Poem: Swallowed


Some people

enter our lives

to share some time

Laughs around a cafe meal

hikes on Goddess mountain trails

and quiet moments sitting near

Together dancing

sweetly in sync

characters stepping

upon the stage

Playing a part

with heart and words

till the performance

fades away

Then all that’s left

are props and scenes

covered with ancient dust

And those who played

a starring role

are swallowed

by velvet wings

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Poem: Walls


Behind a wall

are sounds I do not

always know

The green trees

I see

hide voices rising loud

above souped up

cars

it sounds like shots

into the crowds

the wall

hides it all

Some walls

stand by

silently

in between

those wanting to come near

and cross beyond

while others wait

to make sure they can’t

while creating waves of fear

And some walls

make people

cry

and pray

and touch

their mourning souls

while their hands

slide upon its

limestone sands

We hold walls

inside our

complex selves

to play

hide and seek

from

real life beasts

who have come

to reside within

and we crawl inside

a darkened

crack

laying still

hoping it will not

find us

Walls

keep in

and

keep out

yet

quiet stones standing

as humans fall

fall

fall

 

 

 

 

Poem: Walking By


Down the sun drenched pathways

we wander through our days

And pass by many gathered

who may not share our ways

 

An outstretched hand

may call us in

to this circle that lays before:

enter and belong within

 

But some may choose

to walk on by

and remain on a private path

but not because we’re shy

 

Nor do we think

these folks are bad

or we unfriendly be

and hope you don’t get mad

 

In fact the truth you see

not only do I save my space

for a special one or two

being with myself actually touches grace

 

 

 

 

 

Facing The Monster


Accusers and accused. There are many of these both in the news lately. Whose stories are true? What side do we choose to believe? And why do the stories seem to play out the same way each time?

At least that how it seems to me, but could we change the ending somehow? A woman comes forward to accuse a man of some kind of sexual assault from their past. The man is a high-profile figure so the story hits the news, but we all know that these stories have struck a chord because so many women have had similar experiences in their lives (including me).

Once the man stands accused, he usually claims he didn’t do it–in a very loud voice–until it turns out that we learn he did because other women come forward, or investigation into his past concludes it was true. So why then do these men say they didn’t do it?

I’ve been thinking a lot about this lately, especially with the most recent allegations which are particularly disturbing to me, and I came up with this conclusion.

Many of us hold parts of our past we would rather forget (me included); ones that when we dare look back on them produce feelings of shame and regret. So rather than look at them, we compartmentalize them or even pretend they didn’t happen. We may actually believe they didn’t. Some folks are particularly good at this skill and humans are quite resilient and can learn to adapt to their dirty deeds and go on quite well.

What happens, though, when someone comes along and opens the door to the shame that has been hidden away and it shows its nasty head. The obvious reaction would be to say: no, no–of course I didn’t do that thing! It wasn’t me. That beast has been hiding so long it has become unfamiliar, a part of ourselves we have chosen to forget.

But, as this creature stands before us a while, I feel it should begin to take shape and start to become more visible. Letting it out of the box to stand out in the open and taking a good look at it instead of denying it, can actually help defuse its power. Because ultimately it is a part of us, no matter how bad it was, it was something we did. The first part of letting go is admitting to something.

At this point, if the accused could then face the accuser and simply say: yes, I did it, it was bad and I’m sorry I hurt you–how would that change the story? Would we all feel differently? Could then the accuser introduce forgiveness into the equation? Maybe. Hopefully.

And then maybe the healing could really begin: for everyone.

 

Poem: Feline


You of fur and flicking tail

oh how your nine lives

saved mine

Despite moody moments

and shunning stares

Most days pass in

spots of sunlight

leaving bits of fuzz

everywhere

You have done well

with your canine friends

(contrary to belief)

for we are, after all,

family

in the end

But the years pass

and you grow older

faster

than I

This is both the curse

and what makes you

so precious

With humble thanks

I share this home

with your wild spirit

and grateful your magic

touched

my heart

 

 

Let The Games Begin…


And so it begins again. Tomorrow is the first day of school here where I live and I will be working again, but in a more random capacity. I’ve worked there all summer, helping wherever I was needed. It was fun actually: with the halls quiet and peaceful.

But tomorrow they will be filled with the excited (and loud) voices of our returning students and the nervous, tiny Kindergarten kids. Lucky for them we will all be there to help them allĀ handle the first day and rein in their jitters.

There are some new teachers this year too–including a man! Whoop whoop. That place needs a balance of testosterone if you ask me, so it will be interesting to see how the kids feel about him. And there is an older (like me) new long-term sub also, which I am happy to see.

All in all, it will be an interesting year. No more full-time lunchroom duty for me! Hooray!! And I also offered to sub in the classrooms, which could turn out to be a total disaster, but we’ll give it a try. Mostly, I actually enjoy the administrative, boring stuff. It’s funny because the teachers keep telling me I’m a hero for helping them laminate, staple and collate. And I think to myself: from saving lives as a paramedic to saving these teachers… hmmm?

They assure me they would have a heart attack without me. But….

I’m not so sure.

Poem: Until


Days

where my skin rubs against

the surrounding particles

of the long dead others

and also

silent trapped thoughts

running fingers down

my nakedness

They absorb

into my open pores

and seep into the recesses

those closed in spaces

in between the cells

and shackled together

by this fleshy scarred coat

It chills

and pulls taut

over bones and blood

stretched to breaking

by times passing

This living hull

scratched and worn

Home

until the day

it joins

the earth

 

 

Poem: Which Light?


What started as hard

could be easy in the end

Life is a gamble

where not knowing is a friend

 

Looking back is simple

and seeing all the pain

but to only guess the future

and its crazy moving train

 

Hoping that it goes forward

towards fields of golden light

and the tracks that lay behind

are now distant out of sight

 

Yet still we step upon this ride

without a future sure

and surf the bumps and valleys

through tunnels insecure

 

Then to take this trip

and the curves that may befall

because the only other choice my friend

is to not be here at all…?