Old Poetry

"This Life Happens"

This life happens.

observing like an alien

with dispassionate detatchment

the events of my life

the changing cycles I choose

but I really only listen to the signs.

When to take action...

I have learned forcing gives me a headspace that resembles cottage cheese

and you can't really force, just push something a little....

and see the momentum

and watch in wonder

as the movement takes you under

and above and all around

and the sound of a familiar voice leaves you little choice

but to embrace the logic

because there are no winners

there are only players

and logic tells you that sometimes the underdog wins

logic tells me

there are too many layers

to make anything like sense

icing clad layers. cherry coated.

Life happens, even if you blink.. but nothing really sneaks up and in

you see it coming but can see the signs

as logic talking you down from a ledge

even if you think it is fantasy

you can't delude reality

you can't fly in life, wings chapped, stripped and raw

but you can adapt and see the wonder in the day

even when the words never really go away

they are dormant but sneak in when it was a solid thing

hibernating bears always wake up in the spring

wings mend themselves if they aren't clipped

to bring

new lessons when they are folded against

bodies with the crisp scent of the air strirring

and purring in their chest

putting logic again to rest

and whirring like a sky dancer who remembered her laces

and how to tie them

against thieves and clouds

for long hard flights

and remembered faces

My Something Good

I might not understand
The depth and the desire
But I will latch onto it
Like your living fire
And try not to analyze the pain
That comes before the loving
That letting go feeling
So pure and revealing
You make it so easy
I like to rile you up a bit
Like nothing’s worth working for unless it’s imperfect
And you are such a ‘perfect’ mate
That fate gifted me with
And of course, I never feel deserving
So I mess up
Even if it’s inside, it’s there
And so sometimes I push you away
Though you understand, finally, my say
sometimes comes from the parts that don’t matter
But the parts that do are vocal too
Only sometimes not directly at you
They are there when I glance at your lap
When I give that ass a playful slap
When I thank you for your clarity
Even though I only wanted to talk, you see
But you fix it, like my personal carpenter
Nailing in my tacks with tact
Might as well be crucified,
you know I’ll give some back
I just know what I lack
Better than anyone can tell me
So I stop the diatribe
The lessons and woman’s ability
Enough so you’ll just look at me
And see my apology
Clearly in my eyes
And I take your hand,
Woman to man
We’ve been through it before
I will kiss those pillow lips
The same ones for all these years
And my unmatched tears
will still flow,
Even though I know
You are forever
And even more
If it is within, then it is without
And I am without so much
Your eternal optimism makes me grateful
That mine is only surface but I have yours to feed from
So the next time I go away
Inside
You know you don’t have to hide
I know you’ll stay
No matter how many times I go away
That is durability
And stability
My moon is in tranquility
When this arrangement is met and understood
Yes, you are my something good.

* my Capricorn Moon in the sixth house take on romance with another Capricorn Moon*

A Different Kind of Sleeping

Mood-Writing is stale and breastmilk makes the mind mushy
Like a creamed batter, piped with exhaustion icing
Thighs still soft (STILL!) but grateful to hold that sweet smelling baby
That possibility in bold with a name you adore
that Godly creation you couldn’t have dreamed of more....
Motherhood might be common but it’s not the peasant-poor kind
It is rich and delicious it is filling (even if it is with cake batter)
it is generous and messy it is tasty and sad and guilty and so far reaching I might as well change my name with each new name I create.
I left myself out by the sliding door last year, and the train happily picked up speed
Happily- And I mean it
I need
This is greedy in my soul beyond sex or identity
It changes more than Socks and bums
It changes more than dads or mums
It changes more than woe is me tributes to youth
my self sacrificing ardour my lessons my cries for more
I cry for her
Though she knew what it was to house lives to hold them and love them... she didn’t allow the loss of self to define her.. she struggled and gasped for air instead of sliding
Sliding slick and slippery underneath the gathering force of the current and the vessels to bump her no more weeds caressing and grabbing no more caring about them or what that means or who she is or was
A different kind of sleeping
In my babies’ lives I am a beauty queen in mascara less eyes
I am a matador who slays dishes and broccoli
I screw up I miss deadlines I never have enough time I am a relentless grasshopper trying to wear an ant’s pants (I paint them on while I dance)
I still have trouble sleeping
But in my sleepless parade there is no charade
No coveting blade of artifice
It is a divine grace a glad worship
It doesn’t matter who I was
It matters who I am
And what I make
NOW
I am a mad diva
an operatic screamer a secret whisperer a love maker a guilt taker
I am mom
No longer a faker.
This dream is forever and I hope to never wake up.
( And I always sleep through the alarm)