a Christmas poem

midnight falls to meet the day
and rises to meet the sky

the magic moon aglow
with stars that twinkle brilliant light -


shadows that dance
among the angles who clear
the evil spirits
making way for cheer

good riddance to the boogie man
and to all the nighttime fear

instead we slumber, waiting for Santa
hear the sleigh bells near

the amazing hand

holding hands
softness  - kid hands
stability - a partner's hand
a parent's hand - steady, unwavering
guides his youth
towards safe travels
through this tumbly universe

the amazing hand can heal,
lift, type, orchestrate
gesture signs of happiness,
speak all on its own...
voiceless
always with more to say

a wave hello
a smile in the distance
two hands outreached
to welcome you home

small voices

without seeing I look
and turn and look again
don't know which gift
i was hoping to find
only remember the joy in
the small hand holding mine
as he jumps
and says
"Merry Christmas"
to everyone

enough can't be said

the damage...done

a city on fire
a peaceful protest

no justice for men,
small and struggling
large, burning
with the hunger
the wish to survive
another day

despair, over death
needless, careless,
devastation

 a great divide
that should have closed
long ago

a court system
bought out
by "the man'
and "they"
that seem to own
the right to kill

another day at the office

the day drags him through its redundancies

in his grey pants
and buttoned-down shirt
he grabs
another coffee
a glass of water,
bathroom break
back to  the breakroom
for a snack
and then a quick
meaningless chat
returns him to a computer
where a screen instructs
his movements
for the next two hours

another coffee,
a glass of water

the day goes in despite
itself
despite its long duration,
he endures it

home for Christmas

somewhere in the moment
time paused
a faded pine tree in the distance,
I could smell as it beckoned me
closer

pick me!
i need a home for Christmas

and so my search began and ended
along with the moment

and sing we did
all the way home
about trees and bells
and Grandma's house

and the tree that picked me
cleverly will hold a brilliant star
even though placed by a toddler
upon a crooked branch-top

Black Friday - or how I imagine it

I am elbowed
as I walk into the store
by a 50 year old man
wearing socks
and flip-flops and
loose tiger-striped
pink pants

quickly i run
for refuge
in the next closest aisle
and am nearly tackled
by an 89 year old
running with a metal cart

She does not speak as she
tears the newest American Doll
off the shelf

I almost apologize
for getting in her way

Three women hopped
up on peppermint lattes gossip
and then argue over
who will get the last
of the sale-priced lego sets

I have left the store
and am writing this
from the safety of my car
in the gas station parking lot
across the street

Christmas lights

tonight, darkness droops
in deference to the light
a stringed rainbow brigade
blocks the moon from setting

spirit shines from house to house
as bells attach themselves to doorknobs
and rogue reindeer leave The North Pole
in search of lawns to loiter

a gnome wearing nothing but green pants
drinks too much egg nog

the carolers find a place for him
on their doorstep

all rejoice
and say good night
under the calm
of the Christmas light

today's grace

i am grateful for
the smallest person
i've yet to see
the one who,
three years ago,
grew inside me

and for our second one
that patiently awaits
the world's bounty
inside and warm
unbeknownst
of the storm
that is life

i am grateful to
be the mom that guides
my two beauties
through every storm..

i am grateful to know
this love
be by their side

to shelter their eyes
to open their eyes

the alien

in a land other than here
a mystery lies asleep
it could be awake
though
i wouldn't know

it could be filled
with apple jelly beans
and candy with cherry fizz

or aliens wearing green helmets
with traditional
alien bug eyes
gnawing on
chicken thighs

which makes me pause
to wonder
who drew the first
alien with gigantic
eyes and an awkward
upside-down triangle
face
is that what we think
of the alien race?

in a land other than here
the aliens are very far
or are they very near?
are they wearing those
giant eyes we see on TV
or could there be one
right next to me?

her grace

a dancer floats above water
wills her feet to fly
with the doves and the lily
petals through the pink,
floral scented air
of the stage

she surrounds herself
with pictures of ribbons
and medals and beautiful
kittens to remind her of
her unmatched grace
to remind her
she must
land softly.

my drive home

the icicles glow

under the glisten of

the snow

the trees speak in gleams

as I, aghast,

hold tight to the wheel

and continue home

immersed in the light

that twinkles left

and right

grateful to

be safely home

tonight

Inspired by William Blake's Eternity"

"Eternity" by William Blake

"He who binds to himself a joy 
 Does the winged life destroy
 He who kisses the joy as it flies
 Lives in eternity’s sunrise" 

the journey that ends
ends the dream
that started it

the gleam of the path
with no determined end
delivers bliss

along either road
the traveler smiles
at his destination

winter

when night falls upon the cool, dark ground
blackness envelops the land beneath
cold brings shivers to the skin

the undead rise
among those asleep
inside their brains
they creep, creep, creep

winter moves in with a lustful wind
greedy to latch on to the warm
sleep of the innocent

together the night, the cold,
and the winter lust
make new babies
from pixie dust

the person in the dream
does awake
and the ground below her
moves and quakes
and warms and slows
and over she rolls
under the cover
away from the dream
into the gladness
her lover's arms

our words

i don't know what to say
to you
so we don't talk anymore
no texts, no calls
silence says it all

silence built a wall

but it isn't strong
it could collapse
its built with paper
and plastic tacks

it's fragile like us
this vicious wall
it's feebly held together
and is afraid to fall

so our words
stay lost among
bruised thoughts,
confused and cautious
drained, they linger on
so weary they are,
our words
but still they speak
anthems to me
as I hold them back
tirelessly

your colors deep

you are a star that shines bright
like a river under the moonlight
as bright as the star that twinkles
all day and
 every
  splendid night

while you roam this earth
things are righteous...
things are right.

