stimuli

Toasting the glittering nine -

2012-01-15T08:47:00.000-08:00

aged twelve to seventeen (fine
and prime). Serenely surreal
(displayed and deprived) they dine
in inappropriate style.
Posed, composed, practiced, rehearsed
students/artists of beguile:
feel hallowed never hollow.

Be not emptied by façade
or broken by time (not a
price for you to pay). Focus
on truly glittering stars –
real if far away. Find fire
inside. Build and tend till you
find light in another choice.

unconditional

2011-12-07T08:24:00.000-08:00

We ask for love – only love –
acceptance without judgment.
We judge – refuse to accept.
We break our own hearts,
hurt our own feelings
with our dreamy teary eyes.

We withhold, secrete, pretend.
We isolate our true selves.
We begin our search for love
in a stranger’s arms.
Don’t we ask too much?
We lie awake, leave early.

Don’t we dread an endless need?
Didn’t we invent Jesus
to spare us salvation’s debt?
Don’t we send dollars
and our best wishes –
easier than facing fear?

3 birds 1 suicide

2011-10-10T22:13:00.000-07:00

She dragged from her bed,
sagged to the kitchen.
She sighed at the cat,
then sat with her flakes.

She had a headache
(always did lately).
It just never stopped.
So (flakes flushed) she dressed.

She moved in Dad’s house
after mamma died –
left her life (friends, job)
to cook, scrub, keep up
appearances while
he played, jeered, ignored
(like Earth’s turning or
leaves falling or death’s
shocking constancy
go mostly ignored).

She started her car
inside the garage.
Relaxed she waited.
Gas and time ran out.

Mike came in the front
dropped off after darts.
No smell of supper . . . .
(Right. No smell at all.

No reason to think
his cat might be dead
on the cool tile floor
or that his whole house
could still be filled by
lingering poison.)
Reclined he waited
watching loud TV.
His breath fell silent,
expired. The phone rang.

dearly departed

2011-08-28T09:08:00.001-07:00

Put a candle in the window.
Raise a glass. Let but one tear fall.
Heroes (angels gone before us)
yet guide our way, answer our call.

Longing stirred by a humming wind,
faith restored in a storm’s gray light
remind us not to forget to
wake and make this day bright. Salute!

heatwaves

2011-08-05T09:28:00.000-07:00

Busy wasps build behind a shutter.
Hibiscus bloom, fold, then fall.
Weightless birds suck at leaves for water,
while July’s sun bakes it all.

Who do I amid these creatures be –
digging, bowed so I don’t see -
breaking my back so I won’t feel
that in this world I’m not real?

heaven

2011-07-06T09:05:00.000-07:00

Green treetops whisper under the hot breath of summer.
Zada Hawthorne’s Mother is callin’ us t’ supper.
Ridin’ bareback longside a field of grass ‘n’ manure,
Zada ‘n’ me are as dusty as 'his road, for sure.

We shared everything for a time,
but Zada grew up ahead of me.
Last I heard from any Hawthorne’s,
Viet Nam got tall, handsome Teddy.

We head for the weathered gray house in a pinklit dusk,
takin’ our time, like night’s creatures singin’ all round us.
Daddy says one day Jesus will call me home to bliss,
though I can’t imagine anything sweeter than this.

consequence

2011-06-19T08:13:00.001-07:00

When it was over
he ducttaped her limp
and ravaged body
to a tree at the
edge of a car park
leaving her to be
found happenstance by
a random stranger
out for a jog in
early morning fog.

from VIOLATIONS -
an ongoing series of poems about rape

Who is this?

2011-06-02T09:52:00.000-07:00

Who is this child
sleeping near my breast
(headful of girl curls),
breathing deep (guiltless),
bedazzling his way
through my scarred heart
on a dancing smile,
stirring me, leaving me wild?

WHO is this boy
so drowsy and spent
by endeavoring
ceasless amusement?
Like cooling blue rain
water, his eyes
wash me in pleasure.
Looking at toys or treasure?

Who IS this man
too lazy to plan,
awakening me
with puddingsoft hands
for a dreamer’s dream
where I’m Alice
lost in Wonderland
and all the world’s a marvel?

wakeupcall

2011-05-21T06:20:00.001-07:00

The reality of you
awakened the dream
of love in me.

we got him

2011-05-05T10:08:00.001-07:00

Are we human?
Are we Roman –
cheering murder
with such fervor?

