When I Can't Write

When I can’t write, then I’m either sick or something is wrong. I write from the time I get up until I can’t keep my eyes open at night. I may never write the Great American Novel, but I have been an obsessive writer since I was eleven years old.

I keep a daily journal, work on several blogs and I have many freelance jobs at the present. Everything makes me feel like writing. It may not be what I should be writing, but I’m always putting words on paper or keyboard.

Right now, there is a group of kids on the swing set (Old Fort Harrod Park) and they are inspiring a poem. Even though I may only jot down single words, they will end up as a poem or story before the night is over.

Rainy days inspire me more than sunny days, because I love the smell and feel of rain in the air. My wildflowers inspire me because they are God’s gift – pampered, hybrid flowers just don’t mean the same to me.

The past two months, my words and writings have been about my youngest daughter, Christine and her plans for college at Berea. Over the past month, since the illness and death of my Momma, I have filled two and a half notebooks with words, thoughts and prayers. I’m not ready to turn them into anything yet, but the words are there when I’m finally ready.

The past few days have been the best because they have been filled with words and thoughts about my first grandchild, Devon Mikayla. Of course, she is not my official first grandchild because I have a step-grandchild, Delilah Rose, who is the sweetest little two year old you would ever want. But there will always be a special place in my heart for my little Tadpole.

Words come easy for me, if not, something is wrong.

Crazy M-I-L

CRAZY M-I-L


Crazy,
pure and simple crazy.
Not coo-coo for Cocoa Puffs crazy,
but full of bragging and constant deceit,
and thinking only of herself.
Full of evil deeds, with plots and planning -
so glad she is out of my life.

On a Hot Summer Night

ON A HOT SUMMER NIGHT

Crying
Sarah, answer your phone
Clang, clang of the see-saw
Squeak of the swings
Watch both ways
Siren from fire truck
Kids squealing
Kids laughing
The ice cream truck bell
Leaves rustling
Birds crying
Wind blowing
Words forming

Survivor's Guilt

Today's Tarot tells me:

"My alter ego is The Compassionate One, whose superpower lies in revelation of my life and worldly events. I will reflect a sense of gratitude for my life and those involved by showing humility, forgiveness and charity. By doing so, I feel a strong redemption for past events -- a great liberating feeling. I have punished myself enough and am free at last. Clearing the conscience through forgiving yourself and others can bring an overwhelming sense of peace and joy."

I feel like I have been punishing myself for the deaths of my sister and my Momma, so I'm trying to free myself from the survivors guilt. A wise friend told me to: "Clear my conscience by forgiving myself, and my friends will bring an overwhelming sense of peace and joy." I'm going to give it a try ....

To College or War

TO COLLEGE OR WAR

My daughter is off to college today,
it's almost like going to war.
Trunks are filled, bags are packed,
the house is feeling smaller already.
I think this is a good thing,
even a great thing,
but the thought of my baby being gone
is a bitter pill to swallow.
Posters off the wall, books carefully packed away,
Disney characters stare back at me,
wondering where their owner has gone.
Harrodsburg, Danville and into the heart of Lancaster.
Thistles, Joe Pye Weed, Crepe Myrtle, Ironweed and Goldenrod,
bloom along the way.
A cliff lined with limestone,
blasted away to make room for these asphalt roads.
Paint Lick Elementary School in Cartersville -
Highway 954.
Yellow tobacco waiting to be cut,
and creek beds drying with rocks peeking up their heads on each side.
Cattails sway in the breeze as we follow a truck containing
a Crucifixion cross like a scene from "Mad Max."
Madison County, East 21,
Berea,
my God, we're almost there.
Blondies's Ice Cream Parlor and the Circle K,
and our honeymoon spot - the Holiday Motel.
Berea College approaches,
the time is finally here.
I know it is not a good-bye,
just an, "I'll see you later,"
but why does it feel like forever?

~~August 21, 2010

Surviving Grief

(Photo copyright All Poetry.com)

SURVIVING GRIEF


We have mourned and wept for those who have passed on.
Our tears have dried, but our hearts are scarred eternally;
life is contained and our memories serve to freshen the wound.
We are therefore vulnerable to shock that has turned to regret.