you are a star that shines bright
 your colors a deep, marvelous sight

a daisy's yellow
stained upon a small girl's hand

an indigo blue sky
on a clear, cold and cloudless morning

sacred clay ground
the richest of browns

you are star, deep and bright
that guides us through
this cloudless, blue
indigo night

A quiet tanka

Arriving on time

dancing daisies decorate

The deadened silence

Of  the anniversary

And obligatory gift 

mermaid

under the deep blue sea
lies me
covered in the element
of fluidity
light in motion
I am me
enveloped in the sea
brazen and wet
I splash with great fervor

Immersed in the sea
I am free
I grow gills
and a gilded tail
with grace, glide,
give love

I am great
within the walls
of this vast water
humming a deep
melody of wonder -
those who witness
the sound fall prey
to my beauty
dive into the sea
never to return
to life on land

on land I
am not great
my beauty drained
by sand and sun

I too, do not return
to my home
when wooed by a
land man, full of brute
distraction, his melody
fooled me once
but could not fool me twice
for when on land
I'm as dead as rice

so as for me
and as for he
I'll set him free
and so will he

I'll swim away
he'll walk to land

I am great
He is grand

Red

Candy cherry lips

A lollipop and a kiss

Deliciously sticks

Just me

A day alone with

The marvelous miracle

Of being alive

the swimmer

if a damaged heart
walks away
into a pool
of crystal blue
and lets the clear,
cool water
wash her away
through the filter
into a stream that
leads to a river -
to an ocean

she will soon see
the world is big -
her heart is big
and as she swishes
and splashes
down, through
the pain will get
worse -
will get
better
float up,
float away

she will swim
free
swim away
into a world
big and
a world
small

if i had the words

if i had the magic words
to make me young
to make you strong
to prove me right
to prove you wrong
to wind the clock
to start the song

if  i knew
what to do
to turn things back
from white to black
from coal to gold
to stop the pain
never grow old

i'd do all could
to forget

the past is
what it is
what is next
is next

today is the best
with a cool breeze
making its way
through my sleeves
with your tiny nose
and its little sneeze

my grown up job
and grown up house

and I'm not young
some days are long
but the way things are,
is not wrong

if i knew the words
the magic spell
i'd change nothing
i'd just forget

love and holidays

i could have let the days rot
like apples in the fall sun

let the winter be as cold
as icicles pressed up against
a bare face

or i could warm the world
with my kisses
plant a kiss on your forehead
hold your chilly hand
walk next to you
and mix fresh apples
quickly with cinnamon
and butter into a
Thanksgiving pie

even on the days
when I wonder why I try
I know I'd always
rather have the pie

and we, as two souls
who barely get along
run together like the melody
of a song
lot's of i'm sorry's
and I was wrong

but in the end
we always bend
because we do know why
we always try

we'd rather our apples
in a pie

You are the light

let in the light
from the room around you
the sun above you

be part of the shadows of the sky
chase your shadow
run behind yourself
and in front

you are the light
that moves me
moves the world

move freely
banish the dark
with each step
walk lightly

tread gently
on this good earth
among the people
and in the light

together lost

if you follow me
you'll be lost among ribbons
of yellow and blue cotton lace

caught in a sunset
that's just risen into the pale,
orange sherbert shade
of a summer drink

in the drift of a raft
along the light blue water
of a deep, brisk lake
in early summer

in the bite of a sandwich
topped with a chip

in a dream, rolled
in a cotton sheet
next to you
watching the days pass
through a veiled window
of opaque glass

lost
together or apart

together
if you follow me

the anonymous journey

heading towards a destination
with no start or end
just a rocky road,
sunshine, and waterfalls
that sprinkle rainbows
sometimes only rain

giant puddles to jump into
and pools of light
and water in which to wade
and to wait in - for perfection -
or whatever is close enough
to make you happy

some days it is the right sandwich
or a piece of toast golden brown,
warm with butter
a clean shirt
that looks great with your new
brown shoes
as you walk towards
an open door
that leads you somewhere

the inevitable end

death surrounds us
waits for the right moment
for us to succumb to its will

it knows we are scared, it is glad
it hopes that we are happy
for the time that we have
it wants us to run,
pleads for us to fight

death is lonely in the night

it hopes we live right
with love and foresight
it wishes we could never
know its plight

death is lonely in the night

without it, it'd just be
a forever race
no way out of this
earthly place
we'd simmer, stew,
think and brew
run out of things
to say and do

death is lonely in the night

your words

there isn't a day better to write
than a rainy one
the sky is already open,
your mind ready to follow
your willing pen
not distracted by the sun
or the laughter outside

your pen doesn't question you
or why you choose this life
of a poet
alone with your words
and lined paper

you, always with this wish
that swells inside
this wish that one person,
also alone on a rainy day
may be sitting at a second hand
computer and
he reads your words ,
and they sink into him
as if a bite of chocolate cake
or a warm bath
they steep into his mind deep
and your reader knows
your words
are the ones
he's always been looking for

time's passing

as the night approaches
the day is almost through with me
a few more things left to do

like the laundry
apples to buy
pb and j  for tomorrow's lunch

oh, but the day
it is almost through

and i,
am almost out of time

not like the cancer patient
or the man who
took too many pills

i have tomorrow

still no guarantee
of my next breath
can be assured

conscience

a dark, grey being
that resides in a barrel
sometimes tumbles
through my fragile heart

