Poem: Sunday


Waking up slowly

on comet-tails of gratitude

Counting diamond faceted blessings

streaming by

Cat purrs encouraging

eternal life

While quiet rain

soothes the earth

and brings promises

for a watercolor tomorrow

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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

 

 

Poem: Dirty Wind


Born on a cloud

then

blown by the dirty wind

and caught in the corners

of an unnamed road

Picked up again and again

thrown into a hailstorm of frozen

pebbles

that bang together

but later

melt

turning fluid

then eventually

evaporate into nothing

and disappear within

the world

Lofty


I’ve decided to start a project–a lofty project one might say. Someone gave me the idea this summer, but I didn’t think much of it then, but recently the idea settled in the back of my mind like a little ember and has been burning ever since.

My poetry is by no means award-winning, nor will it ever be found next to the likes of Oliver, Angelou or Plath, but in looking back, I’ve realized it has been somewhat prolific. Over the years of my blog I’ve written over 400 poems. 400! 400? I was quite amazed, and pleased with my writing self.

Some, of course, I like better than others; some are a mere silliness and some just bubble forth to lie down hard. But, none-the-less, they all exist in their own right. The thing is: they exist in the world of the internet and nowhere else. And this, recently, has become unsettling to me.

In our ever-changing world, ever unreliable and unpredictable–it seemed a novel and maybe even prudent idea to save these precious thoughts of mine in a more mundane and old-fashioned way–just in case. In case the internet collapses and goes away. Or, maybe even something less dramatic, that someday my kids just run across my journal where these poems are kept, and are stunned by the notions their mother had in her head.

So I have begun to transcribe all these words into a journal. Sure, I could have simply printed them out. But I wanted to wrap myself around them; taste them with my being as I write; re-live them. I feel like a medieval scribe, hunched over my parchment, cup of tea and sunflower seeds, scribbling, scribbling…

And some I read aloud. I close my eyes. Before me is a cushioned room and other poets such as myself, clutching their poems and listening intently as I share. They will be next to speak their truths, bring their gifts to the small group of unknown writers. Here we feel safe.

For no matter who we are or what we write, good or bad, it is a love of words and the joy of weaving them that unites us all.

Thank you for letting me share mine with you.

 

Reality Shootings


It’s not surprising (to me anyway), that our society is crumbling under an opioid crisis, people suffering from mental illness or comfort eating and heart disease, plus all the many other myriad diseases and problems afflicting us nationally.

One answer seems obvious to me, part of it anyway. Many of us are suffering from PTSD and survivor guilt.

With all the horrible events that have been going on now for years, and I repeat, years—our brains are inundated from the media and our devices by the trauma of seeing the scenes of these events. Many years ago, we rarely would experience the raw horror that we do now–first hand (sometimes from a phone of someone right there): the noise, the blood, the screams, the carnage. And not just once, but over and over. How much can the brain  handle, day after day, year after year, without going over the edge? Mine is certainly on overload.

What is PTSD? It is caused by the triggering of traumatic events: disasters, abuse or any kind of trauma. It can happen when someone you love has been harmed also. Normally we don’t experience it ourselves unless we have been through the event, but what about now? Do you think it’s possible seeing footage from the phone of someone who was actually there during a shooting, would this do the same thing to us? How do these ‘pictures’ stay in our minds: people falling from buildings, human blood everywhere, kids running from a school or actually watching someone being shot…

Let’s face it people, if you are at all caring about your fellow human being, this can’t be good. We are pretty much experiencing these things as though we are there. It’s like reality shootings. Maybe they’ll make a new TV series. They might as well for as much as they play the stuff–and we watch.

What does all this watching do to us anyway?  How does it make you feel when you go out somewhere (or maybe you don’t even want to)? Do you check where the exits are now? Does your heart rate go up if you hear something weird? Are you simply numb to this stuff now? Are you mistrustful of others? Do you feel sad a lot?  Can you sleep at night or have your dreams changed? I know I have been greatly effected by the heinous crimes crushing our country.

Even if we weren’t at these places, we can’t help but feel: why these people? As we pour through their stories, it makes our story feel somewhat meaningless. When it’s a kid… there’s a collective: why so young and what if was my child? It’s so chilling.

And the roulette guilt of: I’m here, they’re not. I’m enjoying my life, those poor people aren’t anymore. My feelings of gratitude just get ruined by the extreme senselessness of it all. It’s just hard to hold those two feelings in the same space.

It’s all this nation wide secondary guilt because nothing is being done about it. We all just sit around waiting for the next one to happen, because we know it will, while law-makers tell us now isn’t the time to talk about any changes in the laws. It’s all so frustrating! So we just wait…holding our breath and wonder where will be next. What venue? How many? What city? Is there a person out there now contemplating it…?

How’s that for your health, while we think: will it be me next time or my kid? That makes my heart thump. This is why I don’t sleep. What about you?

So I ask: do we really need to see this stuff so much? Is it only me that thinks the perpetrators may sometimes do these things because they understand they will be glorified by the media? And all of us watching and watching and watching… Their sick moment of fame.

I’ve made a promise to myself: I will watch no more (or listen or read). What if none of us did? What if we heard about these awful things and said prayers for those dead (and their families), but didn’t pick up our phones, or look on our computers, or shut off our TV and radios? What if we refused? Could we demand from our media sources to stop flooding our minds with such gruesome images and sounds? Instead just report the facts and move on.

Sadly, I can’t seem to create change to laws by my vote, but I can do this one thing instead. It’s something that I do have control over: to reduce the bombardment of the grisly media show to my brain. And by doing this, allowing more space in there for good energy.

It’s ultimately up to us. I’m not saying we can stop people from killing, but maybe we can stop ourselves from becoming a more ill society than we already are, and if we do, maybe this in turn will help in the long run.

Post Irma


All is well and internet is just back up. We really dodged a bullet. Our area for the most part was not hit badly so we were very blessed. The power came back quickly and neighbors all helped each other. For now I will simply share some photos. The are during and after. It’s amazing how after everything just is completely back to normal. It’s like nothing happened….but it totally did!

Little Thoughts


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When thoughts start to clutter my mind now, especially ones that take me away from the present, this is my new mantra:

I am here now; I am alive; I am healthy; I am grateful.

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“Extended bliss is boredom of the existential kind.” from the book NutShell  By Ian McEwan.

Thumbs down 


Back to the drawing board. My secret mission did not really turn out as planned. A bit disappointing, but not completely unexpected. I must keep having faith that things will work out they way they are meant to be. 

The biggest thing I have a hard time remembering is to relax and stick to the ideals and plans I’ve imagined for my life. It’s easy to let impatience and boredom interfere. 

So, stay in the moment and enjoy and be grateful. 

It will all work out as it should. 

Beyond Our Borders 


Patriotism and the ability to have a deep sense that our lives encompass greater spheres are not mutually exclusive. They can reside within one person at the same time. 

We can appreciate many ideals that were the foundation of this nation and have drawn so many to its shores. These ideals are in the heart and soul of most of us; it’s what makes us American. 

But some of us can also can see beyond these ideals: the bigger picture if you will. The global picture, the human picture. And, to some, it seems this makes us less American. 

We could argue about it–and many do now sadly.  People can feel what they will. And many hold much anger these days.

For those of us, though, that are willing and able to be both a decent American and  to see beyond our borders–then if our only reward is that we remember to have gratitude and love, then I suppose we have won in the end.