Miscellaneous Brain Music

POEM: down the drain

2011-04-16T15:15:00.001-04:00

clogged, fine

let it overflow

filth pouring out

spilling onto the floor
sopping everything
in disgusting muck
let it sit there and seep
through the cracks

deep into every space

soaking the dry fibers

swelling membranes
until they are waterlogged
with the raw sewage
and then you have to see it
all of it

POEM: before

2011-04-10T21:48:00.008-04:00

taken 7/09 the eve of my mastecomy

I weep for the earnest face
framed by smooth hair
her calm betrayed
by frightened eyes
that visible dread
almost enviable
a dull blade
compared to experience

my tears shed from a future
filled with unexpected loss
heaped upon the pyre
of what she had anticipated
sobbing for what could have been
for my present reflection
more unrecognizable, yet
just tauntingly familiar enough

I long to tightly encircle
that intact visage
protected in my arms
stroke her smooth hair
oh that lovely smooth hair
and tell her, murmur
whisper in her ear softly
something…but what?

I cannot tell her the truth
too soon to reason away
this much heartless reality
so I would tell her only
that I will try to love her
realizing it won’t be enough
but knowing it is all that’s left
for us both

POEM: high anxiety

2010-07-05T22:27:00.021-04:00

the human body cannot sustain
high levels of anxiety
for very long
the acute state of utter despair
will wane
automatically

at least for a little while
a means of self-protection
from the damage such intensity
could wreak

like labor pains
rest comes during the brief calm

between desperation & numbness
even knowing the storm will swell

once more

and when it does

realization will hit harder

with each passing wave

taking my breath away
with the exquisite pain
of the unknown

becoming manifest

POEM: the limiting grasp of earth

2010-07-05T22:04:00.010-04:00

there are some truths
not easily comprehended
until anguish clears the way
a sudden raging flood
torrential force
sweeping along
all manner of debris
leaving smooth, silty chaos
in its wake
tangled roots, revealed
flailing, torn free
from the limiting grasp of earth

and the relentless grip of the status quo

POEM: here I go again

2010-07-01T21:39:00.001-04:00

I am here again
in that same place
the precipice before the fall
only this time I know
all too well
what the ground looks like
before I hit it

POEM: in the telling

2010-07-01T18:37:00.002-04:00

silent memories
are lost
all the unspoken stories
of generations
abandoned, forgotten
every one is like a little death
erasing bit by bit
the essence of a person
ripped apart

by the cruel hands of time

piece me together
word by word

after I’m gone

please
tell my stories
the ones you remember
even the ones
you only think you do
share them well and often
so that I may live on
in the telling

POEM: pebbles tossed

2010-07-01T06:52:00.001-04:00

how will I learn to cope
to cope, to cope, to cope
all my life
all life
is about that
coping
coping with the worst
the best
the everything that is

we think each day
is a course
to be finished
but there is no line

no path to follow
only circles
rings
pebbles tossed
at random

POEM: insatiable hope

2010-07-01T06:43:00.000-04:00

hope is a dangerous thing
if you don’t feed it enough
suddenly
a hungry mouth
that once thrived
on hidden fears
becomes ravenous
and tears the thin flesh
of denial
devouring anything
without discrimination
revealing brittle bones
of random dreams
once buried deep
in the dark cave
of lost faith
starkly pale in weak defiance
bleached white
by cold reality
and picked clean by truth
hope slowly succumbs
to starvation
and left in its wake
is a hunger deeper than before

swallowing everything

POEM: random stones

2010-07-01T06:35:00.011-04:00

random stones
offered up

from frost-heaved earth
as the weather warms

before spring planting

once gathered

the plough turns up

still more

stony interferences

but if you lay each rock

upon the other

try to fit

jagged edges tightly

you will have a good wall

made out of obstacles

into a new impediment

now with a purpose

to keep in all that is wanted
and out all that is not

a marker

a definition of place

but no matter how well built

that wall will likely crumble
someday
and the trees will smother it
bury it leaf by yearly autumn leaf
each well placed stone

will disappear slowly
leaf by crumbling leaf
until there are only traces
tumbled down traces

meandering aimlessly

thru new forests

where once smooth fields

draped in green and gold

now succumb

to nature's indescriminate will
and what was to be kept in
will be long gone
and what was to be kept out
will come in
let it

POEM: the point

2010-06-30T18:46:00.002-04:00

hope launches each day
floating in deep water
blissfully unaware
warm silk liquid
lapping at skin
gentle waves
buoyant
until
shivering
limbs heavy
with the burden
of their own weight
trudging so reluctantly
to reach the jagged shore
with sharp sands of despair

POEM: individual taste

2010-06-28T22:06:00.008-04:00

Once you have tasted
bitter fruit
you never again
trust
sweetness
in quite the same way

after
each bite is tentative
hesitant
wary of tart cruelty
the tongue curls
despite the appearance of ripeness
the sour sting of reality
is hard to forget

POEM: empty nest

2010-05-15T21:54:00.005-04:00

a small nest
lay upon the snowy ground
disentangled
from the overgrown hedge
of leafless branches
struggling in the bitter wind

carefully woven strands
once held the soft warmth
of fluttering heartbeats
yearning mouths gaping
insatiable hunger
crying out to be fed

but like an empty cup
forlorn
with nothing left to contain
now it is merely the last vestige
of infinite possibility
flown far away

POEM: iron curtain

2010-04-17T16:49:00.004-04:00

divided
there is a curtain slowly being drawn
between before and after
it blocks out the light
impossibly obscuring my view
on both sides
I want to yank it open
but it won’t budge
and my fingers get caught
in the lacy threads
there is no distant horizon
no rear view
only the intricate woven patterns
of the tangled cloth
draping everything

POEM: bleak crocus

2010-04-13T17:31:00.005-04:00

lone crocus

no companions of budding sprigs

beside you

your small glory

will be brief

half hidden amongst the craggy stones

of the rock garden beside my drive

no doubt your early shoots

were pummelled by the pounding rains

of a saturated spring

but you prevailed

if quietly

singly

known only by a few

but precious

to me

POEM: if few and far between

2010-04-13T17:12:00.010-04:00

I want to know happiness again

to feel it warm my cold bones
like spring
find a new way to be myself
come to terms
with lingering wounds

as fresh sap runs

through my poisoned veins

this long season of despair

must not leave me diminished
my legacy to my children
cannot be

a mother root-bound by cancer
they need
I need
to believe that these changes
irrevocable
unbidden
somehow were transcended
transformed
sprouting

into a new life still worth living

beauty-filled

reaching for the sun
let there be lush moments

if few and far between
then at least enough

to scatter a few seeds

and hope they take root

POEM: too small

2010-04-06T16:56:00.007-04:00

When I die
I want to leave a gaping hole
a canyon so wide

as to swallow any who come near its edge

let my death

tear the very fabric of the universe
into shreds

impossible

to be here one minute
then gone the next

to be only passing through
is too damn small

POEM: zombie

2010-04-05T20:38:00.009-04:00

part of me wants to forget
to let the obliteration
of who I once was
reach its completion

while I mindlessly
propel the half empty shell
of my new, lesser being
forward

just forward
no intent
no purpose
just forward

but then I see something

out of the corner of my eye
that reminds me of before
of that woman
the one I used to be
I miss her
more than I have ever missed anyone
I still cannot let her go
in mourning
I grieve
her memory haunts me
a ghost more solid
than the living specter
I have become

