Lying on a floating mat, gazing at the sun through my hat.

The waves cause a gentle sway
Of an inflated mat
And my body lying flat
As I stare up into my hat

Blue sky and waves are bright
But just an inch from my face
Is a dark and rainbowed space
And I am glad to be in this place

face of the earth

A left and a right and a left-hop-skip
I think I've gone and hopped right off it

I've let myself dive into the persistent cloud-cover,
feeling the gray and gloomy days.
While lush mountains with their woolly green coats
flock the sulking Shepard.
Who sits on her rock and consoles her heart
drawing rivers with a stick in the mud
You see, the earth and the rain are playing a game
coaxing this crab from her shell.
For sit long enough on the most comfortable rock
and your bony ass will get sore
And your numb bum and the soft filtered sun
will cause you to stretch and to eye (unawares)
Whereupon Mother Kesey and her gang of merry pranksters
Swiftly sneeze you into the sky.

odd balls

I like the odd balls.
The one in the group of black trench coats staring at the clouds.
The window with the beaded curtains.
The pink houses.
The neon tights.

I smile at the portico capped with rusted iron angles.
The bimbo who wipes the gelato from nonno's chin.
Cherry blossoms at the bus stop.
Crazy curly frizzy hair.
Enormous orange hats.

Just when I'm feeling that I am the odd one out,
I look up and notice someone or something distinctly different,
The wonderful quirks that we humans bring to light,
That set things off,
But make it quite right.

be a man

It's a thing of joy
To see these boys
Arm in arm
Against the world

For the world will soon tell them
To stand alone

Embrace your spirit
Let it swirl in pink
Flash your bright smile
Let your eyes wink

For the world will soon tell you
To pull it together

Dream big beautiful thoughts
Full of all the love in your heart
Be the thing of your spirit
Right from the start

For the world will soon tell you
To be a man

To reign in that spirit
And burst your bubble of love
For fanciful dreams just aren't
What men are made of...

Hear the singing inside you
Leap to that sweet embrace
Let that spirit of boyhood
Shine though on your face

And I'll smile and dream wish pray and hope
That YOU will show the world
What it is
To be a man.

sos

Stale peeps and Coco Wheats
Things that make my life complete
Shipped in a box across the blue
Can you wrap yourself up too?

comes and goes

weather
rain floods
sunshine
strength
pain
memories
that make us laugh
and cry
worries
side aching joy
tomorrow
seasonal fruit
fashion
technology
hope and inspiration
marital bliss
security
the morning bell
waves
being pulled
by moon phases
patience
fresh sheets
and the lack of
funding
milestones
motivation
moments of
disorientation
confidence
and too much time dwelling on
terrible twos or your teens
and now your neck
the first crash
first crush
heartache
or indifference
your mean streak
and team building skills
a beaming smile
surprise birthday cake
and a big bear hugs
friends
family too
With all in this world
that
comes and goes
It's so nice to have met you.

loves me, loves me not

When I was a girl
In a long ago world
I plucked the petals
From flowers

They'd release with a pop
Letting my heart drop
As I continued my
Way round

The watery eyes
Of little girl skies
Overfill with hope
And rain

But that little girl mind
Will eventually find
Much more than loves
And loves not

who's watching?

What part of us lies dormant
Watching as we scrub our molars each morning
Looking back at our blank faces
That only examine stray hairs and wrinkles
Is it smiling, like a patient Lama?

Or is it defeated, caged and forgotten by us, tortured
Cries never answered with mercy or enlightenment

Does this part of us know our path, the path
And the purpose to our routine?
Smiling as we stumble along
Absorbed by bed times and laundry
Or contemplating the meaning of life

What's waiting in the shadows?
Do we know who's watching?

waiting

Last night.
After four stories and lights out and waiting, meditating in the dark, one hand for each, shushing, and waiting and shushing. And then sleep.

After making a tea, ginger lemon.
After starting to watch "Something About Mary," in Italian (Tutti Pazzi per Mary).
After lying, no, stretching, on the sofa.


Punkone wakes up.

He can't sleep. He feels hot. He feels sick. He's itchy. He teetering on the edge he always falls over.

I can only be calm.

Bathroom. Water.
Remove covers. Turn off heat.
Perhaps a tea?

We sit in the empty kitchen. The tea is steeping and I start thumbing through a Penzeys Spice catalog. He sits, calmer. "Have a sip," I suggest. More moaning. More silent waiting.

Back in bed. He's itchy. Eczema. And some medicine for the wheezing. He wants to sleep but can't and tosses and itches and is frustrated as his sister sleeps soundly. As she always does. I sit on his bed, just waiting.

And he finally grows calmer. Cooler. But he can't sleep. And I bring him my iPod to listen to. This helps. Seems to.

As I sit with him in the dark, listening to the sounds outside, seeing his eyes grow heavy, and breathing, he turns again, and starts quietly to cry. And through tears he says he's sorry. He's sorry for disturbing my movie. He's sorry I had to make a tea he didn't drink. He's sorry I have to wait...


A hug is all I can do. And a kiss, a sigh, And waiting. But what am I waiting for? To have my tea? Lie on an empty sofa? Oh. Maybe waiting isn't what I really meant. Because sitting in the dark, with my hand on your shoulder... it isn't a burden at all... it's simply my way to be.

moments to validate

The bus wasn't particularly crowded, but enough that she would have had to push her way through to validate
her ticket.
Instead, she stood in her space at the rear,
Bracing herself for the curves against the door.
She stood there, fingering and thumb flicking the edges
Of the red and yellow ticket.

Sensing the people around her but not hearing conversations.
Catching a few pairs of eyes near the front, snagged momentarily in her gaze.
But feeling that space, that there was nothing more for her to do but to watch for the door,
She settled down into the steam of thoughts.

That stream that's always there, as if she'd been wading just now
At the bus stop.
Looking for the bus and pulling out one ticket,
The stream swirling around her ankles.
Now she took the space to flop down in it.


The swimming reflection of blue eyes that match the sky,
Right where it meets the mountain.
Or at least her memory of them.
Gazing past the same scenes she passes every day,
The tones of a voice gently swirl up around her.

She smiles.

Feeling that smile, that outward reality,
she sees the things around her
The rows of grass between bare vines
now speckled with yellow dandelions.

There's always something to give reason for a smile
But she knows that it's the resonance that brings it.

dreams

I have dreams.
Dreams of scaling El Capitan
Clamped to the edge of the world,
Drifting at the edge of space.
Dreams of tall pines and sap on my fingers
The sting of scraped knees and my breath
Caught as we sway with the wind.
Or being old and weaving loose ends
The loose ends of a fortunate life.
Loose ends that slip into a comfortable knit
With an old friend with the right loose ends.
Dreams of being unknown
But knowing myself
Just driving off in a new direction
And being exactly what I feel like being.
Or spinning these things
Bits of death and love and reaching far places
With an unseen touch into the web.
Into the ebb, into the bed,
Into... and
Out of my head.
I will not live in dreams
But dreams are the thing.
The things that fill up the vast empty spaces
An oil that carries heat from the fire
To everything cold
To everything real.

senza ombrello

The headline read
Cold and a little humid... perfect for the super flu
Could have said,
The perfect weather to stay in bed
Or hide under your umbrella
Or the thoughts in your head
Whispers of snow
Breaths of ice
Wet the tracks, white the ties
Falling gently like rain, but lighter...
Lighter in layers
Of silk cotton and wool
Pulled from their beds
Spun woven and wrapped
Just to lift you up
When you find the weather
Senza ombrello