Do we worry?
What cost glory –
spent dollars, years,
and mother’s tears?

How many young
sons for the one
fearful, bitter,
lost in anger?

And what power
to threaten? More
than Exxon, Ford,
Citibank’s board?

Greed? Arrogance?
Give peace a chance.
What a shame,
ourselves to blame.

What changes now
that he’s dead? Vow
we’re done with war
and feel secure.

notion

2011-04-22T11:11:00.000-07:00

We dream of rest and laurels -
a time when life gets easy.
Truly live. Embrace the fight.
No struggle/no victory.

star crossed love

2011-04-07T09:13:00.001-07:00

Bubbles burst,
worlds shatter,
and we’re left
to stagger -
shocked, reeling.
We ponder
how it is
we never
saw the truth.
Losing years,
living lies,
we pander
souls timid/
hearts tender
for symbols
of desire.
Explosion!
A quick tear,
then onward
forever.

newly Margo

2011-03-18T09:10:00.001-07:00

Tiny, tiny,
strong and fragile,
sleeping, sleeping,
too soft to touch –
every infant
(blessed savior)
renews faith in
meekness, mercy,
pureness of heart,
and peacemaking.

clarity

2011-03-09T18:35:00.000-08:00

Here’s to you,
midnight blue.
Moon (hung low)
glows just so,
reflecting
light unseen:
darkness blind –
trick of mind.

photographic memory

2011-02-27T20:58:00.000-08:00

It’s all there
in your pale eyes,
glowing ghostly
from your nightlike skin.

It’s all there –
your empty stare,
your hardset lips
(so otherwise lush).

In your scars,
you are a thing –
possessed – not a
person to be asked.

The harm done
to you will last
generations
into centuries.

from the series violations

the love not taken

2011-02-12T11:04:00.000-08:00

Morning shines bright, but the wind –
so cold – blows right through me.
I am remembering
how warm I used to be
with you, and wondering:
do you ever think of me?

Do you picture me young, the
wispy girl I was then,
or burdened with gray and
pounds . . . . You can’t imagine.
Do you forget, or do
you regret what might have been?

Like a new moon of lost dreams
am I your mind’s shadow?
Do I linger, hover,
flit-float like a vapor,
blur, obscure, tint, color,
come like a breath of Spring
(mere scent through open windows)?

essence

2011-01-30T18:50:00.001-08:00

If depression results
from intense self loathing
[believe], its fallacy
is escape attempts leave
one hopelessly lost in
the endless despised self.

How is that successful
as an adaptation
to pain and hardship? Or
is it the creator?
May you not just as well
swill, snort, shootup, smoke, screw . . . .

Remembering Ross

2011-01-17T16:21:00.000-08:00

Sun on your pick-up’s
dusty, cluttered dash is not
as warm as your smile.

tomcat

2011-01-06T08:32:00.000-08:00

He says he feels like a cat again.
Watching muscles ripple beneath his skin
as he stretches and curls on his bed
(shaking the silky mane around his head),
Hearing him purr his words out at me,
I find it difficult to disagree.

sleeping beauty

2010-12-27T13:26:00.000-08:00

Within one hundred years growth of thorn wall
(hidden from adventurers who would come and fall,
brandishing wild swords against the briar,
inciting the entanglement ever higher)
I’m bound, waiting for one who can gamble
on his kiss. Should you decide to brave the bramble -
though torn and bleeding, should you persevere -
may your prize prove worthy a price so dear, my dear.

a Christmas Prayer

2010-12-14T07:12:00.000-08:00

Baby Jesus, did you know,
in your manger long ago,
how little might change in hearts of greed -
how lost your lesson of love indeed?

Baby Jesus, could you see
starvation amid plenty,
paradise wasted, unending war?
Does hope shine by the light of your star?

Baby Jesus, can you hear
cries of sleepless children there?
Faithless, fearful, forsaken, forlorn,
forgotten, Jesus - why were they born?

