Pockets of Heart Stuff

I have approximately 5 minutes to write something wonderful and then it's off to work. Isn't it funny that poets must go to work sometimes? I am always amused. In my perfect poet-world, I would sit by a river and lean my back into a tall tree, letting poems fall on me like dry leaves. And if the falling poems made no sense I would spread them out and roll in them. If still they made no sense, I would crunch them up and put them in a stew. Undoubtedly I would swell with fever as I leaned over the steaming cauldron of foliage, because of course in my perfect poet-world I would be a naked poet - tethered to the search for meaning. Punishing myself a little in beautiful surroundings. Alone usually. Free?

Oops. 5 minutes is up.
Off to work.

Best Mates

Photo by Atmadev Cornelius

Dying is required.

When living is present.

A little every day,

a lot once in a while,

more often than not.

We die the moment we are born.

Pushing away from what we were,
into who we are meant to be.

And we live the moment we die.

*

Kind of sets a precedence

for the entire journey.

*

So let yourself die, akka b.

become fertilizer

become the way of the returning tree.

So

you can live more,

once again,

entirely.

*

Live Death/Present Life

Not Thinking.

I bet you want to know what I'm thinking?

and

I bet what you're thinking - I'm thinking, is not what I'm thinking.

Do you really want to know?

about 'The Thinking?'

Regarding those bars that I might look like I am locked behind.

simply...

It's absolutely not true.

They are not bars at all.

They are jungle vines.

Two Ends Of A Very Long Rope

Two ends of a very long rope.

Rope THE MAN gave me.

"Here's your rope" said the man.

"See how far you can get whilst holding both ends simultaneously."

Having always been up for a challenge, I agreed.

So with my RIGHT hand I picked up one side.

And with my LEFT hand I picked up the other.

There were no instructions included.

It was a game with no rules.

Except that part about holding on with two different hands.

Naturally, give and take transpired between what was RIGHT and what was LEFT.

And the two ENDS were equally BEGINNINGS.

Interchangeable.

Except for that part about one being RIGHT and one being what...

was LEFT.

if you know what i mean?

standing room only

Photo by John Watson

Stand,

stand

up

don't sit down

don't lay down

don't fall down

don't let down

don't.

Do

stand,

stand

up

stay

up

be

up

live

up

look

up

*

SACRED

SACRED GIVING
SACRED GRIEVING
SACRED RECEIVING

*

Perfect disorder

Rides the heals of order

So we might know the way of whale

The way of Star Bird

The way sun gives itself to moon
And moon gives itself to night
And night gives itself to
One-sitting-still

Still

Dip below the storm
Let the sea take you
Let the sea heal you

Lend yourself to the masterful play of light

Out-of-Order

Into order

Into

Light

write?

Not feeling tortured at every turn can be a challenge as a writer. Sometimes I feel it would be much easier if I had something to hate more, if I liked cigarettes and long tall dizzying drinks, if I had more black in my closet or disparaging opinions hanging around. What am I thinking anyway? Writing about trees and rocks and dirt and sky and moon and weird things like feet and lightning and supernatural phenomenon? I mean you should probably feel sorry for me or something; at least that would be writer-ish - if I could get someone to feel sorry for me. Then I would brood aimlessly and act indulgent. Gosh that would be cool.

I'm not cool. That's just it. I'm way too warm and fuzzy to be cool. I like to sniff people. I like to slurp things. I talk to inanimate objects - affectionately. I light candles and pray to stuff, or about stuff - either. I do cry sometimes, but then I laugh about it. I laugh and laugh and laugh, hard and loud and not in a very hip way at all. Nope, not very hip...not at all.

Write.
So now that I have aired my dirty laundry~~~~~~~~~~~~Well?

Someone's got to share the reason of the rocks.

I suppose.

OPEN SESAME HEART

OPEN

That's
it.

all the way
not a breath less
not a regret more

open
is
ALL

T*R*E*E*S

DID YOU KNOW THAT TREES LIKE TO WATCH?

WELL, THEY LIKE TO WATCH.

NOW YOU KNOW

a wooden chair called Patience

a wooden chair called Patience

is keeping me up too late at night

holding me to her

telling me to wait

a few minutes more

it's always a few minutes more with Patience

she calls me Restless of course

Restless-Grasshopper for short

i am always hoping she will call me -
Still-Pond-Lit-With-The-Waxing-Moon

no.

a few minutes more

PLEASE GIVE ME THE WORDS - i beg

they're leaving a lump in my throat

i can't go to bed with a lump in my throat

shh.

said Patience

growl.

said I

things got a little heated and I threatened to change her name

she cowered and then she laughed

I don't know why she laughed

MY-SCAPEGOAT

seemed like a good name

ARCHIVES

THE ARCHIVES ARE GETTING LONELY

DIG DEEP

* * *
roll your heart in them

personal
F A V O R I T E S...

