hopes

hoping that in 2009 man puts the"kind" back in mankind

ifff

if the world were flat instead of round
just how would our lives be
would peace and harmony be found
or war just like we see
perhaps those people who do not fit
would be shoved off the earth's edge
to fall into an endless pit
from which noone is dredged

desert stand

an inner disquiet abused her. she could not keep her mind from wandering to a wartorn, distant land...a place of no lasting peace not now, not then, not ever. just lulls of truce nestled between mountains of war...looming, menacing. forever approaching.

both sides locked in an eternal battle, intertwined like two angry dragons, spiraling rapidly, to be crushed by the descent. a fall from which neither would get up.

jamas

i would like to find a place
where for every idea there was
a space
room to differ, to disagree
no, you do not have to be me
we need to learn not to hate
before it is too late

la misma cosa

she sat at her desk, trying to write
it was another fitful quasi sleepless night
her mind started blanking to reduce the din
keeping out trouble, not letting good in

terry tease

his name is terry tease
if you please
he cares if he hurts you
about as much as a sneeze
everything to him is play and fun
he keeps on playing
trying to get the damage done
no depth, no emotion
just perpetual motion

im paled

she stood so quiet as she was pelted with snow
she did not know which way to go
she looked to her left, turned her head to the right
unable to move, deeply frozen by her fright

he

he looks at her as he holds her hand
she knows that he will understand
her pain her sorrow, when she feels good
besides her quietly he has always stood

in

the room was dark but she could hear the din.
she hoped that someone would let her in.
it was lonely outside face pressed up against the glass
she hoped this sad feeling over her would pass
as she inched her way closer towards the door
she paused, should she go just a little more.

on the holiday

on the holiday he was alone
noone called he stared at the phone
putting on another sweater
so he would not be cold
he wanted to get better
but he felt so old
why did his kids
not remember him
would they ever come and visit
before the lights went dim?

i closed my eyes

i closed my eyes there was no pain
the air was warm, no acid rain
the ground was green
with plants and life
peace everywhere
no war no strife
the animals lived well and free
untethered, respected
what they were meant to be
no child cried from being abused
no man nor woman feeling misused
then i opened my eyes and could not erase
cold reality before my face

lost dog

my paws are wet i feel so cold.
does someone really care?
im lost im scared nowhere to go.
so much snow in the air

to her,the world was a dark and broken place. she found it inordinately difficult to navigate such a dismal landscape. occasional flashes of light managed to pierce the somber. but the somber always seemed to nudge them away.until him. he brought with him love, trust,...concepts she thought only inhabited other people's lives. the feeling of isolation she wore as a heavy mantle slowly evaporated.the pigment of the world around her lost its greying hue.

she sat

she sat outside the night was cold
people passed her by
why is this so? i was not told
she bowed her head to cry

the halls have ears

she sat inside her empty hall
no one to see, noone at all
the wind was shattering as it blew
her mind was clattering
nothing new

hit her with the buckle

her infraction was not exactly major, but the young girl knew what the consequences would be. her mother's non stop berating started from breakfast. when she returned home from school, head facing the ground, it continued. the dinner table was a cold war zone, eyes flashing back and forth, implied threats lingering in the air.

she knew her mother told her father, and would sic him on her, using the full force of her fury to work him up into a rage state like her own.

she was ordered to go to her bedroom. she could hear her mother's voice..."hit her with the buckle, hit her with the buckle, growing more intense with each utterance.

her father entered her room and closed the door. he ordered her to pull down her pants. she felt shamed, violated. her face reddened, her self dropped beneath the floor, with her pants and underwear. she could feel her father's eyes burning as they stared at her naked buttocks.

her mother continued her buckle mantra.

her father hit her with the belt, not the buckle, not particularly hard. she screamed and cried, hoping this would satisfy her mother's blood lust.

so far and yet so much further

how far the lowly have never risen
heartbreak fueled by day dreams driven

let us wish for peace and a kinder heart ,so pain and cruelty will no longer be a part.
of the world in which we live. tenderness and hope people will give
love to each other and to all living things, as bells of the holiday season rings

as her disquiet grew louder she had no place to go.
no refuge to run to
no weapons to throw

the winter cold

the winter cold left her feeling glum
sadly waiting for summer to come
trees naked profiled against a gray sky
wind on her face is she starting to cry
lonely and huddled
emotions so muddled

this was her longest foray into the "real" world since her surgery. the cold ripped right through her. she could not decide which was more uncomfortable, the bitter arctic chill or the incision on her abdomen. she was wrapped in a blanket of fatigue.

she looked at all the familiar shops. it was an effort just to focus on one particular thing, as she was still experiencing the spaciness caused by the anaesthesia. a fuzzy greyness enveloped her.

she felt like she would never get back home.

she sat at her desk, upright, eyes brightely lit, fingers clacking away at her keyboard. this was her connection to the outside world, to people. this felt safe. each new friendship, acceptance, exhilarating.

she had spent most of her life alone, in both the literal and figurative sense. she knew the meaning of both being alone among a crowd of people and no phone calls alone. as much as she yearned for friendship, acquiring and maintaining it were so difficult for her.

she was "different", the worst case scenario for the school years. she watched her classmates mill by, conforming comfortably to some mysterious social code, which included her exclusion. she just lived each day, nose pressed to the cold glass.

she went through the rites of middle class adult passage...bad first marriage, dating, superficial female acquaintances. when she tried to convert the shallow into a deeper friendship, only hurt followed.

she remarried, to a warm, wonderful, loving man. this joy brought with it more social pressures,more potential rejection.

she hid.

lonely was not just her middle name

lonely was not just her middle name
it was her first and last
never in the game

the heeling

this surgery, and the healing process , have really thrown me. i feel completely deflated, as if my once half -billowing sails were flapping aimlessly against all sorts of wind. this wind could be nothing more than getting up to answer a phone call. no gale force is needed to knock me out of balance.

my entire body seems to be adjusting to the empty space that the baseball sized tumor and the other removed parts once occupied. the incision pulls inwardly and outwardly, with every breath,movement, digestive rumble.

my usual insomnia only compounds the overwhelming exhaustion. the only good thing is that since i am home, not at work, i can nap.

the worst part of this whole scenario is being THAT aware of my body. no longer is it just the vessel that houses my essence, that i take with me every day, live with and not think about. it is constantly reminding me of its discomforts, frailties, its limits and the limits it puts on my intangible self

anudda day like no udda

here i sit, a familiar stance
every day another chance

today is the day for thanks and giving
no walking emotional planks
just glad to be living

rescinderella

she had reached that stage in life where what was written was writ, and what loomed ahead, ditto.

her life had been a combination of adult comfort and luxury, coupled with unresolved angst over childhood misery and pain. this duo ran her life, and those around her, at times, into the ground.

the uncertainty that coursed through her young years resulted in an inordinate need for control in the years that followed. she never really felt good, as herself, unaware that this unhappiness was heightened by the control issue.

she had children, stunted adults trapped in self loathing and fear.

one of her children became ill, stirring up a maelstrom within her. never able to identify, sort out, or admit culpability, this translated into extreme anxiety. it was the child she felt the most ambivalence towards, and treated the most harshly, at times like a servant; to carry her shopping bags or serve at her dinner parties. the one who watched her high end self expenditure, with the occasional bargain bone hurled in her direction.

lost in this swirl of feeling, the woman reached her hand up, to that child, to save her.

she said, she said

she sat looking out the window as the train jostled her along. trees, houses, people zipped past her view, as they had long before she rode this rail, and would long after she disembarked.

in her mind, she watched the world run by her, carrying designer bags, wearing impossibly high designer shoes, as she plodded along in her sensible sneakers, though, of late, these aforementioned had taken on a much more upscale quality.

she had spent her entire adult life getting by. paying bills, choosing between food and make up...skipping a trip to the supermarket so she could afford an afternoon of movie and lunch with some female acquaintances. she noted quite clearly to herself that the friend concept was not embedded in this equation.

