I opened the heavy book
And the crescent moon
Shone in my eyes
Each time I reached
To touch the moon
It shrank until it was
The tiniest sliver of light
Floating on page 56
Next to the stars on page 57
I turned to the back of the book
To look at the index
And it read Miracles, page 102
I quickly turned the pages
To see if it were true
95, 98, 101…104
The End
I have come to bring comfort to the table
To find a table of comfort
And to be comforted.
Thousands have come before me
Searching for comfort
But comfort is hidden ‘neath a veil of sorrow
Beneath the blue waves of misery
Comfort can be found
In smoky rooms of angst and heartache
Tables are laden with comfort
I have come for the table of comfort
Burdened with the woes of our fathers
The table creaks and moans with comfort
Each person sits comfortably at the table
One after another reach out for comfort
And the table gives comfort to all
Both the impatient and the patient are comforted
Even when the table is cleared of comfort
Still there is comfort for everyone
Where comfort has not been found before
I have not come to comfort anyone
Only to find comfort for myself
When I find comfort I will be
Wrapped in a blanket of comfort
Comfortable at last in the room of comfort
Only then will I offer comfort
To the silent bystander who stands by
And pleads for comfort from me
His supplication has been heard
And he will not leave uncomforted.
Passage to the dark cathedral
priests disguised
as dancers in black masks
and lurid robes
Vanishing into the shadows
of secret chambers
love offers
suitable favors
Radiant calm
flows imperceptibly
past the quiet arbor
into the vast unknown
Working in the dark,
Nothing is clearly visible
I fail to give adequate consideration to that which matters most
I’m afraid I’ll just have to start over in the morning
But indecision can be fatal
And needs must be met before first light
It always seems that night lasts much longer than the daytime
I’ve never known how to wait for the right moment
So I rush forward to fill the ocean
With appropriate amounts of passion and fervor
Accomplishing each ordained task while others sleep and dream
Hoping it is enough to satisfy the gods…
easier to perch on fragile branches
if wings support flight when boughs break
Je répondrai…to the echoes of wings flapping
even in silence I will boldly answer
it is necessary to fly,
it is not necessary to live
Trees gather to cast shade
hope returns
He pulled at the drawstring on his stretch pants,
Slid his feet into comfortable slippers,
Adjusted his shirt over his expanding waistline,
And attached his cape to his shoulders with Velcro.
Seems like only a minute ago he was
Jumping out of telephone booths,
Wearing tights that stretched over bulging muscles,
Leaping into the air to fight crime and save the world.
Now he worked at Comics & More on Hawthorne Avenue,
Selling vintage comic books and other memorabilia.
The owner thought the costume would attract business.
He thought he looked like an idiot.
Lois had died eight years ago.
Clark Jr. only visited at Christmas.
He wanted to buy a condo in Florida,
But Lois’ life insurance didn’t quite cover it.
He remembered when it all began to fall apart.
People stopped believing in super heroes,
And turned to politicians to save them.
He often wondered how that was working for them.
But each day at the store,
As he haggled with 10-yr old hustlers,
He often dreamed of a big comeback,
Or an overdose of kryptonite to end it all.
After work he drove to his RV
Parked in the Daily Planet parking lot.
After dinner he settled on the couch to watch TV.
His eyes slowly closed as he drifted off to sleep.
His last thoughts were of leaping tall buildings,
In a single bound, of course
Moving faster than a locomotive
And knowing superheroes had their place…
Every night after dinner he took a flight around the neighborhood.
At first his neighbors thought it strange to see him flying overhead.
Soon they became accustomed to it and even looked forward
to seeing him soar above their roofs each evening.
He had known how to fly since he was six years old.
No one had ever taught him he just knew he could so he did.
He went out on his back porch, one summer evening, bent his knees,
Cocked his elbows and pushed off into the sky
His parents took him to doctors and psychics of all sorts
To find out what had made their kid so strange
The experts were puzzled and perplexed
And after testing, probing and prodding they could offer no explanations.
So he continued to take to the air each day,
learning about life from a different vantage point.
Often having strange ideas and plans
that he never shared with his parents.