DEEPER

BEAST

RETHINKING BIRTHDAYS

MAGNIFICENCE

BECAUSE OF THUNDER

LUCK OF THE DRAW

ON MY KNEES

MOLTEN

RECONSIDERING WORRY

DEVOTIONAL

ON BEING A MAMMA

LET IT BE THE NIGHT

RETURN IT

INSIDE OF ME

HUNGRY STILL

SPILL

I LOVE YOUR HEART

DOUBT

17 EXPRESSIONS OF PEACE

Peace =

ENOUGH warm clothes to wear when it's cold.
ENOUGH time to get naked when it's warm.

Peace =

SIPPING TIME:
Idea sipping.
Thoughtless sipping.
Tea sipping.
People sipping.

Peace =

PAPER for writing things down on. Writing things out-of-ones-heart. But also fear. And stupid things. Things that make one feel stupid and aged. Or too young. Or incomplete. Those things. Paper is good for that.

Peace =

STORIES. oh YeS. Mmmn...because once in a while you just have to go another direction. Lose your mind. Leave it there.

Peace =

PEACE SIGNS are kind of cool. That's a neat expression. Peace signs look like tipi's. Tipi's remind me of people who sit in grass and do tedious work, but with their mind like the sky and their feet like the ground.

Peace =

COFFEE - ground. Coffee. yes.

Peace =

EYES. The eyes of people who hurt, but grow. People who make mistakes, but make them better. People who wear their shirt inside out and those old paint-stained jeans. People who take up S P A C E.

Peace =

ROSES. Dew stained roses. ugh. Not in a bad way "ugh"...in a way that's like, "UGH - I want to bite you dew-stained-rose, fragrant rose, rose that reminds me of the setting sun and the rising moon."

Well, anyway sometimes I do bite them.
And guess what?
They also taste good.
They taste like how I want to be inside. Crisp, fragrant, delicate, but vibrant-delicate, sensitive and ephemeral.

Peace =

MUSIC. Expansive. Bliss inducing. Hip moving. Shoulder releasing. Music that stimulates deep intoxication. Or the urgency to touch someone. (I don't know how much peace there is in urgency, but oh well).

and finally...

Peace =

DARK PLACES, where letting go counts and time stands still.

Have I said enough? OOPS - I'm not to 17 yet.

Number 12:

Peace =

CHANGE. Changing my mind that I don't want to write 17 things, I only want to write 12. That makes me feel peaceful.

only writing 12.

What Lightning Feels Like

oh yes, lightning.

does what it darned well pleases.

anywhere

anytime

ZAP!!

like the roof caving in.

no rumble rumble like an earthquake.

no tumble tumble like a hurricane.

just ZAP!!

and there you are ~~~~left~~~~not exactly standing.

but not exactly, falling asleep.

Playing with Matches

All Sorts of Poetential Here:

CAKE

Having my
CAKE
and
EATING
it
TRUE.

The
CHOCOLATE'S
for me
and
the
rest
is
FOR
YOU

where to find IT.

Inside pages, under footsteps, without calling card.
Because of bathtubs, and candles and the bear.
For wanting, or For-getting or For-having.
this much.

Enclosed in envelopes, to keep, to touch a lot.
Breaking from tree, that had to let go of its twig.
Giving, clouds transfer thoughts via nations.
that's where.

Growing out of tears, dropped carelessly on night stand.
Sprouting colors, turn to words, blossom dreams.
Sharing, there is nothing more to do now.
becoming.

MOON FALL

Somebody let the moon loose in here.

Echos below my breastbone,

between my breath,

unexpected.

Well, expected.

Illuminating space.

Oh my gosh there is SO MUCH SPACE!!!!

With what shall I fill it?

Or

For what, shall I let it be?

My Wealth is pebbles

My Wealth, is pebbles

and love notes strewn across this desk.
A candle - lit, says enough
and the beaded pouch hanging round my neck stuffed with - That Prayer.

My Wealth...

is invested in the ones watching from other worlds,
keeping tabs for me. That's right...taking care of my tab.

bowls full of sage

a bell

the book with worn pages

the dust I let stay

a sense of giving

to be

Sure Thing

So far/in some ways...
I may have chosen a harder path

But I forgive it.

