blue

Best for you, worst for me,
I couldn't make you sing,
gathering perspective
like losing everything.

I used to walk around
a queen amongst my fans--
now, I pause and stumble
forgetting my balance.

Takes substantial gumption
to muster up the strength
as there's always something
to barricade the path.

It's my journey alone.
In the end, only one
will attest, will atone
if it turns out I'm wrong.

Wrong? My heart, it dances,
I pine to sing with thee.
You eschew advances--
best for you, worst for me.

Written for my occasional music prompt at Real Toads, where today the song is "Blue" by The Jayhawks. Click over and be inspired!

look at what's goin' down

Friends! Check it out, my occasional music prompt is up over at Imaginary Garden With Real Toads. The song is "Blue" by The Jayhawks. Please join us and be inspired!

look at what's goin' down

death star

You come blasting,
your primary mission
outfleeting fireworks,
orbiting outskirts--
Some rinkydink pissah
planet we got here, eh?
Sock it to me, sugar--
Bring on your missiles,
I will never join you.

keep your inch

Don't throw him a bone.
Hell, don't even look--
If you catch his eye,
he'll see an invitation
to follow you home.

You might like the tail-
wagging, licking, cuddling,
but soon enough the whining
starts, the incessant drool
and simpering demands.

Before you realize it,
he will have suckled you
bone-dry and you'll jump
at the sound of his bark.
Believe me, he bites.

Avert your eyes. He will
take more than a mile.

recompense

The tiny town center,
awash with reporters
live-tweeting the news:
Jerry Sandusky,
guilty on 45 charges.

As the cheer rises
I can hear it from here,
wrapping my heart like
a balm, my old community
embracing the children.

Brave children, men now.
Strong for all of us who
were not strong for you.
We are all complicit--
All of us are responsible.

Now we must make amends.

Fireblossom asked the Real Toads to write a poem featuring a famous person, and I chose someone who is now infamous.

I lived and practiced as a new lawyer for three years in Bellefonte, Pennsylvania, the site of Jerry Sandusky's criminal trial. Like for most people, the gravity of his actions has overwhelmed me. I wrote this poem earlier, when Joe Paterno died:

untitled 1/25/12

that itch

She cut her thumbnails down to the quick,
making leverage for tearing scabs
nearly impossible, but still, she rubbed.

Didn't her daddy teach her just to rub,
not scratch, mosquito bites when they itched?
He never told her what to do when it burned,

when she wanted to peel her skin off,
pull her hair out, when the pain distracted
from everything. Then it was time for water.

Then she'd head to the river, she'd wait
for a flood if she had to, for rinsing her head,
to dunk her soul in, to cleanse, to wash the itch.

This is my response to last week's 100 Word Song at My Blog Can Beat Up Your Blog, which was "Pain Lies On The Riverside" by Live.

grey street

She turned toward her daughter, the broken glass still in her hand. "C'mere, baby girl. I could use a hug."

Her girl fell against her, wrapping sinewy arms tight, burying her face in her mama's bosom. She raised her up with one arm--even at six years old, her little one still weighed less than forty pounds--tossed the glass in the sink, plopped her on the counter and stood close.

"You okay, baby?" She brushed the hair from her daughter's eyes.

"I'm okay. I need to use the bathroom."

The girl kissed her on both cheeks. "Let's go, Mama."

This little story is being played out in 100-word increments, thanks to Lance of My Blog Can Beat Up Your Blog. This week's 100 Word Song is "Grey Street" by Dave Matthews.

summer nights

Watching Star Wars on
the longest day of the year:
air conditioning.

put a bird on it

See that bird over there on the right? Go ahead, scroll over and down a bit, just above my blogroll, see it there? Go ahead and click it, the bird won't hurt you.

Click! And then come back here to make a comment about the cool Rick Murnane.

(Thank you, Rick, for prettifying the Runaway Sentence.)

daydream believer

I dreamed
a friend's father died.
On waking,
I raced to see
if it had come true.
It had not.
So I drank coffee,
indulging my dream of you
again.

flights of fancy

Some nights, dreams're conspiring
to fly me beyond clouding
when should I be retiring,
surrounded by night's shrouding--

Instead I'm up creating,
lusty metaphors flying
toward the crow moon elating,
all around verbose skying--

Come to me, word purveyor,
taste my kiss in your diction;
I'll reward you, soothsayer,
my dreamscapes tend to fiction--

Flights of eve not forgotted
when morning sunshine ringers,
my limbs still feel besotted,
night-flying affair lingers--

To keep it I'm desiring,
gives the light better meaning--
bewitching and beguiling,
conspiratorially dreaming.

