Christmas Poem

Merry Christmas Everyone - 

In this tough and tremulous year, I hope this day fills you with comfort and that you are witness to the love of the earth and the people surrounding you. Here's a short little winter poem I wrote, inspired by this gorgeous picture (plus a few others). 

I love you all 💙 

~*~

~*~ 

The owl wrote moonlight upon her skin

 His feathers speaking secrets to the fallen snow 

The girl laughed, setting free the stars so they might  

Twinkle down through the cold, sharp night

To meet the trees …. 

 

They danced these trees and these December stars 

With joyful ease and hopeful wonder

While far away all children slept

Their dreams were silver and gold and magic 

And when at last, the trembling dawn arose 

The owl and stars and girl did slumber

While the trees content and happy with love

Guarded the earth for one day more… 

~*~*~

*

Trees Drip Glitter

 Throughout this time of pandemic, my writing friend and I have been faithfully exchanging (via e-mail) 100 word stories every Sunday. This past week, we were to write a story ending with the words "That's everything, my love". A line borrowed from Victor Lavalle's brilliant/horrifying The Changeling (highly recommend it!). 

Anyways, this week I wrote my story. Actually, I wrote 3. The one I sent to my friend is not even remotely close to what I am sharing here. It was a fairly decent collection of words. It certainly had walked through the realm of semi-logical sense. But I like this one better. Despite the fact that it well exceeds the 100 word limit and refuses to make a lick of sense to anyone that is not me. I have always loved to exist inside my own kind of logic. Also, on my hike yesterday, the trees actually did drip a drop of blue glitter on my hands. I have no idea how or where or why that is possible, but how could I not share a story inspired by such magic?!

As always, I love you all and hope you are healthy, whole and at peace 💙

~*~

I watch the numbers dwindle; the skin wither; the trees drip blue glitter on the leaves of my hands. 

Whispers ‘Just a little bit more’ she dumps my whole longing on her bottomless floor

I see the stars; landing on me hair. Such fire, such sweet, sweet glow! And with stars fallen, the stairs be crumblin’, heavens lost, oh despair, despair, despair!

Whispers ‘Unravel, unravel, unravel, I’ll eat your whole soul’

If owls were lightening, I’d want them to strike me every time. Oh! look inside their eyes, holdin’ such galaxies and lives. Oh! hear it now, the thunder laughin’. Such joy wash in’ ‘way my bones. Yet I think it be time for me to find me way back home.  

Whispers ‘You are almost gone’ wraps my breath to death with a twirl of her thumb

I think I be gone now, my time be stole’, I be lost!  

Whispers, blithesome, ‘That’s everything, my love’.

~*~*~

*

Roses Are a Treachery

I got my first smart phone four years ago. In the time between then and now, I have periodically opened my phone's Notes app and written out something that can usually only be described as nonsense. Often I'll take said nonsense and (try to) coerce it into something a little more sensible and - on occasion - present that attempt here. Today though, I think I won't. Instead, I'm showing you an inside glimpse into the jumbled junk drawer of my mind; sharing what might loosely be considered a poem, but is more closely akin to that speck of dust on the ground that wishes it was a poem. It was written in bits and pieces, at different times, and I don't remember what took place when I wrote each word. I can only say inspiration came from many random books and many weird dreams and many wispy, mist-covered thoughts. And I am guessing, at some point, roses. Make of it what you will. I love you all 💙

~*~

Delight is a double-edged sword

Sending ruthless shudders to the planet's core

Pond scum and monsters 

Trembling in it's wake

Roses are a treachery

Roses creep inside your mind

Like songs hell bent for stars

Roses on your feet are delightful

Underneath your feet they are too

Their scent is beauty dipped in wild

In a pincushion of insecurities

Prickled and rife with pins

I'm lying asleep and raindrops keep

Pick, pick, picking 'part my head

I dream 

Of tons of expensive 

rings,

old keys,

copper in resin found

 by a cold,

almost horizontal,

almost waterfall

I wake to a world of ice and fire

Perhaps the most delightful thing of all

~*~*~

*

Lead Apples

Guilt

is a sheared cliff

 quicksand and ice

littered with 

broken heartbeats

so, so cold ...

