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

~*~*~*~

At Dusk They Pour From The Sky

The writing agreement that inspired my last post has continued on, with today being the fourth 100 word story my new writing friend and I have shared with each other. We've expanded the definition of 100 words to be '100 words + the words from the chosen line', so it's now 100 words more or less.

This week's line was 'At dusk they pour from the sky'. Those words are the beginning of the novel 'All The Light We Cannot See', a beautifully rendered tale about the horrors and atrocities that occurred during World War II.

I wrote four different stories from this line. The one I shared with my writing friend was different from the words below. All of them were etched with darkness, perhaps the fact of the war seeped into my subconscious as I wrote. Perhaps it was the increasingly dark nights that accompany winter. Or perhaps it's just that I lean towards the darkness with much of my writing. Likely a combination of all three. Make of it what you will.

*~*

At dusk they pour from the sky. Cruel, cheerless drops that slice through skin and soul like

unwashed memories of black guilt. I push on. Trudging through the luckless mud, my brain

gone numb from bitter chill. 

I’m thankful for it. The cold. I use it to pretend, I can forget the truth. Shuffling deeper into

gloom, I’m careful to keep my eyes cast down, attempting to dissuade the whispers from

ripping out my heart.

Futile. 

For I see them always, the nightmares. Those broken stars, their cleaved screams,

never cease. Nights of blood are my destiny. Dawn will come, with it death.

I shall never escape. 

~*~*~

....I'll post something cheerier next time...

...Isn't it Pretty To Think So

Last Sunday, I spoke with someone about writing and we entered into an agreement with one another - to each write a story in only 100 words, with the last of them being '...isn't it pretty to think so'. And then on Friday night, while struggling to come up with something - anything; I glanced over and saw a drawing that caused my mind to trip over itself with glee. This is the result...

~*~*~*~

Between the seconds of midnight meeting twilight they gather ‘round a copse of trees no human has realized. 

Branches twist, dripping sapphire.  Dandelion carpets drift around wishes and diamond. Candles carved with the moon’s tears shimmer - dreamily hopeful. Red mushrooms giggle as the silver moss stretches infinite arms across the forgotten, fallen table that glitters berries, twinkles nuts, and unravels fitful fiddleheads. 

They have gathered - Fox, Faery, Owl and Stag to feast and share their joy, their wistful secrets. To celebrate life.

You say I speak false? That I know only lies? 

Maybe...perhaps…but...isn’t it pretty to think so.

*~*~*




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