For the weekend, Kerry challenged the Real Toads to tackle the Celtic quatrain. I cheated a little in the last line. Writer's fancy!

skin deep

If you squint, I will blur
so you won't notice the detritus
flying around my head like angels
and trailing behind me as if
to mark the path for you to follow
when I veer away, itching, half-raw.

It's hard to lose someone who leaves
pieces of herself behind like that,
even harder to forget the image
of a woman burning, completely undone.
Please forgive me for clouding
your pillow, for sullying your dreams.

some bunny loves you

Everything that could possibly be dropped
I dropped this morning, as though a cosmic hand
threw my stuff down to remind me of the floor
and the earth below, cradling a baby bunny
named Candy, bathed in my children's tears,
rocked by that colossal hand, back and forth,
forward and back. Back to the earth,
like all living things. Like life, and death.

if wishes were words

(Little pining office-worker poem

inspired by Kenia's challenge to the Real Toads.)

family of four

Counting eleven Steps
plus one, to our Babies--
on their own Planets,
mouths open, long legs,
one with seven freckles,
the other's giant Teeth
evincing his ingenuity.
Their lexicon eclipses
ours, their querying
far beyond our Cosmology.
And you? My Soul searches
for yours, day and night--
you reside inside me like
my own Great Attractor.
We did This, you and me.
We made This together,
twining scraps into a Nest
that we fiercely nurture.
No Tornadoes or Thieves,
no Ghosts, nor Asteroids--
just a Family of Four.
We'll dream of All of Us.

This poem is for my husband, Aaron. Happy birthday, my love!

elephant

This song makes me wanna pull my hair out. Yeah, she was prone to hyperbole, but this time it was really true. She wound the hair around her fingers and tugged, gently, until she felt the familiar buzz and the itch began, increasing, pulling, itching, burning, and then her nails were raking her scalp, tangling her hair, catching a tab of skin, hesitating, then digging at it, pulling it loose, yanking hard, skin and hair ripping from her head, letting it fly out the open window. Maybe I should stop listening to this shit. Or start biting my fingernails again.

This week's 100 Word Song at My Blog Can Beat Up Your Blog is "Elephant" by Damien Rice.

blame

You
were sick,
your father
was demented.
Somehow it was
my fault.

Laurie asked the Real Toads to write about dementia.

new favorite

She turned the radio on
and the words fell out.
The second definition
resonates, a competitor
judged most likely to win.
Swollen second eye accuses
her new lover, who boils
the soup of second thoughts.
Your second anniversary--
she breathes the possibility
of second chances, and now
you're second best.
She has a new favorite.

Izy challenged the Real Toads to re-purpose lyrics from our go-to breakup song. Mine is "New Favorite," written by Gillian Welch and recorded by Alison Krauss. I was lucky enough to see Gillian Welch perform this magnificent song live, and let me tell you, it was an affecting moment that I will not forget.

transit

Squinting while
watching for Venus
to cross the sun
quiets my eyes like
fresh blacktop tar.
Or like yours, red
and leaking, cheeks
freshly slapped to
obedient restraint.
I see you, Aperire.
Your eyes reflect
my fear. Don't look
directly at the star.

festival

She sat on the hill, watching the crowd swaying, an army of arms waving in the air like so many balloons. Those people were so high, they had no idea what they looked like, a mass of teeming body parts flailing, mostly in rhythm, a few errant offbeats proving the rule.

She scanned the sea but he was nowhere in sight, and the band creeped her out anyway, with those scary wrestling masks. She'd be better off listening but not watching.

She began the long hike back to her tent. When morning came, no one would feel better than she.

This week's 100 Word Song at My Blog Can Beat Up Your Blog is "This Too Shall Pass" by OK Go. I just love that video! Well, all their videos, really. And hat tip to Los Straitjackets, whose music, but not appearance, I love, too.

sunday blues

All of my flaws are on display,
exhumed and arranged on display--
fighting the urge to fly away.

Failing flight, I can fake a smile
beyond the blue cloisonne smile
that's challenging to reconcile.

Would that we were only talking--
fervent wish for no more talking,
my calloused feet should start walking.

Kerry's weekend challenge to the Real Toads is to write the blues--the blues stanza.

the wild one

Let your hair down,
be brave. Belt it out, all in view.
Let your hair down.
Don't be afraid to act the clown,
or vamp, or pose, uniquely you.
Take some advice from Suzi Q--
Let your hair down.

A gut response to the rock hard! music prompt at Real Toads, inspired by the fabulous Suzi Quatro. 

 

rock hard!

My occasional music prompt over at Real Toads today features the inimitable Suzi Quatro. Please join us and be inspired!

rock hard!