appears to spook out
the goodness of the world
brings with it hints of sorrow
to remind me that the world
is not perfect
that a person died today
because of the color of his skin
or the hat he wore...
the symbol on his arm

that a child is alone tonight
in a shelter
or on a street
carrying a gun
to protect his little brother

sometimes i allow
this grey being to linger
to deepen my conscience

the pain of the world
is all of ours to bear

tonight

this autumn evening
is a dark window shade
a tinted glass of rich burgundy
sliced Gruyere
melted on crispy bread

a couch and three pillows
placed gently behind my back
by love itself

a blanket to warm
my old, cold bones
and seal in the joys
of the day

a fresh start

in the morning
the day is fresh sheets
on a clothesline
under the sun
in the cool, welcoming wind

it is raspberries
grown on a bush in your backyard
tart and sweet,
ready to eat

it is new and delicious
the air of possibllities
runs through each
waking minute

and you are alive today
this morning
you wake
on your fresh sheets
ready to pick raspberries

lost in the present

not sure what to say
or exactly how i got this way

landed in this place where
my name seems distant, unfamiliar
as if it is a dinosaur
stomping down the highway

my life, a dramatic television show
that I wrote myself
but I don't remember
all the lines


the words are all lost
and so i keep looking
in the distance

I read my cue cards

the producer mocks me

too fast

running out of time
running from time
that withered clock
with evil, ticking, heavy,
wrinkled spotted hands

that says things to me
like "back in the day"
and I am surprised
how long it's been since
high school ended

my hair now flat
no longer purple
i used to be fun, cool,
totally different

and now I am
part of the body
of the motion
of the slow and fast
travelling feet
that pounce the sidewalk
each day, responsible

and that round, creeping
clock speeds towards me
like a chicken running
from an axe

I laugh at you
dear clock
and your man made notion
and your weak, noisy
arms

I laugh at you
and smile
and am glad
i am not that teenager
with big, purple hair

i ignore you time
i deplore you time

i implore you time
slow down

Love

where does my love go?

to the plant
   that needs water
   the child at my feet
   my mature (sort of) husband

it is

    like a soft, stretchy blanket
    that fits around two sets of toes

the more there is
the more I feel
love, a resource, infinite
feeds only off of itself
no need for the crackle
of the day's sun
or a sprinkle of rain

love
    it is close
    and everywhere

a long way apart

i haven't danced
or said your name
face down turned
and not the same

a single look
or word or text
you know the story
i know the rest

i held you tight
you held me close
we sank together
a single ghost

still i see us
as it floats by
through the world
I question why

you were my
world
and I
your sky

now we are two
distant stars
warped in silence
forever far

it ended long ago

here's a verse
sad and true
wrapped in ribbon
just for you

ribbon red
world blue
tied in knots
over you

ink is blood
a leaking heart
it was trouble
from the start

paper's drenched
with salty tears
the wilted words
of founded fears

we lived, breathed
now nothing's left
but a straight smile
a heart bereft

if you could know
i'd tell you so

but you can't and
so I go

the struggling plant

under the bridge
a baby plant
yearns for light
it grows left and back right
stretches far
it's outta sight

tiny flower
you just might
be the tallest plant
I see tonight

you reached
you grabbed
at the air

stabbed
through the concrete
in the dark
you kept dreaming
of the park

now here you are
fairest of them all
beautiful green,
flowery and tall

bad hair day

rush aroundfly from here to there
wearing my hair wings,
a couple of rings

humid sparks
and flyaways
dream of sun
and better
hair days

in the mirror
i don't dare
to look, to stare
from here to there
i blink real quick
and then I duck

glad I looked
something's stuck
between my teeth
like a tiny branch
poking out
of a wreath

quick I rinse
look for floss
quick I blink
put on gloss

but i don't
stare
at my humid
hair
to my eyes
it wouldn't be fair

a story about my day

in a bland sort of daze
i anticipate being awake

it's always better than I expect
once a few hours pass

coffee
sugar
kids
the day speeds by
questions, rhymes, new slang to learn

today they said they would
"put me on"
to some new music

they learn
I learn
the world becomes new again

the end of the dark road

in the realm of reality
the real people recognize
the windy, rough road
is riddled with bumps
and filled with holes

as fast as one can
round a bend
one can become sucked
into a hole, tire first
or spit out in to the air

or rolled over
at a speed too fast
for life

i've seen this realm
of the rough and real
i live there usually
but beg to break from it
from time to time
to slow to the pace
of being human
to ignore the time,
forget the dark,
sit out under the light of the moon
on the swing at the park
and do no thinking
just swing
sway in the real wind 
upon the cold, metal seat
below me

comfortable in the fall,
night air

you were also
there.

two hands

energy
moves freely through
these two hands

carries light,
motion, water

a passion to warm
the soul
to heal the woe
of a day
that was just
like the last

a welcoming hug
lasting warmth
to move you gently
through
the next cold day

it's your birthday

mall walking
on his birthday
in new light-up
shoes

a not so distant
memory
of holding your hand

a smile brighter
than shoe lights
happy birthday to
me

before the world
filled up with
a child's giggles

a time that might
have never existed
is such a state
of amazement
if it was not for you
but it did
and you were there

and now i walk
in different shoes
with another man

and a boy
with the brightest smile
the flashiest song
a winning grin
and a song to
carry the day