POEM: closer still

2010-04-05T15:47:00.006-04:00

even with Death stalking me

closer still now
hot breath
moist
upon my neck

I fail
I fall
I forget
to give all I have
to live all I am
today

POEM: a year later

2010-03-30T21:12:00.006-04:00

where are the gentle spring rains
of only a year ago
as I watched the star magnolia tree
with clean, glowing white buds
blossom out my morning window
against soft gray skies

now torrential rains
empty from charcoal clouds
soaking the drenched ground
while rivulets stream down

the foggy windowpanes
obscuring the view of mud spattered flowers

POEM: sediment

2010-03-30T20:40:00.005-04:00

murky puddles form
from endless pounding rain
sediment stirred up from beneath
waves of muddy clouds
dance in clear water
amoebic shadows of muck
portend of ambiguity

POEM: deluge

2010-03-29T17:10:00.014-04:00

This spring has been too wet
rain upon rain
the rivers and creeks swollen
rushing beyond their capacity
once quiet streams
now rage with dangerous rapids
my body, too is beyond its capacity
angry white waves
ravaging what is left
of my crumbling banks
drenched
I am flooded with realizations
somewhere debris had accumulated
once lodged tight, a barricade formed
but now the dam has burst
water always seeks its own level
the deluge is creating a new channel
carved by sheer torrential force,
overflowing, smoothing out all the river bends
the once meandering twists and turns
now washed away
a landscape changed irreparably

POEM: veiled threat

2010-02-10T20:33:00.008-05:00

who wears the veil
hiding the truth?
what shroud is worse;
is it the one worn by
the woman I was,
blind to the danger
lurking,
growing silently inside me?

or is the one worn by
the woman I am now,
who only sees the world
thru a dark haze,
dimmed
by the endless havoc
wreaked upon my body?

one veil shields
the other reveals,
both conceal clarity
in a misty layer,
a shadow
blurring the precious vision
I once held of myself

I long to shed
this faint cloud
that obscures my sight,
but I find myself afraid
the glare may be too much
and could turn my eyes
to seek the thin solace of darkness
permanently

Poem: pink is not

2010-01-31T21:11:00.005-05:00

pink is not my color
i am not a warrior wrapped
in baby-girl shades
draped in softness
safe
i am a grown woman
facing terror
running into it head on
like walking on hot coals
red flames dancing at my feet
or deeply holding my ground
while steel blue waves
toss my body
endlessly
thrashing it upon the shore
but pink is not my color
it is just a tag
a faded label
inadequate
unwanted

POEM: innocence lost

2010-01-26T22:03:00.002-05:00

once your body has betrayed you
it is impossible to forget
you can forgive
like a lover that strayed
now seeking absolution
my body has been punished enough
for its sin
but I will always remember
the feel of it
something out of place
not right
and will instinctively go
to that place
whenever a vague symptom
arises
a trust once broken so deeply
cannot be regained

and I weep for my innocence lost

and the freedom it took with it

POEM: yesterday

2010-01-04T21:04:00.004-05:00

Wasn't it just yesterday
I sat moody
sprawled on my bedroom floor
draped over my guitar
scratching away on pages
laid before me
like a banquet
feasting upon the youth
of my own song?

POEM: creation vs. destruction

2010-01-04T20:52:00.003-05:00

to utterly destroy
obliterate
is to make way for creation
both locked in an endless dance
a tumbling struggle
one defies the other
defines the other
each contains the other's seed
and lays a tangled journey
in front of me

POEM: thru this pen

2010-01-04T20:48:00.003-05:00

There is no real comfort
for me now
no haven for my body
to find peace
to retreat into
no deep rest
from this wearying plague
any escape left to me
flows only thru this pen

POEM: vanity

2010-01-04T20:33:00.009-05:00

This is real
not a movie
some late night tear-jerker
where the heroine
bravely
defiantly
shaves her head
I am not brave
nor resolute
not willing to let go
I am vain
watching helplessly
as my crowning glory
fails
strand by strand
hope against hope
that somehow
someway
my grandmother's roots
the same ones that kept the gray
from tainting my locks
beyond the pale of youth
hoping those tough familial roots
would spare me this indignity
this insult upon too many others
but roots only go so deep
and hair is as mortal
as vanity

POEM: Creationism

2010-01-04T20:20:00.004-05:00

Creation

you are much more

merciless

than destruction ever could be

because you hide

behind pretense

of salvage

POEM: a bigger house

2009-12-03T00:08:00.020-05:00

veiled in that obvious way you often choose
when you are trying to hurt me
without claiming ownership
you were careless with my feelings
informing me that if we got a bigger house
you would need my help to keep it clean
like a patient father to his irresponsible child
you implied I don't pull my weight
clearly you are overburdened
doing more than your fair share
at your limit in this, our small house

later, with not a little bitterness
I foolishly pointed out that blue bucket
you left by the garage for months now
one among many items carelessly forgotten
left strewn out doors, for all to see
embarrassing to me, but not to you
snapping back, quickly, sharply,
the veil lifted now, the intent clear
a blow tossed at me with deliberate aim
wasn't it I, not you, that wanted a bigger house
yet thanks to me you have no time as it is now
to take care of all that needs doing in this
our smaller, seemingly less demanding home

Late now, I wonder if you will ever know
the things I do that go unseen, tho maybe few
they would be missed if I should stop
but then again, my messes are private
they don’t announce themselves loudly to others
or reveal the inner turmoil, the secret, ugly side
not like yours, out there glaring for all to see
yet you always manage to ignore your own
never looking underneath, where the dirt is ground in

today, of all days, you said mean things to me
you made me cry, catch my breath hard
forcing me to hide my tears from your cold heart
when I needed to see it beating kindly
tomorrow I let them pump poison in my veins
as you sit and hold my hand
chemicals meant to kill mutant cells
but which toxic venom is more destructive
or hurts me more? Which mess is easier
to sweep under the rug
and forget about?

