little boy

overdosed on sadness
sobbing "i give up"
cracking, breaking in crazed abandon over the
wobbly wires.
me sinking onto the floor
begging "hold on"
in spite of...
hateful parents
needy girls
faithless friends.
rock bottom, he whispers.
his lungs give way to silence, gasping air, and he waits.
i pray heaven flood his soul this hour.
i pray angels lift his heart and mend its gaping
holes
find him
in fetal position
gripping his Bible
praying ...
healing
hallelujah.

for better or for worse

man to man they stand
defying standards we so
properly promote
locked hands raised
rejecting solitude,
embracing sameness
slowly side by side they die under the sterile stare of
the godly
the righteous
difference --
our demand
indifference --
our mantra
we mock we weep we pray against the demons,
we abhor
(mess-ups)
fail to see
the blood on our hands
mercy --
murdered

audrey hepburn's beauty tips

For attractive lips, speak words of kindness. For lovely eyes, seek out the good in people. For a slim figure, share your food with the hungry. For beautiful hair, let a child run his/her fingers through it once a day. For poise, walk with the knowledge that you never walk alone. People, even more than things, have to be restored, renewed, revived, reclaimed, and redeemed; never throw out anyone. Remember, if you ever need a helping hand, you will find one at the end of each of your arms. As you grow older, you will discover that you have two hands; one for helping yourself, and the other for helping others.

wrinkle in time

she looked so old in her earrings and coiffed hair, her lithe laugh tripping over the air and reminding me of my cynicism. then she bit into her ice cream cone brown and white swirls dipped in chocolate and it smeared her nose and she looked young again. and i forgave her.

likewise

the quiet service of her humble hands left me singing. my eyes absorbed, adored the piece of God i saw in her.
deity in its most tangible, likable form. let me be likewise.
bearded soul on the streets pushing a shopping cart full of life possessions, tattered jacket, socks for shoes -- pausing to smile, basking in breath and life and death and not caring... let me be likewise.
child of the heavens, curls golden, eyes dancing marshmallow sticky round pink lips little legs running, dancing, laughing as daddy throws her to the sky ... let me be likewise.
tiny flowers, creeping through stony ground, yellow patience, fragile spider-web roots ... let me be likewise.

only human

funny. i knew it was going to happen. something had to.
unstoppable; my arms outstretched, begging to embrace the moon
he had to lasso me down. rip away my pride. leave me -- totalled.
like my car on the long strip of asphalt crawling with vehicles filled with faces staring into my life thanking God it wasn't them.
glimpses of grace like yellow crayon scribbled on black paper:
the business across the street offering help, the policeman's compassion, my friends, hurriedly rushing and caring, my husband, wrapping me so tightly my heart squeezed out.
inside i'm still racing, arms outstretched, trying to catch the moon.
but soon someone will lift me up, ever so gently, so i can see it's really only cheese.
and i, really am, only human.

communion

we sit in silence.
the breeze tossles our hair and we smile.
secretly, as if fostering a forbidden love.
we talk in hidden tones, pulling on heart-strings.
it's our evening ritual.
supper splashed together with spoon and spice, consumed in quietness,
dessert eaten in feverish frenzy as if the world were to end.
fellowship with young friends, lives emptied into baskets and hung out to dry
we cry together.
and sit in silence. mourning the darkness.
then, the breeze blows
and we smile.

nature's romance

the sun is a gentle lover.
i hover, engaging his presence -- silent and soft. we stroll the garden, speak tenderly to daisies and lilies, marveling.
his golden entrance startles, pleases.
trees straighten their backs; humanity lets him kiss their skin.
but at night, he is mine. when eyes close, i whisper and he comes, cloaked in darkness. we dance -- i, the wind, and he, the light of the heavens.
and the stars
applaud.

heart-ache

sadness is a river
i float on.
its current carries me deep into
the heart of man
man-ifests itself in rain-drops
splashing off my skin
leaving behind
faint signs of growth
flowers
of
forgiveness

little one

her face leans close, questioning my intentions . why are you feeding me? why this kindness? when do i return to hell?
i hold her close, infant-daughter, sister-spirit, breathing words of solace and praying 'God have mercy.' all of these little ones, so few to foster, so few to listen.
soon they'll be old and withered, too old to care, too weary to weep.
heart bleeding i implore peace to enter.
the child rests.

crow's feet

as a child i would stand and squeeze my eyes into slits. i wanted laugh-lines. lines that proved to the world i could smile. lines that kindled my kindness. lines that did the work for me.
today i looked in the mirror and found those lines. i didn't smile. somehow that childhood fantasy has withered into a weary fear of wrinkles. a desire for crow's feet to fly away and leave me alone with my smooth-skinned youth.

