Our Child

Our Child

Someone is here, and I may look and 

 imagine the child self. 

It's often quite easy to do. He 

 or she is plainly here as well, 

Living under the adult-like frame 

 and face, but the eyes and 

Limbs give it all away: 

 hurts never really understood, with 

Such acrid breathless tears 

 secreted away many many times. 

I know that child too well, 

 I'm so very sorry, for all of us. 

The child still sits there sulking 

 through those narrow age-red eyes. 

Beaten and locked out, weeping, 

 at doors of stone-hewn faces. 

The Grown One is still this 

 child as well, wishing to come out: 

He's guarded, despised, and tired. 

 So tired. She aches for life. 

Giving up is not yet death, but 

 sad awaiting broken joy to cease. 

(4/28/2009)

Spring Flowers

Here are a couple of recent shots from my garden:

Transformed

Transformed

I saw a small dog changed into a child today.

Curly doggy hair, now tawny locks

on a quiet little boy,

Shyly resting on the bus seat face down.

Doggy sweater and leash are toddler clothes,

kiddie leash.

This woman is a grandma. I feel silly.

(4/20/2009)

Would I Know (song)

I wrote this as a poem a few years ago, and more recently adapted it into a song. Sorry I don't have a good demo to share... yet? ;-) Still maybe a work in progress, but here it is:

Would I Know?

I walk down roads as the sun is setting.

They seem familiar - can I find my way home?

I am dreaming as I am waking.

Am I lost? How would I know?

I both believe and don't believe;

I place my faith in the path ahead.

The truth is I feel so naïve.

Am I lost, or am I still in bed?

My life is like a journey, and I left my bags at home.

Now I've started, there's no turning back.

The truth I hold is merely rightness.

I do my best from day to day:

I live my life in dark and brightness.

Am I lost? How could I say?

My life is like a journey, and I left my bags at home.

Now I've started, there's no turning back.

I walk down roads as the sun is setting.

They seem familiar - can I find my way home?

I am dreaming as I am waking.

Am I lost? How would I know?

--

I actually often used to have dreams where I found myself wandering around the streets as the sun was starting to set, and I tried to find my way home but I kept getting lost or feeling like I couldn't get there. I decided to write about the dream and came up with this. The image of feeling lost in my life and needing to have faith in the process makes a lot of sense to me. Am I lost? I choose to say that I'm on the right track. It just may not look that way sometimes.

Divertimento

Divertimento 

In a night full of stars, 

Feel the cooling breeze of spring 

On a street with no cars, 

Somewhere with you. 

Setting sun on an island 

Of solitary ocean's calm, 

Lie naked on a bed 

Somewhere with you. 

You feel so familiar, 

I've known you all my life. 

Restless dreaming music wakes me. 

Like an Italian monk's pen, 

With letters expressing: 

Life's flowing and art again 

Somewhere with you. 

(4/17/2009)

Stopping

I still live in 

 used-to-bes 

and forevers that didn't end yet.

It's a place for don't-have 

 and stirrings uncalled.

Stopping myself from calling you, 

I stop myself talking silently.

There is no more there for me, 

 only my wanting.

I asked what would I miss, 

 if I could, 

after I'm gone and didn't dare expect 

to grieve the loss like woken death.

You've stopped visiting me in my

 dreams:

Strangers doing crazy things on

 stages take your place.

Memories sting my eyes and face.

I still sit here 

 holding onto the beats 

and write poems to myself.