tiny buttons

this year is my reset button
reconfigure, reevaluate, revision
if it comes down to it i'll even
reduce, reuse, recycle
but those ideas are better left to the larger world eye view
so this year i have focused on the little things
the things that make a difference
in my every day life
a good cup of coffee
a good meal
a visit with a good friend

this year is my reset button
reconfigure, reevaluate, revision
i will remove what is not necessary
discard those long held tensions
this year i have focused on the little things
in my every day life
a good shot with my bow
a good afternoon spent with my kids
a good evening spent with my husband

this year is my reset button
reconfigure, reevaluate, revision
there is no longer space for past transgressions
there is only space for digressions
of the mind, body, soul and heart
this year i have focused on the little things
this year i have been reset

keyed exposure

“The purpose of poetry is to remind us

how difficult it is to remain just one person,

for our house is open, there are no keys in the doors,

and invisible guests come in and out at will.” ~ Czeslaw Milosz, ars poetica?carmik

~~~~ **** ~~~~

There are no keys in the doors, you have to go looking for them. They will not be in the usual places, beneath seat cushions or placed neatly by the bedside table. They cannot be found within the usual places, they bury themselves beneath your doubts, replace the truths you’ve been searching for with nothing more than rusted wisdom.

There are no keys in the doors, there is no need to lock them here. Everything comes in and comes out willing the resident to remain where they are. There is no exit, there is no entrance to this place. The purpose may be found within, but the absence of keys reminds us there is nothing hidden.

There are no keys in the doors, everything is open, everything is exposed.

There are no secrets behind closed doors, everything is open, everything is exposed.

There are no refuges beyond the doors, everything is open, everything is exposed.

goddess

the crone speaks to death
she does not listen to its words
but voices those of her own making

the mother takes in life
holding onto everything
giving only herself away

the maiden gives birth to a new voice
to be heard and sung
among the masses

there is no end held within the capacity of these three

they are life/death incarnate
they are darkness/light held
they are purity/deceit seen

in all there is no want of another
in all there is no need for another
in all there is no end, only beginning

latent musings

My muse just told me to fuck off! She’s been knocking at my door, on my ride into work, on my ride home from work. I kept telling her, not now, just wait another hour, another day,  just one more minute and I’ll get to you. When I finally open the door to say, “hello”, she turns her back to me, flips me off with both hands and stomps away before my mouth can move to utter, “Come in and sit with me.”

My muse just told me to fuck off! She left me with images and letters too jumbled to be placed into words, too mangled to be ordered into sentences, too ragged to be dropped into paragraphs. I am left bereft and wanting as she looks back to glower at me.

My muse just told me to fuck off! I am trying to find a way to offer her my condolences, to relinquish my mistakes, but my words fall on deaf eyes, my voice tumbles out to whisper on unseeing ears and my tongue is thick with regret that will not be felt by tasteless hands.

walling reflections

a sense of place

a notion of time

a feeling of remembrance

all of these things

can be held within walls

within grass

within trees

within moments of lucidity

too grand to speak

the realms of meandering thoughts

too wondrous to be ignored

the silence is the least of my concerns

there is no longer a need for white noise

the air is ringing with intention

the words hold every reflection

the last love story on Earth

The sun was setting and their whole world was quieting down for the night, as the night crawlers began their ascent. The breeze felt warm on their skins and the world pushed away by the force of their coming. The roots and branches of the trees made way for their passage and the rocks stood still and whole in their grandeur, waiting for the moment when they would provide a surface for their joining.

Two walked hand in hand down the path, the shadows of the moonlit trees playing across their skin. Silver mixed with grey, darkness mixed with light, there was no definition to be seen, there was no boundary they needed to adhere to.

Their bodies became mirrors of this mix, moving with each other to their own rhythm.

The world came down to this. There was no sight left unseen, there was no shadow that could not receive the light, there was nothing that was held between them. They were all that was beheld by the other.

The world came down to this. Their movements flowing from one to the next, no hesitations, no hidden nuances to discern the truth. They were all that was beheld to each other.

The world came down to this. There was no line between them, there was no darkness left enshadowed, there was nothing but truth held between them. They were all that beheld by the other.

The world came down to this. This moment, this truth, this love.

They were all that there was. They were all that there is. They were all that needed to be.

legacies

“My gardens are my legacy. ...” ~ Morgan Botanicals, FB Post 6/28/2012 ~

My life is my legacy. The paths I have taken, the trials and tribulations I have prevailed over, the lessons I have learned, both hard earned and almost always too late for me to put them towards their intended use. The cherished moments with family and friends. All of these, and none of these, could be influenced by the greater of the whole, but I have never found anything more true than this: my path cannot be foreseen, my windows of opportunity do not always bring forth an easy road, my lessons have never come on a silver platter. The paths are full of twists and turns, the windows can always use a good cleaning, and the knowledge gained from the lessons never materialize until I crawl to them, on bloodied hands and knees asking them to forgive me for my naiveté.

My survival is my legacy. I jump around the obstacles in my path. I go over the tried hills and run down the valleys of tribulations. I have learned too many lessons to count. I have honored my time with family and friends. I wreak havoc with plans, I bring chaos to their wake, smashing along the edges of outlines and structure. The twists and turns become commonplace, the windows began to crack at my passing, and knowledge begins to bow down to me.

My wisdom is my legacy. The paths I have traveled, the obstacles I have concurred, the trials I have overcome. Lessons have been learned from all of them, the small and the large adhering to form a truth that has been had earned.  I am no longer a victim of circumstance. I will no longer cater to the whimsical notions of others. I am no longer compliant to those who appear to have power.

My life is my legacy. My survival is my legacy. My wisdom is my legacy. My life is my legacy.

peace world

The world comes down to this:

hand

pen

paper

sun

light

wonder

bird song

water

green

life

flowering

am writer, will travel

Am writer, will travel to seek the company of other writers. I don’t care where they meet, I don’t care what time of day it is, I don’t care the genre they write in.

Am writer, will travel to seek the words of wisdom scribbled on the page, to hear them spoken within the confines of safety, to know that a truth has been spoken.

Am writer, will travel to seek the challenges of the mind, to harbor no judgments save the fine crafting of letters typed on a screen, to ponder another time when minutes are flightless and the world is confined to the outside.