madness

life seems as if
frozen
waiting
for a melt-down
for a tsunamai
or a mass
suicide
but even after
the curtain closes
we wait
as if disappointed
in the act
demanding a
refund
it's
recycled
redundant
and
somehow
meaningful

midnight bike ride

why are you so happy? my mouth questioned, my feet pedalling swirling in time with the pavement. moonlight dripped around us, cars snored past us and we drifted along towards home.
why shouldn't i be? his eyes danced. my migraine's gone, we just played a game with good friends, and i'm on a bike ride with my wife.
hands stuck vertical, feet fondling the pedals he stood and reached for the stars as the bike steered him home.
i laughed. inwardly. so as not to wake anyone.
my husband -- my humble muse.

morning faces

it's more of a slumbering-saunter than anything, but an attempted jog nonetheless.

paved road underfoot, i pass the same homes, faces and animals daily. no longer can i leave them nameless.

there's hippie smoker lady with a log cabin and grass re-seeding itself for the fortieth time and her long, hippie dog. she always says hi in a hurried, sincere way.

mr. lonely clad in fluorescent green jacket with the intentional beard and the over-extended hello from across the street and curious looks from his four rescued dogs.

miss stick-straight with perfume powerful and fashion-conscious model-walk.

the whistles of a young boy standing outside in his pajamas entreating his mother who whistles back from the bus-stop across the street. they whistle until the bus whisks her away.

and finally, my neighbour -- wrinkly, friendly, and passionate about her over-priced garage sale which she hosts every saturday, rain or shine, customers or none.

these are some of the faces that compose the mural of my mornings.

blade of grass

to simply
survive
to derive
pleasure from
the ache of hard
work to
lurk
unseen
in wild
beauty
collecting substance
breathing wood smoke
spooning
a loved
one
merely
existing:
blade of
grass

washed-out

rain
streaking
my
pane
mocking my
calloused
hands
drowning
my hopes
one
seedling at a
time

the forbidden race

first-nation
splash of rainbow
hope
in the
moon-day
star-beams
for eyes
probe
devil-darkness
living
true to nation, creed
dignity inspite of
death
to their
names
trashed but breathing
dumped in piles of
profanity
struggling to
float
in ponds of
tongue-poison
calling on
ancestors
native
offspring
turn their backs
Mother Nature
Father God
pour compassion
feed fire
into suffocating
spirits

picasso's protege

to
walk in the
paint-splattered hollows
of
his
sanctuary
grip his brush
sculpt his clay
engage
adoring Italians
take a memory
make it memorable
take canvas
make it a compass
and call everything
art
to bear the
portrait of
picasso
and still
keep my
signature:
picasso's protege

colours of redemption

if only they knew
soft minds melding molding
mixing with
society's debris
hands pulling reaching
carressing lies
smiles
forced and fearful
ignorant to His face
in the
shadows
His tears
red as wine
His body
stretched out like canvas
painted
with the
colours of
redemption

common denominator

dominating
the common-placed:
fear
in the face of
frailty or
phantom
strength
we cower
glower
at the
feeling
sealing our
ineffectiveness
so comforting
so common
so concocted

pillar of dust

she stands so sure
weaving smoke into
conversation
breathing tar
walking far
into a night black with demons
dancing there
free to stare at the
sin
her daytime hides
she abides
in her nightmare
so afraid
of
herself

mirth

it wraps around us
a silver thread
silhouetting our
souls
drawing child to
adult
pausing pain
momentarily
making us
one

feeling His pain

last night i wept as i prayed. wept because i felt my father's sadness. He was lonesome for my company. He'd gone with me the day through, commenting on this, that and the other thing, encouraging me, inspiring me forward, patting my back and embracing my sorrows ... and the most i could offer in return was a half-hearted bedtime prayer. i felt God cry. His tears were on my cheek.

rest in this

fatigue
doesn't begin to describe
sleepless dreams
driving me
mad -- or truly sane?
he stares at me
not comprehending
my red eyes
and the crowded jumble of
poetry
plastering our walls
words to
sleep on

tiny faces of sunshine (re: the flowers trent gave me yesterday)

bunched together
smiling at me
yellow faces with tiny petals
loving my time with them
not missing me
when i leave
too busy being beautiful

miscellaneous murmurings

this is my blog, my place of refuge in the midst of a jumbled world. thank you for joining me on this mind-journey. i wasn't sure blogging was the poetic route to go -- seemed so harsh and electronic -- but here i am. mostly because pen and paper are becoming so scarce.