Of all the grieved we will soon be drawn,
some to faint rays of light which appear on the horizon,
and others disappearing into the darkness.
We have known what it is to live in the darkness,
what it is to find a moment of light,
only to be plunged into darkness again,
For one who seems to be a friend, has separated
the present reality to a fake reality,
and salvation has been denied.

To live, to exist, is to expose oneself to uncertainty.
Changes are all around us
and we can never be sure when new perils will arrive.
But jeopardy does not respect time
and we must be prepared for the next encounter.

A Force Unseen

Painting by Colleen Hammond Oil Paintings - entitled "Ocean Waves"


A FORCE UNSEEN

Under the hazy sun,
the days seem trapped
beneath deep and unrelenting eyes -
a storm is promised, but the air for now is as still
as the breath from the dead;
and yet one leaf will stir,
one bough will bend
and no one knows
how the stillness will eventually end -
perhaps with a gentle rain,
perhaps a thundering storm.

Today the sea is calm and motionless,
what waves there are
curl upon the beach almost like a tender caress,
but the seas is never still,
the unseen beckons the mass of watery elements,
and almost against its will
the seas is drawn from the shore
in tiny tides to a distant force.
Sometimes it is with us,
but what force has beckoned us
we do knot know,
but still we move in, answer to something unseen
not knowing if we are being drawn from
or toward some final shore.

The storm has broken, suddenly -
and sanctuary has been found.
Sanctuary of the past
far and safe from present threats,
where the landscape of dreams are free of thunder and storms
and the serenity the present can never know
invades the gentle air ...
or so it seems.

One-Sided Conversation

ONE-SIDED CONVERSATION


“Uh, huh, yeah, that’s what I thought.”


“No, I haven’t seen it yet – really? Oh, I can’t wait!”

“No, uh, uh! No way I’m going if that heifer’s going to be there.”

“Because …”

“No, because she drives me crazy.”

“It’s not funny, Linda. No, I think that red dye job has soaked into her brain and rotted the gray matter!”

“It’s true – no, I think she’s very intelligent.”

“Yes, she is – she has to be smart to be able to down that job at the law office.

“Well, let me finish – I said she’s smart, but she just doesn’t have any common sense.”

“Haha – no, seriously, I don’t think she has enough sense to come in out of the rain.”

“Well, true … she probably would melt in the rain.”

“Oh, you are so bad! No, you are, you’re evil!”

“Yeah, I know – but how could someone smart enough to be a paralegal actually think it’s okay to be dating 3 different guys at the same time?”

“Well, she’s got more energy than me, that’s for sure.”

“Well, what’s going to happen when she goes into the Old Bull Tavern with Bill and she finds Joe Bob at the bar?”

“Yeah, that’s what I mean – the fur will fly!”

“Or, maybe she’ll be eating with Kenny at the Food Affair and Bill walks in with his buddies.”

“No, I don’t care who she dates, I just think it’s wrong for her to sneak behind their backs. Those guys need to know they’re in competition with each other.”

“Oh, I know, that’s why I don’t want to go if she’s there. I can’t stand to her complaining about her love triangle – or I guess it would be a love square since there are four of them.”

“No, I can’t stand to hear one more story. No, I’ll go with you, but if she’s there I’m leaving.”

“Oh, Linda, I’ve gotta go – that hubby on the other line. Talk at ya later. Bye!”

Dragonfly Ballet

DRAGONFLY BALLET

Dragonfly chasing a butterfly -
swooping above the scorching parking lot.
A delicate ballet - rapid fire of blue translucent wings
and the chunky, slowness of yellow ones.

Gusts of wind send a discarded bottle cap on a
jaunt across the black asphalt,
catching and dropping into each cervice and dip.

Hot, warm breeze on a mid-August day -
how sweet it is.

The Night Has Ended

This is another poem inspired by a photo by Dan Felstead of Wood and Pixel Narratives.)