Baby Jesus, will you pray
for us on this Christmas day?
“Forgive them. They know not what they do.”
Work a miracle - teach us anew.

eulogy

2010-11-26T11:14:00.001-08:00

Leaves fall. Clouds gather.
Eighteen and fallen soldier.
Duty? Honor? Waste.

nostalgia

2010-11-18T13:37:00.000-08:00

Remember when we were kids
and played our days by the spring
in our private sacred woods
and leaped boulder to boulder
trying not to slip into
the chill gurgling below us,
so completely unaware
of the world spinning round us –
giggling giddy goddesses –
our fantasies come to life?

Haven’t we spent our rushing years
hopping boulder to boulder,
hearth to hearth, and man to man
looking for refuge, respite –
so completely losing sight
of ourselves as goddesses?
And haven’t we slipped and chilled –
forgot how sacred that is?
Don’t we miss our nonchalant
floods of unbridled delight?

November

2010-11-07T09:21:00.000-08:00

The hollerin’ wind hollers up a windy holler –
hollerin’ hollerin’ hollerin’ up that holler –
wending its hollerin’ way hard up a stone strewn ridge,
hollerin’ a primal shiver out of windbare trees,
hollerin’ sacrificial smoke from huddled chimneys,
hollerin’ a cold fury, hollerin’ fear, respect.
Behind the hollerin’ wind comes a frozen white snow.
In the mornin’ all will be quiet, clean, forgiven.

O see can you say

2010-10-26T11:09:00.000-07:00

In the age of information
are we communicating?
Say, how can we know so much
and yet believe so little . . . . .

perspective

2010-10-15T11:22:00.001-07:00

Life is long – a dream –
forever in a moment.
Live in the moment.

Time is short (tick-tock).
The moments fade away. They
die, lost forever.

ageless

2010-10-05T14:08:00.000-07:00

I am a wine of blood and bone.
I am ancient stock.
Rooted deep into hillside stone,
I still touch the sky.

I survive sun, cold, winds, and rains
being what I am –
rare and precious, constant in change,
forever changing.

I am haunting, horded, shared, enjoyed,
sometimes criticized,
and I will (though I be destroyed)
rise another vintage.

little Queen

2010-09-25T10:23:00.001-07:00

Rest in peace my little Queen,
for all your days of suffering.
Sleep in peace forever then,
for all the times you went unseen.

Now let your brave heart lie still.
I keep you in mine (always will).
Your pain proved too much to feel,
but your love I remember well.

miracles

2010-09-15T15:30:00.001-07:00

Blessed we humans
who, as it happens,
too often forget.

We take for granted.
We fail to expect
common miracles.

Caught in the struggle
we think survival.
We risk surrender.

Remember wonder.
Grace is the answer.
Be thankful. Marvel.

Faith is magical.
Mercy in battle,
passion for the fight,

fearless now, don’t cry.
Be strong. Live. Love life.
Soon, I know you can.

fact’ry women

2010-09-03T09:53:00.000-07:00

Figures sagging,
loose tongues wagging,
they stand in line
to punch a card.
They’re ruled by time
and must work hard.

Machines pounding -
buzzers sounding -
they take a break
to sip, to munch.
Their backs will ache
by time for lunch.

Mouths complaining,
muscles straining,
they gossip, joke,
and talk babies -
grab a fast smoke -
dream of maybes.

Out scurrying,
home hurrying,
they welcome night,
lie with their men,
rise before light,
begin again.

parallel

2010-08-23T18:06:00.001-07:00

Zada Hawthorne and me
got trapped in the outhouse at Church
one doomed Sunday morning during service.
(My Father preached from the pulpit inside.)
Vile though our setting, our
sinbegotten mishap felt like
adventure - like all time around Zada.
(Daddy would surely tan my worthless hide.)
Older than me, with this
great, wanton mass of curly hair,
caring not a hot hoot whether she sinned,
she seemed such a wild, abandonded creature -
a completely compelling companion.

I knew not worldliness.
Zada commenced enlightenment.
(Children of God should remain set apart.)
She gravely related shocking details
of Marilyn Monroe’s
tragic demise - her suicide -
found nude in her bed - dead - an overdose -
forsaking her vast, adoring public.
According to Zada,
she was a famous Moviestar,
more beautiful than anyone, ever.
Movies were a sin then. I didn`t know.
“Picture on the front page! How could you not?”