as she shook along with the train, she felt the old simmering resentment...how her struggling and sacrifices should not have been necessary, as she was a member of a relatively affluent family. however, they gave what they gave, which helped keep her afloat, but without a martini.

she again tamped down this entitlement, turning her head toward the window. it was growing dark. soon, that which she passed would no longer be visible

they slept together so tightly knit
there could not be a better fit

she dreamed, she looked

she looked around at the space which had been her home for almost two years. she familiarized herself with every corner, every nuance of her husband's apartment.

it still did not seem real to her, the sort of pinchmyselfimdreaming reverie she had her entire life. although some of her furnishings were interspersed among his, this domicile still felt "not her own", but in a warm and comforting, i cant believe this happened to me, too good to be true way.

their whole courtship seemed like a dream. his goodness, kindness, acceptance of her as she was. hers of him... . their personalities flowed together softly, almost always parallel, on the same course, their hearts joined. hands held.

marriage only increased the joy they found in each other.

she did not want to lose this...this was a recurring theme for her innerdaylife. this time a reality nudged itself in the mix.

health, surgery. she had not yet left for the hospital but she focused intensely on coming home.

the only thing i know that is around the block
is the constant ticking of the clock

the old soldier

the old soldier walked into his war room. he closed the door gently, then hung his coat and hat on the bent coatrack, an act which he repeated for what felt like eons. the room was quiet. the chairs, once occupied by bristling minds and men, sat vacated around a stolid wooden table.

he looked around, listening to the shadows. he had lost this final battle. he had approached this battle like all the others, with a staunch acceptance of the possibility of defeat, and a faith in the possibility of victory.

he knew that this was not his time. there was no longer a place in the leadership pavillion for the ideologies he espoused. he knew this upon entering the warzone. and enter he did, shoulders back, head up, prepared to dodge everything "they" threw at him.

he reflected on his most worthy opponent. there was a glory in conceeding to this man, who might be able to change the country, as he himself had wanted to do.

in this proud surrender, he did not see defeat, just a new order, time for him to move on.

he sat in his chair, stained and worn from many skirmishes, hands clasped together, head down in prayer.

never show your feelings
keep to yourself your inner dealings

i need a place where i can cry
where noone has to ask me why
a place to hide where i feel safe
from all the hurts that cut and strafe

she walked briskly through the mist-laden air. the sky was an ambiguous color grey, not exactly clearing but no major storm clouds present, either, like the invader growing in her body... an unknown variable, degree of its danger not yet known nor manifested.

she lived in this ignorance is/is not bliss state, as the day of her surgery hovered ever closer.

she thought about the procedure and its consequences . what mysteries would be uncovered,
how this would change the daily routines of what she knew as her life.

her

her life in shallow breathing lives
each moment second whatever it gives
unsure of today
less sure of tomorrow
afraid of the past
just wanting to borrow

him

with his love his strength
he would go to any length
to comfort, make her feel
she can cope with the real
in his sleep as he holds her tight
arms around reining in her fright
each time she cries
he erases all lies
she asks herself what good
does she do for him
as the night gets cold
and the sky grows dim
for him it is all in the giving
to be together revel in the living

brrrrrrrrrrrr

how i would like a poultice
a cure for winter solstice
no ice, no snow, no rain
just summer over again

sir real

when he thought about it, which was not very often, the whole thing seemed surreal to him; how they met, reconnected years later, fell apart. he left it all in a comfortable haze, easily accessible , if he had a fit of nostalgia.

he figured that since he preferred his vivid fantasy life, this was the perfect resolution.

his past few years were filled with tangible, palpable loss. of people who had impacted on him
deeply, perhaps who were even partly responsible for the undeveloped, twisted nature of his soul. the rest, (as all of us who are at least partly adult know) is up to us. this is what eluded him.

it was as if he were waiting for the proverbial magic wand, which never seemed to wander his way. to sit passively, hoping that somehow things would transpire and lead him...

he waits

synderella syndrome

all her life like cinderella watching everybody dance
hiding under her umbrella wishing she would get a chance

trying to tame the anxiety
not knowing what's in front of me
the next weekend will be the last
before my surgery is passed

i want to stay
not go away

sundaze

it is sunday. we are doing what we usually do. beatles on the radio, sunday morning on the t.v. all this and a ribwarming bowl of oatmeal, fresh coffee, cookies, the newspaper.

life, how i love to be in it. this so simple yet profoundly beautiful morning routine.

tommy had a dream

at night when he hears his son loudly scream
tommy covers his own ears to still his dream
tommy, torn between anger and sadness
his life stuck in limbo from his sons cruel madness

spake sheare

what brake from yonder window lights?
it is i and i feel alright
this is intoxication time
so i will write this little rhyme
thoughts of pain and surgery
are for now afar from me

owed

an ode to the buzz
though my mind turns to fuzz
a strong liquid solution
restores my constitution

the red tape of infirmity

it is bad enough being ill. working 10 hours a day, dealing with what seems like terminal insomnia. then there is the voice mail, not returning your call world of dealing with people who either cannot, or chose not, to comprehend the skin you are jumping out of.

the simple act of setting up surgery dates and pre-op appointments, while juxtaposing work schedules has become brobdignagian in nature. you are given a date then it is changed by the doctor's office. when you leave a message for more information, such as what time is the surgery, and what is the pre-op schedule, the simple courtesy of a reply is denied.

everything is a battle, and my inner troops are severly depleted.

up

a friend reminded me to corral
the negative, save my morale
this i will try as it will keep
my mind from inward voyage deep
outside our heads a world goes by
to keep up with it i have to try

an attempt to elevate my mood
could not be sated, even with food
did not improve the blues i feel
the fear, the care i need to heal
im stuck so deep in this morass
pushed here by a disease so crass

grrrrrrrr

i am growling so hungry
i want food
after procedure comes breakfast
and a much better mood

prep

i sit, and sit, and sit. tomorrow is my colonoscopy. today is the day of the oh so joyful prep. i went to work until noon then headed home, empty of stomach, tired of all that "i am sick and it is annoying me" stuff. i have commenced drinking this vile concoction. now i wait for it to work its magic.

illness, its diagnosis, treatment, and how crappy the aforementioneds make you feel has a tendency to be quite all consuming. to avoid, or at least try to, avoid that pitfall, i strive to keep my normal routines...work, exercise, food and drink(well, not today) this white rabbit style ofbusyness sort of deflects the constant barbs of anxiety flung at me, by me.., my body.

how different my life has become, is still becoming. here i sit, focusing on every hopefully productive intestinal cramp. i am too congnizant of the body that contains me, and what is happening to it. it is no longer just skin encasing some mysterious working parts. it is not something that will never fail me, it is not a given, it is not infallible. it is not forever.

sunday

we spent the day together, in each others arms while in the same room or apart. we ate a late breakfast, while listening to the beatles...the fab four go nicely with coffee and lemon biscotti.

together we made a new eggplant recipe, which we will try out on my brother and his lovely bride. then we will saunter off to a favorite local restaurant, where we will dine on what will be my last solid meal until tuesday afternoon.

my oncologist/surgeon wants all bases covered, or uncovered more accurately, before diving into my ailing innards. so monday afternoon the dreaded drink for the tuesday morning colonoscopy.

friday morning the doctor performed an in office biopsy, which could be aptly described as an effective way to obtain information, true or otherwise...this hurt. but it needed to be done. my pulse was 90 and bp 140/80, a bit nervous, eh?

i am trying to stifle the underlying panic that is bubbling close to the surface.

middle age is not for the squeamish.

how very complicated
my health problem
turned out to be
each step is syncopated
taking pieces out of me

tomorrow 845 am i will be sitting at the doctor's office, my husband holding my hand, my mother in transit. i will not be alone physically but illness is the most isolating of experiences. a good support system, which my husband is, makes life with its bumpy road more than manageable, but the fear is uniquely my own.