POEM: Free Pass

2009-12-03T00:02:00.002-05:00

You don’t get to judge me
you don’t get to blame me
you don’t get to direct me
or tell me how to be, how to feel
this isn’t about you
your feelings are your own providence

See, I have a "get out of jail free" card

a monopoly of deserving

it's only fair
I can show it to you
I’ll lift my shirt and you will see it
a violent gash, a deep, gnarled scar
it means you have to do what I need
or just stay away from me
and let me do whatever I must
in order to survive this

Because if I don’t survive this
you will have nothing left to judge
or to accuse me of, or complain about
anyway

POEM: what to keep, what to discard

2009-11-30T22:02:00.002-05:00

Sorting thru boxes in the basement
I find random, scattered remnants
things I thought were important
crammed into unmarked containers

the notebook I used to keep track
of the times I nursed my first baby
sleep deprived scribblings
evidence of a mother’s nervous dedication

keep

the childhood rock collection
in a scratched plastic box
purchased with my own money
from a vacation gift shop

keep

the cards I bought but never sent
misplaced when they were needed
people absent from my life now
no longer worth saving

discard

these bits and pieces are like lines on a map
the road leads to a place of order
but I am lost amongst the stories
and don’t want to find my way just yet

POEM: Lifeline

2009-11-03T21:03:00.003-05:00

unwisely I yearn to grasp
to grab, to hold on
to what is only possible
instead of the probable
or the likely
I want stronger lines
tethering my spirit

because to see Hope’s dark side
is to glimpse that offering
held just out of reach
but dangled enticingly
a frayed promise
made to be broken

POEM: room with a view

2009-10-23T14:33:00.005-04:00

People listen when you have cancer
they stop, hanging on every word I say
funny
suddenly my thoughts have more weight
as if I’ve opened a door to wisdom
closed to every one else

Maybe there is such a door
open to me now
new vistas on the other side
perspective shifted
clarity comes in waves
unbidden

But I’m not sure about the wisdom part
perhaps that is not it
perhaps the only thing I have learned
from glimpsing behind that door
that heavy, terrible door
is that I know less than I ever dreamed
my view, unimpeded by triviality
unlocked
goes on for miles

POEM: residue

2009-09-12T16:35:00.006-04:00

cancer has left a trail
of dust and debris
that has no where to go
it can’t be swept up
trying to
only scatters the particles
more and more
creating a hazy cloud
swirling in the sunbeam
where it might have been missed
dancing defiantly in the light
until a shadow comes
and all evidence disappears
from view

sometimes
others unknowingly pass thru
without realizing
everything in sight
is covered in a thin dusty layer
the residue my reminder
of futility

POEM: Janis knew

2009-09-09T21:29:00.010-04:00

I remember singing Bobby McGee
eyes closed tight
lost completely in the moment
pouring all my angst
into each simple line
as I rocked back and forth
strumming the guitar intently

I lacked a little of the rasp
that signature voice
the edge that comes with age
or from knowing the deep ache
of hard blues, intimately
yet still fresh
entrenched in youth
when I first learned the song
I could hardly have known
what was to come
what there was to be lost

“Freedom’s just another word
for nothin’ left to lose”

I will never be free like that again
and I miss it immeasurably
the loss pulls tight at me sometimes
on a late summer night like this
mournful of all that has come to pass

meaning awakens realization now
I know that freedom can be traded
or lost like a poor soul
every wisdom comes with a price
mine is to know that I have everything
and that it is all so beautifully fleeting

I think Janis knew too

POEM: shrill cricket!

2009-08-29T22:03:00.008-04:00

Shrill cricket, let me write!

Why must you challenge me so?
Can’t you be peaceful
like the ladybug on my chair
so small it nearly went unnoticed
delicate and unobtrusive
she flitted gracefully away
before I had a chance to count
the spots on her fluttering wings

But you, damned cricket
uninvited guest, unseen
but clearly heard
with your piercing cry
relentless, unnerving
you tell a different story
harsh reminder
of the songs I want to sing
but have not yet begun
and may not get a chance to
for interruptions
unplanned

POEM: birth of a scar

2009-08-26T21:27:00.008-04:00

raw, ravaged and torn
my flesh gapes wide

new tissue
looks nothing like what I thought
no pink, delicate flesh
but angry growth

instead
rages beneath the exterior
a glimpse of what lies underneath
the subtly of skin
the birth of a deep scar, well earned

POEM: necrosis

2009-08-14T18:14:00.004-04:00

death is not always big
sometimes it is small
and quiet
decomposing unseen
until it is too late
death can grow
spreading decay
consuming flesh & soul
transforming beauty into
the ugliest of truths
that nothing is sacred
nothing is safe
nothing is beyond its grasp
sometimes when small things die
they leave big holes behind
deeper than they look
emitting a rancid stench
hope, putrified

POEM: the tie that binds

2009-08-12T21:34:00.003-04:00

Slipping away
like silken strands
loose
too smooth to catch firmly
clutching frantically
my grasp is weak
memories run through my grip
faster than I can hold them
the recollection of what it was like
before
of what my life used to be
when I was whole
that precious, simple existence
disappears
as the tether that binds it to me
is yanked away too quickly
the tie severed, cut
and any knot retied
will be a constant reminder
even if I close my eyes
I’ll still feel it

POEM: beyond every why

2009-07-25T21:37:00.001-04:00

you melt me
one glimmer of smile
and I am gone
your joy
is mine
and I am smitten
beyond comprehension
such a powerful thing
the love of a mother
for her children
it is the truth
in all beauty
and the reason
beyond every why

POEM: full circle

2009-07-25T21:36:00.006-04:00

when you first grew
in my body
I wondered how I could love
another child as much
as I loved my first

so deep has been my love for Megan
I couldn’t imagine another being
coming into that circle
but you, our sweet Daniel

you not only joined our circle
you somehow made it more complete
a loving embrace
to hold us all tight

seamless

as if you had been there all along

I believe in some way you were

always a part of us

even before you arrived

POEM: Meggie's Eyes

2009-07-25T21:21:00.005-04:00

after you were born
from the moment you opened your eyes
for the first time
dark baby blue, endless
I got lost in their depth
falling deeper in love than I ever imagined
I wondered what they would look like
as you grew

Slowly they turned brighter blue
sparkling
sharp, searching, focusing
finding my face easily
our eyes locked into long soulful looks

as I nursed you for hours
your stare was intense
even strangers often remarked
about the powerful beauty
of your strong gaze

As the first years began to pass
I wondered if your eyes might turn green
like mine
for many years of my childhood
my mother said I had blue eyes
but when I looked at my face
really looked at my own face
they were not blue
but green
even photographs showed the change
she hadn’t noticed

No one in my family has my eyes
they are unique
my favorite thing
about myself
I’ve never seen the color on anyone else
until the day you looked up at me
barely four
smiling
and there they were staring back at me
pale green
enticing
like the sea on a gentle shore
and I knew
I saw them
I saw you
finally my eyes were no longer
alone
and on you they are more beautiful
than I could have ever dreamed

POEM: if this wasn't me

2009-07-22T12:22:00.009-04:00

This isn’t me
I’m the escape artist
quitting before the going gets tough
hiding from fear, from pain
I’m the one that always gets away
dented, perhaps
a little the worse for wear
but not annihilated
not damaged irreparably
coming out the other side
I have often been better than before
eventually
until now

Yes, my childhood left its wounds
my escape was a bit too close
for comfort
no visible scars, tho
well
at least not until I made them so
with layers of fat
burying the deepest pain
hiding it
for all the world to see

But layers such as those can be shed
like a snake
or perhaps not
perhaps more like a moth
emerging from a cocoon
in the cover of dark
completely changed
from one thing into another
I facilitated my own metamorphosis
at the midnight hour

forced to

just in time

Now I am pinned down
caught
like a specimen
the one who everyone will see
as an example
a walking cautionary tale
reminding people to be afraid
for a minute, maybe more
but after that they’ll go on with their day
their life
unscathed
shaking their heads in pity

at my paper thin wings

now disintegrated
happy not to be me
I understand how they feel
How could I begrudge them their relief?
I’d be happy, too
if this wasn't me

POEM: the wind doesn't care

2009-07-12T22:29:00.004-04:00

The wind doesn't care

whipping along

the swaths of crown vetch

along the highway's edge

dance

pink blooms undulate and sway

like rolling waves

in a storm at sea

Stronger limbs would break

under the force

while these delicate green strands

bend

to any will not their own

POEM: calendar girl

2009-07-06T21:42:00.013-04:00

It felt like Tuesday all day
though it was only Monday
how many moments
have fallen behind, lost

where do they go?