Marilyn certainly
bought herself a ticket to Hell.
She assuredly paid full price for it.
(One night, Mommie packed us all up to leave.)
Discovered dead, naked,
and full of drugs - she bleached her hair!
I listened. My heart grew heavy laden.
(Daddy threatened to kill us. We believed.)
Zada told a sad tale -
a golden angel - a lost soul -
someone envied, who couldn`t stand to breathe.
Zada wondered how she could sink so low.
(Despite my ignorance, I did know that.)

unfettered

2010-08-16T14:35:00.000-07:00

Change your clothes.
Change your mind.
Never change
your fearless heart.

lovermoon

2010-08-10T15:47:00.000-07:00

A full moon burns from my lover’s eyes
(so perfectly round and brown) -
eclipsing the sun, compelling tides -
a moon that beams through my dreams.

Serenely suspended against sky,
at once you seem here yet far.
Shadowed reflections of worlds inside,
the eyes that light my night are.

Does love glow or fade as dark time flies,
dearest moon, my white bright star?
Tell me. Be you the way, or a guide?
Illusion? Waning vision?

daystar

2010-08-04T13:35:00.001-07:00

Stealing, creeping, giving little warning,
Sun eases into a morning
and lights the day.

Building, growing, setting the sky ablaze,
Sun blinds all eyes that dare to gaze
on her array.

Softening, reddening, painting a cloud,
singing songs of color aloud,
Sun slips away.

two hands one heart

2010-07-28T17:28:00.000-07:00

God gave us two hands, you know, not just one.
With the right we feed ourselves,
but the left (feeling needy) must share some.

We reach ever upward toward God’s heaven,
and down into hell’s abyss.
One hand works to save. One grasps at freedom.

The power of two pressed in unison
prays that our blind eyes might see
whatever endeavor the world wants done.

All holding hands, we’re a chain unbroken.
We’re a force invincable.
Remember, God gave us two hands not one.

tortured artist

2010-07-22T07:27:00.001-07:00

As Virginia Woolf, Nicole Kidman
rests an iridescent cheek against
cool moss to become the soft stillness
of a forestbird caught in its death.
How perfect, how wretched this notion -
suicide. It is not violence
which haunts the dark and (yes) twisted path.
The end is only tender mercy.

Hot ‘lanta, GA

2010-07-08T09:04:00.000-07:00

Take me down I-85
to Atlanta. No, let me drive.
I’m so glad to be alive.

Zooming around the city
I’ll be Mario Andretti.
Look! the Sun! Huge! Red! Pretty.

Whizzing wheels, pumping pistons -
hot town’s heart got funky rhythm.
Hip-hype entwines tradition.

Twelve lanes, twenty-four hours,
magnolias, mirrored towers -
poetry versus prowess -

booze and blues, boogie, ballet -
you can choose. Tonight we play.
So what! Tommorrow we pay. . .

Let’s go down I-85.
On the way back, I’ll let you drive.
God! It’s great to be alive!

magicman

2010-06-30T18:30:00.001-07:00

In your closed hand you hold love’s mystery
like a firefly, and reveal it to me -
a spontaneous burst against the dark,
a beginning, an awakening spark,
a quiet power at one with the night,
a procreation of magic in flight.

You fill my jaded eyes with wonder, tears.
You quicken my dead heart with joy and fear.
You released my soul from bondage to fly,
so I release you freely, love, goodbye.

heavensent

2010-06-22T09:47:00.000-07:00

That’s me - that’s my girl,
burrowing her backside into a giant sofa,
lanky legs dangling,
stubborn arms crossed over chest,
jaw set tight, eyes blazing.
Her mind is made up
never to relent.

So I let her stew.
Prideful of her spirit, I know how big her heart is.
Tough as a Spartan,
(but not without forgiveness),
she moves me, earns respect,
and she makes me laugh.
At last she repents.

Then she leaps to me
in a frenzied flurry of tearchoked apology.
Duly considered,
she trusts her will to my love.
Together whatever -
my true angelself,
my sweet heavensent.

honoring Vincent

2010-06-10T08:33:00.001-07:00

The remarkably, now darkening, blue
heaven creates a clean slate (yes it’s true)
for our precious, pompous, unhurried Moon
relishing her quite bold and golden view
shimmer, shimmer back at her
from the water below her . . .

So pure, pristine, so perfectly precise -
so unattainable (plump with promise)
our fabulous, flirtatious, fickle Moon -
so desired, envied (her unfettered rise).
Hover. Hover above us,
charming lovers, as others . . .