i am blessed that i have a man as good as my husband. my biggest fear is that somehow, due to this infirmity, i will lose him. the palbability of this fear, coupled with the abject dread of this as yet unidentified ailment...

i have experienced ALONE, the no phone calls, no social plans. walking my route, a watcher not a doer, tickets for the theatre, never in the cast...always in the shadows.

i had ventured out. in doing so i met my fella. how good, decent and loving he turned out to be was and is a total surprise. a chance well taken

the clock ticks as the AOL blog closing closes in. i have had my blog and its faithful readers .......
a long time....i hope that those good people follow me from the soon to be extinct AOL journal to this site... it will be exciting to experience a new readership as well.

my life has had its moments. writing, editing, reviewing my feelings, all have helped enormously in the sorting out, stepping away process. it has allowed some much needed objectivity in. hopefully some growth has followed.

at this new juncture, i tremble at the feet of change. health issues have taken up alot of my awake(which is most of the)time. i work a precarious balance of innerlife, homelife, joblife, at the same time trying to keep my fears at bay. and bay they do, at the sun, at the moon....just at.

the wind

i am sitting here, wind dancing outside my window, trees keeping step...i am quaking here, really, as soon i will know what my illness is, with all its ramifications. the wind sounds soft and gentle.

i struggle not to jump ahead, to how this will change my life, how bad it could be, what will i lose? the unknown is beyond stressful and terrifying. but will the known be worse? in my layperson merck manual persona, i identifed the 11 out of 10 symptoms that i have of this disease.

i keep mantra-ing both the doctors...especially the second one whose "if it is the worst case scenario it is unbelievably early" statement. unbelievably early is what this cancer needs to be eradicated. i repeat to myself benign benign B9 B9, as if somehow this 6 centimeter invader can hear me. well attitude is everything, so it is said in the 21st century.

i still hear the wind, i never want to stop hearing the wind

swan song to aol off to google,what the hell

the clock is ticking
this blog is going
off to google
my heart is slowing
just hope you dont
abandon your search
and go to google
my heart besmirch
i do not want to make this move
but no choice given stay in the groove
a week from today
this will be far away

der-election of duty

i have been on this planet for quite some time, and in that span have witnessed many politcal contests. they varied in intensity, issues, personages. none were pretty, some more vicious than others, but somehow, world and national events figured into the equation.

this one, not. this is about age, race, gender, social class, acquaintances, verbiage. these are the things our more than "four fathers" wished to avoid. they envisioned a nation of ideas, ideals, the pursuit of freedom, prosperity...a place in a world far larger than the one we now reside in.

we members of the baby boomer fraternity have been fortunate enough to see america at its height, and now have the dubious distinction of watching it slide down, as mimicked by the mercurial dow.

we stand at the polls forced to choose between a stubborn loose cannon, and a one dimensional wordsmith. one may push the red button, the other the red credo.

i did not sign on for this, nor did most americans...torn between the mindless villification of one man, and the blind adulation of another

i write this blog because i can

i write this blog for my need to be heard
to be remembered for a good written word
to feel connected not be apart
to fill the void
inside my heart

an invite to all ye from AOL

wishful thinking i am indeed
that my stuff on blogger.com
you will read
if on google you decide to sign
you'll see many blogs
including mine
looking forward to seeing you then
"my heart" on google
by fayely10

?

who is she this frightened child
outwardly tame inside running wild
life to her is a state of peril
wanting in yet remaining feral

angst iety

an ode to my anxiety
with or without sobriety
inside me lurking
wanting out
this frightened child
who needs to shout
to rant to rave
to somehow shake
the fears and woes
that make her quake
however hard her way to vent
all that anger time misspent

something burrowed someone blue

i have spent the last few weeks in a race against my fears, anxiety on the rail. apprehension ahead by a nose. indulging my inner white rabbit behaviors. aimlessly, or aimfully, busy busy busy...

last night all that i have tried so hard to bury deep unearthed itself. the reality of what i am facing, the known and the unknown, stared right at me. i could not look, nor run, away. i cried for the first time since this nasty health episode began...the pandora's box sprang wide open, its snakes wriggling out. i fell asleep, the lid again closed, but not all the occupants went back inside. i could hear a faint hiss.

today i sit, drained. lost. sad. the rustlings of depression quite palpable.

as i sit and ponder my fate
hoping it is not too late
psychobabble live for each day
wanting the future
is my health in the way?

someone old something new

i remember only too well how i felt when aol sent notice that they were closing out their journal service....in my usual fashion, i panicked...what would happen to all my years of writing that aol was so cavalierly doing away with...throwing into the garbage can....

the instructions arrived and i just stared at them, deer in the headlights style, my level of anxiety escalating.

i tried, i failed...don't believe in that old adage that trying means you did not fail, i failed, period.
days passed, efforts thwarted by some process i did not understand.

the light went on...i successfully transferred one of my blogs to this service. after several exercises in futility, i gave up trying to transfer the other. instead, i spent hours cutting and pasting preferred entries, or posts in blogger.comese, from this vanquished journal onto these pages...my poor husband felt neglected...let it be noted that inspite of my monomaniacal pursuit, our dinner was delicious...well, edible anyway and we both lived to tell.

change can be good change can be bad, change can be none of the above...but change is always change and always inevitable.

a metaphor for life and hope
though for a few days there
i felt like a dope

please excuse the somewhat chaotic appearance of this new blog. i am importing entries from an old aol blog that could not be transferred.

there is no monotony
in my cacaphony

here i sit i try to stay fit
every day passes same old shit
as i get older i do not get bolder
still need to have that sane
one man strong shoulder

at work i find myself marvelling and wistfully envying the youth so brazenly worn by my coworkers. it is not just the greater amount of energy they possess, it is the time...time to live, time to correct, time to not make mistakes. i marvel at the mindset of those still in their twenties, and cannot help but observe the tone that changes in those who are in their thirties or teetering on the brink.
i am faustian in my hopeless desire to grab the clock and cajole, or if need be, force those hands to turn backwards....i ache for the self confidence that, it i had had it years ago, perhaps i would be the voice on countless cds, the symbol of humane action perhaps.
but i am, and grateful to be such, but i am as i have, and have not, done.

i find

maybe it is being all too aware of the transient nature of my existence,but whatever it is, i find my self cherishing on the most profound level, every object within eyeshot, buses driving loudly ..
....,faces rushing by, trees aching to bloom...there is a heightened sense of the electricity that is life.
and an overwhelming dread of the inevitable empty that we all will be part of...my eyes thirst for all they see...as if engulfing visual images may grant some sort of immortality.
even the depressions...symptoms, albeit unpleasant, of life.

i've landed on an empty rock
no beach, no sounds
no seagull flock
the wind is broken
loud and harsh
my life a token
on this marsh

i have been a woman who has never had children. i have managed to exist in an oblique fashion with this for most of my failed reproductive years. reminders of my non fecundity are legion. today i went to a baby shower, my first actually, as my friends were either single or not producing children for whatever reason. i felt as if i were on the outside, looking in...but this time the shade was partially pulled down, as if to say...you can peek in but only so far....
the warmth the party guests had for each other, that warmth that comes with prolonged acquaintanceship and consanguinuity, things that i am no part of...
it was like live theater, and i, an invisible audience.
the need to feel a part of something...not diminished by time or emotional exhaustion.
a child inside me running...away, toward....just aimlessly running, never stopped nor stopping...