Happy birthday
to me

an ode to water

in a timeless turn of events the
tide sways in silence
with foam to cover
its stealthy, tedious tracks

no one knows what its done
cares to assume its shame
its shameless, it splashes
through the cool day
the warm day
the day that's no longer here
but once was there

water everywhere
inside us...around us
moving us
      conducting us
             sustaining life
                      taking life

water the master
water a God

water a Goddess
deep in the misty night
awaiting a form

another day in the light

too many days pass
unnoticed
by the live man
that walks
immersed in the flow of time
the speedy passage of
fluorescent light
overwhelms him with its
harshness
its awakeness
its reminder
that he is again
today at his computer
in a cubicle
staring at pictures
of the people he wishes
he were with

he comes home
briefly says hello
shares dinner and a chat
and the day is gone
just like the one before
the one after it

his cubicle does not greet him
say good-bye
care if his eyes are weary
or his body aches

it is his rock though
always there
to get him through
another day of blind
un-thinking
or a monotonous view
of the parking lot

a place to call home
for the day

the way to a picnic

I arrived at the picnic

before i sat upon the blanket
   before i set foot upon the green grass that is the park
       before the burgers were served

i had a quiet and secret conversation with a stranger
while we waited for forty minutes for a bus that never showed

i ate breakfast with my two sons and three of their friends

i went food shopping for milk and eggs

A red-haired child sold me a candy bar as I left the store

I made potato salad

Back at the picnic
   I am tired and sit at a surprisingly cliche picnic table
      covered with a predictable checkered red cloth

the stranger from the bus stop smiles at me
from a distant table

Nothing else is said

a fun poem about a dream

i am underwater
i breathe next to you
no need for gills

the friendly lake
welcomes me
in its depths

we have a conversation
about something
or nothing

and it doesn't much matter
what we say

the glitter of life
sparkles among us
our words echo from
tadpole to toad
to seaweed to
a skipping rock above

we are the laughter
we consume it

we are underwater
laughing
about something
or nothing

it doesn't much matter

The next morning

on the top
the bird is perched

above the sky
amongst a cat-shaped cloud
it sings a melody
that rains down
upon the jaded world

it is heard
by a tall banker
he closes shop
shuts down fees
opens his eyes
afraid
of what he sees
he is on his knees

he prays
up to that same
periwinkle
sky
the bird hears him

the next tune
is for him
he hums along
moves away

the next morning
he sits atop
his humble cabin
prays up
to the periwinkle
sky

and sings along
with the birds' hymn

and the next and next

Everything

everything

the smile on a
child's face
at a pumpkin he's
excited to paint

the soft, brown earth
between barefoot toes

Christmas cheer

homemade pumpkin pie
enough to share

frosty cold breath
warmed by a kiss

darting from door to door
dashing to deliver
a sprinkle of joy
a plate of cookies
a handshake

lending a hand

holding hands
with you
with the three-year old
that calls himself
a dinosaur
a goat

everything

goodbye... your face

thinking of the way
I hate your face
hope to erase
its evil glare
its lack of care

i set it free
into the sea
away with you
you're not glue

and so its gone
your grin
and face
i've cast it far
from this place

better much
to set it free
than let it keep
a hold of me

a perfect stranger

under the guise of a smooth dancer
he glides onto the checkered floor
slides towards the red, painted door

a smile with a hidden smirk
recognized only by those who know
he's only here for the show

impeccable dark grey slacks,
button down, shined shoes, pressed tie
head to toe, dressed to die

in the evening,
under the glow of a dark, inviting moon
he promises to call you soon

as you turn away
his grey-blue eyes dip and wink
once you've had a chance to think


change your number

erase the memory
of his flawless face
forget you ever
went to that place

the small man

the small man
wallows in the second
that he did not win
withers under the rain
complains each day
about the weather,
the person at work,
the loud neighbor,
the kids in the yard...

the small man
eats alone at an old table
he refuses to replace
and so he gets a splinter
no one is there to help
so his finger swells
with infection

he goes to work
the next day
and complains

no one listens

he has nothing to look forward to

he passes away
while watching tv
from his battered chair
of a large splinter infection

for one moment

imagine
if for one moment
we all thought only kind words
thoughts of happiness

we all
let jealousy
regret
hatred
slip away
just as time does

in a blink
a millisecond
a rocket is launched
a child is born
a car crashes
a forest burns

a miracle occurs
a dead person lives

imagine
for one moment
we shut off the news
the tv
our phones

smile at the person
closest to us
share what we have
material
and mind

one world
mankind

kind

the daily visit

apart from darkness
light withers with no foil
into the midst of silence
a loud clang reverberates
heard in the distance
by the silent choir

children sing carols
and Jake, 84,
can't remember if his son
visited this year

His son visits every day
brings him his favorite
sandwich
for a moment a bite of a
tuna melt brings him
back

His son, filled with sadness,
feels his father's words
fill him

they, together, become
full with conversation
and a sandwich

the light fades
that single moment
between day and night
the faded haze
is perfect

the life of the secret

in a tunnel of darkness
secrets wander by
looking to be released
weary of the tired corners
of frozen minds

one becomes lost
too tired to hold on
it slips away
once it reaches light
its holder hides in shame

but it
it is now free
its holder is free

Shine

the fire's determination
out shined the water
doused the sand

the beach aglow
the children danced
upon the light of the earth
watched over by the Thunder Gods
of vivacity

 of life

of remembering to dream
that dreams are real

remembering to be real
to really care

we, a collection of small particles

we
    shine together
                        to move the world

the stifled life

built under bricks
of the knowledge of too much
a heavy head stagnates
against the cold slate

thoughts of being freed
from self-imprisonment
the desire to fight aside
the need to survive
in world fraught with
wretched decisions

forces fight back and forth
between the right thing
and the thing that is right
for now

