Long Talks and Sidewalks

Long Talks and Sidewalks

Rainbows and ponies don’t do anything for me.
Don’t bring me cut flowers and expect me to smile and swoon.
I don’t need material things to stimulate a feeling,
Or simulate some other notion of how a girl should feel.
I don’t need perpetual sunshine either.
Life is boring, life is long.
The cracks in the sidewalk are where things are interesting.
The pain of falling down and the process of getting up again are the things that matter.
Look me in the eyes and give me your words.
Give me your time.
Tell me your story.
Those are the things I want.
And in return I’ll walk beside you.
And we shall help each other up again,
When we fall.
And on and on,
Until the sidewalk ends.


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When We Met

When We Met

The sun of the year was in high noon
when we met.

I wanted you to want me
like a fever breaking
sweat pouring out from every pore.
I wanted you to want my time,
a clock rewinding itself
just to get more.
I wanted you to want my words
and to ask my thoughts of flowers cut.
I wanted hopeful heart half open
but you didn’t and so it shut.

It was the sunset of that same year
when we said goodbye.

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2018-01-24 Why Poetry

I’m in the car this morning navigating the ice rink that is the high school parking lot. I was dodging teenagers and their Pontiacs and late model Cadillacs and somehow maintaining my positive disposition despite my daughters insistance on fighting with me about a 5 minute discrepancy in our schedules.

I’m only half listening to her because there’s a Soundgarden song on with lyrics that are speaking directly to my soul. My mind is thinking about poetry.

At Residency, the second most asked question (besides who my favorite poets are), was “Why poetry”. Nobody has ever asked me that before. My gut response then was “because it’s always been Poetry”, but that doesn’t really explain it and so I’ve been thinking about the question ever since.

As a part of my course of study I’m reading texts and collections of poems by famous poets and also googling things of interest that are related to see what someone outside that sphere of influence has to say about things. Here and there I am gathering bits and pieces of “Why”. Due to the demand of organization required by my left brain, I’ve been keeping a list. Every time I feel I’ve discovered another reason, I write it down.

When I began to listen to the lyrics of “Halfway There”, there was something about it that vibrated within me. Not any one word, but the arrangement culminating in an interpretation that bounced around inside of me and created ripples of thought.

As I let the waves take over, everything else began to fade into the distance. My daughters voice became muted. In my peripheral vision, I could tell by her movements, she was still speaking but I couldn’t hear it. All I could hear were the vibrations from “Should a good life be so hard won / is that what our dreams have become.”

My daughter got out of the car and refused to respond to me as I said “Have a great day. I love you”. I’m used to that by now.

As I pulled out of the parking lot I hit the rewind button so I could listen from the beginning.

I wondered, as I encountered the first 4 way stop if I could say what Soundgarden had said any better. The arrangement of those words flirting with perfection in my ears. I rounded the next corner and concluded that any form of imitation or rework of the same subject would fall so far away from the original and result in complete failure.

I pulled into my driveway and allowed the song to finish and kept the car running long enough to hear what the Universe had chosen for my next song.

It was “Lurgee” by Radio Head. Oh the mystery and mastery of the omniscient. Well played.

I want to write lyrics that not only heighten my sense of being and elicit recollections of feeling, but perhaps also to shine a light on something bright enough to move others to also see it and feel it with me. This is not coming from a place of ego. It’s a genuine desire to channel my endless empathy, and thought, and feeling into something worthwhile.

In order for me to do this, I have to get out of my ‘I Thought’, and commit to gaining a deeper understanding of the universe, Earth, and all forces at work on a random Wednesday morning in a High School parking lot. Based on what I know now, I have a long way to go.

I need to study my craft and fine tune my senses with experience. And it needs to be Poetry because that’s what was placed inside of me before birth. It’s thousands of thoughts waiting to be brought to life on the page with a syntax and vocabulary and rhythm that sing when read outloud or in the mind, touching the deepest part of one’s soul.

It’s the best answer to the question I’ve come up with yet to “Why Poetry?”.
Time to go add that to the list.



Image credit to: SHAI

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Christmas Magic

Christmas Magic

Not too long ago the kids stopped believing
So this year all that they will be receiving
Are gifts from family and from each other
Nothing from Santa for this sister and brother.

The Polar Express has lost its rightful place
As the movie of choice in the Christmas Eve space.
Replaced by the lore of The Lord of the Rings
Which brings different kinds of magical things.

And then there’s this doll, a cute little elf
That has not moved an inch all month on her shelf
In years past she was active night after night
But this year the magic has vanished from sight.

Then tonight I sat down after a long day of fun
To reflect on this year which is now all but done
And what do I spy perched low in our tree
The elf sitting cross-legged a hand on one knee.

