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