Eyeball punch

a torn cloth
a splash of blood

a quickly sewn
bandage to
dress the hurried
party goer
 
for a night of eyeball punch driven
misguided memories
to haunt him for another year

a woman's walk through the 1800's

a fine day
in her fancy dress
a frolic down a woven path

one encounter with a suited man
a stare made of intent

a quick sneeze
his ironed kerchief
she gladly accepts

his stare becomes a  longing
that her hazel eyes return

in the distance
a church bell ringss
she silently curtsies

her legs, her mind
heavy with desire
for the long walk home


a veiled conversation
with her sister over
a delicate cup
of chamomile
puts her day to rest

a prelude to Halloween

the words that haunt
walk creepily up the stairs
creaking while speaking
    loud echoes in the mind

the ghosts in the walls
slip into the halls
through mirrors glossed
with faces of the lost

souls tossed
out broken windows
    muted voices still in the air
trapped in the wind

the soul's blanket

the blanket of the soul
is warm, wide...infinite
washes away fear
with valor

hate
with love

greed
with generosity

cruelty
with kindness

it grows with each
connection
soft and threaded,

a web of life and air.
of sweet whispers
of loud hurrah's
of you and  me's
two's and three's

of lakes, seas
flowers, trees
twine and lace
gloves and grace

small and great
it stays up late
into the cool, cool night
of tempted fate

under a fort
with a blanketed soul
keeps us warm,
keeps us whole.

rough edge

i smooth the edges
of a dark person
slowly, like
the brush of a fine comb,

a sweet word
about his smile
a quick pat on the shoulder
during his brief,
tepid dialogue
about evil,
and mankind

i watch a child
smile at the end of the slide
and his mom
smiling even bigger
clapping at the bottom

i soothe his sharp tone
with an offering to share
my chocolate

i don't like to share
but do anyway

soon he smiles too
his lecture now an anecdote
about his cat

the corner of your heart

i head south
east
towards your house
you're next to me
under the sky
translucent blue
skin so thin
your heartbeat
pumps red
through your chest

tomorrow
the sun will rise
i'll greet it
and wish it was you
but you are gone
forever

and i am here
i hold on to
your pale skin

it's locked away

apple picking

autumn's crisp apples
whisked away by families
in cinnamon air

here

today i travel
with one paddle
my other hand
is for you

the water's calm,
the sky
a twinkling blue

no memory
haunts this day

perfect with its
round yellow sun
its straightly
painted green grass


we float
happy here
on still water

Everything good

Everything good
Begins in autumn
Holding hands
Surrounded by crisp air
Open minds and hearts
Celebrating

Colors
Pumpkins
Apple trees

The relentless world
Softened by candy
And the laughter
Of pirates and monsters
Ghosts and princesses
Merry in their parade

rose petal

when the day comes to a close
and nothing's left
but a single rose
the last petal flies away
lightly like the summer's breeze
and lands, warmly on a
tall woman's arm
in another town

she wonder's who is out there
playing she loves me, loves me not
she stares, with longing brown eyes,
a far, faraway stare, the kind
that wants to end but won't

he approaches from the corner
and catches her eye

her stare becomes a smile
they stay like this for a while

You

you steal my breath
when you speak

invade my soul
with secrets deep

attach to my mind
a freakish leech
that drains blood
and takes light
fills me with
a lonely plight

and I, I build
a sand water castle
as tall as me

quiet birds perch
at the top

together, we wait
for you...

for you to
walk through us

the darkness

sometimes i think if you died
i wouldn't care at all

i'd stare coldly into a blank wall
and see nothing

the rain would freeze
when it hit my skin
my crisp skin would crack

i wouldn't feel it
as i crumbled

from my puddle
i'd look up
and thank the sun

a brave face

time wears thick
on my heavy glasses
as they sink
deep into my forehead
drawing a line

engraved
it sits in silence
awaiting release

the pillow lets me rest
the pillow lets me breath
the line dissipates
I floats upon
a midnight cloud

the clock strikes 6
my pumpkin is a car

my stoic line returns
to face a new day

a possible book starter?

the door slams behind her
she, in tears and in a fruitless fit of effort,
attempts to catch her breath

hunched on the stoop
with no railing
her back leans against nothing
but cold air
her bottom
frigid on snow and cement

frozen tears now gather
and meet her nose
a stranger hands her a tissue

a picture of her

the best image of her
is turned upside-down

it looks out to the sea,
frothing and waving
with the rhythm of change
and the sound of foam

it searches for a stable place
her frame rattles... then shakes
and struggles to reach the shore
holds on to the wave's tip
once again...frame flips

the sea is calm
it fights to be free

her face, upside-down again
and beautifully awake
embraces the turmoil
of the heavy sea

she is you, and you are me
we move through the
choppy waters, we hold hands
we shape each other
with the sand

the comfort of the unknown

i don't remember
our last good-bye

on your porch
as the wind scolded us

or in tears
by the front door
as I tearfully angered
at your news

or on your couch
as our eyes met
with a fervor
our bodies ignored

i remember the stars
the way you carried
me over a puddle
so that I could stay dry

at least until
our last good-bye

i don't remember
because it wasn't our
last
it couldn't be
and if it is
it is better
i have memories
to wander in

the time

the time has passed
to dwell on hearts - broken
by wanderlust
broken
for wanderlust

the time has come
to love
to count the years
before they go
and our bodies
trepidate
as our last breath
is whisked away
by life

the time has passed
for hate
for despair

the time has come
to care
for each passing second
as if it were a small baby
crying for milk 

