Sunday, January 21, 2018

When wind blows in the jungle,
Only the tops of the trees are moved.
In the gray morning,
High in the green tree,
I see a flash of golden sun,
But this one comes with her own shadows.
The golden jaguar is resting,
Watching, dreaming high above it all.

I am not afraid of her
Because I know that she is me.
She and I share visions with one another.
Together, we see the whole picture of this plane, and others.
We strategize and connect the dots.
We encourage one another.
"Don't ever try to change your spots," she says as I walk by.

"I won't," I reply with resolution,
And nod to her silently.
She understands that I have said,
 "You, too."


Saturday, January 20, 2018

He quoted the ancient mariner,
Translated a Nordic rune,
Pulled a sword out of the stone,
Sung a Gaelic.

And then he disappeared again
Behind the shower curtain.

And when his hair,
In ringlets wet,
Clusters round his fabled head,
And joy and freedom course through the blood in his veins ,
Then all his cells shout out with glee!
They are all in love with me!
And I disappear behind the shower curtain with him.


He got fat so I could see
How pitiful it looked on me.
But when I saw, and he saw, too,
There was nothing more
That we could do but laugh
And trot right down to the candy store


Friday, January 12, 2018

Engagement Shoes

The Wives of Charity came by
And gave me shoes, for I had none.
They looked down at me and smiled
As I sat on the floor and tried them on
Until I found a pair that they said fit.

I put them on this morning
And began my hike up the mountain trail
To look for ginseng root.
But I sat on a rock about halfway up
And  took those shoes off and left them there.
They hurt my feet,
And besides, I missed the feel of the mountain between my toes.


Thursday, January 11, 2018

The Place That Even England Will Not Go

Hebrides, I've not forgot
Your gale force winds
And sea green salt grass
The hammer of the ships abuilt
Upon your worthy shores.

How the eyes of those who come
Will go as soon as the travel is ready!
How the eyes always look away
Toward some other unknown land.

Will there ever be a home?
Will west ever go as far as east?
Will anyone ever truly settle
For you, dear Hebrides?


Wednesday, January 10, 2018

I heard a woman in the store
Chide her squirming little boy.
She told him
That it wasn't nice
"To wiggle."

She told him o'er and o'er and o'er
How it wasn't nice
"To wiggle."

I got so tired of hearing her speak,
So pained and so controlling!
"Such a whining sniveling beak face!"
I thought to myself,
And had the urge "to wiggle"
Right in front of her,
Or slap her in the face and say,
"Let him go, so he can wiggle in peace!"

And how did she think that it's not nice
To wiggle when you dance or swim,
And how did she think that she made him,
That wiggling little boy,
Without a little wiggling joy?
But maybe that's the problem.
No joy in Muddville!
No wiggling on the top or bottom.
Not a pro, and not creative,
Just a job to do
To provide America with your 2.2 children
And be on your pragmatic way.
No fun, smiling or wiggling allowed!


I hear a lot about proper self-talk these days,
And how we can change all our circumstances just by changing the way we talk to ourselves.
So, I say I don't need self-talk.
I don't need anything.
I don't even need air.
I declare myself anaerobic.
I could be buried alive.
The thought of it doesn't scare me a bit
Because I could lay there for 2000 years and still be alive
And still be not breathing air.

See there, I feel better now
After my rant,
And all my self-talk and all my declarations,

Although a part of me wonders if
There may be a fine line between
Healthy self-talk and denial.