like braille, a language felt
not heard
an impression, not spoken
tactile
feel and touch
i can feel your breath
in synch with mine
i see the questions,
the wonder
in your eyes
Sunday, November 17, 2019
maybe they’ll crack
shatter and restart
ink and art
clay recycled
paper crumpled up
pots in a row
maybe they’ll crack
cry and bleed in the kiln
spreading colored disaster
was it rushed, impatience
was it ignorance
your first time,
was it blind, blurred
was it dented, bent
bumped along the way
minuscule fracture, unseen
was it never meant to be?
written in the stars
not meant to take shape,
or keep shape
withstand pressure and firing
focused work, hours spent
with bad results or mistake
or it is what it is, shrugged off
maybe a lesson, an adventure
disappointment, letdown that comes
with all that you invested
did it not take to the heat?
too much, too little?
glaze didn’t react,
as planned, as envisioned
time, diligence
commitment, care, detail
attention and risk
clear equation has faded
into new idea
you follow your bones, your gut
the feeling
options expand, along with recipe
technique, years, hours
of practice and dedication
creating energy, driven or bored
detached or interested
going through the motions
does it all equal success?
can you put in
everything, yet know
the results yielded
may be wrecked
may be wrong?
but might be
better than expected
shocking colors,
surface you are proud of
stunning form,
that holds strong and true
Friday, November 8, 2019
film and flowers
spring developing
film and flowers
feelings made clear in sunlight
i felt a calm, that i still feel
a knowing that I know
that I know, that I know
when the world flipped upside down
so did I, uneven and bent
with dented heart
im a drawing now
a simple sketch
a sad face or figure
a quality or weakness
when you describe me,
you describe disorder, depression
too much emotion
please excuse this
please have grace
be patient as i make my way
As I tame my anger
as I learn to love
and not be threatened
as I learn to hurt and let it pass
heavy blue
it is what it is
but what is it
it’s old, it’s new
it’s heavy blue
ink smeared on a screen
i was overseas,
when you were seventeen
& we don’t know war
we don’t know poverty
just food stamps and rice
& powdered milk
and borrowed newspaper
we don’t know pain,
just suicide, and settlements
and three heart attacks
In the same year
as the car wreck
we don’t know trauma
we just know normal
like nurses and nicus
we don’t think, we just act
And you always act okay
squinting at the light
ive heard a sigh
that shatters concrete
tears that burn
like acid rain
that sting on raw skin
salt on hangnails
tired eyes
eyes that are not called beautiful
or right or bright
they are just worn
exhausted
squinting at the light
checking once more
if there’s something to see
in the garden
in the garden
we are held by green
the flies and flowers
have multiplied
in the garden
we eat like kings
the time spent in sunlight
is multiplied
the neighbors shower
and the look in your eyes
you observe the world
so different than i
Saturday, November 2, 2019
you kiss me all over
i wake to sunlight
your voice soft
your eyes bright
and sweet
you kiss me
all over
my forehead
my cheeks
my chin and my chest
my lips
before i talk so much
in the morning
pain plants what we don’t want to grow
pain plants
what we don’t want to grow
i don’t want to water
what springs up
i don’t want, poison and bitters
shadows and sharp edges
i want to see the sun
i want to notice the flowers
and not give air time
to the negative thoughts
and the prodding past
but the past is not years ago
it’s yesterday
it’s early this morning
when tears sting my eyes
when the lump in my throat
reminds me of you
when words don’t string together
i can’t hold a pen
or a conversation
i know the pricking spines
cover my water stores
fend off the vultures
who will feed off of my rot
i know the panic, is release
my body speaks
it cries for attention
i carries my load
but i don’t want to water,
what springs up
can i look at pain
with compassion
can i look at me
like i look at you
can i look at this
like the desert cactus
like the crippled cat
like the lady on the corner
my water is wasted
on empty sand
on a dying animal
my money will be gone
to feed her addiction
why give water to the birds
flowers to the dead
and pennies to the fountain?
pain plants, what we don’t want to grow
i don’t want to water what springs up
pull out the bitter
air out the anger
write and talk and sing
bitter words
shameful memories
ugly imagination
emotion feels like wasted energy
it feels selfish and wrong
it’s hard to say i did this
hard to admit i chose
it hurts to say you hurt me
it’s hard to say i hurt
pain plants, and will grow
and i will weed or water what springs up
could i be near
could i be near
without rippling the water
without startling the deer
can i listen not just hear
could i eat
without devouring everything
could i be quick to listen
could i be slow to speak
can i be me
and you be you
can i be me
and you be you?
when i am me
is there space for you?
i need space too
speak
when you’re not talking
eyes that change color
ill yell at my mother
as if it’s all her fault
did you know im happy
did you know i need space too
i need quiet
you would never imagine
because i talk so much
because i fill whatever space
i overwhelm and overpower
do you think
i know exactly what i need
because i devour
and just eat
whatever im given
do you think i know what i need
because i act with instinct
or just react and don’t think
i step forward
i step forward
dizzy anticipation
lump in my throat
ink on my hands
your touch,
ripples the water
melts my defense
jumping the fence
who knows
what is ahead
i know, there are new mornings
new skies
every color of blue and gray
new levels of pain
and depths of laughter
deeper knowing
and fighting
intensional wounds
& accidental cuts
sorting through old stuff
building, creating, growing new
new maps and hideaways
new favorites and routines
cats eyes
cats eyes
threaten mine
challenge my words
threaten my existence
laughing at
the thin skin
that covers whatever
it is im made of
as the sun sets low
i will miss the point
i will pass the signs
blame it on my adhd
blame it on my self pity
blame it on my bad eyes
im too much
it’s too late to know
you’re trying to tell me
to go slow
im missing the hint again, i know
if it’s so obvious how did i miss it
keep telling me and i will dismiss it
the moon hangs high
an unblinking eye
then it winks at me
and i realize maybe
i am a show
i am a mockery
you are here to point
and gawk at me
because i will tell
a thousand stories
i will make you look at me
ill be your dog
ill be a golden boy
for anyone who wants me
im at your door
waiting for the call
im underneath the table
waiting for a crumb to fall
and i make believe
that i understand
i am made of clay
i am made of sand
ill be your dog
ill be a golden boy
for anyone who wants me at all
does anybody want me at all?
time runs
time runs
threads of connection
so thin, so fragile
you wouldn’t think anything of it
time traces
sketch and silhouette
shadows of a scene
we would like to forget
I will remember
I won’t let go
time sends
electric shocks
pulsing pain through our blood
headaches for our,
already tired temples
I will speak
I won’t let go
time dances
twirls and flaunts
spins with our emotions
dips us back
pushes us to our knees
I will crawl
I won’t let go
time speaks
a sound too quiet, too loud
a language we can’t understand
til we’re looking back
I will listen, I will hear
I won’t let go
little bones
the day after
when morning aches
shadows of bad dreams
lean on today
and you remember, again
like a realization
it’s like knowing for the first time
it hurts that bad
little bones, on the porch
lay yourself out
stretch and reach
bruised skin, anxious veins
scared, rigid muscles
soak in the sun
shed a tear
im right here
we can’t touch or rub
or disturb the evidence
and it hurts to see you like this
and leave you untouched
when you need wrapped up
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