Wouldn’t Bet It All on Friday

shadow at beach

Wouldn’t bet it all on Friday

as Friday came and went

just another square on the calendar

just another face in the crowd

just another coin in the fountain

just another, just another

It goes on and on, the waves roll in

but the tide never really changes

just more broken shells left to find

walked this beach a thousand times

bet it all on Friday again

but nothing changed, what remains

inside these walls of sky again

I’ll go quietly

i;ll go quietly

a thousand miles

down the shore, I walked

before the gulls weary wings

and mine, we rested

by walking the sea’s remember

you once walked here, too

before broken shells

and words, winter’s bite

echoes of tidal times

moon phases, things

you can count on

you

disappeared

one set of footprints in sand

even the waves know

erase it all

quickly, so we don’t

look back, so stark

these clouds who used

to gather down, they look

away now, just me

a one way trip

I’ll go quietly

you left behind

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i fell off the edge of the world

tumbled through time, through

the air you left behind.  you flew

away inside of me. I stayed

and cried, my insides

empty runways,

clouds melting into my head

asking why, why I was stilled,

holding the air you left behind

all the ways

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all the ways I drown in silence

as lifeboats climb trees

the tidal pull, the listen for you

but wave after wave of mute breath

while your forests are alive with float

songs of save, so far away

sink, sink in salty quiet

none of your life lines reach

they play melodies in trees

and I struggle

wordless rip current

desolate sea

silences me

empty spaces

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long ago he had gone
to the silence, though
she held time as if was
the hands that once
caressed her cheek
before the decay of days
the way his eyes never
fell upon her anymore
their journey away
had begun before the trees
wept and footsteps grew
farther in colder days
the surrender of years
until nothing remained
but the window watching
empty spaces

The Star Watcher

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She crawled inside the night to wait

as the sun sunk low, all of her warm

colors followed her down to the sea.

Like music, she heard them go – sun

and her bright yellows and reds – drums,

full orchestra as she bowed her head.

The oranges, peaches, and pinks

danced across the stage, violins echoed

their softer song, and then dropped

with the wind. Only piano remained,

clear and blue, and indigo inked the sky

as day let go – and silence.

 

And, for so many nights, this is when

the stars would come. The keeper would

release them, one by one. He’d watch her eyes

as stars transformed the blue, and the blue

of her eyes drew the stars inside. And in her sky

he’d draw magical things, and that is what

her heart was made of. But one night, the keeper

never came, and stars began to disappear.

Others claimed to see them still, but her sky was dark.

Deep inside her the magic never returned –

a heart without a keeper, a sky without the stars

after all

(today I decided to walk out deep into the woods until I came up with answers to the questions I have been pondering. after walking more than 7 miles in the heat, I found myself lying face down in a grove of trees, with no recollection of what had happened. i took this photo then. i was injured, dizzy, and in no shape to walk the remaining 5 miles back to my car, but i realized that, not only did i have no phone reception, but i had no one to call to come help me. somehow i made it out.  i was in the woods for almost 5 hours.  after i got home, i found this poem on my phone. i wrote it today, but i have no recollection at all of writing it. i think that says a lot.)

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eight miles out i fall

black out, wake up

stones edge tree lean

ask. no reception here

no one to call. leaks

from knees, red, and eyes,

clear drops of alone

air crush with know. no

breath. out of focus all.

lost. alone. maybe here

home after all. 

beneath the violet

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all along i’ve been not knowing

so i could see the violet in the sunset,

but i missed the moon rise and the

wishing star. i captured the violet

but lost the music of the wave break,

waft of salty air, and the hollow feel

of you, walking away, beneath the violet. 

The Sea Still Cries

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Listen, hear, I am but a gull whose feathers

raise against offshore winds, but the sea,

the sea sent me with words for you.

I waited by the shore break, passed

many days, tides, and angry rain, for the sea

spoke, called forth the sun. As I rode

his rolling surf, he sung of his love for you,

the furious storms that frightened you away.

He knew you trembled in your sleep, dreamt

of being swept away under his dark waves.

He quieted, and waited for your sun to return.

“Gull,” he cried, “She will come back. Tell her

not to go. Look upon my gentle calm.”

And I was part of the sea, and believed.

You sat with the sea all that day, felt, heard,

listened his song of calm, until the clouds

pulled across the sun, though he fought them,

they were angry, and dark.  The sea tried,

and tried to hold his calm but the dark

clouds and wind were joined, and the waves

swelled, and louder, crashed, higher and soon,

you were trembling again, and left. I was sorry.

