Anniversary Song-

A few days ago,

WordPress.com thanked me and

offered congratulations on writing this blog,

for two years now.

I cannot believe how much,

this strange, wacky, little blog

of mostly weird poetry,

has become so darn important to me.

To have that sensation of merely

scrawling graffiti on a bathroom stall

to realizing that someone is actually

reading your words,

paying some attention at all-

it is and remains rather

amazing to me.

That others might read, connect or even pay

any attention to me~it is a strange random fruit

a piece of delicacy.

I want to thank all my readers,

for jumping into the unknown with me.

For reading, for commenting, for bestowing

any attention to my small world

of poetry.

That has been the most wonderful surprise

of all. To be able to connect through the maze of the

internet, with readers, with other writers, with other poets,

with anybody ever at all.

I celebrate this anniversary with all of you.

If no one ever paid any attention,

I would have just faded out into

the abyss.

Thank you each and all of you

for ever bothering to peek

into my bathroom stall

and read my graffiti-

loosely scribbled poetry

my words

on this

wall.

Ode to Red

Ode to Red-

the color of passion
the color of heat
the color of paint on my
bedroom walls.

the color of Apples
the color of lipstick
the color of pain.

the color of new womanhood
the color of nail polish
the color of the fastest car
on the block.

Red is the color
of Anger
of Vanity
of Love
of Lust
of Sex

and all the rest.
love

Red is
the color of a new day
beginning to dawning.

Red is the color
of rubies
of jewels
of revenge
of Power

of kissing

but most of all,
Red is the color of
my beating heart
whenever it is missing
You.

Red is the color of Birth.
and Red is:

the color of passion
the color of heat
the color of paint on my
bedroom walls.

the color of Apples
the color of lipstick
the color of pain.

the color of new womanhood
the color of nail polish
the color of the fastest car
on the block.

but most of all,
Red is the color of
my beating heart
whenever it is missing
You.

Red is the color of Birth.
Each day that we awaken,
we are born anew.
we are struggling
with only
the re-birthing process

like caterpillar to butterfly
Each day we change and become
something re-born, something mighty, something
as large and lonely
as Hope.

Each day we shed our sins
we shed our snakeskins
and begin again with the coming
Dawn

and the color Red.

but most of all,
Red is the color of
my beating heart
whenever it is missing
You.

Five hours later…

Five hours later…
and my ugly mood passes
like the breeze
of a windy day
the bad mood simply lifts
then passes away…

five hours later…
and all I can say
is the chirping of birds
does not bother
my annoyance has swayed.

five hours later…
and I decide
not to ruin, the rest of my day.
Days they are
so very short
it seems

so very useless
to waste them away
with headaches and apathy.

five hours later…
my husband/ lover will come
back home to me soon.

bringing me smiles and wearing
my heart as a prize onto his sleeve.

Perfection is Nobody,
and I cannot attain a perfect
happiness everyday
yet I can self-reflect

and appreciate all the gifts,
that I got. And be happy that
I have Love in my Life
because for some that simply
is out of reach.

Why feel misery when there
is a cool thoughtful breeze
passing through the air

and a clearing of consciousness
to the evaporated thoughts
that brought me back
to here.

Moodiness passes…
Five hours later
and I am looking forward
to family time,
cuddling my sweetheart
and watching tv.

Five hours later,
the winds have shifted
I am feeling a bit free.

New Release Finally Available….Artist Chapbook!

My final and second Volume of My Artist Chapbook has just been released on the kindle today.
It is part of the “Art, Art, Art!!! Before Words.” Series, it is the second and final Volume.
To purchase a kindle copy please go here: http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00J1QNLYQ

It should also be available as a paperback, soon, I expect in the next few days.

flowers flourish despite the rain…

March Madness,
with a whim and a flurry,
Mother Nature
sings her call.

She calls out to the flowers,
to begin to bud.
She echoes out to the plants,
to begin to grow.

under her ever watchful eyes,
the dance of spring begins with a twirl,
a wave, a recollection of
warm and simple wind.

slowly in our daze of
sheer amazement
winter concaves, collapses, makes room,
for Spring to begin.

and flowers, they flourish
despite the rain,
they refuse to fight the water
instead they drink in the tears
of the Earth- they swallow her secrets
her teardrops of rain.

it makes them
the plants bloated and drunken,
as if by the most scared of wine.

The journey towards forgiveness

I do not usually post blog-style confesionals. I’m much more of a poet, than anything else. In fact in addition to my poetry online, I have been keeping multiple journals at home and handwritten. One is more private confessional journal type enteries and the other is mostly poems, ideas, and sometimes tarot readings I give myself or lists of things to do or lists of music playlists.

HERE…is mostly just where I share poems, unless I am all fired up. Today, I am all fired up and I think its vital to share because it might help others to move forward.