it's friday night i feel alright
my hair's a mess
i'm quite a sight
as i exercise patterns past
wondering if my new life will last
when the rug sprawling under my feet will call
as i tumble, take a fall
no answers given
panic driven

the trial of denial and forgiveness

'as i sing i hear her voice
her sad song tones
as i rejoice
i never heard her lovely voice
when i was young and had a choice
the life she never had a chance to lead
i lost in my emotional greed
she died with all ears around unhearing
alone as her darkness was nearing
can i myself learn to forgive
to tell her i love her though she no longer live
although too late to say goodbye
and to ashamed to sit and cry

to my grandmother may her peace be found

another dragging week is drawing to a close. the stifling boredom of my 9-5 work week will soon be replaced by the encapsulated two day living that is the weekend.
this is how all living things live, in ways that correspond to their needs. it is all about making a living, be it in twisted steel spires or on the savannah, everyone has to eat,rest between kills, reproduce, establish a territory and do whatever it takes to protect it.
whether clad in brooks brothers or fur and claw, all creatures must venture out or die, some dying as they do so.
we humans mistakenly perceive that the complexities of our survival render us superior. where is there any superiority in corporate backbiting, betrayal? where is there superiority in mass annihilations of habitat and those we perceive as different,,,ergo a threat to our own fragile existence. passing emotions and people around as cavalierly as passing a joint.

the miraculous power of the little white lie

i have this title floating around....the miraculous power, or maybe, the miraculous healing of the little white lie...the words just dance when i hear them inwardly or outwardly...i have been mulling them about for at least a week..the problem is filling in the giant blank that follows this title....
i think about my mother, in her early 80's, body stricken with various age related maladies....eyes dark and twinkling, the mischevious, rebellious little girl trapped in the twisted wreckage of life and age.
i think of both of the above, what was and is my mother and what isnt yet the story behind the title
i have begun a subtle, empathetic secret voyage, with the mother i never really knew, who never really knew, nor accepted, me...but how does one ever accept someone they have relegated to a stranger, bound by their own controlling notions, blind to what is standing in front of them

the subtle joy of inebriation
the run away of intoxication
the welcome dullness it has made
on life's unending
too sharp blade

here i sit for all its worth
between self loathing
and self worth
talents real and dreams perceived
its not too late
to be received

the morning after the night before
he sleeps i listen while he snores
words were spoken feelings torn
i lie here tired, lost and worn
another day will soon play out
outside i smile inside i pout

integrity and its fragile maintenance

i recently stood at a crossroads both worn and unfamiliar. i made a spur of the moment(albeit long simmering) decision to express my discontent toward someone who's behavior has been insidious and hurtful. her reaction was one of hurt, her response, defensive. a few minutes later, i approached her and apologized.
this juxtaposition of maintaining my integrity, ergo to earn the respect for others, versus keeping quiet, in order to avoid conflict and disapproval, has tormented me my entire life. i spent years taking all types of emotional abuse and nonsense...which has taken an enormous chunk out of an already moth-eaten self esteem.
each time i take this necessary step, i do not get more acclimated to the process, but it has become much easier in its execution.

the fallout remains to be experienced

the little terrier in the cage

she walked into the animal shelter. she knew that she could not take a pet home but needed to connect with something living. she strolled through the various rooms, trying to remain detached while passing the eager, plaintive faces looking back at her,.
she entered a room with larger cages. an employee of the shelter approached her. he asked her what type of dog she was interested in. she replied that she really liked shepherd mixes but at this time was not in a position to adopt one.
he advised her just to at least look at the little terrier mix in the next pen. she approached the enclosure and was greeted by a sad, shaggy grey face looking at her in an almost beseeching way.
she bent down, making clicking sounds. the little dogs ears suddenly perked up, his demeanor completely changing. the droopy face was awash with excitement. she remained at the cage for what seemed at once forever, and at the same time, not enough.
the shelter employee approached her again, as he watched her interacting with the dog. he asked her if she was interested in adopting him. she slowly turned around, her depression becoming once again a dark cloak around her. under her breath she barely muttered that she lived in a no pet building, trying to hide from the disappointment on his face as she responded.
she hastily left the shelter.
years passed, some shrouded. the homeless terrier remained in a cage deep within her, the door ajar.

to my mother

alone in her room she started to cry
as her husband watched his old friends die
she felt his pain when he was near
but when he was not her biggest fear
the years they spent what they went through
would soon be gone as if noone knew

wisdom and the ever present anxiety

this is a double edged contradiction, time earned wisdom and time worn stress management. i know how to recognize the little gnat stings of the "small stuff. i can prioritize based on the if its not life or death, its not life or death philosophy, and conduct my life accordingly.
where it gets dicey is in the accumulated wear and tear of daily stress, that which is internalized and not immediately felt. i spend most weekends juxtaposing much needed downtime with the chores that cannot be completed during the week.
i get home from work tense and frazzled. i exercise almost immediately in order to dull the edge.. afterwards its time to prepare dinner. the edge is not as sharp, but it is still there. i do not phone friends anymore, as i often did when i was younger. i seek brain quiet, peace from the external, which is within my control.
sleep is a precious, hard to reach commodity. only on weekend do i manage to capture that which is so elusive to me during the week.
the 9 to 5 in the mid to late 50s takes a lot more ouf of me, especially since this is not a passion or career, it is strictly for economic survival...no glory no goodness.
just the thought of entertaining creates anxiety. it did so when i was young, but with youth comes an internal energy reserve, the bounce backedness that seeps out insidiously as greater knowledge and wisdom, seep in.
frayed and fatigued is what i have become.

life mismanagement 101..i

skip through life smiling though feeling half hearted, occasionally bending down to pick up whatever real or imagined impediment i find along the way. there are times however, when i stumble, falling on reality.
the reality is that, at 56, i am exactly where i was at 35...except with cellulite and wrinkles as souvenirs. dead end job scenario, but at this age with much less reserve to handle the stress and frustration, magnified by the no way out situation i am in.
at this stage of life, feeling crappy is much more intense and greater in frequency than in the 30s and 40s. not being able to stay home when feeling ill is just a cruel reminder of the rampant mismanagement which characterizes my tenure so far on this sometimes disagreeable planet.
i long to have the option to retire, knowing that i would only be able to stay home and "do nothing" for a short while...it is all about options, choices, not being forced...freedom from being trapped in this assembly line like lift style...same #$@# every day......

once you get past the initial shock of can i help you miss becoming can i help you maam, you might actually find some distink-t(and i mean stink) advantages to being an older woman. these are some i have experienced:
doors being held open for me(please note the slightly pitying look on the openers face, perhaps associating me with some long last graaaaaaaaaaaaaaaand mama.
seats on buses sometimes being vacated(except by men of certain chauvinist ilk who would not even get their arses up for americas top model)
today a young man placed an obstruction by the elevator door to keep the elevator on the floor while he dropped something off. i rushed to the elevator and the young fella went oops and removed the impediment. probably thought i was running late for the funeral home or the plastic surgeon.
then what was once perceived as not cute and obnoxious(as in being too smart for your age) is now considered to be something miraculous( as in how can someone that old be that smart?)
other erratic behaviors once frowned upon are now regarded with tolerance...the temper tantrum once attributed to pms and not tolerated is now attributed to the ravages of age.
it is as if to say much less is expected us....poor souls....they should only know...this is their future and it is grim

the malignancy of distrust

it can be said that relationships are like bathroom tiles. well grouted with trust, water damage will not occur. if there are fault lines within the system, torrential ourpourings are inevitable.
these cracks are not always blatant. most are invisible to the naked eye, doing their work. insidiously.. they can appear at any time, and if not addresssed, the cumulative result is disaster. it is much harder to repair major leaks than minor trickles.
the challenge is to accept that these flaws exist and confront them head on, not waiting until that which is amassed becomes irreparable. in order to do so, one must take a long look at the big picture and ones culpability, or lack of it, in each situation.
middle age is all the rage
never thought i'd see this stage
wisdom without the strength to use it
what else is new
we all go through it

the glory and the game

the cool spring air was tingling with anticipation. women in statement hats milled about. the crowd watched, in silent union, as the horses paraded proudly to the starting gate.
i was in the kitchcn, watching this annual spectacle, as usual wishing i was part of, not apart from it
annoumcers picked their favorites, as cameras scanned the audience.
in a time frame that was at once far too short yet seemed forever, the long awaited outcome.....
a big brown stalward colt triumphed, a fiery filly fell.
perhaps it was inbreeding, the nature of the track..or just being amongst the boys.
this filly had heart and she ran it out.. im sure it will be said that she died doing what she loved,, and would have wanted it this way....we cannot presume to place human interpretations on equine emotions.
but she had heart, and i suspect ran even better as her fragile ankles began to fail....
there is a lesson here, after i stop crying, perhaps i will find it

