Thursday, September 26, 2013

Reading the Rocks

You Are Following Your Nature

The road I traveled
with you in the palm of
my hand has crumbled, slid
to river’s edge below. “Street
Closed” sign keeps me out
while lookiloos ignore
all warnings, steer their tanks
and 4-wheel-drives around
to get a peek of what once
was, prove you are wrong, tend
to the weeds surrounding
your freshly-paved youth.
But you, a million pieces
scattered all across river’s edge,
thirsting, moistening yourself with each
and every drop before you dis-
intergrate back to earth. You
can’t see me looking over
deadly cliffs, wishing I could
travel that road with you again. 


Written for the Poetic Asides prompt, "On the Road Again."


Thursday, September 19, 2013

Are You Secretly Sick?

Written for the Wednesday Poetic Asides prompt, Illusion

Photo of woman's face
Her Suffering is Her Secret


She wears a smile around
her space, bounce in her
curls, walks with endless
grace. Her time is shorter
than the rest, no need to spend
it irritated, regurgitating
woes of aches and bodily
failures. To the world, youth
has blessed her like no
other. Inside, age has had its grip
on joints and muscles
from the moment of her arrival,
fighting for survival, story
of an illusion only she
has read. 


Tuesday, September 10, 2013

You Can Do It - Your Dreams Will Tell You So

As some of you might recall from one of my earlier posts, “Follow Your Dreams,” I often look to my dreams for assistance in guiding my life.

Photo of Line of Semi Trucks on the Freeway
Not Too Much Truck to Handle

Just last night I had an unusual dream in which I was driving a semi. I had pulled it onto a narrow street where there was no room to turn it around or get out. I stepped outside of the truck cab, feeling defeated. I was stuck.

After a few minutes though, I got back inside, determined to get it out of that place.

It was easy after all!

I backed it up just a bit and then gassed it back out onto the street. I saw a stairway ahead. I could hear all of the people’s thoughts. You’re never going to make it. You can’t drive a semi up there!

I ignored them. Yes, I could - and I would - drive a semi up those steps.

I proceeded.

I made it to the top where bystanders were staring, their mouths hanging open, amazed at what they had just witnessed.

As a reminder, in dreams, cars are a symbol of your life, so in essence, my car/life has turned into one I can hardly handle, morphing into “too much truck for me.”

Once I stepped away from it for a minute, I was able to let go of my frustration and believe in myself, regardless of what others thought. And then I accomplished what everyone doubted in me.

So if you doubt yourself and your dreams, I am here to verify, as witnessed in my dream:

 Your life is not too much truck for you. You can do it!


Wednesday, September 4, 2013

Six Years Gone - Missing Dad

Tomorrow is the anniversary of my father’s death, but September also marks another anniversary. It’s the month in 2010 that I started Mouse Tales Press, named in honor of my father’s childhood nickname for me.

Every year that has passed until now, I’ve had a hard time believing he is gone. Somehow, some time this year, I finally accepted it. Or maybe it has just sunk in that it's real.

My emotions, once raw and close to the surface, now feel buried. I’ve somehow shut them away. But I don’t want to be like that. I want to feel them. I don’t think tears or sadness are a sign of weakness. I think they are a sign of strength.  

Anyway, I sense this is why I’ve struggled with my writing the past couple of months.

Yesterday though, I had some sort of break in that struggle. I started a series of poems that gave me an idea for a handmade poetry/art book. Two of the poems are being sent out on postcards, so I can’t reveal those yet.

Below is a taste of the project that may mean nothing to anyone else. Still, I feel it’s something I have to do.

Photo of shoe in car rear view mirror
Look Carefully and You Will See
Six Years Gone

On the eve of your (death)
anniversary, a lone shoe
follows me down streets, busy
and quiet. I wonder
who lost that shoe. I realize
you have no feet
anymore. Suddenly,
jogging makes me cry.


(I wrote this last night. Today is the anniversary.)