The jackhammer of missteps
carved me out from the
Princess Snot I would have been

Humbled by Happenstance
I grew fine long hair
transparent sight
and ears worth lending

It's better like this I think

as now,
my laugh is a sure thing

*

Heavier Shoes Please

Hold me still so I can kiss you more,
because it's strange,
and I want to.

Despite this glaring tyrant of distraction.


SUN

SHINES too much light,
on restless thoughts toward redemption.


Can
you
buy
me
heavier
shoes
please?

Conception

DREAMS cough up stories startling poets into finding pens.

Fumbling for a light switch.

paper.

Oh yes...paper.

ANY KIND: cardboard, envelopes, business cards, junk mail.

A notebook is called "getting lucky."

If I was a real poet I would sleep on paper and feel LUCKY all the time.

But then I would still have to find a pen.

I would BE the pen.

A-pen-lying-on-a-bed-of-paper.

A garden of words my fortress, or my folly. both.

but what to-do about having ink?

AVAILABLE

good things.
yes.
those things.

heaps of them.

yes.

I am learning how to be selfish like that.

B.O.L.D

about attraction.

attracting.

available things.

good things.

right now things.

yup.

yes.

~~~

Fall DOWN

Fire. brings it. FALL.
Dry winds, parched lips. Hot dusty air. And FIRE.
Colors do change in California...they go from brown, to sparks, to orange and red. smoke.

And temperature changes. yes. It starts when:

summer is almost ending
- and jumps to -
summer has only just begun

dead summer. like falling down.
we renounce our leaves, anyway.

The hills have to burn.

Chancing the loss of that which feeds them.

The greenest parts, the wildest creatures.

FALL DOWN
Like you've never felt any pain small leaf.

go to dirt now

Bones.

FATHOMS
under blood and skin,
there is this place.

I don't know the scientific term,

but i do know it's between things.

Wedged.

Easily forgotten -

like dishes and dirty laundry.

It sets our pace,
makes us walk funny,
with our shoulders forward and our head back.

Or our pelvis in and belly out.

Like a groan. That's what it's like.
An ancient howl. But a private one.
It's the way we breathe. But in our bones.

yes.

bones.

Under blood and skin.

Where lifetimes lodge ~ and sometimes you get to feel them.
The ones that make eyes twitch and hairs gray.

The ones we thought we lost.

but didn't.

Because of fathoms.

And not wanting to.

The Passion of Akka b.

There are times when LOVE requires window cleaner. rags. a rake.

There are times when LOVE requires getting filthy. While wearing a skirt.

and a white-top.
and a manicure.

There are times when LOVE asks us to be ferocious and unrelenting.

I know, you know.

Tonight required all of those things.
and sweat
and compulsion
and even a pinched back

I had to.

under the canopy of night
oak leaves
spider webs

I had to.

Make
+
+
+
Room


*

YOU.

Oh yeah.

This is for you.

yes.

YOU.

Cutting and Pasting

Going away from it.

because why?

Well, the story is like a thousand times more stubborn than me.

and also.

because why not?

It doesn't fit under my hat.

or my belt buckle.

or in my shoe.

and also.

It's not that becoming.

Plus it weighs a lot.

and also.

It never wants to let me go.

Even though I am sure it's not my fault.

well, it might be.

But anyway, I'm still going to go away from it.

Rocking it.

the way you are
is what i hope to be
old
dirty
somewhat enlightened
somewhat nonchalant

always unconventional
and
never perfect

but close

*

sometimes i throw tantrums

no. i really do.

sometimes people get in my way and i want to bite their ears off.

i also glare a lot.

and growl a little.

tossing undigested weight around like a boulder.

an invisible one.

and invincible too.

i'd like to think.

anyway ~ i'm sorry if it makes you cry.

kind of.

Let it be Weeds

Oh honey, you don't need anything tidy - that's for dang sure.

Let it be wild. Let it be weeds.

Time to paste some tears to the bathroom floor.

and

Time to burn some stuff.

Make some ashes and roll in them.

Cracked Heals and a Dirty Heart

It had a heart-on. it.

One dirty foot that walked a long long way...
got a blister
and had to wear a band-aid.

one sweet little dirty foot that doesn't like to be confined

with cracked heals

and funny toes

rubbed up against a stubborn shoe.

and old shoe - that wasn't made for walking.

BUT - it was a willing shoe and a willing foot and so they went ahead.

and walked.

as feet and shoes tend to do.

and at the end of the night...

that sweet little dirty foot was sore, but satisfied.

cracked, but unconfined.

tired, but funny tired.

and at the end of the next day when it was time to undress the blister...
well, it turns out it wasn't much of a blister at all.

after all.

and well worth the little rub --- with that old stubborn shoe.

MS. BED HEAD ~ and the WILD NIGHTS

Ms. Bed-Head rubbed out pebbles from her sunrise eyes, yawned and fell back upon her pillow. Her hair - entwined with thorny midnight brambles, was still littered with subconscious suggestions, dreams and whatnot.

She found it much easier to forgive her puffy face having come to realize the apparent necessity of these strange midnight visitations.

encounters with demons and such

a few fires, water, lovers, the knowing,
the unknown, some bliss, regret

the usual

going, coming, staying

longing

*

Canning Fireflies

Ball Jars supposedly work best for Fireflies

Deluxe accommodations.

TWINKLES hovering in dark moistened air.

Very miracle-like...

This seductive... gulps-of-awe brigade.

I want you.

I WANT TO CATCH LIGHT INSIDE A JAR.

a Ball Jar.

on purpose.

come. COME HERE!!
here little firefly...come on...wander yonder little one.

GOTCHA!

now, I am VERY powerful because I OWN A FIREFLY!

Except that I live in CALIFORNIA

where there are actually no-fireflies-at-all.

Only frivolous imaginings caught inside a.

(once again) ~ ball jar.

Picking a Fight with a GLITCH

Timing.
and what if's?
maybe?

oh nevermind

I don't care
and
whatever...

but perhaps?
but damn.

or

F@#K

like a stubbed toe.

Aggravating

like a sleepless night

S__T!

Like the missed train.

oh boo-hoo, but I'm a tough ass.

it didn't hurt, but it really did.

sigh.

okay

one more time...

sigh.

10.

10

years.
since - she cracked open the window
of
in-between worlds
pushed her way through
invited herself in

10

years.
before - I panted and prayed
I called, she summoned
she
churned
I
surrendered

10

Years.
ago - we died
a
little
said goodbye
a lot

to what comes before, being born
to what comes before, being a mother

10

Years.
far - from this very day.
We passed each other in twilight halls
as we
both
left
behind
so
we both

could
come
to
be

a
little more

10

H A P P Y * B I R T H D A Y

Mornings are NOT Broken

Between trips from the bedroom to the kitchen for tea and trips from the bedroom to the bathroom because I drank tea…

Sometimes I find myself jumping on the bed.

Mornings are getting bOuNcY.

THE NEW BLACK

Late Nights are no longer.
But weeeee MORNINGS really ARE.

Ode to weeee