b daze

b'daze
what is it about birthdays? they are just another facet of a contrived system of keeping time...juxtaposing years as some sort of standard...all that said, i have the nasty habit, year after year, of making a fuss over mine and those of the people i love.
this year is no exception...i started making noise about this one late last month,. making sure anyone within earshot would have no excuse to forget it....yep fifty six with cake and ail....
when we are young, birthdays represent gifts and attention. as we get more chronologically mature, in the 20s and 30s, it represents more gifts and attention, this time on a more costly and lavish scale...
the big four-oh and birthdays turn into milestones, some of which we have stubbed our toes on.
the 50's...middle aged crisis and estrogen withdrawal...birthdays being reminders of dreams not chased, or those chased, not realized...wrinkles, sagging...the depravity of gravity.
my parents are in their 80's. birthdays are quite a two sided rapier...they represent the frightening descent their bodies are suffering, the inevitable direction they are heading...and they are milestones of survival....over kids, financial woes, health woes, ecah other...all the projectiles that life throws.
i revel in each day i have the luxury of two living parents...and each day i have the luxury of....especially now, as i have been blessed with a wonderful man to share life with. someone who loves ME, not his expectations or illusions about, ME...a friend, a partner...
every day when i wake up, i look at his face, still not believing this has happened to me.still in the pinch me im dreaming phase....wishing we met years before, holding onto every moment.
at the risk of sounding old fashioned and beyond corny, this relationship has made me appreciate every facet of living, the trees, the seasons...sights and scents...music...these for granted experiences now have an almost dayglow quality to them.
tomorrow i turn a year older. interesting phrase...turn a year older...this is not a turn, rather it is a one way street from which there is only one exit...i am learning that the trip is everything...that every day is a destination reached.

frustration nation
today the sky is bursting with sunshine, the temperature is on a definite upswing. i, on the other hand, am still feeling the chilly clouds. a perceived slight has sent me inward, pulling far away from the people around me.
sometimes it is good to withdraw...the proverbial cave is not for men only.. women need to heal, too. shutting out all periphery except that which is necessary to function(as i am at my desk at work so got to stay somewhat in this world) seems to naturally mend those broken inner fences(and defenses).
it all gets down to middlangst...when more time is behind than is in front...shouldacouldawoulda-itis...i know intellectually that this is a total waste of energy and priceless time....the distance between intellect and feelings is so hard to bridge.

the politics of chronology
being 18 thru 25, young, energetic, filled with ideals...ideals about a world you know nothing about. fresh from college perhaps, a recent escapee from your parents home...the world is a new place, filled with opportunities and mystery.
thirty and a tad wiser, bills, you are a parent, responsibility....now the world has a different hue than that rose colored adventure you thought it would be.
yes i was 18...and wanted to vote, yes i was 21 and did not....
here i sit, 56....lived through korea(in utero),viet nam, kuwait and now the irag fiasco. yep i would like leader..but what all this seasoning and wrinkles have taught me is that character is what should lead...not pretty,, empty rhetoric delivered in an empassioned way...
proof, someone who has definitive ideals and has lived by them..aka john mccain.
\yes he has the scary pit bull tenacity and a temper too. but he has lived in knowledge, not words carefully crafted by a wily speech maker.
he is the real deal.
this is not about race or gender...this is about the very survival of america

does anybody read this?
my ideas i commit to poems or prose
is anyone reading heaven knows

she placed her face upon the glass
watching the people inside pass
smiling, laughing, walking around
as her spirits ran aground

its a another day in pair of dice
i rolled them once, i rolled them twice
which way they fall may not suffice
just having them is sometimes nice

the greatest generation
the greatest generation did not know about cell phones. they did not know about email. nor did they know the meaning of bling and probably would not have appreciated the concept. not when they were 20 somethings, digging through dirt, dodging bullets, just trying to stay alive, for reasons some understood and some didn't.
they fought on enemy soil. far from home. far from the comforts they so desperately needed. with men barely they knew, against those they didnt. each second brought terrors, that thanks to them, we have not yet had to comprehend.
their time is almost over, one by one, they leave this earth, each of us their living legacy.
but will we forget? because we were not encased in their mud, drowned in their pain?

shoulda coulda wouldavillle
the air is stale but never still

i drink so i dont care
anyhow anywhere
i drink so i dont feel
so i dont know what is real

where is that little 18 year old running around in my head? she is not in the mirror, she is not in the bed, all her energy vanished with naivete, why did she have to go away? with all the knowledge, experience, i could have used, but had no sense. now i am older, old yes to some, trying to shoulder, not to be glum.
problems to work on, wounds that are sutured, much more behind me than in the future.
tomorrow i'll rise if i am lucky, trying to smile, hopefully plucky

how confounded by the world am i
sometimes i question why i try
things that happen no explain
enough to drive myself insane
people kill without a reason
one bad look the cause for treason
in the name of deity
wipiing out the you and me
who can stop i cannot tell
hurry or else all will fell
like the trees in nuclear winter
left alone a naked splinter

a dissertation on being mature
does it exist i am not sure
with their families or old school clique
behavior reverts back and oh so quick
roles people played re-acted out
did they forget what life's about

merry comes and goes, but eating and drinking are forever

oh would i love to be
filthy rich and twenty three
i would spend my days in frolic
as a part time alcoholic
use every second that i can
working full time on my tan
not a worry not a care
except for the roots of my young hair
not a spider vein in sight
staying up and partying all night
but im locked up in that cage
known as female middle age

sometimes i have trouble writing
but what is it i am fighting?

how do you see me
what is in your eyes
do you want to kiss me
what is the surprise?

want to hear laughter
the happy ever after
so tired of hearing pain
over and over again

she watches him as he sits, reading his paper, head resting in his hand. she sees him as someone trying...to live a life, to make another life with her, the woman he is with.
she wonders if the women before her share their bed, when he touches her, as he dreams. she wonders how much of his mind they occupy, in his private moments, what regrets, grief he still experiences.
and what of his heart?. are they still there too, shoving her into a little chamber?
she thinks about men in general, are they all from the steven stills love the one your with school of living? and if so, as long as it works for them, that is ok.
but what of the "one your with" , me, she asks herself. where do i fit in, or do i? am i just a little bandaid on a big wound that has not healed?
will i ever occupy the center chamber?:will i ever feel i do, if i did?

jealousy is such a vile emotion
with the power of a toxic potion
it eats up your life every day
pushing aside only the good in its way
all consuming until nothing is left
on the sidewalk alone and bereft

he writes the poems because he holds my hand
he has given me a home
and he understands

should i count my wrinkles before they hatch
of hatch my wrinkles before the count
such a predicament i am in
as the lines and creases mount

how hard i have struggled to import his text
the entire process has left me vexed
but now it seems i have succeeded
although some valium i needed:)

i sit in fear of what will be

what is wrong

what will become of me

which is worse i shudder to think

the suspense of this

will it make me sink

or will the known trump

that which is not

here i sit thick in the plot

LET US HOPE THE BAILOUT PLAN OF CHOICE

WILL REALLY HELP, NOT MAKE MATTERS WOICE

the little daily everythings

the jokes we share

secret songs we sing

the private words between us only

so even when we are apart

we are never lonely

this is intimacy and i know why

it is the love never spared

between you and i

 

 

no more will i languish

in vainglorious anguish

 

it is so good to be alive and real

touching, seeing, being what i feel

there is poetry in emotion

no magic potion

just keeping on living

blessed by each day

you never know when

it will be taken away

 

 

i bitch and moan it could be worse

i am well enough to write this verse

 

holding hands

there is no other hand to hold like his

so warm so strong so good

holding together under fear

wishing that they could

keep each moment make it last

only the good seems to go too fast

the safest place without a qualm

hearts together palm to palm

oh and did i mention

the rumored 4th dimension?