It’s own bitter grief

all encompassing

tasting of 

poisoned snowdrops

and 

lead apples

tearing

‘part your stomach

Life

is one shot

by a simple arrow

but no matter

where you land

you’ll always

lose

something

~*~

~*~*~

Crows

I had a different poem ready to share today. All somber and melancholy. But then I heard a talk about crows, their mystery and beauty, and decided to write something that was a bit more uplifting. 

I hope you, reader, are happy and laughing. Healthy and whole 💙

~*~

The language of crows

refuses to go unheard

insists on being understood

They will 

create chaos

make graveyards of the sky

until we listen...

...and we should

listen...

...for crows are hatched 

with hope sewn into their feathers

they soak up life, theirs eyes 

glinting with the mystery 

of pure freedom

talons dripping the change 

most do not know how to ask for.

*

They are our human selves transformed

into an existence that promises

something more than mere 

destruction 

We should be so lucky

to be born a crow

mischievous joy bursting from our hearts

as we fly through uneven wind

after a stoic eagle - quiet, alone, lonely

We will remind him, how to laugh.

~*~

~*~*~

68

Today is my dad’s birthday. He would have been 68.

Many years ago, I think I was 11 (but could have been 13), my dad told me that instead of a birthday gift, he wanted to go fishing. Just the two of us. We went dip netting in Soldotna. Two or three days. He was excited about the fishing and father-daughter time. I was mostly excited because (at the time) Soldotna was the only place in Alaska with a Dairy Queen and I had been guaranteed a blizzard. I’ll let you decide who had their priorities in order!

It wasn’t the most successful trip in terms of fish. We caught one, in the very final hours of the trip. But our few days there gave my engineering-minded dad the opportunity to study the processes and dipnets of the people who were catching fish faster than the blink of an eye, and when we went back as a family a few weeks later – newly crafted dip net in tow – well, let’s just say my dad’s observations served him well.

But I’m getting sidetracked…on this first father-daughter weekend, the fish might not have been raising their metaphorical hands for us to catching them, but we had fun. Sometimes I was out on the shore with him. Other times I stayed in our pop-up camper, happily cleaning it and making THE MOST ridiculous birthday gift out of the various odd items I'd gleaned from the camper's tiny cupboards. (side note – that was I think, the only time in my entire life that I ever happily cleaned anything)

 On his actual birthday instead of a cake, we picked up a gigantic cinnamon roll from the grocery store. Before we ate it, I took a picture of him, sitting at the camper’s table. It’s the picture you see here; it’s one of my favorites.

Since my dad died, I’ve written numerous things about him. When I look through them all, this particularly weekend is mentioned almost every single time. That makes a sort of sense, to focus on the moments and memories that always seem to sparkle when you look on them.

Not every memory is a happy one, of course. My dad wasn’t perfect, but no one is, and I was/am no picnic myself. But he was, I think, the perfect dad for me and my sisters. I miss him every day. And I am grateful for him every day.

Friday Reflections

The bay waters are mirrored silver

If I step in will I find Wonderland

I wonder

Wandering is pristine relief

It's own form 

Of sorrow

~*~

~*~*~

Abalone

Prompt Challenge: Write the letters of the alphabet down the side of your page. Start at the top, each line will start with the letter on that line. Complete each line as it carries on from the one before.

This prompt has been resting in my inbox for a few weeks now.  Tonight, I decided it had been there a few weeks too long, so I sat down and this spilled out of me. It's dark I know, but sometimes darkness reveals the most truest of beauty. Plus, the world currently feels like it's been trapped inside Poe's Pit and the Pendulum, so you can hardly blame me...