~~~~Early Mornings

Ahem.

Good Morning wee early mornings.

It’s ME! How do you do?

Such a pleasure, and I know – It’s been sometime.

I’m glad to be reacquainted, I'm confident we’ll get on fine.

Already you feel like a chum

Do you mind if I call you that for short? Chum?

OOPS – This is supposed to be an ODE!

eek!

Okay...hang on.

(clears throat) aheM…

ODE TO WEE EARLY MORNINGS

Dearest morning ~ you are the wind beneath my….

Oh nevermind.

You’re so right – I’m jumpin’ the gun.

We haven’t even bathed together yet,

Or walked,

Or caressed.

Well shucks, we’ve hardly even spoken but a few words.

Or not spoken,

Or laughed.

Okay, well we HAVE chuckled…

And we’ve definitely smiled,

But no, we haven’t laughed - not reAllY loud.

BUT WE HAVE BEFORE – remember?

And we will again – I’M SURE!

But you’ll probably tell me I’m TOO LOUD,

And then I’ll get embarrassed because I didn’t even realize.

And then I’ll try and be really good and do things that wee early morning people do.

And then you’ll say,

"I like you just the way you are"

And gently remind me that the only reason you said, “be more quiet” is because

THE NIGHT PEOPLE ARE JUST NOW FALLING ASLEEP.

Then I’ll say,

“Oh yeah, I can relate.”

I’m glad I’m not a night person anymore

But perhaps I’m jumpn’ the gun a tad – - -

Deeper

CLICK TO ENLARGE

Under Influence of the DRINK

I walked away for a while ~ you may have noticed.

I went away from the dailies and took to the forest with a bottle of juice.

Drunk Love Heart JUICE

I drank every day.

I drank every morning

I drank in the night when the child was in bed.

I drank for the sake of drinking,

for the sake of looking, for the sake of being.

I drank so much I began to becoming.

Becoming the dirt and moss

Becoming the rain and trees

Becoming the thunder and light

Inebriated I forgot my name

Intoxicated I forgot my place

Influenced I forgot my inhibitions

Inhibitions always run from Love Heart JUICE

JUICE

I’m home now and with a FULL BELLY

Full Belly’s are so BECOMING

Come over

rub