And the sea still cries for you.

 

 

valentine’s day, 2013

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i got on a plane (i didn’t)

to look you in the eyes (you said don’t come)

and the sun danced with me (it was raining)

flowers floating, tender embrace (lying alone)

you wouldn’t let go, you breathed me (sobbing silence)

and held, and held, and held (let go)

waiting turned to love (wait)

we are one (alone)

Puddles

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All night she stayed,
forehead pressed 
against the chilly window, 
waiting for the rain 
to turn to snow. 
Pleading eyes watched 
the streetlight, as rain 
fell down, and wind 
chased it sideways. 
All she needed 
was to see it turn 
white, to cover life 
outside the window 
with tiny pieces of 
icy hope. 
But morning brought 
only dark puddles 
outside and on 
her face. 

Just Because

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Just because I walk when wind blows strong,
doesn’t mean your words won’t knock me
to the frozen ground. And just because I let
the rain fall over me, through me, soak me
like a thirsty tree, doesn’t mean the looks
that fall upon me go unnoticed; their bitter
wetness seeps in every pore and flows deep.
Just because I hear claps of angry thunder and
don’t flinch, that doesn’t mean that cruelty isn’t
slicing through me, gashing at my peace. And
just because I watch the tide come in, the stars
appear, the sun rise, doesn’t mean you are here.
Just because I am alone and my eyes are dry

doesn’t mean that I don’t weep.

 

If You Held My Hand

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If you held my hand,

those angry storms that rush in

like muggers, and knock me from behind,

leaving me broken and breathless

on the ground-they wouldn’t come.

And the cold rain that stays for days

and bleeds its gray through every layer

of me-it would stay away.

And the ice that seizes me and my trees,

so still and frozen we can snap and fall

to pieces-it couldn’t form

if you held my hand,

If you

held

my

hand. 

no words left for me

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Remember how I waited

for all the words you didn’t say,

like the gasp the sun makes

just before she dives into the sea,

and yellows and oranges turn deep,

into blue foghorn songs in the dusk.

Now I walk dark streets in silence,

to see if your words hang there,

waiting, a song to be collected,

but block after block is empty,

quiet, no words left for me. 

disappear

one more voice saying

disappear

join the chorus in my head

disappear, disappear

voices haunt every moment

disappear, disappear, disappear

I listen, don’t eat, or talk, or feel

disappear, disappear, disappear, disappear

I thought I found

~stay~

but it was just another

 

disappear

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what it feels like to give up

release the last breath

of hope, like a balloon into

the grayest sky. never

return.  deep, heaving sobs

of grief in a hollow ribcage.

float.  no one.  disappearing

led to this.  a cliff.  didn’t even

have to jump.  searing pain

of gone.  a push.  and

nothing.

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Dark

My photos are out of focus.

I can’t stop taking pictures of clouds.

My clothes are getting bigger,

nights getting longer.

I sleep with four blankets

to keep me from drifting away.

And there’s one pillow under my head,

and one pillow over, to keep things out.

Nights are too long,

filled with bad dreams about being chased,

and falling, and turning to stone.

Places with happy people make me cry.

That’s not normal, you know.

I broke my favorite mug.

My hand dropped it,

and the lighthouse

was in a hundred

pieces.  I can’t

pick them up.

I just sit

on the

floor

with

them.

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Good Morning!

Good morning….echoes throughout my blog which has yet to find readers 😉 .  That’s ok.  I will continue to share.  If you write it, they will come, right?  Well, maybe…

“I have learned now that while those who speak about ones miseries usually hurt, but those who keep silence hurt more. ” 
― C.S. Lewis

This is what I am contemplating today.  There are times I want to hide and run away and hear only silence for days.  I don’t want to talk to anyone.  I want to be dropped off in the middle of the forest somewhere, such is my need to escape the chaos around me.  Do other people feel the same?  I don’t know.  Some people thrive upon it, I think.

When I feel bad, really bad, like the kind of bad where I am spending hours with the pillow over my head and purposely stepping in front of speeding cars, I don’t want to talk to anyone.  I don’t want to hear from anyone.  I want to be ALONE.  And yet, somewhere inside I know that isolation is not the answer.  I have to force myself to talk to people, to step outside the house.

And, usually, the things I least want to talk about the the things I need to talk about most….