Finally he turned 21 and decided to take a celebratory flight
The fresh air rushed past his ears, the sun shone in his eyes,
When suddenly he had an odd thought…why should he be able to fly?
And then… he no longer could.
He turned me upside down
and began to pull at my roots,
in a cruel and forceful fashion.
I felt the tiny tendrils rip and shred,
I lay exposed and bare,
my foliage bruised and torn.
He pressed me into a larger vessel.
spreading my damaged roots in fresh soil.
anointing me with water and sunlight.
looking out through clouded panes,
learning to grow again.
There is a time of day, dusk I believe, when all the daily thoughts flow into a puddle of emotion.
There is a place in my room where I sit to feel the flood waters rise within me.
There is a path to follow if I choose to walk beside the river rather than surrender to the swift currents.
There are words that act as boat and oar to help me navigate the deluge and save me from being swept away.
There is an escape from all of it if I desire to submit to the waves and slowly drift out to sea.
We were strolling down the shady path bathed in the gentle light of the sinking sun. Both barefoot, we nervously giggled as our hands touched for just a brief moment. Our eyes met and…Aunt Lillian called from the house telling us supper was ready. Hurriedly we raced to the house leaving echoes of laughter in the twilight.
Our first ever long vacation was to Missouri to visit my Aunt Lillian and Uncle Crockett. They had a farm, a huge farm with crops of cotton and soybeans. I watched Uncle Crockett as he rode the tractor through the fields. I was amazed by the strength of his arms, muscles twitching, veins straining against his skin. Then I thought…a man with only one leg would have to have strong arms to make up for the missing limb.
There was only one movie house near the farm. We went to see, In Like Flint, starring James Coburn. My sister didn’t want me to go. She was invited by my older cousins and couldn’t stand the idea of her baby sister tagging along. But I cried and pouted and Mama let me go along. I hated the movie but loved sitting in the dark theater feeling like I was grown.
David asked me to sit with him and listen to his radio. But I was afraid of him. I didn’t understand so I said no. He said I was probably tired and needed to go inside since I had such a bad sunburn. I quickly nodded and entered the house. I wish I would’ve stayed.
I met my Aunt Lillian and Uncle Crockett for the first time. I found out I had four cousins I had never met. One of my cousins had two boys and one was exactly my age. He smiled at me then ran away into the fields.
Traveling there we saw a bad car accident. It was in Georgia. It was raining hard. There was red clay sticking to everything. The man in the car was bleeding from a cut over his eye. Mama gave him some tissues to hold on his head until the ambulance came.
Somebody said there was something wrong with David. He ‘wasn’t quite right’ ever since he got out of the Navy.
She sent me the double wedding ring quilt she made soon after she was married. I have it now, folded over a chair in my room. When Uncle Crockett died she sold the farm and moved into the city.
On Sunday we rode to the general store for a sodey pop. Turns out a sodey pop is a soft drink, preferably Dr. Pepper. That was the summer I learned about putting peanuts in your drink for an extra special treat. I remember feeling disappointed when that was all we did.
Everyone was outside digesting supper and talking over the day. I slipped inside to my Uncle Crockett’s closet. I had to see the spare legs. He had a work leg with a heavy boot on it and a Sunday leg with a shiny leather shoe on it. I picked one up and it was so heavy. No wonder he went to bed so early every night…carrying that around all day would wear anyone out.
On the way to Missouri we stopped in Chattanooga and visited Lookout Mountain. We rode the incline railroad car and toured the city in a horse and wagon. My Mama sang a song about a surrey with the fringe on top. It was raining.
In the hot sun I picked a boll of cotton for a souvenir. For years it sat on my shelf enshrined in a glass bottle. I have no idea what happened to it.
He walked across the bridge with a swagger.
A heavy gold chain around his neck,
glittering from the disappearing sunlight.
His body was square and solid;
his strides bold and confident.
Only his eyes gave him away.
They darted from side to side,
anxiously searching the crowd.
Finally they rested on the subject of his pursuit.
The muscles in his face relaxed.
And though he didn’t smile,
his demeanor registered pleasure and relief.