I wish time flowed like water
fluid
instead of fits and stops
jolting

I wish there was at least one day
that matched the calendar
in my head

POEM: shades of life

2009-07-02T01:34:00.001-04:00

Summer has draped my view
of the cemetery
with a green curtain
just glimpses, now, of the other side
through the thick lush foliage
a stark contrast
level, hard gray stones
dotting a smooth, round grassy hill
rising up to the horizon
divided from the sky
separate, distinct
all seen through a verdant veil
and shaded by life

POEM: not my home

2009-06-28T21:53:00.042-04:00

When I see myself now
as I take stock in the mirror
I can still remember what I looked like
the basic structure of my form
when I was a child
a young woman
a new mother
my body changed again and again
a slow evolution
the natural process
merely witnessed
I can barely remember how it felt
only how I looked

There was a long time once when I disregarded
my form
my shape
my self
hiding, I buried her in layer upon layer
of flesh
of fat
of pain
until I was unrecognizable
smothered
but eventually I rediscovered my native essence
and peeled away those thick, heavy layers
until my body was my own again
damaged but still familiar

Now in only an afternoon's time
with the sculpting of a surgeon’s scalpel
I will no longer be the same
a new form
a new shape
a new self
will emerge from the reconstruction
and I don’t know how that will be
will I ever feel comfortable
in my own skin again
or will it always feel rearranged
unfamiliar
like living in a house that is not my home

POEM: velocity

2009-06-28T21:34:00.006-04:00

velocity makes all the difference
rapid change seems drastic
sending the senses reeling
leaving the bitter tang
of metallic taste in my mouth
but the slow pace of crawling time
is a comfort, yielding gentle transitions
that are no less inevitable
yet without trepidation
acceptance can grow gradually
have a chance to mellow, deepen
into a full, luscious vintage
sweet upon the tongue
a vague memory, the flavor
of any former essence
barely remains
so as not to distinguish sharply
the new vine from the old

POEM: I am lost

2009-06-27T21:55:00.004-04:00

To conserve and irradiate
or to obliterate and rebuild
these are not fit choices
for any mortal woman

As a mother I choose simply
as a woman it is more complicated
and fear of regret
sits heavy in my heart
a driving force that has me
spinning my wheels in place

While I try and weigh the options
numbers and statistics are no measure
of the potential for human life
yet like signs in a language I can’t read
they point in the direction I need to go
a most reluctant tourist
with an unreadable map, I am lost

POEM: uncaged

2009-06-27T21:28:00.006-04:00

Is it all too much
indulgent of me to wallow
captivated entirely
with my own selfish need
to endlessly express
the minutia of my every
thought
about this interminable disease
and how it has impacted
invaded
my entire existence

A shadow over every thing
all else pales
in the dark light
of this self absorbed prison

Release seems almost
more frightening
than incarceration
for to escape means
letting go
and letting go means
a failure to appreciate
the cage

POEM: Wisdom has left the building

2009-06-27T18:03:00.014-04:00

each available option is fraught
with the torment of Uncertainty
Doubt lurks around every corner
waiting to pounce on my Fear
and feed off of it, well-nourished
creature that she has become of late

I wish not so much for Knowledge
to make the definitive, right choice
but instead I long for pure Faith
that innocent child of Trust & Hope

only willing Belief could bring me Peace
as Wisdom has left the premises
and I don’t anticipate her return
any time soon…she took Sanity with her
and you know what that means!

they are hiding from this impossible choice
and so I make it alone now, resting uneasy
until Hindsight makes her way here
and offers me Comfort rather than Regret
while Compassion holds my hand, ever so gently

POEM: in my own skin

2009-06-20T20:11:00.010-04:00

Not sure
I can
write myself
thru this
ordeal
perhaps
this one
may finally
be too much
too hard
for even
the most
poignant
heartbreaking
gut wrenching
words
to express
to empty
to help me
find comfort
or solace
or peace
in my own
skin
again

POEM: hope

2009-06-20T19:54:00.003-04:00

Hope lies there
dormant
sullen
curled up
in a corner
at the bottom
of the box

She won’t come out
won’t even look
my way
and it’s been
a long, long time
since I’ve seen her
face
or recognized
my own

POEM: goodbye

2009-06-20T18:17:00.009-04:00

undulating skin
round areola
pale pink
softness
surrounding the
generous nipple
pleasure
milk
I will miss you
he will miss you
we will miss you
I am sorry
forgive me
I will try
to forgive you
goodbye

POEM: unaffected

2009-06-19T20:27:00.008-04:00

I am weary and tired
of this unending quest
no answers are clear
no solution seems to fit
the losses are adding up
I know I should be glad
my very life is the prize
the precious gold ring
that is dangled enticingly
almost assured of winning it
yet I want so much more
I want to be unscarred
unscathed in mind and body
and that is not possible

I want to suckle my son
dreamily in the morning
as we both wake to the dawn
a new day ahead of us
shining and fresh, unspoiled

my daughter sits beside me
curled under my arm
her head against my breast
the one that they will take away
my son lays beside me
drinking from the other breast
the one they say is “unaffected”
but it is affected, we are all affected
unable to share my milk
poisoned, polluted
damaged beyond repair
how can that not be an affect?

POEM: the same thread (for my brother)

2009-06-19T10:54:00.012-04:00

I climb out of bed
the same way every morning
disentangling myself
carefully, gently
from between my two children
each has their side of me

I look back at the bed
as I do every day
and feel the warmth overtake
my heart, glowing
their sweet faces soft with sleep

When I check on them
from time to time
until they wake
I see that they have gravitated
towards one another
becoming a tender tangle of just two
an intricate weave

Throughout the day I am often
touched, elated, proud
by the way they love each other
they are inseparable
Meggie, my little mother
wanting to make him smile
playful and creative
Daniel, joyful, exuberant, demanding
adoring her, emulating her
there are squabbles but never fights
they forgive each other easily
each wants for the other to be happy
a gift for a mother’s heart

I think of my own little brother
our wicked fights, animosity
not our fault
competing for the meager scraps
the weak strands of our parents love
scattered fragments of normalcy
there were moments of sharing
of a sibling bond
but they were few, thin

stretched beyond capacity

Grown now, no longer so little
towering over me, a man with his own children
he called when he found out I had cancer
His voice broke, “Sis, I know…I love you”
and we cried for a moment, wordless

I was reminded of when he called me to say
our father had died, unexpectedly
a man I hadn’t spoken to in years
who never knew my children
but for whom my brother still reached out for
despite everything

I said with tears in my eyes,
“David, I am so sorry for your loss.”
because for him it was a fresh wound
mine had healed long ago
mended with tightly woven mesh

It seems human bonds are always tangled
some create a strong tapestry
beautiful fabric tightly woven
and others are threadbare, worn
with gaping holes beyond patching
but both are still tied together
by the same thread
never to be unraveled

POEM: losing my grip

2009-06-17T09:25:00.002-04:00

everything falls flat
the sounds I hear
are missing a certain tone
the scenery lacks depth
vivid shades of color
are lost
my voice faint
barely discernable
amidst the din
of this loud disease
I am fading away
bit by bit
before I have even begun
to fight
how will I ever find
the strength to go on
without myself
to hold on to?