in an attempt to restore order to disorder

i have broken this all down into phases. first, you have to survive the womb and all the external forces that assail it, then you have to be born, at the right time, in the right way, from the right womb...then you have to survive childhood diseases, microbial or those induced by man...then there is teenage and adolescent self dissolution and destruction...then there are the random acts i.e. the runaway mac truck, terrorized airline, inflamed ex lover, the mid 20's thru late 30's thing....

then, middle age and all the neoplastic invasions it may imply..

those who have successfully dodged all of these obstacles are relegated to the various insults hurled at them by old age and all its complications.

not to be continued...unless you subscribe to quantom physics....

if you dont get a slap

you will make the last lap

 

 

she struggled as the little girl inside her wriggled

she was never carefree, never giggled

a childhood filled with isolation

followed by adolescent dissipation

wanting to be her as she never was

more than what she did not, or what she now does

staring at the hour glass and the sand

cannot turn it over  with her own hand

the little girl was lost at sea

caught up in "what will become of me"

the time just passed, she unaware

lost in her sadness. empty stare

now every second, hour, minute

she wants her life, wants to be in it

no longer a watcher at the side

wary of  incoming tide

afraid she can no longer run her battery

as she realized there is more to life than flattery

she does want to end before her life begin

tired of losing, it is time to win

i watched the man who loves me sleep

he is so still, with dreams so deep

his plans in life most tossed and broken

such hurt so real yet never spoken

i want to bring him only good

to take away all pain withstood

 

my mind is adrift

in need of anchor

fears i cannot sift

but without rancor

they lay intertwined, wrapped tightly around each other.  the night was cool, a soft breeze caressing them. 

they breathed  in sync,  trying to be one.  as near as their bodies were, they felt it was not close enough. a soft light touched them. they kissed gently.

their passion quenched, they luxuriated in their love

i try not to think of the time i have wasted

all the joys in life i have never tasted

 

i have decided to drop doom and gloom from my personal attitude arsenal.  it is no good for the people around me, and is not exactly beneficial for me either.

the waiting period is very difficult, the mind wanders through  dark, twisted, forests.

what this turns out to be, time will surely reveal...i have no control over that   i  can only hope for the best with an eye on the worst, just in case....

 life  throws cannonballs in our path. the trick is in the navigation.

full speed ahead.

 

 

i would like to write a little poem

about my life about my home

but i am so afraid to lose it

having waited all my life to choose it

a love i thought i would never find

by looking forward not behind

imploring not now dont take it away

so much right here i want to stay

i waited wallowed suffered and cried

at times gave up, never tried

but now his love gives me the strength

it is up to g_d to give me the length

 

street fare

it was almost the official first day of autumn, festooned in summer like warmth.  people walked by, speaking in soft voices to each other.  it seems that weather like this elicits its own kind of warmth from those out enjoying its glory.

there were sounds of musical cacaphony, as different bands played simultaneously, oblivious to each other, playing as loud as they could. 

vendors did what vendors do...some soft sell, some hard, hoping to catch more than the eye of the strolling passersby.  dogs everywhere, in every permutation.

in this happy chaos, she slowly went, stopping occasionally to look at little animal statues.  unable to focus, aimlessly drifting.

 

blues are so blue reds are so red

why did i get  lost

inside my own head

roses are everywhere, shouting "smell me."

the trees are so green the sky so bright

she would never take for granted the day or night

her vision had altered

but her life had not faltered

she would keep going while hopefully growing

the roses lined up for her to smell

rocks in her way...no trees to fell

another day dealing with how "this thing" will change her life forever.  her eyes greedily took in everything.  she  thirsted to see more, dreading the dark that could overcome her, take life away from her, which she so valued.

she wanted to keep a positive attitude, but did not want to be jolted if the outcome of her testing was dire. each day would now have its own defintion. no longer blending aimlessly into another.

her approach...as much laughter as possible, infusing both of them with hope.

 

the turn worms

a bump, or more accurately, a suspicious cyst in the road...she struggled to gulp down all the projectionesque bleak scenarios.

for her, but most of all, for him

he listened to her as she enumerated the too many missteps and wrong turns in her life. her voice was at times soft and wavering, at other times harshly agitated.  she detailed a life of dreams not chased, questions not answered or not even asked, disappointment in others and disappointment in herself. 

it was this self- attack that seemed to upset her the most.  he told her not to be so hard on herself, as everyone misjudges, including him.  he held her hand firmly.

she nestled into his shoulder as he embraced her.

the night was warm and comforting for them both

the next day she decided would not be more of the same.  she felt the need to alter a part of her etched in routine.  doing so gave her the illusion of reaching out of the small, tight box that she used to contain herself.  but was it only an illusion?

maybe it was the spector of illness that  pushed her, or the relentless forward moving clock. whatever it was, she knew she had to expand the area she moved in, in order to move at all.

she was enveloped in fear of a most generalized nature.  however encroaching in this broad based anxiety was an image of herself, very old and incapacitated, looking back at an inert life and railing at her inertia. lost and broken.

she sat, bundled within herself, in a pile of nervous apprehension.  she had started to experience a type of physical discomfort she thought she had escaped years before...she contained herself while ruminating over the possible sinister diagnoses.

fear tried to throttle her, but she managed to escape from its grip, at least for now.  she had to stop her mind from generating the projected scenarios...she reminded herself of that proven all purpose one day at a time mantra as the persistent discomfort hammered at her.

she read up on the most dire of possiblities and the various treatments.  knowledge is not always a good thing...especially when one does not really have it. so she closed the website to write, consolidate the experience and read it back.

in this time of fiscal unrest

how can someone do their best

wanting to publish this poetry/prose

will someone want it

heaven knows

 

she sat, not quietly, on the computer.  staring at the screen, waiting for words to come.  her physical discomfort seemed to take over the usual mental unrest.  she continued typing whatever words reached her fingertips.  she reminded herself that her particular brand of creativity was best fueled by unhappiness, be it in the present or from the unresolved past. this was something she probably shared with many other people. the thought that she shared something with other people pleased her.  but why this?

 

do you want to be loved like a love story

words of passion in all their glory

adored, represented

never resented

worshipped respected

never disected

believed in not doubted

your talents not crowded

for your merits rejoiced

revelling in ideas you have voiced

this is  voyage to the surreal

because we all know this is not the deal

i feel like he does not trust me'

like he is always trying to bust me

he hangs on every word i say

afraid that i will go away

 

 

 

she found herself in remembrance...of wounds inflicted but not healed

of issues, conflicted yet not congealed

looking backward to look ahead

wishing to put the pain to bed

he cheated

she stood in front of the mirror, naked in its full context.  the reflection was of a young, lithe yet curvy woman...a shapely body most women would envy.

yet he cheated. she stood and stared at her bareness. what am i missing? what is it that he does not want nor see? why?

many years later, she understood.

the little girl

the little girl went into the bathroom.  she tried to be as quiet as possible, not wanting this moment to be discovered.  she turned on the light and stood in front of the mirror.

she saw a face, a pretty face...but it seemed noone else saw this.  she looked again.  the reflection was still pleasing to her eye.

she thought of her mother, forever, it seemed, talking about all the pretty girls in the neighborhood, never including her on this list.

she heard her mother's shrill voice, summoning the family to breakfast. the pretty girl was gone. she turned off the light, then slumped slowly down the stairs.

sometimes i look at the choices i make

avoided decisions

trips i did not take

again i wrestle and rail at  the years

wasted in sadness, gripped in great fears

do i choose to sit on this rock

my excuse to curse at the clock?

perhaps my fear is of success

and how to wear this new, untorn dress

perhaps i look at myself too much

has this become a new sort of crutch?

life at times an indecipherable dream

afraid to wake up unable to scream

 

 

 