His pace slowed, his back straightened and
he seemed to expand his chest and strut like a peacock
Spreading his feathers for his chosen mate.
Hot sun beating down on the playground,
Children run and scream in frenzied play.
Cool shade behind the shed hides us from the teacher’s view.
It was in our history book we heard about it,
About Indians and blood and promises.
We conspired to become blood sisters, connected forever.
Someone found a sharp rock, roughly shaped like an arrowhead
With the significance of that in our head we scratched it across our wrists.
No blood appeared only red marks and nervous giggles.
A rusty nail was discovered in the dirt.
Anxious glances were exchanged with 8 year old seriousness.
Pushing the nail into her skin, one brave girl draws a drop of blood.
Each in turn pokes herself with the nail and a grimace.
Solemnly the blood is shared as wrists are rubbed together.
In a low mumble, vows of eternal friendship are declared.
With age sometimes comes wisdom.
Along with lessons learned of respecting promises, honoring oaths
And keeping tetanus shots up-to-date.
I often wonder where my blood sisters are now
and if we paid a price for broken vows.
Or maybe it’s enough to stay connected by childhood memories, rites of passage
And a single drop of blood.
I met loneliness today.
He was wearing a powder blue uniform
and playing a trumpet
or maybe it was a violin
I wanted to introduce you to him.
But when I looked for you
I saw you were on the phone
smiling and laughing in your quiet way.
So we sat together outside
in old chairs weathered and worn
he seemed rather uncomfortable there
and smiled sadly as he asked me if he could smoke.
He played a melody for me
said it was something he composed
on a rainy afternoon in
while chain smoking and drinking tea
When he finished he just sat and stared
I noticed how haggard and tired he looked
I asked him if he wanted to lie down and rest
he squeezed my knee and said, “no time.”
I suppose it’s hard doing what he does
moving from place to place
while keeping the rhythm steady
and the tempo in perfect harmony
Then he was gone
as fast as ice cream melts in the sun
I guess he didn’t want to miss his next gig
and staying in one place just isn’t his style.
There must be a way to hold on to it...
it was there briefly, shining brightly
or at least I thought so
then it was gone,
covered by a ton of matter.
last Tuesday it was here
insubstantial and fragile
much like delicate butterfly wings
floating on a summer breeze
perched above me for a split second.
Then there was that time last year
when I sat perfectly still
like a lake with no ripples
hoping for it to find me
it passed by without even a glance
I tried digging in the mud
like hunting for buried treasure
scooping piles of dirt over my shoulder
finding only rocks and stones
and a rubber boot left there last spring
It’s not like I can’t live without it
but a small sliver of it would be nice
to hold in my hand
and wrap myself in at night
just to hear it whisper my name to the moon.
I hear the silence
even though there is
noise circling my head.
I see what needs to be done
and my arms grow
tired of their burden
I taste the bitter fodder
while craving sweet
rations on my plate.
I know what waits for me
but still I fear
its arrival.
I touch the wind
as it swiftly flows
through my fingers.
And each day I live
and breathe to greet the sun
but I don’t feel...
Muddy Waters playing in the background,
just the right music for my mood.
He brought me a lamp and quietly plugged it in.
I should’ve figured out why I was reading in the dark
but instead he brought me a lamp.
I didn’t deserve it.
Another time it was
I found them hidden under the clothes
in my grandmother’s bureau drawer.
Sweet bits of citrus heaven
melting on my tongue.
I’m still lost but
held together for the moment by
a roast beef sandwich and jalapeno potato chips.
Sometimes it doesn’t take much-
sometimes it takes more,
maybe it takes banana pudding.
Perhaps it’s the face I don’t recognize
watching me whirl and spin in anguish
smiling kindly at my clumsiness
offering little in the way of compassion
but touching my shoulder
on his way out the door.
tiny steps of the dancer
leading me to a softer place.
Other times it is the
solid stride of the wizard
guiding me out of the abyss.
chairs: the ultimate in function and utility
moving on
no looking back
unscathed
unharmed
intact
skipping through the stars
dreaming in the moonlight
doesn’t work that way
too much has changed
to leave it behind
it goes with you
wherever you travel
skipping through the stars
dreaming in the moonlight
When I asked you questions
About matters of the heart
You gave me bitter answers
I didn’t really want to hear.