POEM: apple tree

2009-06-13T18:24:00.019-04:00

twisted old apple tree
decrepit survivor
when once on this land
there lay a farm, somewhere
all gone now
the only other vestige
a stone wall wandering in the woods
marking out long ago fertile fields

our first winter here
or was it the second?
an ice storm ravaged the forest
that now grew deep and lush
amongst the once cleared ground
trees, snapped like twigs
all night, a heart wrenching sound
falling over and over
like soldiers on a battle field

the old apple tree lay nearly flat
that next morning
roots upended and exposed
but we propped it back up
heaped earth around the base
pruned away some limbs for balance
and left it alone
in peace

the autumn after my first child’s birth
after I nearly took my last breath
as she took her first
while I struggled to live
that twisted, maimed old tree
bore fruit
one lone apple hung amongst the tangle
of unpruned branches
and spiking water sprouts

I thought briefly of pruning
cutting away more branches
to turn it into a productive tree
but she had been through enough
if she chose to bear fruit
that was a gift
if not, then it was okay
she earned her rest

some years there is a bounty of apples
other years only a few
some years merely a blossom or two
the promise unfulfilled
yet still as sweet
for it's fleeting fragrance
if not for the body, then
nourishment for the soul

POEM: too late to revel in the glory

2009-06-08T21:42:00.015-04:00

look at your breasts

see them anew
for me

if they are whole
are healthy
are both still intact
please know what I did not
that they are a treasure
know how lucky you are

enjoy them
cherish them
love them
no matter what you used to think

round and firm,
the blessing of youth
a gentle sloping curve,
the gift of maturity
small and unassuming
or large and cumbersome
generous
pendulous
drooping
pointy
compact
unyielding

they are all so amazing
so beautiful
so unique
so utterly precious

and sadly, fragile, too

my wish for any woman
is to know her breasts as a blessing
a simple gift
and to do what she can
to keep them safe

my wish for myself
is to forget all that now
and let go
too late to revel in the glory

POEM: too soon

2009-05-19T12:51:00.011-04:00

I miss your suckling lips
that sweet face, staring into mine
the ease with which we came together
and even when we parted
and moved on about our day
I knew there was a next time
and another
so many more days and nights were to follow
until you chose some day to let go
of mother’s milk
on your own terms

a bond stronger than iron
gentle as rain

but now it is gone
that bond broken by my own hand
those days are to be no more
soon they will dry up
arid, empty, floating in memory
like a dead leaf upon the wind
a loss so deep I feel it in my skin
as much as in my heart

My breasts ache for you
and my only consolation
is that while you have not yet forgotten
you seem satisfied now
with my arms
my long hair
my singing voice
my immense love alone
will be enough for you

Oh my dearest child
it is by losing my breast
that you will have all of me still
and by forgetting mother’s milk
you will have your mother’s life
a cruel twist of fate
but with at least some mercy
for both of us, I hope

POEM: The Flow

2009-05-16T12:27:00.004-04:00

Today I want to write
some days that is all I really want to do
admittedly, almost shamefully
not to mother
nor to be a wife
not even a friend
but just to sit with pen and paper
or keyboard and screen
and write
pour words out like drops of blood
empty my veins
release the flow
cleansed by getting out the thoughts
before they disappear and become lost
unfamiliar, mutated
like a tangled clot

Yet the very distractions
that keep me from the page
are what give my voice
something to say

Strange beast, this writing thing
without the pull away from it
I would never be able to come back
the longing would be filled
with other things, perhaps
the pull would be away
from other places
that flow would be redirected
and I would bleed no more
but I think
the wound would somehow still be missed
like a phantom limb
haunting my memory
but without remembering

POEM: cracked shell

2009-05-11T18:40:00.006-04:00

Don’t disturb my shell, please
the thin, delicate wall
I’ve built around my fear

encloses it and keeps it from escaping

If you break through

it will shatter and I will smash
into tiny chards, like glass
not to be touched
lest they cut the flesh
of the very one who offers comfort

I'll have to sweep them up

like grains of jagged sand

sharply slipping through fingers

and mingling with my blood and tears.

Don't disturb my shell, please

it's all that is holding me together now

POEM: please baby, don't wake

2009-05-02T22:08:00.002-04:00

please baby, sleep, don’t wake
because I cannot put you back to sleep
I don’t know how, anymore
without giving you what you want
and cannot have
I am so lost

oh my darling boy, you will never remember
how sweetly you suckled at my breasts
the tenderness with which I stroked your hair
soft, golden like my own
the loving way you gazed up at me
blue eyes turning green
like mine

when you were first born
our nursing was harder than with your sister
sometimes it doesn’t go easy
but because I had the gift of her
I knew
and I kept going
and you learned, quickly
we worked it out

as you grew you came to my breast
less often
this is as it should be
a busy toddler has things to do
to become
I imagine it is easy at that age
to lose the connection
just a little
but my breasts kept us tied
for those precious times
when you wanted comfort
or to sleep
or just to remember that you were loved

I had assumed that like your sister
our nursing would continue
until you were much, much older
you, like her at this age, showed no signs
of giving it up any time soon
but then this cancer happened
and Mama’s ta-ta’s are not okay
they are broken
and I must take them away from you
or be taken away from you myself

it sounds so simple
but it is the hardest thing I have ever done in my entire life
and I mourn for this more than for anything else
I might lose

last night you woke
lying next to me
crying
wanting my breast
I said no, hoping you would drift back to sleep
but you didn’t
yet I thought I had to remain firm
for what will happen during the days to come
when my breasts offer you poison
and not the sweet milk you crave?

you cried, Daniel, my darling
you begged, “Mama, pease!”
I cried, I rocked you, I cursed the universe
for making me do this wretched thing
to one I love more than life itself

and I do, my Daniel, love you
more than my own life
if I thought it would be best for you
or your sister
I would die
I would let the cancer take me
and give you my milk till the end
you must believe that

but I know what you cannot
that to lose me would be worse

I want you to forgive me
so much it is a physical ache
that will hurt more than anything
wrack me with more pain
than this cancer will ever inflict

but it is not for myself
that I want your forgiveness
although I would treasure it
more than you could know
it is for your own sake
that I want you to forgive Mama
please, my baby, my heartsong
you must not let this divide you
from your mother
for you still need me
that you and your sister still need me
is what I am living for

please baby, sleep, don’t wake
Mama loves you

POEM: turn the page

2009-04-29T10:23:00.003-04:00

I can't stand this

I don't want to be the brave

inspirational

cancer woman

fighting for her life

a one-breasted warrior

battling on

for the sake of her children

I want my old life back

the simple little one

that I should have loved more

Did I dream too big?