I am all fired up about the notion of forgiveness. In theory, I do believe it is better to forgive even if not forget or forgive ANd forget-whatever works best for you. But in practice I find this to be a slippery slope. i struggle very much on how to forgive, when to forgive and how to let go. Honestly, I hold horrible grudges. And they are horrible in truth because mostly they only serve to hurt me-myself-nobody else.

All that angry righteous high horse b.s. I desperately hold onto-a sense of who iswrong and who is right? Honestly, it does not serve me much any longer-in fact it wears me down, makes me feel guilty and mad, like an angry hornet shook lose from its nest.

so today, I was with my hubby and we were at the bookstore out of nowhere i spotted like the ideal book and he bought it for me with a couple other items. This book is called, “The forgiveness formula: how to let go of your pain and move on with Life.” It was on sale at barnes and nobles-only$6.98-hardcover-by author Kathleen Griffin. @2004.

I am only on pg 16 so far but this book is exactly what i needed to hear at this time. i am in fact blown away.I am just writing about this because forgiveness can be ajourney-a pathwy-towards feeling lighter-less burdened. And in my heart, i realize it is not an easy thing to forgive. That more folks than just myself struggle with it. Holding onto the past so tightly it only distorts your vision of the present moment and it poisons the well of your future happiness. This seems true to me.

Someday I really hope I can learn to forgive, hopefully sooner than later because all this angry i hold deep down inside-it only strangles me-making it harder to breathe making it harder to reign into my sanity. I realize i am not the only sufferer out there but by refusing to allow forgiveness its like picking a scab, bruised and bleeding-the wound will not heal. I know I will not heal either. By the way, I highly reccommend her book-so far its very good.

Tip-toe through the daisies

It’s cold here.

So then, I close my eyes

and I imagine things.

I imagine that I

can tip-toe through the daisies

which lie buried under deep snow

I imagine them bloom, and-

then I imagine them grow

into a sea

of devastation

a sea of utter raw beauty-

you would agree,

if you could just, only close your eyes

and tip-toe through the daisies-

C’mon old man winter,

I am ready for you to stop following me.

I am ready for a sea full of daisies

and the beauty they may bring

a rarity called

Spring.

The sounds of Sleep

He is sleeping

with him he is carrying

the sounds of Sleep.

 

There is a song to his

sonorous sonnet of snoring.

It is calming to listen to it.

 

He is sleeping

deep and wide,

I imagine he is dreaming

but he rarely shares these to me.

 

Like most my dreamer usually

does not recall his dreams.

I like to hear his snoring

years ago it once bothered me.

 

But now I find it precious,

that the man I love so much

is peacefully getting his

much needed rest.

 

It is relaxing to hear,

his breathing reminds me

of oceans breaking upon the shore.

It is a soothing sound, calming and gentle.

 

The sounds of him sleeping

remind me how lucky I am

to have this man I love

with me still here.

The cycle of Life

The cycle of Life

is  such that we all Live but someday

we all die too.

I am making it sounds so simplistic-

yet nothing could be farther than true.

The cycle of our Lives is in constant motion.

Ever changing, ever growing, nothing in fact

ever stays exactly the same.

Each day we are living, we must strive

to remind ourselves to enjoy

this journey we are on

for time stops for no one.

Sometimes simple truths are the best,

Live each and everyday

to its fullest; ignore the rest.

The cycle of life is a curious thing.

Nobody has a map to bring, nor directions,

if we falter.

Sometimes the hardest thing to do is to live in

the Here and Now, but exactly what is our

choice or option? To dwell in the distortions of our past,

or to linger in the unknown ever unfolding future,

Or merely breathe in

breathe out

and enjoy these moments of Life rooted in the present,

before time runs out and

Regrets loom large?

Nobody knows the pathway of mortality,

we are born, we live and then someday we will die.

I do not have any wisdom, nor answers,

I cannot explain why.

I just accept this to be a universal truth.

Appreciate the moments of Today for tomorrow

is not promised and the past we cannot change

the key is to living Life to the fullest

in each moment that you can claim.

It’s just the Cycle of Life.

An altar of belief:

CAM00261

An altar by belief,
stands alone in the north west corner,
of my bedroom.
it is the place onto which,
i allow my beliefs to sit.

every once in a while,
i linger there
lighting three candles,
and say my prayers,
with my heart-
not my lips.

my lips do not seem fit.
to express what my heart
longs and shouts out for;
justice, a good life, an omen
or a sign, to allow
me to practice,

the fine art of allowance and
of course self-acceptance.

magical meditations, covered in mystery.
set the stage for most of human
history.

i have an altar of belief which sits,
upon my north-west corner.
Even if my Gods and Goddesses,
are ancient fairy tales to you…

please respect my beliefs,
as I try to respect yours.
if more folks do not try;
to sway and convert the masses,

think of all the less holy wars,
that would be raging
across many a foreign land.

all it takes is a small slit opening,
into your heart,
and some peace and understanding;
for those who see the world much
differently than you do.

blessings-tidings-mote it be,
hence tied by three.