it doesn’t matter if you knew better
or if you were doing your best with
the knowledge you had
if your own hindsight doesn’t shame you
someone else’s will
if it doesn’t, you’re probably not human
it doesn’t matter if you knew better
or if you were doing your best with
the knowledge you had
if your own hindsight doesn’t shame you
someone else’s will
if it doesn’t, you’re probably not human
Here is some advice.
Finger what you love
This day is all you have
Lose for it.
Waste your life for it.
This is bad advice. Don’t follow it.
It will get you into heaps of shit.
It will make your heart fall out.
You’ll lose any respect
you’ve gained.
It is easy for me to drop this
on your doorstep and light it
on fire -I’ve never gained respect
and my heart, long ago dried out
Jerky?
There has never been
a woman like me before.
I am little scared and unsure.
There are volcanoes
inside me dearest.
There are hurricanes and fusion
bombs under my taste buds
my delicious morsel.
I am nervous about my
intentions for all I have
ever cared for was you.
I will kill the universe to protect you.
May I be forgiven -I am rebellion
Its been a year in this new town – this new world of cars and prairie.
A year since I started to blog -post my poems and my thoughts about this mad world.
I still long for Lake Superior. I still long for friends who care for me and poetry and art and music. But I am learning the true sacrifice of writing, of growing old, of loving. Some years you are a lone. Some years you spend inside your cardboard box and the only comfort from the isolation is going to grocery store and looking the clerk in the eyes. Hi in there…. Its hard for me to reach out and say -play with me.
I get so obsessed with writing that I forget to go and mingle with people. I forget that poetry is a performing art and one of the many reasons why I was drawn to it in the first place. As I get older (still too young to be president) I have the urge to sit alone.
The days rush by so fast with daily activities of cleaning, shopping, and caring for my family, of reading, painting and writing -now a year has passed.
Husband is doing good at the job, got raises, and working hard. Daughter is adjusting, and learning so much. Reading well and learning to ask great questions…. that I don’t always have a meaningful answer for. She is learning to connect with the world and see the patterns, some skewed and false, others true. My little teacher, showing me love and justice. And she paints, this girl with the focus and heart of an old woman.
Spring is coming to southern Wisconsin. The birds are twittering. I heard geese flying above. People can be seen on the sidewalk. Living in this condo, this city of normal.
I have been feeling out of the loop, out of the world. I have been walking around with double vision -inside my body and outside of it -watching. Its strange. I keep listening and watching -looking for the first time and the millionth time. Being an artist -a writer is not what I would have chosen If I had any smarts. But being dumb and full of passion, a dumb kid, an animal playing this is where I am and know – I love it.
There is so much about my life that I love -husband and daughter, writing – having a place to rest my head at night, food, ale… Scotch.books… music.. that I can’t say that dreams don’t come true. In truth, my dreams are coming true, rolling on top of me, the universe bends for me and says get on my back. My luck dragon, the universe. But I want more. I want to write better. I want good friends as neighbors. I want family closer… want and want, despite having everything I need.
That is one of the things about me that has stayed constant. I strive and dream, and want utopia for you, for me – for the world. and that to me would be artists,music -dancing and singing, working and creating, loving and growing and learning. I don’t think I will ever lose that desire, that longing. If I do, smack me and tell me to get real.
Drink the coffee. Drink it. It is good
to have fine coffee. The best coffee.
Only the best for you