Did my reaching for immortality

with words, by pen

invite Irony, that nasty

little mutant creature

to infiltrate, invade

and add this new storyline to my life?

I want to turn the page now please.

POEM: reconstruction

2009-04-28T17:35:00.007-04:00

I wish I remembered
the last time I took a shower without knowing
I didn’t think to take notice

or treasure the simplicity

Now, each time

I look at my body, my breasts
I think that soon they, at least one, will change
forever
each time I look at myself
my face
my hair
my eyes
I know they are not the same
already changed
something has been removed
before the scalpel has even touched me

What will it look like after?
What reconstruction is there for innocence?

POEM: blood & milk

2009-04-26T11:57:00.012-04:00

blood and milk,
each vital, nourishing
my breasts flow with both now
one feeds my last baby,
drawn out in tenderness
the other, wounded, healing
forcibly drained
pumped as a sign of faith
both elixirs
evidence of hope

POEM: evening unleashed

2009-04-21T06:37:00.004-04:00

evening is letting go

there's little left to do

what's still undone will have to wait

the precious bit of time remaining

belongs not to the putting away of things

but to getting comfortable

settling down

unwinding thoughts

unraveling the tightly wound tether

that ties me to the day

loose now I drift

floating

the words come if I am patient

ideas flourish in front of me

on the page

they weave their way gently

until they are complete

unexpectedly

and the last knot releases

soaring

I am done

until tomorrow

POEM: voice

2009-04-19T05:12:00.001-04:00

I’ve found my voice
I recognize it
as if it were always mine,
only lost for a while
Yet I know that all it speaks
is different now,
a quality that is new
emerging
from the center
this midpoint that lies
between all there is for me
and all there has been
My new voice recognizes me
and knows we belong together

POEM: my degree

2009-04-18T06:42:00.004-04:00

I once felt unqualified
I had no authority
that I could display
no proof of my legitimate place
but sometimes, sometimes
I found myself knowing
what I know
an unadulterated truth
yet I hesitated to speak
now I offer it up
bravely, determinedly
despite my lack
of proper tag or label
who will listen
becomes less a question
I care to ask
knowing only that to exist
to be earnest
to be passionate and open
are my diplomas
better than any hanging on a wall
or shoved in a dusty box
that I think outside of anyway
because I still can

POEM: forsythia

2009-04-16T11:38:00.005-04:00

I didn't force any forsythia to bloom

distracted,

spring beat me to it

now long arching branches

are studded with little yellow trumpets

small but noisy

blaring

they remind me that I forgot them

shouting

they herald change is inevitable

Time marches on

POEM: Pygmalion

2009-04-16T06:55:00.000-04:00

As your Eliza Doolittle
I had to find the middle ground
when you were done with me
dropped
from the heights you flung me
you let me fall
because I couldn’t fly

but if you’d only held my hand
a little longer
I could have at least hovered
if not so high
then farther than I was able
to make it on my own

A stone once carved can’t go back
to being a rock
to continue life
it must be beheld
eyes upon it
once you turn your back
it is left deformed by the chisel
unable to pick up the pieces
chipped away
now dust

POEM: seasoned

2009-04-14T07:01:00.000-04:00

When young
I wrote from a point
of influence
but now I write
half as a child
fresh, clean
my own voice alone
but yet still as a woman
older, wiser
experiences available
expressed without hesitation
or filter
my own voice now echoes
the song of a life
already half lived

ESSAY: A Question of Faith

2009-04-14T05:50:00.003-04:00

Though I am not a believer in any religion, I consider myself a woman of faith. I couldn’t have gotten thru some of the rough patches in my life without a deep sense of faith – and like a lot of us I've had my share of tough times to get thru.

In fact the one time I almost didn’t make it through a period of severe adversity was when I’d completely lost my sense of faith. I found myself deep in a pit of despair where I held out no hope; no future was worth looking towards. Thankfully, by what I call sheer grace and a little dumb luck, I managed to hold on. Slowly I regained my footing and life went on. It was different, but I came to accept that.

With acceptance of “what is” often comes a degree of peace. Not to mention surprisingly positive elements can sometimes be discovered during the most negative events of our lives. I don’t see that as a grand purpose for suffering, though, as if we had some lesson to learn that can only be taught through adversity. Rather, I attribute it to human nature and our innate ability to make sense out of the seemingly senseless. We search for meaning, for that which gives us consolation and comfort, and finding good amidst tragedy provides us with something to hold on to. We, most of us, manage to find hope and the strength to keep going.

Realizing all of this has reaffirmed my faith, but more importantly it also redefined my specific sense of that faith. At this stage of my life I have come to disbelieve in the type of deity that literally controls my destiny, nor do I think the universe is sentient in the way we humans typically define it, therefore it is not capable of guiding or saving me.

So what exactly do I have faith in, from a spiritual point of view, and how does it sustain me?

For one thing, I have faith in myself in terms of my own mortal strength. Secondly, I have faith in the over all collective goodness of humanity. Lastly, I have faith in the natural universe beyond my singular life – the sun will rise tomorrow no matter what.

The faith I have in myself reminds me it is often within our power to change, to transform various difficulties beyond what we may realize at first. But even if something cannot be changed we can adapt and go on. Adaptation is miraculous and worthy of awe. Change happens. Maybe life will be harder, maybe it will really suck sometimes, but there is at least some semblance of contentment still to be had, eventually. And even the most meager crumb of happiness is enough to make life worthwhile in the face of the unknown alternative. Life is NOT cheap; it is precious, mysterious and wonder-full even at its bleakest.

But bleak is not the natural state of things! I have faith in the unlimited potential for good existent in humankind. (While "good & evil" are qualities ascribed by humans, they are useful descriptive devices for labeling the societal mores and preferences that are necessary for civilization as we know it). So, certainly there is malevolence to be found, but I have faith in the possibility of transcendence. And call me an optimist but I do believe that light can overcome darkness and that what we define as good can always triumph over what we deem evil. We humans possess remarkable powers to change much of what plagues our species. Our baser qualities can be transcended, transformed. Hate, fear, anger, ignorance, all can be unlearned and replaced with love, hope, kindness and understanding. Mind you, utopian ideals are not something I espouse or aspire to here! I just hold the thought that the scales can be tipped for the greater good. This belief gives me hope. We can all make a difference; even the smallest acts of compassion or altruism are worthwhile and can have farther-reaching effects than is imaginable. It is not egocentric to act as if your life matters to others if it causes you to strive for society’s greater good. Every life has intrinsic value and can make an impact.

