Friday, February 27, 2015

from private pages of journey journals...


Angels in mustaches with breasts
gazing at each other from frescoed walls
for times untold, in ancient halls
Riding on unicorns
scaling castles tall.
reading maps of pleasure
unuburied treasures
heart without measure
unblinded eyes relearning to see
be patient with me
for what is a sea?
and what is it to see...
tagging through a door
playing hide and seek
a piano or a floor?
and when and what to say
we shall see another day...

sing sweet nightingale
from the waters or the shore
sing sweet nightingale
a piano or a floor?
and what are words anyway?
judgments made of that which we feel
but cannot hear.
stone that cannot speak?
proclamations for time to carry
V's misplaced by ancient races
wounds erased and mirrors faced...

I still remember your eyes
when you said: I love me.
you meant it.
more meaningful than any other words in the world
for only a man who truly loves he
could ever STAND and love this she.
and its okay if not you...
the lesson was your truth.
there is not desperation now
only scars of fears
of years of deflation
tears of re-creation
years of patience
searching... seeking self.
my heart on a shelf
refusing who could not walk
refusing using
and manipulative talk.
damages repaired with gold
kintsugi woman: a treasure to hold.
a tearful mess
a tender breast
a carried stress
a strong lioness
Imperfectly divine
this paradoxical heart of mine.
strength in fragility
but delicate to whom petals are open
easily broken
taking care with whom I share....
cracks can be shattered
torn or tattered
if crushed spirits can be mended
mended parts can surely break.

I've been found
on a pilgrimage of love
standing naked on mountains above
swimming in the sea... looking overboard for me.
crawling on my belly in the cold dark places of the world
feet torn and bruised.
lost and used
lifting and leaping
gifting and keeping
roses sleeping
beauty reaping
mother weeping... tears still seeping
heart still beating
love still seeking.

only open hearts are spoken.


are open.


throwing fits

I throw tantrums.

I throw tantrums when I don't get my way.
Spitting venom like fire
emotions balanced on tight wire
I am 8
In my play and these other ways
tears run fast and furious
for this heart so curious
anger like an explosion
quick and painful
left to deal with the aftermath
the disaster in my path
always ready to be right
steeled and armored for a fight
red blurring my eyes
clouding usually clear sight
don't know how to let go
the years where punching back
with words and ways
was all I could do
when i was green and new.
closing down or throwing up
throwing stuff
used to punch walls and steering wheels
overwhelmed by the pain of helplessness I feel
a helpless mess
without a voice
without a choice
and now its my way always
all days, my way or you'll pay.
tears or jeers or throwing spears.
daggers for eyes
angry spiteful cries...
hypnotizing, mouth is lying
kindness crushing, soul is dying
with years some fears are multiplying.
breaking in pieces
shattered peace
why am I so weak?
can I be whom I seek
who I long to be, ache to see?
pretend is she....
If you see my flames would you feel the same
if its you I blame?
venting frustrations
verbal shits
not with fists but my mouth hits.
hissing throwing fits.
this helplessness
this heavy mess.
inherited stress
does it make me less if I'm never my best?
failing tests...
abandoned quests...
If I'm never she who my heart knows I could be... should be?
can I still be love, be loved
If I'm not a perfect me?

Saturday, February 14, 2015

Reflections on a mother's heart... (bathed in the waters of venice)

I am that which I love with or without the object of my love
and yet I am not and can never be.
For I am an observer of the most exquisite beauty
momentary clarity
glimpses of joy.
infinity impartially
Witnessing and guiding him
but try though I might, I can not swim.
only rarely reflected in the waves...
I see:
the man I'd love my son to be.

The choices made?
I've been mistaken.
Love I've given:
more was taken.
true love was given
heart still breaking...
so many burdens
trying to juggle gracefully
holding tight so gratefully.
I nurture this seed
gifted amidst dangers
instinct never heeded.
The life I prayed for
saved my own.
but oh so poorly... poorly sown.
I carry now this heavy load...
what i can not give him
the ways I can not show...
how to be solid... strength...
how to stand steady... bending but not breaking.
emotions flow through me like waves
rippling river tides
breathless rides.
random like rhymes
tears at times
worry that my tides might carry him away
in future days
leave him flighty and fearful
tearful in all the wrong places.
I've seen so many faces
miserable man after man
none able to stand.
not fit by far to hold his hand.
its not me the desperate cries come for...
Though my longing is deep in its own right.
it's not for me I weep softly at night..
So much of my heart walks free of my body
The need in our lives is in my dearest's eyes...
my tearful heart, he laughs and lies...
a unfinished poem from days gone by...
so many moments failing
at what he needs for me to be
Loving always loving...
but I haven't tools to offer
all the things he needs to see.
though he grows with what I give
these regrets are what I live...

I wish that I had known
how the choices I made in time
would shape a life that isn't mine.
I wish I'd known what would be
and that foolish little girls
with fantasies
could create lasting ripples in a massive sea
I wish I'd understood
what's been shown with passing years.
I wish that I had known my son...
and could mend hearts with my tears...