Magically (somehow) the world lies silent,
not asleep or awake. Hypnotic Moon,
perhaps inconstant, remain persistent.
Shine on. Shine on. Fill my home.
Fill me with dreams till day dawns.

Can we rest now?

2010-06-02T16:54:00.000-07:00

I can’t rest till I suffer like Jesus,
wasting toward peace on a cross I dragged here,
bleeding guilty shame from unreckoned years,
pleading secretly for hastened release.

Small sacrifices now must assuage me,
like hope, like faith, like the dreams of my youth,
and (smallest of all) the ideal of truth –
woeful repentance bought with my pained tears.

the fat lady

2010-05-25T10:43:00.000-07:00

They departed.
She poured bleach on
blood from his head
leaving us shocked.
Pavement, stained red,
echoes his gasp
where he fell, dead.

Let go.

2010-05-14T10:04:00.001-07:00

We cling.
We cling in teary grief.
In clinging we are lost.

Stubborn,
we cling. We hang on and
on and our souls are lost.

We lose
our souls to grief when
we cling to what is lost.

Alive
is now – precious – too soon
gone. Live strong. Free your ghosts.

from the dread room

2010-05-08T08:55:00.000-07:00

I’m awake, still, eyes staring into black.
Mommie’s in the hallway screaming. I don’t
have to look to see. I have seen. Often.
Wearing a slinky red nightgown (padded
bra beneath) she cringes whimpering. Her
tears permeate sheetrock but cannot move
my father, first pleading, wheedling, and then
commanding, taking hold, belittling. She
persists, kicking, pulling back as he drags
her through a swiftly closing, stifling door.

from VIOLATIONS -
a continuing series of poems about rape

the cure

2010-04-30T10:22:00.000-07:00

Tell me again just how much you love me.
Make me believe it might be true.
Kiss me again. Offer your lips sweetly.
Give me reason to reach for you.
Hold me again in your arms securely.
Soon I may learn to love me, too.

commit

2010-04-24T05:54:00.000-07:00

Do what you believe in.
Believe in what you’re doing.

moment

2010-04-16T08:02:00.000-07:00

Just the sound, the merest hint,
the music - his French accent
fires the wild meandering
of my stray imagining.

He might be thirty (not old),
already though, slightly bald.
The soft bulk of his sweater
hides a marshmallow center.

I see him playing in snow
(the child he was years ago),
running, (pinkcheeked, goldencurled),
giggling like a little girl.

Now, his laugh is deep, lustful -
his eyes, sparkling blue tinsel.
Ahead he crosses the street,
this man I will never meet.

It’s not just a job.

2010-04-06T08:56:00.001-07:00

It’s my work.
It’s my endeavor,
my accomplishment,
my challenge.

It’s my dream
and my creation.
This is what I do -
I love it!

tribute

2010-04-01T10:27:00.001-07:00

He gave us beauty and truth, all
we ever need to know about
love, loathing, delight, guilt, faith, doubt,
madness, and cruel lonliness.

Golden, dark-eyed, robust, and pale –
hero, villain, and mystery –
shy, brash, he compelled us to see
poignance in pain left unexpressed.

Raw and tender, animated
or still, he was a child grown old
with understanding – died asleep.
Heath was a gift we couldn’t keep.

Z

2010-03-28T13:58:00.000-07:00

Can a zebra change his spots
or ever be orange –
run faster than a cheetah?
Well, maybe. Maybe not.

Why would a zebra want to?
Would you change if you could –
freckles, dimples, corkscrew hair –
whatever makes you you?

Why change what sets you apart –
even your sensitive
little baby feelings if
they come from your true heart?

You be you and I’ll be me.
That’s how it’s meant to be.
And the zebra? Well, let’s see . . .
He’s cheetah food for thought.

yes [aye]

2010-03-22T16:54:00.000-07:00

a-firm-
a-tive.
pos-i-
tive. a-
sser-tive.
open
air,wind-
o[w], door,
a mind.
John climbed
ladder
to yes
[Yoko]
and changed
the world.

Xmarksthespot

2010-03-19T10:16:00.001-07:00

I cannot forget,
but signs everywhere
exclaiming your name
stir buried regrets.

I cringe. Anger crawls
through skin over skull.
I feel how it feels
trying to escape.