Finally, I have faith that the world won’t end tomorrow. That sounds trite or silly, but really what it means to me is that the universe in all its flux & flow, in all its evolution, will be here when I wake up in the morning, and at least in some capacity beyond my lifespan. My daily trials and triumphs, however huge they are to me, are a microscopic dent in the complex system that is our entire cosmos. Rather than make me feel insignificant or contradict my belief that every life matters, it instead gives me comfort to be a part of something so impressively vast. There is something bigger than me – in effect, everything is bigger than me. There’s plenty of room for anything under the sun and most of it is a lot more important than my individual desires or disappointments.

But as the universe is so big and faith is such an individual thing we tend to have need of a personal relationship with it. If I need to give a name, to provide some central focus for my faith, I think of it in terms of energy personified by the sacred feminine, Goddess, if you will. Aside from the empowering gender implications, this is a metaphor for that which I cannot possibly fully describe. She becomes the quantum thread that connects my inner, deeper self to the divine spark in others and to the natural world of which we are all a part. This thread is woven into a wholistic tapestry, an elegant theory of Everything-ness. Whether metaphorical Universal Mother, archetype of Self, or Gaia as sacred earth-home, I find comfort and poetic harmony in her expression as my holy touchstone.

It is not that I have faith in her, but that my faith can be portrayed by her.

POEM: Death doesn't live

2009-04-12T16:10:00.002-04:00

Death doesn’t live at a cemetery
It visits, of course
I’m not turning a blind eye
But Death is only passing through
merely there briefly
for that stark moment
of funerary realization
that the end has come,
this is it
there is no more

After that
after the living have gone
and taken Death home with them
the deceased stay behind
become bodies
corpses
remains
not human anymore
transforming
breaking down
part of the surroundings
of everything
not separate entities
no identity any longer
beyond a new, granite persona

What is left
what is seen
are only the markers
of what was
a hard, cold footnote
no after life
only an after thought
a reminder
to live first before dying

Death doesn’t live in a cemetery
Death doesn’t live anywhere
Death doesn’t live
but we do
for a while

POEM: unnoticed

2009-04-11T20:47:00.004-04:00

Railroad tracks beside me

glimpse of still water in front of me

across the road

thru the leafless spring trees

and tangled empty vines

I know the pond is there

can just make out the reflection

of limbs and trunks

upon its dark, glassy surface

But if this water were not familiar to me

would I see it?

Or would it go unnoticed

its reflection part of the background

blending in

merely part of the tangled throng

of lifeless wood and carpet of dried leaves

that surround it now

When spring and summer are going full force

the pond view will be completely obscured

green, lush foliage

buzzing with growth

alive

the still water will be hidden

from anyone passing by

But I suppose

no matter the season

this little pond could easily go unnoticed

unless you knew it was there

POEM: the edge of knowing

2009-04-08T18:33:00.008-04:00

There is a moment

right before awareness

an innocence poised

at the brink

at the edge

before tumbling over

into the chasm

of knowing

That fleeting second

before plummeting

becomes so precious

only after the fall

in retrospect

If only

that moment

could be so loved

without facing the depths

terrible

POEM: Fix it

2009-04-08T18:25:00.012-04:00

I show him, guide him

let him feel the lump

half hoping in some crazy way

that he'll say,

"oh yeah, one of those,

that's no problem, seen it before

easily fixed,"

as if this were another of his areas

of husbandly expertise

just like he would say

if something were wrong

with our car

or my computer

or the bathroom sink

something simple, harmless

that I just didn't happen to know about

in my girlish ignorance

but instead he looks at me

crushed

trying to appear calm

he says, "I love you."

and I am alone again

with my fears

POEM: Changed

2009-04-08T18:16:00.007-04:00

My daughter's favorite tree, near blooming

LUMP

coffee brewing, morning make-up

LUMP

hum of computer waking up

LUMP

last week breast in hand, found it

LUMP

nursing the baby, his waiting mouth

LUMP

today will reveal what it is not

LUMP

but no matter what becomes of this

LUMP

I am changed forever by this

LUMP

POEM: Distasteful

2009-04-08T18:09:00.006-04:00

It is a distasteful word,

lump

it thuds in your mouth

like a stone

cumbersome, heavy

it stays stuck

and is hard to move beyond

POEM: waking words

2009-04-07T04:19:00.001-04:00

poetry doesn't let me sleep

it tickles my dreams

and pricks my tongue

to speak of morning

POEM: snowflakes from my pen

2009-04-07T04:15:00.001-04:00

my words

falling like snowflakes

from my pen

catch them on my tongue

the page

before they hit the ground

and melt away

POEM: Final Resume

2009-04-06T04:12:00.001-04:00

Cemetery space
speaks more about life
than what lies beneath speaks of death
Each grave unique
tho fundamentally the same
like the divided cubical
in a corporate office maze
personalized
to make the time there more pleasant
less drudgery
more like home

The larger, grander stones
like the coveted corner office
(only no window, no view)
bigger doesn’t always mean better

I guess
not more talented
just more visible
more outspoken
self-promoting

There are tiny stones
some half obscured by overgrown grass
The entry level position perhaps?

But most graves are middle management
the rank and file
each making quiet statements
about who they were or wished to be thought of

There’s a pecking order
organization, structure
even in death
an impenetrable glass ceiling
but no one works their way up that ladder
the final resume on permanent file
a job description carved in stone
Literally!

POEM: tinnitus

2009-04-04T04:20:00.002-04:00

silence i miss you

your beauty unnoticed

until you went away

i will never win you back

it's over for good now

i should have appreciated you

but i didn't know

you would have a reason to leave me

forever

breaking my heart

shattering it loudly

so loudly

endless echoing sorrow

till i hear no more

POEM: Separation

2009-04-04T04:17:00.000-04:00

mountain ridge

brutal slash across the horizon

gaping wound

separating earth and sky

how could you?

POEM: Hungry Muse

2009-04-02T04:23:00.001-04:00

Feed the Muse

give Her books

poetry and art

movies and shows

even websites and blogs

to devour

to distract

a filling detour

She will be hungry for Them

an immense appetite

unquenchable thirst

elixir

to prime the Pump

and churn out Work

the reward

satiation

brief

it's feeding time again all too soon

an empty plate

equals an empty page

POEM: to know better

2009-03-31T15:07:00.004-04:00

To accept responsibility
is to accept your pain
that place you acted out of
because you didn’t know any better

Now you don’t want to know any better
even tho it’s in front of you
confronting you

Because to know better
would mean you have to do better
and to do better would be to know
to admit
to own
that you should have done better
done things differently
would have done things differently
if they’d been different for you
better for you

But they weren’t
better
or different
and that hurts
to know

doesn't it?

POEM: Flowers Instead

2009-03-29T10:01:00.002-04:00

Woman picking weeds,
pulling tender young shoots
from soft spring earth,
meticulous
a headstone carefully tended

A mother, a father, perhaps a husband
she watched slip away
Did she tend to them carefully,
during their dying time?

Or is it easier to come and pick weeds
sweep away debris
and keep a grave clean?