 

the little girl and the kitten

she herself felt lost and small

as if noone saw her at all

she found a kitten alone outside

then brought it home so they could hide

to her room she snuck it in

and tucked it softly under her chin

so warm and cozy against her face

for once she felt she had a place

the next morning brought her mother's roar

she could not keep the kitten anymore

railed her mother throw it out

didnt not care how it was tossed about

so the little girl teary, no shoes on feet

carried the baby across the street

left it at her neighbors door

rang the bell

then was no more

 

 

as i strive to get used to the skin i am in

i wonder why it is still so thin

a furtive glance even the slightest slight

will make me toss and turn all night

at my age you think i would be used

to being hurt or perceived misused

instead of getting acclimated

i just feel so alienated

sometimes at the verge of tears

keeping heartbreak in arrears

cannot let my own humanity

end up detrimental to my sanity

it was another glorious sunday at the beach. the breeze was quite accomodating, making their boardwalk stroll seem shorter.  they held hands, their bodies touching at the arms and shoulders, feet in unison. people walked by, most either smiling or laughing.  children ran ahead of their adults stopping to look back from time to time. feeling reassured, they darted ahead again

the seagulls flew lower than usual, taking full advantage of the breeze, hovering happily, while occasionally dropping a gift onto an unsuspecting beachcomber. geese and gulls mingled peacefully on the sand.

they approached the railing to look at the ocean. the wave surges were fierce, white caps breaking forcefully along the shoreline. their hands remained interlocked, their bodies brushing against each other.

they walked down to the water. people everywhere revelled in this late summer bounty.. children, teenagers, adults...in all shapes and permutations, united in appreciation of nature's untameable beauty.

the day before was stormy, very stormy, this day was calm with a kinder wind. the ocean still raged, only hinting at the potential of its full fury.\

they stood at the water's edge, breathing in this luxury, luxuriating in each other

 

here i sit in bravado bluster

so in need of courage to muster

always ran and did not try

afraid to fall afraid to cry

did not reach out as feared rejection

too involved in self inspection

did not feel i was advantageous

lack of self esteem might be contagious

all this time i hid my humor

feeling like some unwanted tumor

now i must try to move by an inch

keep on going even  if i flinch

'

 

  

she closed the door and walked into her parents apartment.  standing in the foyer, she watched them in the kitchen.  these two small, feeble people bustled about, clinging to every movement they were still able to do. they worked together, clad in their color compatible aprons, immaculately dressed underneath.

she watched them as they are, remembering them as they were, strong, tough, able to generate great fear in her and her brother, which lingered  to this day.

their stature was greatly reduced.but not their posture nor their posturing.

she felt them fading. their ability to take care of themselves would probably be coming to an end sometime in the near future. they, who had exercised such control over everyone in their perceived domain, were slowly losing control over their bodies, and would be dependent on others, surrendering even more of that precious control. a frightening scenario for her as well.

her long simmering anger dissipated into a gentle empathy for the fragile humanity before her.

she entered the kitchen, kissing each one softly, then sat down for dinner

for her, the night turned out to be another tossing and turning experience.  her mind raced in all directions, never staying in one place long enough to resolve anything. the crickets outside serenaded her.

the clock inched forward,darkness gradually became light. it was time to get out of bed to start another mindless day. she stumbled into the bathroom. she stood in front of the mirror, splashing cold water on her face. the one looking back at her was fatigued and puffy. she reached for the bevy of undereye concealers and camoflauge she would apply later.

every morning she rose to this routine she counted down the "wake ups" until the weekend. this was the last for this week. she would share her countdown with the bus driver, who appeared to have the same approach to rutville as she

the rutting reason

a rut is condition that could be defined

as doing something that drives you out of your mind

over and over like a good dog rover

feeling fit so you heel and sit

stuck in a place you dont want to be

 because you need to do so financially

bored and distracted the day seem so protracted

wishing you were that man in the cape

so you could affect a speedy escape

what would you do, make pottery

if you won the lottery?

her eyes are open but her lids are shut

whatever put her in this rut

as she sits at her desk pounding on the puter

wishing she could do what would really suit her

fatiguee

another night she sits at home

she found the time to write this poem

the day was hectic uninspired

she is so worn she is feeling wired

head is aching eyes are burning

no deeper thoughts, nor secret yearning

exhaustion has her overwhelmed

this tired soul sitting at her helm

not wanting to genuflect

so she creates this poem

to reconnect

with what are her inner workings

and the questions ever lurkiing

the sky was a little darker than it was the last week, she noted as she left her apartment building. this was another reminder of the unremitting dark and cold that would take seige for months.

she walked hurriedly toward her breakfast spot, as she had done countless times. she felt frozen, yet saw life rushing past her.  other early risers bustled by on foot, some in cars,  just going, no peripheral vision, just focused on their destination. no stopping to smell the roses, but perhaps trampling any that might get in their way.

her path crossed two acquaintances, all nodded then kept on going.

so this was that life of quiet desparation that her father told her most people lived. he conveyed that acceptance of this was the only way to be comfortable on this earth.  part of her felt that accepting this slow, dull rush to the grave was a form of defeat. a square peg on a round planet indeed i am, she thought.

that night she enjoyed a rich, dream filled sleep. as she slowly got out of bed, she tried to remember the dreams that were so vivid as they occured.  she could not.

she looked around the dark room, lit only by the time on the cable box and the soon to detonate alarm clock. she rushed to turn it off, as she did not want to disturb the man sleeping next to her.

her feet hit the ground barely walking. she made her way to the kitchen to perform the automatic pilot routine she knew too well.    she thought of the man still at rest in bed, and yearned to join him, to cuddle in his arms.

another day began...she reminded herself that this was a blessing indeed, then returned to her usual early am grousing.

 

 

the person on the other end of the line gibbered on and on about the usual complaints that went along with her job. she felt irritated and had to hold back, as she almost answered him in a cross manner. she reminded herself that her life, her feelings, were not his fault.  she resolved his problem and went  onto  the next scenario, always trying to extinguish the spark before it burst full flame.

there were times she wanted nothing more than to shout at the whining person on the other end of the line...listen buddy this is not life and death, the only thing that is life and death  IS life and death, however she held her tongue. after all she needed this job a lot more than this job needed her...ever aware of the noone is indispensable syndrome.

the next few phone calls were minor skirmishes, no collateral damage, no working lives lost. 

the day dragged on. she found herself again looking out the window, reflecting on the myriad of wrong turns that landed her in this predicament. no life skills/decision making gps was available and never would be.

she picked up the small, slightly scratched mirror in her desk drawer, gazing at the face gazing back at her, looking for a trace of hope and optimism in the.glimmer of her eyes. or maybe that just was her lens implant. 

she knew that in there, somewhere, the little girl who almost ceased dreaming, still had a voice that needed to be heard. 

she sat, staring out the window, not at anything in particular, just staring...the blue sky was illuminated by the beckoning sunshine.  there were trees, still green but touched with shades of yellow. change was in the air. she breathed it in as she walked to the bus stop early in the morning.

she watched the people milling about outside, thinking they were so lucky not to be trapped indoors, as she was, doing something that her circumstances deemed necessary but was so not in her heart to do.

many autumns had passed through her life. she was still wallowing in her predicament.

there were times when she merrily skipped through her days, deep feelings staying deep, where they could not do her any harm.

and there were times, like these, when they surfaced, along with the requisite hand in hand self pity and anger.  time was snarling at her. it could bite at any moment. she wanted to do something before it was too late, but what, was she too old?

the phone at her desk rang shrilly. she turned her head away from what lay outside the window. back to dealing with what was enclosed behind it.

some days are long some days are short

time is too hard to define

some days i wish i could abort

while wishing others would stay online

over this i have zero control which vexes and disturbs

filling my inner soul and life with echoes and reverbs

 

i try to write most every night

but sometimes ideas elude

at times my minds not feeling right

and it will not collude

as she sat on the beach, she turned her head, taking in all that was around her. her brother and his wife lay close by, wrapped up in each other and the beauty of this day. a little further down, a small dog flirted with the sea, running up to it, then running backwards as the water  approached  him.