September

September's promise
Scribbled, passed, and crumpled falls
Into the wrong hands

change

the lead window
that falls
poisons the light
behind it

shatters long-held
expectations
of a future filled
with days
that swing back and forth
lightly with the wind
and easy conversations
about the day
the weather
the couple next door
that gives us the creeps

the new face of life
swallows its person
a captive of circumstance

once completely devoured
an awakening rivets
the crumbled remains
of what was
and becomes
what now is

the solemn ride

Your words stain my ears
with regret
of days and memories
that have drifted away
like sailors lost at sea

and I, alone on my canoe
steadily unbalanced
keep moving forward
with one oar

I hope it won't break
as I listen again

"A New Day" - word of the day - operose

this operose day

cheerfully fades fast away
brightening the next
sunrise that blocks the power
of yesterday's gray

For my mom

I am my mother,

my grandmother.

I am growing a soul

She is me,

she is my mother.

She directs me

to today’s light -

to build her a world

full of peace.

She is me,

and I am her -

She is my mother

my grandmother,

she grows and grows.

hitchhiking in the stream

raft on the stream thrives
on a  tumultuous trip
steered by a drunk man
in pink sunglasses picking
up swimmers with thumbs held up

Pumpkin Patch

I breathe in cool air
my mouth is alive  -
my uncomplicated chest
wraps my heart
with fall wind.

My legs skip,
voluntarily
I jump into
autumn's  surrender -
a cushion that dresses my lawn
red, orange, yellow -
I remember kindergarten
the little boy that chased me,

He lives somewhere now
with a wife and a child
who, like me
loves to skip and jump .

Inspired by "A Thousand Kisses Deep," song by Leonard Cohen

a thousand kisses
dead sexy
i'll bathe in his
deep raspy words
succumb to the fire
in his lips

one kiss
face to face
hand pressed
gently upon his chin
eyes question
will it happen -
all at once
two pairs of
tingling lips,
nervous - unite
are independent
from their keepers

a thousand kisses
sizzle, burn
rage through
the night

one kiss
kindling for the fire
a thousand kisses
irrecoverable from
the blazing mire

living the dream

you are your dream -

the vision you hold on to
rules each moment you live

you speak, warm your toast,
cover it with butter and jam
and revel in its simple satisfaction,
settle further into a complacent life

it haunts the back of your mind
a loud, giant monster that
refuses to be killed

let the dream in
let it creep closer and closer
to the front
let it ride next to you,
your soul companion -
a gentle beast to guide your way

let it startle you as it starts to happen
your steps speed up, your two
hands and one spectacular mind
join forces
you build it

through the windy woods

twigs and lilies
line my dress -
i saunter easily
through the unmarked path

my pale thighs wait to
feel the sun, summer deficient
I have held them back
behind cotton wares

they yearn to play with
my bare arms, shins, toes

wind swoops in,
cotton skirt floats up
sets them free

the last stop

there is one surprise
waiting

that pines for us
begs us
to acquiesce

nonetheless, we live
forget its existence
until it stares at us
through the glassy eyes
of a grandfather
that tells his story
again
he wants to weep
with regret
but is dry

our early life -
a broken compass
that leads us back
to the same shady
place
the same dreaded
face

this goes on forever - for some
life leads them astray
while others are out
seeking clarity,
finding their way

whichever the road
that you choose
slowly travel it
keep the friend that listens
by your side
love the day
love the woman or man

we are all on the same road

we all are dropped
off together
by death

the new girl

unaccustomed to the ways of the wicked
corrupted by hunger, the need for flesh

she is born, craves new skin
she is free and alone
until she meets everyone
and they are all talking

their words are absorbed like a delicate lotion
that seeps and settles until she becomes them
she is suddenly the thing that she had never
imagined being spoken out loud

She runs, nearly naked, dressed in blue feathers,
demure, painted on undergarments
she is suddenly the world, vivid
her viridity emanates from like sugar from
her pores, she attracts flies that endlessly buzz
until she builds a barrier, a veil for her heart

It is easier, she realizes, to run naked through the streets
than to lie alone, covered, clutched to her pillow

word of the day - viridity

innocence is lost
not with the naked body
but with a veiled heart

Poetry to share - This poem is a work in progress

My hands, covered with midnight blue gloves, dance along your back as we embrace.
A sudden earthquake shakes us apart and my face, stark white, loses track of yours
You fall onto me, tightly hanging on, pulling me into a safe corner of the dance floor
Pieces of the party hall crumble around us, speckling our attire with loose, grey dust
Like a man in cape, you whisk my body, gloves and dress into your underground shelter

my novel

I'll never write the novel
about the boy who falls in love
with the girl next door
because of her amazing
morals and serious brown eyes
because he has
silently admired her through
his window
for so many years

Instead I'll write about the girl
who loves the boy
she only sees in her dreams
a vision that seeps
deep into her blood
in her sleep
and transforms her upon
awakening

she never meets him
but she knows somewhere
he is real

during her desperate search
for this unnamed man
she becomes trapped
in an underwater tunnel
with her last breath she realizes
that this man is...

the sound of night

My dress crinkled
each time I took a step
the moon dipped in the distance
as if trying to escape the world

Night fell hard upon me
as it grew largely quiet
my dress became the
sound of the street-

With each soft step
the moon slipped away,
people  closed windows
to silence the world