But still I listened to every syllable
Your face bathed in early morning light
With an audience of song birds
Singing proverbial melodies above your head.
And yet we never get it right
Even with countless chances
Our words pour forth
In perpetual circles of futility.
In spite of everything I know the secret
that will unravel all the mysteries.
It lies somewhere between the stars of Orion’s belt
And the petals of the black-eyed susan.
If you don’t find it there
It just doesn’t exist
Except in sordid back rooms
Where we hesitate to enter.
As your angry replies continue
I know your truth is what I need
If only we could find the answers
Before the sun sets and darkness falls.
I’ve memorized that afternoon
ceiling fan spinning leisurely
an expectant silence so thick
it filled the small room
then moved next to your chair
tapping you on your shoulder
to make sure you noticed
just how quiet it was.
the approaching tempest startled us both
rain pummeling against the pane
wind ripping through the branches
of the tree right outside our window
the thunder loud and forceful
hammering on the window
to make sure you noticed
just how unruly it was.
after the downpour
the room again fell silent
with no expectations this time
just the kind of stillness
that follows a sudden storm
tightening around your chest
to make sure you notice
just how lonely it is.
| Hard Times Come Again No More |
| Let us pause in life's pleasures and count the many tears Written by Stephen Foster. My favorite version of this song
|
Time stands still, breathless by her side.
Unfettered breath rises, then falls.
Can it be captured?
Or will it escape to rest silently on crisp white linens?
Long slender ache,
Blue-veined hands stroke my heart.
Creamy, white softness covers the pain.
Shadows take flight as sunlight collides with darkness.
The radiance blinds our eyes.
Each step is on a precipice.
balanced on the edge of a spiraling chasm.
When the pieces fit will the puzzle be complete?
Eyes dream of faraway,
Time stands still.
Shivering breath rises like a feather,
bounces off the horizon and lands on a distant shore.
Unspoken words lie scattered on the floor.
I gather them all in my hands, eyes lock.
Doors close in a hundred corridors.
We each accept the gift.
The road stretched out far into the distance,
heat waves shimmering on the horizon.
My thoughts reflected the bright sunshine.
Then his words brought me out of my reverie.
His warm voice resonated inside my skull.
I felt the ground circling in a turbulent orbit beneath me.
My eyes closing, I longed for a resting place to embrace.
I climbed a spiral staircase to a balcony
overlooking a sheltered lush garden.
I spread my arms to grasp a mighty oak
but instead found myself roaming through
a forest of gigantic oaks strewn with moss.
I stepped into the cool shadows,
each tread cushioned by fallen leaves.
Every step brought me closer home.
All paths led me to where I belong.
Now I lie down beside him
and listen for my cue.
All my time
taken by force
given back in
small boxes
each one a
different color
scattered ribbons
on the shoreline
drifting out to sea.
And conceal the sun
his disguise fools no one
A black coat slips over
the horizon
As the bather
enters the surf
walking slowly
pulling the clouds closer.
the tide erases the footsteps
every step leads somewhere
each stride obscures the path
silver curtains drawn back
reveal a wooden stage
draped in blue velvet
the yellow moon
smiles and wanes.
enter the tower
soft music rises
candles glow
all is forgiven
as the wax flows
onto the sifting sand
sweet surrender
take my hand
This summer I have been reading the book, Writing Down The Bones. The author, Natalie Goldberg, suggests writing practice everyday. The rules for writing practice are simple: Keep your hand (or fingers on a keyboard) moving; Don't edit as you write (or type) ; don't worry about spelling, punctuation or grammar; lose control; don't think and don't be logical; go for the jugular (meaning don't avoid scary subjects that arise during writing practice). You are not trying to write a poem, an essay or the Great American Novel. You are simply getting in touch with your inner voice. Many of her suggestions I can use with my students when they are writing. I thought I would try to discipline myself to write everyday this summer. I write for ten minutes without stopping following the rules listed above. Today I would like to use this picture as a jumping off point for my writing. Here goes...