THE NIGHT HAS ENDED



Frightening sight, an apparition from the past,
even by day can be immensely dangerous place,
with many unsolved mysteries and grave danger.
Determined to seek out the truth,
a secret from the past
which can force things once thought long gone,
thus could make things happen even though we have
difficult decision to decide our path of existence.
Streaks of red, the color of blood, mix with rain the color of the sky
Chase away the sunset, bringing forth the dawn,
but it is like the day would end up with a horrible death
even though the shimmering reflection offers the peace of day,
the sunset usually offers
a raging night could end with a horrible death.

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Mysteries

(This photo is copyright of Dan Felstead of Wood and Pixel Narratives. Although it doesn't exactly match the tone of the poem, the color are breathtaking. The "...great estate of an enormous heart..." could be the Church - use your own interpretation.)

MYSTERIES



Night clouds hang over the fast approaching dawn,
still holding the dark captive, under the light of the moon.
Twin evils revel a danger with the largest house,
the great estate of an enormous heart,
feeling trapped, a prisoner,
like a women from the dead, come to life,
but seeking the warmth and life from the living.
The light from the moon continues to gleam in the night mist
and it is here an imaginable paranoia intrudes;
time for the woman to follow a new destiny.
It is a strange and disturbing time,
trapped, chained,
unable to follow the different fates or
to what will happen from one life to the other.
Her secrets are now in danger,
no longer able to penetrate the disguise,
unaware of the dangers.
The night continues toward lighter hours,
ancient knowledge,
multiple mysteries,
warping the bands of time to cross the plain,
leaving behind the troubled curse weighing heavy on her mind.
The sun rises blood red at dawn
hanging almost frightful over the countryside.
And even as the dark passes, the mysteries remain
the web has been spun with terror and mystery
as the fissures continue to expand into ever-deepening whispers.


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Care and Feeding of Nightmares

For anyone who would like to purchase my 2nd chapbook of poetry, "Care and Feeding of Nightmares" - you can email me at:

careandfeedingofnightmares@gmail.com

with your snail-mail address. The books are $5 each plus $2 for shipping and handling. I hope to have PayPal set up on my blog in a few weeks for payments, but currently I can only accept checks or money orders. I will mail out the book on the day I receive your order. You can also buy the books at J. Sampson Antiques on Main Street in Harrodsburg. Thanks to everyone who buys a book!

Time

TIME

I want time to blow the fluff from a dandelion.
I want time to blow a bubble that sparkles like a rainbow
as it bounces on the breeze.
I need the time to see how many licks it takes
to get to the center of a Tootsie Pop.
Give me time to smell the roses and lilacs, the herbs and wildflowers.
Give me time to taste a fresh, juicy peach, the perfect tomato from the vine -
Rocky Road ice cream.
Time to feel my lovers arms around me;
time to nuzzle with my little tadpole;
time to tell my girls "I love you."
I want to hear the serenade of frogs on a hot summer night,
time to hear the red-tailed hawk calling to his mate.
I need time to see the beauty of nature,
be it God, Goddess or Spirit - thank you.
Thank you for the time you've given me on this earth;
and if it is in your power, allow me to remain just a little longer.

.

Wake Up and Live

WAKE UP AND LIVE

I can't see my way around
the dark veil of depression
increasingly squeezing in on my life.
Even medications are not enough to control the suffocating blackness.
Occasionally, tiny specks of happiness are sprinkled through my life,
like bits of candy canes in peppermint ice cream -
sharp, but sweet, lessening the edge of torment.
I've live half my life, so why don't I feel better about myself?
Why does this torture continue,
causing nothing by hopelessness and pain?
Life is too short to live in misery and despair.
I've got to wake up and smell the fresh,
tantalizing fragrance of my family,
my life -
I must wake up and live.

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Bright Future

BRIGHT FUTURE

Out of the fallen dusk
night draws near,
and a stranger, who is not a stranger,
approaches with a soul shaped by remembrance and loneliness.
The persistent strain of moans and groans,
don't rule out the possibilities.
The shapes of the stories and descriptions
handed down from roots and blood and soul;
form their own destiny.
Indulging in fanciful attitudes
will only lead to sadness from the past.
So return to live the life you never got to live,
the uneasy days,
the invasion of privacy,
the great mystery is finally over.
The future awaits, and it is a bright future indeed.

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