~*~

Abalone sea shells

Bare their teeth up to the sky

Crows caw with forced clarity

Daring the mountains beneath them

Eating the clouds of hearts

Far away I’m certain

God exists in a halcyon land, there

Hope is more than a tattered gleam

Islands brim with jewel toned peace

Justice roams with a purposeful hand, but…

Killing is all I see here

Love splayed out, then drawn and quartered

Marooned upon cold sea waves that know

Nothing but cruel barbarity and

Opened doors that have never witnessed laughter

Pain is the ruling monarch

Queen of blood and death and

rage echoing with

Stained words that spill over the seconds of every page

Tripping on the bones of every scattered story

Unheard are screams for mercy, unheeded pleas for peace

Victory is found only by the violent

Wanderers who believe bravery only breeds inside slashing swords, yet

Xtal waterfalls are our true beautiful wonder, but they too fall

Yelling into gravity as each liquid stone sinks from it’s

Zenith into unbeing

*~*~*

~*~

Prompt Poem

A poem born from a writing prompt and heavily inspired by this morning's moon. I love you all and hope for your continued health, happiness, safety, peace ...

I’m drunk on moonshine

The sort that drips from the sky

Faded amber drops

Together forming footprints

Fracturing my iron 

 the snapping howl of my existence

I am haunted

And the question is survival

From this watercolor romance

I have caught between the stars

Wish their fever was my veins

Biting me in half

*~*

*~*~*~*

Morning Poem

*~*

A lone loon in the bay this morning

Beauty is black and white and red

Breath crashing into salty sea

Each life holds significance; every heartbeat vitality

But death still looms, that wild monster

*~*

I love you all. I hope you're healthy. I hope you're whole.

💙

~*~*~

Anxious Joy

Cold, so cold

And fear is gray

Rain falls, taking place of tears

So long forced to stay unshed

Worry rocking the world to sleep

A barbed lullaby

Sirens have such sharp teeth

Death seems to linger

Every breath we breathe

And the world is gray

Cold, so cold

~*~

I wrote the above poem yesterday. In came in a sudden flash of anxiety ridden inspiration. One of the many lightening bolts of fear that have riddled my life this past week. Thankfully, gracefully, the terror faded almost as quickly as it came on. Over the last few days I've been better at managing my worries. At stopping my ridiculous ruminations over possibilities that might never become actualized, and instead focus on what currently is. Remember just how lucky  I am, especially when compared to so many others. Instead of:

- What if I lose my job

- What if I can't pay bills

- What if I get sick

- What if my mom, sisters, friends get sick

- What if Faelina suddenly dies

- What if, what if, what if.....

I have practiced saying Right now

- Right now I am still working, from home

- Right now I am able to pay bills

- Right now I am not being forced to put my life on the line to work & pay said bills

- Right now I feel physically healthy

- Right now the people I love most are healthy

- Right now Faelina is her happy little demon faerie self

- Right now I am ok, safe, lucky

I could pit 'What Ifs' against 'Right Nows' all day, but would it help anything? No. And yes, with things changing faster than firecracker sparks, my Right now could take a drastic decline in the next 24 hours. But worrying it will helps only my anxiety.

I was thinking  today about anxiety. How to explain it properly. I don't know if I ever can, partly because it manifests differently for everyone. But I did have this thought. Anxiety is like bubbles. Dozens to hundreds of floating bubbles. Only unlike real bubbles, whose beautiful shimmery skins highlight the beautiful spaces inside the seconds of our life... anxiety bubbles are sharp, prickly, barbed things that stab at anything beautiful until all you see is bloody air and floundering dreams, and HOW DARE YOU even think that you could be happy over anything.

Over the past few days I've tried incredibly hard to focus on actively fighting against all those little pointy bubbles. I am doing this by:

- Checking the news 2-3 times a day instead of every hour

- Repeating to myself the list of all the good things I have right now

- STAYING HOME except for,

- Solo hikes and once weekly trips to the grocery store

- Making small purchases to small business I love, who I know are struggling more than I am

- Reaching out to various family and friends that I don't often talk to. Letting them know I'm thinking of them

- Reading, snuggling with Faelina, drinking lots of coffee (my happiness trifecta)

- Writing

I have so much to be grateful for. I have a million real, iridescent, glittering bubbles flooding my life with hope and beauty and love. And even if my right now takes a drastic decline in the next day or week, I am still so much luckier than so many millions of people. And if you ever hear me start to say otherwise, I give you definite permission to smack me upside the head until I snap out of my ridiculous pity party. Because honestly, I have no room to complain. Not when I think of the doctors & nurses, grocery store clerks & postal works, and thousands of others who are literally risking their lives every day by helping others. They're the ones who have cause to be anxious, not me.