Wish I could take back
the perfunctory
smile, “Thanks for coming,”
of our first meeting.

aspiration

2010-03-14T13:18:00.001-07:00

Oh, what if? What iffing
till the fat lady sings –
what good does wishing bring?

With such imagined things
as silv’ry frog-ged wings,
large asses wouldn’t ding
at each every landing,
and bawdy ribit-ting
could conjure mighty kings.

Take a breath! Stop iffing!
Never forget flying,
but begin your living.

violation

2010-03-10T05:55:00.000-08:00

Your love is barbed wire -
picking, pricking, sticking me.
What price to free me?

tough magic

2010-03-07T09:21:00.000-08:00

You are not born to
your destiny. You
create it.

haikulike

2010-03-03T14:53:00.000-08:00

TRIVIA - All you
need not know, yet discuss to
perpetuity.

surprise

2010-02-28T16:18:00.001-08:00

There are clues, but then, one day - all of a sudden -
you awaken on uproarious, clattering
birdsinging. Overnight, wispy willowfronds waft
under spiritstirring, cleansing, bracing breezes,
which powerfully transform water and sunlight
into an eyedazzle of diamonds popping.

Blessed hope blooms like a staunch little daffodil.
A tired sky turns blue. The whole world grows green again.
Oh, the very air you breathe becomes sweet with life.
Pack away coats and boots. It’s time to quit the fire.
Jubilantly rush - rush! Rush headlong toward freedom.
It’s Spring! It’s spring, yes! I NEED a new Pink! lipstick.

heights

2010-02-25T10:21:00.000-08:00

Perils are pearls.
Risk to excel.
Venture to fail.
Love rock. It’s real.

mother’s quandary

2010-02-21T07:34:00.001-08:00

Beware the danger, dear.
Don’t let the stranger near -
but if it’s your Dad
or my own brother -
I don’t want to hear.
I can’t face your fear.

Protect you, child? I do!
Molest you, child? Say who -
but not your teacher,
or our Church pastor -
tell me that’s not true!
Don’t break my heart, too.

Lie down to sleep as though
the Lord will keep your soul.
Eyes wide in the dark?
Panic at your bath?
I just don’t want to know.
I can’t believe it’s

Rise!

2010-02-18T06:23:00.000-08:00

You can teach love
or you can teach fear.
Teach yourself.

Don’t just dream. Be.
Love. Be loving. Be
worthy, love.

Be your hero.
Be open to pain.
Leave the past.

Find your strength. Find
your love in quiet
lonliness.

phant-a-see

2010-02-15T08:23:00.000-08:00

I revel in stories of exciting places
like Jakarta, Shanghai, Geneva, and Paris.
I dream going someday, on ship or plane,
to see what I can see.

I picture myself in photographs of mountains,
and clouds, and waterfalls, and green tropic forests.
I dream napping midst rainbows of birds and
orchids, my senses full.

Behind the dark of a window in nowhereland,
I watch crystalline trees return random sunlight,
and in silence born of billowed white snow,
I dream the warmth of you.

Same Old Song

2010-02-12T09:40:00.000-08:00

with apologies to Ms.Browning

I love you a most unusual way.
I love you like I’ve known you all my days,
and I will love you always.

I love you like starlight breaks the vast mystery.
I love you playful and childlike, even silly.
I love how easy you get close to me,

and I love you like some great new surprise
whenever I catch your heart in your eyes.
I will love you till I die.

from CHAINS (see cheriljones.com)

2010-02-09T12:12:00.000-08:00

Real love sees painful
truth - its hardness, its weakness -
then loves, and loves still.