Now I’m not a grinch and I have a big heart
And I’ve done some magic, and I’ve played my part
But I know I did not move her, not one single bit
Someone else must have, I’m sure of it.

So I ask my daughter and then turn to my son
“The elf must have been moved by someone?”
They shook their heads no and we then sat in wonder
“If not you, or you, then there must be another.”

We sat in silence for several minutes and stared
“It’s the magic of Christmas” my daughter finally decleared
This made my heart swell with joy and belief once more
In the spirit of Christmas and all of its lore.


Merry Christmas!


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The Deal

The Deal

It was a contract carefully crafted,
Words eloquently drafted,
Drawn up on paper pressed from the flesh
Of the twisted dogwood tree.
An old soul would smell the sour stench
Of splinters ripe with the curse of the risen.
But not this soul.. this soul was too new.

She was freshly spawned, senses pale,
Untouched by the moon, untainted by the sun
Her purpose not yet refined.
The path of her life not yet defined
The bitter truth of language and love
Not yet revealed in her mind.
She was innocent of the wicked way of words
The perfect target.

Promises on the page danced like firefly light
Across her eager eyes
It was riddled with absolutes.
Always, everything, anything.. forever.
Nothing in the fine print but the scent of a flower.
No reason to be wary, no cause for concern.
A simple transaction
Negotiated over a clever distraction.

He shined his light on the dotted line
So she could sign using blue/grey ink
Extracted from the iris of her eyes.
And sign she did, happily
Unknowingly, unsuspecting.
Vowing to forego love’s sweet fires
For easy access to all her other hearts desires..

A fair deal?
Perhaps in the mind of one so green
So unopened, so not yet discovered.
But ask again as years unfold
Ask again after loneliness has taken its toll.
The young soul learns about words and grows old
Experience, a relentless taskmistress
Endlessly fine tuning one’s senses to every spectrum.

But the parchment does not share her fate
Crisp as the day it was cut
Ink on the page, unaltered, unfaded
Words written once remain the same.
Their injustice hidden in plain sight
The truth in their meaning revealed only by time
Always, everything, anything.. Ask the dogwood.
There is no justice in forever.


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Justice of the Pieces

Justice of the Pieces

Let your words be lawless
Regard them all as flawless.
Covet the way they sound,
Wound up and unwound.
Seek the villain, hear their plea,
Grant them a pardon, set them free
Make them the hero of your story,
Feed the beast and covet the glory.
Break the rules, twist the plot
Disregard can’t, won’t, and not.
Invite your shadows to take the lead
Allow them license, fulfill their need.
Let go of order, feel the releases
Be the justice of your own pieces.

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I’m queen of my castle here
Perched just below my witches hat
And time marches on around me
It happens just like that.

I’ve got keys to all the doors here
That no one wants to open
I’ve got wishes to be granted
But they all go left unspoken.

It makes me wonder if I’m a fraud
Just a servant to the real throne
Biding my time writing about
A daydream I’m not allowed to own.

I want to let the love inside
I’ve begged beggars come and take it
I’m fighting a war inside my harried mind
Worried that I can no longer fake it.

This place is cold and so alone
And time marches on around me
Pour another cup of wine tonight
Let sleep’s embrace surround me.

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2017-07-11 When in Portland

When in Portland

Today we did what people in Portland do
And went to have donuts at the VooDoo.
Today we did what people in Portland do
And walked up and down 3rd Avenue

We spied some parks and a fountain too.
We ate at a food truck or two.
We did the things that people here do
Because when you’re in Portland that’s what you do.

Then we jumped in the car and drove away
Out of the city about mid-day.
We followed the nav and what did it say?
Take 84 East for a new place to play.

When we arrived at the falls we looked up to the sky
The water was coming from so very high
Should we hike it? Yes, we just have to try.
We did not come this far to just say goodbye.

When the sun started setting we headed back west
Time for some food and a nice place to rest.
We found a good spot, perhaps not the best
It been just lovely so far, being Oregon’s guest.

Yes today has been full, it’s been tried it’s been true.
There is so much too see here, so much to do
Today we did what people in Portland do
Tomorrow it’s off to the coast for a different view.


Best moment of the day… Walking on 3rd avenue when my 15 year old daughter and 13 year old son both held my hand as we walked. I can’t help but be grateful they still want to hold my hand at this age and I also think it may be one of the last times they will both want to. So wonderful.

Best quote of the day… Z: I think there is a skunk near the trail. Me: Um, chances are HIGH that is not a skunk! 😛 (then she punches my arm).

It’s only day one of our little adventure and already it has been so great. I’m excited to see what tomorrow brings.

Peace and Love,

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