I happened upon a small child
wearing ragged knickers
and a worn smile

I reached into my sequin
purse for any money I had
a grey-eyed figure
emerged, toppled over
the child in his effort
to snatch my clutch

the scuffle that ensued
exceeded the sound of my dress
the man whimpered as he
tore at my dress in hopes
I would flee
My hoop fought free
and I used it catch him

It was the first time I killed a man

Distant Wish

the wind lifts her off
her timber seat is stiff
swift, swift
go her feet

out of her pocket
she enjoys her treat
this day is sunny
her dress is neat

up, down
go her feet

this swing
it is safe
no others
will see her face
the swing's too swift
the wind, wind
it's her gift

in, out
go her legs
to her mind
she begs, begs
let this wind
whisk, whisk,
wish me away
to the clouds

up, down
go her feet

playing a violin

whines are the boulders
that burden the patient wall
built with brittle bricks

I know you

perched on the edge of your bed
peeking out over the lake from your window
light seeping in through the aging logs...
cold

you are waiting for something
so you never leave

your own path
a job in the forest
tracking down new trails
painting blue triangles for others

it's been lost by the confines
of your perceived purpose

but I know you better
and I hope you find it

wishing for a treehouse

I, alone, am on this branch

thin, wispy, it may snap

I grapple with a twig; it laughs at my humanness.

Beneath my legs lies a heartfelt song, someone's first fruit bowl painting, 
tedious words...

I question  the wavering branches 

Emerged into the world, a fish with no gills
I seek out thrills, frills, gorgeous stills

The trees share answers with each other that I do not understand

A leather purse signifies one woman's existence as her credit card
is declined
A child calls for his mother three times
she, aggravated, answers him after posting his picture on Facebook

I have so much love for the trees - I am in the forest now and 
the trees speak with me. I am patient, still
I trust in the tree and its lanky branch grows stronger

Under my light, swaying legs, 
the melody is more distinct, the canvas more vivid,
words come easily

Below me the disarray of the crowd fades. I am not a part of it. 

I don't want you to be happy

A tack in my heart
I'd rather use it for my bulletin board
but it's stuck

Be happy
that's what i want
but it's not
I'm on fire

I didn't let you in
I'm closed in, under a shed, down under the dark, murky, cold earth,
giving you all of my breath except the one ounce
I need to stay barely alive

I am a person who floats, having given away her soul, I look
outside the window at the trees, write about beauty, focus deeply
on color, strive to erase the dark

I hold up pretty pictures
for you all to see, a small glimpse of me

The tack in my heart grips me -
I imagine it falls out fast like a petal from a flower girl's basket
It does not.

I  stay busy: write about a tea party, a green pasture,
a quote that inspires me, a couple growing beautifully old,
musings about gravity, creation, evolution, scientific discovery,
think about the most delicate and the most rich of things, of colors,
to piece together beautiful sentences
I hope you will like to read

possibilities

timber fence along the worn road
feels the wheels of the Ford deeply
absorbs the hums and chatters of
four children that giggle at the sight
of a duckling that splashes
in a pond of possibilities

the sky's serious grey eyes meet the pond
the pond reflects only
the smile of the three year-old boy
who sees himself running in
endless fields of green

"Nothing is to be rated higher than the value of the day" - Johann Wolfgang Von Goethe

I lie still
water ripples
sun sets
clay holds me together

I lie awake - the darkness
at the bottom of the ocean
plots with my demons

I ask the past to forget
but its echoes are forever singed


The future, she improves
as I tread upon this clay sand
and become enchanted with her sky,
breathe in the peach indigo sunset -
become a part of her permanent beauty,
swim in her glory, and forgive her mystery.

The sunset reflects its tangerine light
upon my shaking legs, the legs that
have arrived in the present
and are scared.

word of the day euthenics or "him"

a better life-
famous for long tea breaks

the last cup of coffee we shared over pancakes
is my favorite

you know the spot at the top of the house
that leads to the ledge out the window
the best place to play evening cards

If I studied euthenics I'd recommend we all
have wrap-a-round porches, window ledges for every window,
a day each week set aside for
sand in the toes...
sunscreen on the nose...

seawater skin spas on the free beach
because no one owns the land

we'd partner in our studies and invent more things like
geothermic floors
stained glass doors
the fluffiest socks
a wall of rocks
intertwined with vines and flowers tall -
sunflowers, a fence of them

we'd be there on our porch, deciding whether to face
east or west
as we search for stars
sip warm chamomile
swing

search for nothing

word of the day requisite or "posting for a position on my farm"

must have the will
to eat, drink, love, build

madness, a skill,
your necessary evil,
specific to you

two shoes,
one shirt -
flip-flops okay (for now -
we provide used boots)

sunscreen suggested,
especially for the pale

no need to bring your own pail

the ability to look over trite trifles
help Telly the pig find her truffles

learn to use our topsoil
to build a disappearing heap
out of your worries

cover the manual Bill gives you with your breakfast
crumbs, saliva, fresh coffee drips,
anything...don't read it

new things must be tried
potatoes are best fried

make a friend on your first day
write her number down on
a napkin

when the napkin gets lost in the field,
call her anyway

ask a lot of questions,
especially of the groundhogs

bring your joy

Get your bread

Single file
Do not stop to see
The aching body of
The blind man

Or the child
With the empty pan

Straight ahead
Work work
Till your dead
To buy the new
.....

It's the same as the last
Everyone has it

But not the blind man
Not the child
With the empty pan

Forward now
Keep your pace
You've nearly won
The human race

Don't even blink
No time to think
The end's ahead
You're nearly dead

Artist Teacher Institute Summer 2014

I had the pleasure of taking  a wonderful poetry workshop this summer under the amazing instruction of Catherine Doty. You will find my scholarship report below this blog post. It is a bit long of a read, but if you skip to the 2nd to last paragraph, there is detailed information about two of my favorite writing prompts that I think may interest some of my readers. Thanks for reading!