I started this post with a bleak poem. I leave you with one that is decidedly more hopeful. I wrote it this morning, while out hiking beneath impossibly tall trees, the air so crisply cold it dazzled, birds darting from branch to branch, singing their favorite songs.

~*~

Pillars of the temple

A temple of trees

With diamonds formed dewdrops

With spaces between

For the harkens of bird call

Such nourishment they bring

To the spaces in our souls

That so strongly need

Essential joy

~*~

I wish you all safe comforts and continued health.

Love to you all.

~*~*~

Morning Poem

Thinks are a bit crazy out there. Anxious, scared, tired, angry…just few of the slew of emotions I’ve felt the last couple weeks. I know I’m not alone.

Trying to stay optimistic though. I am – far as I know – healthy. My financial situation is not desperate. Bellingham has had GORGEOUS weather the past few days. Faelina is still her sassy self (and quite pleased by that fact). And – most important of all – my family and friends are all safe. I hope with my entire soul they stay that way.

I figured I’d share something today, it has been a few weeks after all. ‘Choose something lighthearted’ I said to myself. Yet, as I read through my entire book of poems & stories I’ve written this past year, I found only a few pieces that were even remotely on the bright side. And they were all terrible. I am not just saying that.

So, you get the ominous poem I wrote this morning. It was inspired by a book I’m currently reading. The author of said book found her inspiration for it’s writings in a journal she picked up at an estate sale. Writing inspires writing -inspires more writing. Art is amazing like that.

~*~

A general breaking up of body

Sugar tracing tracks through blood

I lay my gentle flowers down

Watch them dissolve into wind

The sky unfolds with rusting stardust

~*~*~

I wish for you all peace, health and so much love in the coming weeks 💜

~*~

Walking

Another 100 word story - with some extras letters tacked on to make complete. The prompting line for this piece "Each walk should be taken as if it is the only thing you have left" was hard for me. I wrote multiple stories; hated each and every one. Then, finally, the night before I was to meet up with my writing friend, I wrote from my truth. Delved into my struggles with over-exercise. My knowledge that walking is not always a good thing, nor a gift. It can sometimes be torment.

So, without further ado...

~*~

I walk through streets of bloody leaves. Their pulsing so white hot, merely moving past them burns. Yet inside, beneath my skin, I'm freezing. A frigid cold; it scalds the very lining of my heart. 

They say each walk should be taken as if it is the only thing you have left. As I look back at the desiccated remains of my childhood, I have to wonder what fool ever saw fit to spew such nonsense.  

Because when your mind has stolen your freedom, has ripped away your poetry and reason, has encased each step with jail bars so impossible to break you would shatter your soul trying...walks become nightmares. A reminder of power lost, of joy destroyed. 

I no more own each step than I can grasp the whole of the wind and yank. 

I can only keep walking.

~*~*~

... and the game began anew

Last time I said I'd post something cheerier. I lied. I don't do cheery very will. This is another 100 words story. Well, 100 + a few additions I felt were necessary.

Just about anyone who's spent more than an hour in my presence knows that I view the world through a lens of magic. When some people envision magic and faeries, they call up images of golden rainbows and happy Tinkerbells. I adhere to a darker (and to my mind more realistic) idea - that magic is dark and, infinitely dangerous. And faeries, if they're real, rule the world wearing cloaks spun from nightmares.

~*~

In a dark dark wood,

in a dark dark world,

the darkest shadows wove their deepest schemes.

With whispered words they sent songs to the stars

and to every child’s silver dreams. 

“Come” they sang

“we’ll dance above the ground

and sew you clothes

made of candle flames”.

“Follow”

they crooned

“our reveling road,

forget your homes,

forget your names”.

And every sleeping child heard

and left their homes for the frozen night.

They stepped and slipped

atop ice and coal,

were kissed by magic

that cut like knives. 

When all at last

had reached the stones,

the faeries bloody smiles grew...

and the game began anew

~*~*~*~