She looks dutiful, devoted
but she might have been less so
she might have planted flowers instead
and worried less about few stray weeds

POEM: Tidbits

2009-03-29T09:47:00.005-04:00

I like small poems

seemingly harmless

they are tasty soundbites

torn off in small portions

nibbling

at thoughts and realizations

little by little

barely noticed

until there's nothing left

devoured

bones revealed

no scraps

no leftovers

only crumbs remain

POEM: Black Gold

2009-03-29T09:37:00.004-04:00

My mother leaves my coffee can open

morning is stale, flat, weak

She uses the last slice of bread

noon is empty, unfullfilled, hungry

My mother put rotten food back in my refrigerator

my evening is disturbed

Why?

She says she didn't know where I wanted to put it

thought I had a special place

for things spoiled

I do

my childhood memories make handy containers

my dreams compost the scraps

slumbering, steaming, changing

awake I sift through the clumps

and enrich my writing with the best

of the worst

ESSAY: in Her image

2009-03-28T13:33:00.011-04:00

It is my basic contention that all the deities that ever were, are now, or will be, in fact are human-generated creations and not supernatural or immortal beings. Certainly there is no robed divinity sitting upon a magical throne controlling our destiny and listening to our petty grievances or petitions for intervention.

This is not to say that I don't believe in the power of prayer or affirmations to affect change -- because I actually do, albeit with an alternate attitude about why. I’ve experienced the powerful effects of creative visualization, of prayer, of affirmations. But I don't think boons derived from that sort of thing can be attributed to a divine being granting me my wishes. For one thing, why my wishes and not someone elses? What would the decision process be for determining who deserved what?

No, I think maybe prayer type behavior works the same way positive thinking does; depending on how you frame your intentions you get different results -- if you dwell on the negative that's what you will be most subconsciously aware of and therefore more likely see come to pass, and so too with searching for the positive in any given situation are you apt to find affirmative results. Surely at the very least prayer is a means of finding comfort & reassurance and by doing so we are better able to solve our own problems.

You know, I always cringe when a person averts or survives a horrific tragedy and says that God saved them. What about the other people that didn’t make it – does God value them less? It makes me wince when a sports team wins and the coach thanks his god and/or personal savior. God chooses sides in football? Does s/he have money on the game? I think not. Even if I believed in a literal Supreme Being that was capable of doing so, I would think that wasn’t fair, or god-like for that matter. Wouldn't there more important things for God to do? Like bringing an end to war…or is that about choosing sides too, as our politicians would have us think.

Now, I do believe it is possible that every God/dess that ever was or is could be symbolic of some sort of universal energy, a force or power, if you will, that we sense exists but cannot quantify. Of course maybe it’s just a common, universal feeling to think there really is something bigger than or beyond us as individuals. Perhaps deity is actually reflective of that certain something dwelling at our center that links all people together – a sort of immanent spiritual collective unconscious. Or it may be all of the above and more. Either way there seems to be something larger or deeper than ourselves that inspires awe, and in many, a feeling of worshipfulness.

Since the nature of this awe inspiring force is essentially incomprehensible to our present known and experienced levels of consciousness, we need to name It, to explore and maybe come to know It better in some way. This is how individual deities and their accompanying mythologies are born…thru an inspired need/drive/desire to claim relation to that which is felt at the very core of our being.

If deity is created in the image of humans it therefore depends on a conscious choice. Choosing to personify deity as Goddess, as sacred feminine, is an act of spiritual empowerment and healing in contemporary culture. Goddess restores balance to a long lopsided paradigm. The present dominant religious patriarchy is essentially a denial of half the human race’s divinity. By recognizing divinity as feminine we are acknowledging the innate sacredness of not just that disenfranchised female half of the human race, but of everyone -- after all, we are all born from a mother. Obviously it takes both male & female to initiate a new life, to provide the building blocks -- procreation 101. But it takes the body of a female to use those building blocks to create, nurture and birth that new life into being. In the beginning of our fragile little lives, biologically speaking, our very existence depends on mother for sustenance, and not on father. This is powerful stuff. If we are created, brought to form and nurtured by our mothers, but the mother archetype is denied sanctity, yet we are literally half of our mothers genetically -- what does that say about the level of sacredness bestowed upon all of us, women and men?

Bottom line: Goddess shouldn't be relegated to the realm of "merely" a feminist metaphorical attempt at re-visioning the world. Goddess is a universal visage capable of inspiring all of us to continually co-create our own world. Better yet, She IS our world.

POEM: Alice in Writer-land

2009-03-27T21:35:00.004-04:00

Poetry is easy

just follow the rabbit

and trust that the hole

leads somewhere

Fiction is hard

you have to convince

someone that there was a rabbit

and describe the hole

without revealing too much all at once

letting the reader follow you instead

and discover Wonderland for themselves

POEM: Daughter

2009-03-27T21:30:00.007-04:00

I don't know who she is

everything seems affected

floating on the surface

just for play

nothing deep, no connection, no intimacy

her joyfulness infantile

she doesn't see me

and I try desperately to find her

or see myself there

behind those same eyes

POEM: I am

2009-03-27T21:22:00.003-04:00

I am

words, thoughts, stories
what is right, what is wrong
embracing arms, stroking hands
flowing milk, tender lips
harsh voice, singing voice, silly voice
tears, shallow breath, unquiet mind
loose thoughts, dark places, wild
siren-song, high-pitched,wailing
regret, love, blocked, obstacle
dreams, hopes, fears, sorrow
lies, truth, painful, free

me

more

now

POEM: Shelf Life

2009-03-27T21:07:00.009-04:00

Poetry doesn't keep
you can't put it on hold

that first thought
word
image
can't be put aside
it must be written down quickly
lest it fly away

The trail must be followed
leading you to the end
or you will get hopelessly lost
and never find your way again

Poetry is a dish best served hot
it goes bad quickly
one millisecond past the expiration date
and it is spoiled
rotten
barely resembling it's original form
inedible

POEM: Uprooted

2009-03-27T20:59:00.005-04:00

I sat in that chair today
the one I spent years in, thinking
waiting, dying, wishing

It didn’t feel the same.

The view has changed only a little
one tree gone from a storm
uprooted
laying on its side, dead,
across the dry gully
an unnecessary bridge

But otherwise, things look the same.

Time escaped me there,
sitting in that chair
or did I escape from it?

Did time and I become stuck
locked, stalled, immovable
neither one of us willing to budge
to get up out of that chair
if only to change our view

It was changed for us instead
nearly uprooted by a surprise storm
I managed to hang on
but the chair was changed forever
Time just kept on going, it didn’t look back

Miscellaneous

2009-03-27T20:43:00.005-04:00

When people talk about forgiveness I think that they sometimes mean recognizing the humanity in another who has not shown any.

POEM: Morning Pages

2009-03-27T20:38:00.003-04:00

Straight from sleep

my thoughts are deep

they will not keep

from my pen, they seep

Miscellaneous

2009-03-27T20:35:00.003-04:00

People in the rearview mirror of life

may appear closer than they actually were

POEM: Phantom Limbs

2009-03-27T20:28:00.005-04:00

Severed stump, frost-heaved
thick roots, gnarled and twisted,
slither through the mulch of dead leaves.

Tentacles reaching beneath the surface
searching for nourishment
though there is nothing left to feed