Random Repost

 

 

Friday, August 8, 2008

Prayer

There were moments today when I felt so full and wealthy I thought I might burst.
And then those moments passed.
I am secure with what I have to offer ~ but who should I give it to? 

Do I worship ~ can one live without worshiping anything? 

Do I inhale the rain that makes the air moist and thick today, or do I kneel and prayer to the rain gods. 

Should I stand amazed looking into the blackness of the night searching for stars or do I sacrifice that moment in hopes that the gods who have driven my sun to the other side will bring it back again? 

Some believe that feeling lost is wrong and morally objectionable~ 

but maybe understanding that nothing can be understood

is just as large.

Scents that Bring Me Back

If the house is open and the air has a slight cold and wet breeze..
If the coffee pot is hot and full and the scent of bacon hangs in the air....
And no one is awake but me....
I can almost be there again.
I can here my grandpa stirring in the kitchen
and hear my grandma's sleeping exhale as she dreams.
If I am quiet I can sneak into the long blue kitchen and be the first one grandpa sees today.

I find myself reaching up to tug on the back of his cowboy pants and he turns around and surprises me. He picks me up and sets me on the counter, without a word he gives me a piece of bacon and pours himself another cup. We move to the table and look out the window together. It is still dark. It is calm. It is wonderful. He drinks his coffee and I eat my bacon. He puts grandma's jelly on his biscuit and together we hear the birds greet the day.

Prayer

There were moments today when I felt so full and wealthy I thought I might bust.
And then those moments passed.
I am secure with what I have to offer ~ but who should I give it to? Do I worship~ can one live without worshiping anything? Do I inhale the rain that makes the air moist and thick today, or do I kneel and prayer to the rain gods. Should I stand amazed looking into the blackness of the night searching for stars or do I sacrifice that moment in hopes that the gods who have driven my sun to the other side will bring it back again? Some believe that feeling lost is wrong and morally objectionable~ but maybe understanding that nothing can be understood is just as large.

Not So Simple

I am not simple

I am glued together with triangles and stars
I do what I want and move quickly
I like brown, bugs and digging
I have roots for feet
And wings for arms
And passion squeezed in between
I prefer black coffee over tea
And rigorous sex over movies
Sweet mixed drinks over wine
I am short, big breasted
With even a bigger heart
I like to laugh until I pee
And run until I can’t breathe
I like to move heavy objects alone
And I must have quiet so I can hear my thoughts
I like to lay awake all night and do nothing
And spend time tending to others needs
I like my feet wet
I like to be freezing cold
I like to rise in the morning when the world is asleep
And go into my back yard wearing only what I slept in
And feel the cool grass between my toes
I like to lay in the hammock alone and silent
And listen to the bat wings above
As they circle the mosquitoes
I like to undress and swim in lakes
I like to write
I like to read

I hate the phone
I hate red eyes from cats or too much alcohol
I hate self-hurting thoughts
I hate praying mantises because of their eyes
I hate sleeping when it’s hot
I hate the under-wire on my bras
I hate beets-they turn everything red
I hate having to get up to get dressed after sex
I hate hairy legs-they itch
I hate timers

Simply put, I am not simpl

after the rain

After The Rain

For a fleeting moment I thought I had forgotten
The remembrance of licorice brought the words streaming back
As I stepped outside to embrace the blossoms
I walked into the hidden place of children’s play
This morning the buds would be wide open after a night of feeding on sweet rain
I followed the steps made from free spirits with scabs on their knees
and braids in their hair
I walked past the purple bells, remembering sweet Hannah smashing them to make
Indian war paint
I saw the orange peels little Hailey took out to feed the birds
And as I bent down to pick the purple ones
I saw Hayden’s naked footprint pushed so deeply in the fresh mud I laughed at the struggle he must have had removing his toes
I picked purple and then looked up to my fruit bearing trees
They are alive with color, smells, texture
I picked wide-open dark burgundy blossoms on long twisted stems
I reached for the pink and purple stems filled with buds, some open and some closed
And I bathed in their lilac sent
At this point I became dizzy with smell
And recall stating out loud
That combined they remind me of licorice
I smiled and moved towards the tulips and irises
Picking handfuls to fill my arms
I felt my old pine call to me
And wonder why I did not choose him to bring inside
I reached above my head to cut a branch decorated with small-unopened pinecones
It fell to the ground happily and he too came inside

reach

Reach

I reach up
my fingers form a web
I gather a handful of stars
one by one I place them in my mouth
I move them about
using the tip of my tongue
and they wiggle and bounce
inside my cheek and off of my teeth
they are cold
and I can smell their metal shells
I swallow
light leeks from under my toenails
and my palms begin to glow
my eyes water silver
and my lips turn to stone

Coffee

Coffee


As the sun rises I hear its mouth open wide
The rooster crows repeatedly
And the wind picks up water and spreads it across the green
My hollyhocks tip down toward the earth waiting for water and shine
The daisies stiffly bend with the wind that is now just a pushy breeze
I slip on my sons shoes and walk without my eyes into the deep yard
Avoiding the black and white striped beetles hissing at my toes
I make my way to the coop
I fill my hands with small scratchy seeds and toss them to the hungry birds
I thank them for the eggs and move towards his earth
The rows he has made stretch long and narrow and touch the other end
The red fruit hangs heavy ready to be plucked and put between two slices of bread
Beans smooth and skinny wait to be cooked with crisp bacon
Onion heads popping just the tops of their heads out of the ground
Begging to be chopped and thrown into hot salsa
Peppers red and green punctuate the picture
And the purple eggplant matched the sky last night
I bend down and whisper something to the broccoli
And then while straightening up the breeze tosses a scent my way
My coffee is done

tits to toes- ramblings of a tired mind

pollen fell like snow flakes

covering my windshield

and the hills

were penetrated with tissue paper flowers

soaked and heavy from a sticky yellow goo

the view from down here is quite beautiful

a little deceiving

but very safe

you see if you keep your eyes on the ground

you see beauty

plants cleaning our air, flowers providing scent and

rocks made of silver and gold

it is actually quite addicting look down

that's not to say I never look up

after a great many years I have found

that I enjoy my perspective

a short one at that

I see from tits to toes and that's okay

you know you can tell a lot about a person from their tits-

bra less, small or large- nicely clothed or covered by sports bra- padded or jiggly-

they always said you wore self esteem on your sleeve- but I would beg to differ,

most people- he or she tits doesn't matter- carry their self acceptance on there chest

(big or small doesn't play in this calculation unless you are 16 years old)

it is they way one holds oneself, how they stand and even how they reach into

another persons space. I can tell how much they value their there thoughts

and dreams simply by how straight they stand

life is beautiful down here

you must simply give it a try