Peace in the Valley

2010-02-06T09:12:00.000-08:00

The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want.
But, I want off this bluff. It’s dark. It’s steep.
I want warmth. I want quiet. I want sleep.
He maketh me to lie down in green pastures;
Through a savage wind we escaped in shock
to crouch, and clutch at safety on this rock.
He leadeth me beside the still waters.
Bombs fall like rain, sound like thunder tonight,
and Dresden afire burns an eerie light.
He restoreth my soul.
Day dawns on devastation and debris.
Pilots and bombardiers fly away free.
He leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his namesake.
At streetcorners, mounds of corpses are stacked.
They wait for wagons, wait to be repacked.
Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,
Limbs jolt queerly jerking along the road.
Gaunt horses, spotted cows strain with their load.
I will fear no evil for thou art with me;
Like the stench of death, even in such cold -
like glaring eyes of guards - like guns guards hold.
Thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.
Lust for vengance - fury, hatred, anguish -
feed the hunger, the desire to punish.
Thou preparest a table before me in the presesce of mine enemies;
Endlessly, we’re fed where this scene we face:
a mother with her child, seared in embrace.
Thou annointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over.
The soup is rancid, the bread hard and dry.
Too starved to vomit I chew, swallow, cry.
Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life:
However long the memory I’ll keep.
I still pray for peace. I still dream of sleep.
And I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.

from VIOLATIONS, a series of poems in progress

2010-02-03T08:07:00.000-08:00

free others
free yourself

nomad

2010-01-31T09:19:00.000-08:00

Across the arid wasteland of life
blow the restless breezes of my dreams;
and, from the desert’s darkest heart, springs
the oasis imagination,
where I’m nourished for this journey
to the gray shores of eternity.

magnanimity

2010-01-28T08:43:00.001-08:00

Pride swells as I wonder,
“Is my town the only town
where a guy with a beard
can stroll down the street wearing
a dark red dress, Brogans,
camo vest, backpack, visor,
water bottle in hand,
wary of naught but traffic?”

Then I remember the
little man who got his brains
bashed out on a sidewalk
two streets over awhile back.
Is it true? Have we changed,
grown? Have we learned anything?
Or is it that we see
only what we want to see?

love yourself

2010-01-25T15:16:00.000-08:00

Auntie Gert’s house was a disaster zone -
always (at least the times I visited).
Her kitchen – a shocking pile of aging
crusted stench also served as a throughway
for Auntie’s backyard, a cool expanse of
green shade where family picnics were held.

Gert welcomed guests enthusiastic’ly
(like a young bride on a receiving line),
so long as she was not compelled to budge,
roosting at the hub of activity.
Nevermind one must move clothes, newspapers,
godknowswhat, to sit a moment near her.

In her poneytailed hair and drapey skirts,
Auntie Gert propped her right arm precisely.
While she talked - eye to eye, laughing often -
the ash from her neglected cigarette
could fall directly onto a butt heap
(or close by). My Auntie Gert owned her life.

kinetica

2010-01-21T08:22:00.001-08:00

So you kick me
and I kick back.
When does it stop?
How do we end?
Are we even,
or just crippled?

Dixie’s daughter

2010-01-17T11:25:00.001-08:00

I am a long line of cotton pickers.
I am Southern like all my people for
as far back as anyone remembers.
We settled the Appalachian foothills.
We’ve spread along both Big Muddy’s broad banks
where racism thrives still, a household hatred
insidiously continuing, so
commonly accepted, it might be no
more than a reoccurrence of mown hay
or an unquestioned, inbred fear of snakes.
The kindest people I’ve known were racists.
The people I have loved most were racists.
My grandparents, my parents were racists.
My sisters have raised their children (who now
rear their own small children) to be racists.
I don’t even know why that is. It is.

the guilt we share

2010-01-13T07:42:00.001-08:00

We live our lies
behind closed eyes -
we cannot bear to see.

We fantasize,
romanticize,
escape reality

till truth is stilled
and justice killed -
alas, human frailty.

judge not

2010-01-10T08:11:00.000-08:00

Mere weeks since the ceremony . . .
The prizewinner ordered his bombs,
boasted the kills in his ever
expanding War Against Terror.
Terror is emotion which when
feeling we stand despite, we win.

Where is illusive peace found now –
in might, in spread of war (terror),
in clever words, earnest speeches,
in the guile of a timely smile -
and how does the prizewinner sleep?
Is peace only an emotion?

eye on i

2010-01-08T08:41:00.001-08:00

Am I like to
a forest tree –
unheard, unseen?

I fall. I crash.
Unnoticed am
I but a dream?

dreamstate

2010-01-05T21:29:00.001-08:00

Hell is what
you make it.
Why not stop
making it?

gone!

2010-01-03T07:07:00.000-08:00

The moon flirts from under a cloud
like petticoats twirling around dancing ankles
under Scarlett’s black widowfrock,
making this night sublime for riding around in.

