetry
The blossoming of flowers is poetry
The blossoming of woman is poetry
The glow of woman is poetry —
and even more so, because
the light comes from within.
Tempus nunquam dormit
Three A.M. is when
all the quiet things
become loud —
the drip in the sink,
that clock on the wall,
our hearts, our minds.
Autumn’s wake
leaves dancing
in a brisk breeze
on an almost-bare tree
joyous at autumn’s wake
they tremble, ready
to be free, to sleep
with past seasons —
dying, they celebrate
the awakening of winter
Flyby
yellow butterfly —
did your wisp fluttering wings
make this springtime breeze?
Embering
glowing electric pink
surges across saguaros
sparking the sun’s burning gold —
colors blazing so wild
the sky cradles them to calmness
with dusky embered amethyst —
and tucks in the sleepy day
with blankets of serene shadow —
Water cycle
to cry is beautiful —
the beauty of one’s pain
leaving the heart
blackout poetry created from Maud Casey, The Man Who Walked Away, 2014
Edwin Markham with book
a thinking eye
but jolly cheek
a furrowed brow
but kindly stance;
the hair of a hippie
and student & master—
the burden of life
and love of wife—but
something perpetually
unsettled within him;
button-up coat over
raw, naked soul—
a book in his hand
and ten in his pen
unedited freewriting experiment, inspired by the “barbaric yawp” scene from Dead Poets Society