Laurie C. Molloy –  http://laurie-molloy.blogspot.com/

ATI Scholarship Report

July 25, 2014

Creative Writing in the Classroom

During the 2013-2014 school year, I implemented creative writing lessons to teach  poetry, narrative writing, and  dialogue. During that time, I felt that although the students loved writing creatively, I had to keep these lessons to a minimum so that I could make sure I was meeting the state’s core curriculum standards. Ms. Doty’s poetry workshop taught me a multitude of new writing prompts and revision techniques.

Due to her workshop, I know that I will be able to bring in many new prompts to my students and utilize those prompts in ways that will effectively meet core standards and prepare my students for the NJ PARCC. I am still in the process of learning more about how to prepare my students for the PARCC exam, but I do know that students will have to write creative narratives, develop characters, and show understanding of story elements in their writing. Because this is not something I feel most teachers have not focused on, especially in the high school years, new prompts to stimulate students’ interest in writing will be a key part in helping my students become successful, interesting, and creative writers.

Ms. Doty encouraged us to write, re-write, re-revise, read out loud, and revise our work again. Through close critical readings of our own and others’ poems, we were able to develop a skill for noticing weak words, non-specific details, and incongruous sections. Through many patient listening and reading sessions, all of us were successful in refining our poems. After our critiques, our poems were concise, powerful, relatable, and interesting. She taught us to use details that would help us resonate with our audience, transform the vague to the powerful, and avoid clichés at all costs.

She also brought in a guest writer, Renee Ashley, who was a joy to work with. Her light-hearted and humorous approach to writing proved to be a great role model to me. Her knack for pointing out the best in our work and encouraging us to stay with the best and leave the rest really helped me think of new ways to approach my own students. I always try to look for the positive parts of my students’ writing, but I realize now that I also have to be more critical, while focusing on the students’ strengths. My students will appreciate direct critique, as long as it includes complements. Even though it can be frustrating to have to edit your own work, I think students will be happy once they see the finished product of the required revisions.

To be very specific, Ms. Doty and Ms. Ashley taught our class two prompts that really stayed with me. Ms. Doty read a poem titled, “Remodeling the Bathroom” by Ellen Bass, and then asked us to write a poem using the prompt, our last day in the world. A link to that poem can be found here: http://www.ayearofbeinghere.com/2013/11/ellen-bass-remodeling-bathroom.html

I wrote a poem titled, “On the last day of my life I contemplate flying, but I don’t.” A link to my poem can be found here: http://laurie-molloy.blogspot.com/2014/07/on-last-day-of-my-life-i-contemplate.html

I feel it is one of my best poems, and I think that that prompt will be highly effective to inspire my students. Ms. Ashley’s prompt was based on intriguing pictures, essential questions, and personal parables. We free-wrote for ten minutes, writing the details of the artwork, then wrote at least five big questions, and then wrote a personal story that correlated to the image and our questions. This prompt was very effective in helping me learn how to write a poem with levels of depth I do no think I ever been able to achieve on my own. My ekphrastic poem can be found here: http://laurie-molloy.blogspot.com/2014/07/nocturne-in-black-and-gold-falling.html

 That technique may be advanced for some of my students; however, I feel it always great to have challenging lessons to inspire our children to stretch their mind capacity as far as they can.

I am very excited to share what I have learned at Ms. Doty’s workshop with my English department coworkers. We will all benefit from Ms. Doty’s ideas, and I believe our students will improve their writing when presented with prompts that are completely new to them. Our students deserve the tools to find the power of their voice and discover how to write words that will convey their ideas to the world.

I would be honored if ATI staff, faculty, and friends would read some of the many poems on my blog, provide some feedback, and share my work with others that might appreciate it. Thank you all for holding this wonderful workshop!

Here is the link to my blog: http://laurie-molloy.blogspot.com/

Magnificence

Magnificence

Petals aglow
above a wispy branch, bright shadows
tinged with grey undertones

an infinite space that has a definite and
an unknown end

Her golden birdcage surrounded by
gossamer atmosphere, lime underbrush,
a path of pink Vincas leads her eyes towards
a gold-dusted sunset

her door swings open
now there is danger, freedom

She lifts her eyes to look for the watchers
of her captivity, the spirit of a faded turtle smiles,
glad to see her go.

Her auburn hair matches the movements of
her luminescent golden dress, their colors blend
and billow as she traverses the tree branch
Taffeta underneath her dress floats, a breath
of air is released, is unseen, she ascends in mind
as her taffeta, light, shuffles her to the very tip,
where the branch ends her life begins

her bare feet welcome the plush, virgin ground,
a cushion of newness to soften a bleak past

above her the periwinkle haze outlines her
strong ankles, the sky is powdered blue chalk,
and she is magnificent.

Once, her caged life had her run in circles,
allowed her no attachments, no will to care -
the lightning defied her master; and her friend,
the careful turtle, cooperated with the genius of the sky,
inching her golden home towards the lightning as
thunder grew closer -
her road to nowhere now an open door

she is free and dangerous,
she jumps from branch to ground
hair and taffeta dancing

reaching the top, riding the world

the top of the slide
a child's mountaintop, a face
that only sees joy

king of the horse-see
smile wider than his face
world, a lighter place

i'm big enough, but
grandpa's hid the keys again
my girlfriend will wait