a father and son fished together, reeling in one small silver fish after another, childlike glee on both their faces.

lying besides her, the man she loved placed his hand on hers. she turned towards him, their eyes locked in their smiles

when

when will he let go

i do not know

he muse

he "writes" the poems because he holds my hand

he has given me a home

and he understands

confusion reigning must get out

cannot be quiet cannot shout

an inner riot

living in a pout

i would like to create a little poem

that says it all, not in a tome

that expresses how i feel

what is imagined what is real

what has not been spoken waiting unsaid

swirling around my heart and head

can this be done remains a mystery

as each new day becomes a history

living faster than i can write

the blur that makes the day the night

i shall continue as long as i live

my words the best things i can give

 

 

she checks her email trying to find out

what is up and what is about

to fill the void her life has created

friends cannot be replicated

empty words give her a connection

an escape or cause for reflection

her feet redux

her feet stood still in the path they made

half in the sun half in the shade

surrounded by sounds by human voices

what were they thinking were they mulling choices

children running just to run, the best reason

trying to steal the last part of the season

cars flying by what is their rush

time is fast enough in its lightspeed crush

leaves wind bristling joyfully green

knowing soon they will not be seen

with or without her this she knows

something comes while something goes

her feet

her feet had walked this sidewalk paved

where sadness dwelled her life was saved

she was 15 the ground was hot

lying ahead, she hadnt read the plot

concerned with truth lost in her youth

the years brushed by, they tinged her face

as over and over she walked this place

she knew the park in both its light and dark

but through the years other  feet had tread

some still living some long dead

the sidewalk looked tired in greyness fade

so many lives upon it played

 

at times i partake of a nip of rum

as it blots out that sense of glum

but standing behind every mellow buzz

there lurks the is with its friend the was

sometimes a poembyte i will write

on topic heavy to keep it light

a word or two can say much more

than tens of thousands sure to bore

dont want to suffer a recession

in important word expression

the little girl revelled in what she found

afraid that it would run aground

what could she say to describe him

except before all lights were dim

sifting through emotional archives

she sat still and mulled

why some memories were sharp

while others were  dulled

there were entire pages

blank without  a word

she passed through all her stages

not a memory sound  heard

was it because with time softness settles in

or is it facing truth would cause too much chagrin

was what she was still running from

a source of liberation

or would its hard uncovering

be cause for much libation

would she ever know

would it help her grow?

 

 

sailing too

the water tapped rythmically against the boat, as hungry gulls scoured the water for prey.  the sun, in its gentle splendor, blanketed all it purveyed with its warmth.  the breeze tickled and teased, part balmy and part hinting of the autumn chill to come.

for her brother, this was the one place he could really be. he revelled in sharing this joy with anyone receptive, especially with his sister and her husband, who seemed to appreciate it most.

she lay back on the deck, feeling as if all her stress had been and was no more . she watched as her brother and his brother in law navigated the boat. it was a most primitive bonding...men, the sea, the air...

her inner world was at peace...the only movement the waves, and the love

if animals ruled how would it be this question often comes to me

dogs would want peace to  leave things alone

just give them some food, a lap and a bone

cats would want playtime  to romp and to stalk

we would have to be careful to watch where we walk

birds would be busy, smart and alert

keeping us in a tizzy, never inert

but would there be war

no not anymore

 

 

angel, sue et al

today i feel like i can soar

my words have reach, they touch

i dont feel so isolated any more

well at least not that much

for you who read my thanks indeed

 

i am young and i am old

i do both of them at once

i am shy and i am bold

i am smart and am a dunce

where did i get this prediliction

for such a  human contradiction

all is quiet i am tired and worn

not exactly happy but neither forlorn

just sitting in limbo alert and yet sleepy

my thoughts not akimbo nor am i weepy

idling to rest all that needs to be rested

ready to fight inner foes to be bested

why is there such a dearth

of any good news on this earth

every day its people dying

children alone, families crying

what ever happened to peace and love

the proverbial fist in a velvet glove

is it because it is not in style

gone the way of that :)empty smile

and what ever happened to a friendly word

is it now with the dodo bird?

they

they schooled her with deeds and words unkind

she tried to chase them from her mind

but there they were in every decision she made

every sound she uttered every move she played

one to one

please do take me one to one

dont lump me in a group

just because i am coughing

dont think i have the croup

his eyes

his eyes are a mirror but what does he see

so much more than i see in me

he sees a young girl laughing and fun

a shiny new pearl, where i see none

a life full of potential dreams unfullfilled

where i see the torrential streams yet untilled

but will he still see me this way as we go

or will he grow tired as we both grow slow?

my eyes

my eyes are twenty i look at the man

does he see me? i do all that i can

my eyes are thirty and still feeling wild

i am an adult but am inside a child

my eyes are forty and clouded a bit

he still looks young, perhaps a good fit

my eyes are fifty, twenty looks like a boy

emotionally thrifty but perhaps someones joy

my parents are older ive watched them age

from every corner, every page

in the twenties young and strong

working hard to get along

in their thirties, their forties too

living dreams they thought would never come true

then middle aged and grandparenthood

defending their bad by calling it good

now they sit at the end of the clock

viewing their lives and taking stock

while dodging infirmities, illness and pain

wishing they could do it all over again

they are the mirror i see my time race

with every wrinkle of my once youthful face

she walked around, shuffling her feet as she imagined the soon to be fallen leaves under her . she had lived this life for so long yet at times it felt surreal, as though she were living it through a raindrop, viscous and distorted.

she turned her head from side to side, taking in all within her range of vision. her eyes swallowed the verdure of the leaves, the sullen grey sidewalks, faces passing by. she thirsted so for every image, unable to take enough in.

ever the outsider so desparate to be let in 

within the parameters of her essential being

seen your...

i do not want to be this way

time gave me no choice

i may be getting older

but i still have a voice

should i write something more commercially viable

with inspiration not so easily deniable

or stick to my own self being pliable

at least my angst is reliable?

she sat quietly watching as her fingers hurried over the keyboard, running from the hurt by pounding out her pain.  the crickets outside her window ushering the end of summer, seemed to accompany the torment inside her.

she had reached out to someone by revealing herself, this was greeted by the slap she knew would come sooner or later, but this time, she would keep on going.

a frayed

she sits by the water toes dangling in

this someones daughter not going in

wanting to dive too afraid that she'll drown

yearning to thrive but afraid she'll fall down

afraid of the dark afraid of the light

dreading the lows yet afraid of the height

toes loving the cool water foot goes in deep

liquid inviting so why can't she leap?

 

it is friday another high day

an attempt to run from who am i day

 

i should sit and write something down

i tell my self as there's noone around

the music is playing but apartment is quiet

no thoughts are staying

my minds in a riot

will i die with nothing achieved

noone to understand

what i believed

or will i be heard

with my written word?

it must be nice to be young with a plan

everyday feeling like life just began

but this perspective belongs only

to those who are aging

youth is too busy

with hormones engaging

we who run daily from the

truth so heart rending

we are closer to leaving

our lives to be ending

 

 

h

 

the little girl sat on the shelf

not all alone

but by herself

darkness around her

no glimpse of light

only her fantasies

warming the night

 

she watches him as he sits, reading his paper, head resting in his hand. she sees him as someone trying...to live a life, to make another life with her, the woman he is with.

she wonders if the women before her share their bed, when he touches her, as he dreams.  she wonders how much of his mind they occupy, in his private moments, what regrets, grief he still experiences.

and what of his heart?. are they still there too, shoving her into a little chamber?

she thinks about men in general, are they all from the steven stills love the one your with school of living? and if so, as long as it works for them, that is ok.

 but what of the "one your with" , me, she asks herself. where do i fit in, or do i? am i just a little bandaid on a big wound that has not healed?

will i ever occupy the center chamber?:will i ever feel i do, if i did?