July’s sweet blossom-scented air
rises, a vapor from summertime blacktop, and
takes me back. I’m still a girl on
Bill’s motorcycle flying down S’wanee mountain

with nothin’ on but the headlight.
What a weightless, timeless sensation of freedom!
What sincere exhilaration!
What longing for unencumbered, unknowing youth.

should auld acquaintance

2009-12-31T10:18:00.000-08:00

When you require the love a smile can show,
I’ll share a laugh with you.
We’ll gobble ice cream and relive a pleasant memory.

When everyone else is telling you, “no”,
I’ll give a “yes” to you.
Yes, your most secret longing can become reality.

When you feel lost and need a place to go,
I’ll be a home for you -
a peaceful refuge waiting with open arms. Come to me.

evil/we

2009-12-29T06:47:00.000-08:00

Evil grows in the dark
where secrets are buried,
where decomposing waste fertilizes,
so evil grows in a closed heart –

in the cloud of a mind –
a whirling tempest where
no wind dispels or purifies. Evil grows,
and grows wherever we let it,

grows a creeping poison,
climbing, crawling, choking,
greedily sucking life. Evil grows – thrives,
nourished from its own corruption.

Evil grows underground –
sprouts where we fail to look –
and we must look, because we can’t unsee.
Evil grows where we don’t shine light.

Get this . . .

2009-12-26T07:18:00.000-08:00

I grew up thinking
that the Original Sin
sprang from feminine desire.
The crime ended paradise –
Eve’s reaching for an apple.

Well, I’m over it.
Reach! Stretch! Grab! Snatch! Go for it!
Give it all you’ve got. Don’t blink!
If you’re gonna be a dog
then, by god, be a big dog!
B. D.

remembering comfort and joy

2009-12-23T06:36:00.000-08:00

My Pawpaw was the freckledest, quietest man.
His hair stuck out at the crowns
like mine and my niece’s.
He stood set for motion -
leaning slightly, elbows cocked.
Well I do that. So does Aunt Rachel.
And all the redheads of
our family come from him.

At Christmas, everybody gathered at his house.
Pawpaw sequestered himself
near the coal stove to groan
while lapsize kids climbed him
like an old familiar tree.
Pawpaw had a big, shinysmooth watch.
He would let you hold it
and just breathe while you listened.

A gift of innocence,
the bond of unspoken love
was wrapped in those few, short,
ticking moments with Pawpaw.

a poem from CHAINS

nativity

2009-12-21T06:14:00.000-08:00

It’s Christmas. The wind howls mean –
blowing bleak, blowing dreary –
shattering hearts grown weary
as if splintering gnarled limbs
from coldstiffened swaying trees.

Sun expelled, the dark wafts in.
People die, and children cry,
eternal twilight swirling.
Evil overwhelms alone.
Shadowed snowdrifts obscure sin.

In gusting gloom people die
in their cars, in useless wars –
hudddled under raincoats, drunk,
clutching what little they own.
People die, and children pray:

Santa, dear, if you can hear,
bring me magic. Make me warm.
Keep me safe. Give me a home.
Rescue me from misery.
Set me free. Please, grant me peace.

giftgiving

2009-12-19T22:15:00.000-08:00

With our gifts we express our dreams.
We enfold presents with our joy
and bind them with strands of our hearts -
enclose our souls as sacrifice.

We offer ourselves in token
to the response of one held dear.
We are tendered for rejection,
with a prayer for love’s acceptance.

let peace be

2009-12-17T21:52:00.001-08:00

However lonely,
however painful
your loss is,

seek, find, embrace the
opportunity
it causes.

Live in the moment,
not the memory.
Take pauses

to feed on old joy,
braving new challenge.
Love always.

focus

2009-12-16T07:35:00.000-08:00

my cat is such a
confounding simple being
chasing butterflies
she can’t remember her name
yet in the morning
she hears eyelids opening

nature

2009-12-14T07:44:00.000-08:00

Truly,
being
is not
passive.

Awe Shucks

2009-12-01T06:29:00.000-08:00

Don't be jaded.
Open to the
possibility.
You can't stay young,
so keep it fresh.

Be moved - touched, warmed
changed, humbled. Awe
strikes repeatedly.
Be awe-inspired
and inspire awe.

Exclamations
(Awesome!) best saved
for reality.
Realize. Don't
trivialize.