when we learn to relax, we offer ourselves the opportunity to truly live life out loud.
Stumbling through...
I am: a poet, an idealist, a realist, a lover of life, an extroverted introvert, a seeker of challenges. I don't want to just walk through life but, rather, dance, laugh, cry & stumble through.
.........................................................
when i am old, i'll read books, whole libraries of them.
and collect them like rocks, stored in deep wooden shelves.
...................................................................
when i was young, i collected rocks.
(my best friend and i would sit, knees bent, heels to the ground,
and dig through them at the school yard.)
....................................................................
for now, i collect desires, and flip through them like cards,
seeing each face up before they disappear into the pile.
Comments [2]
Happy Halloween!
"At first cock-crow the ghosts must go
Back to their quiet graves below." --Theodosia Garrison
Comments [2]
(a little poem)
My little cherry
heart aches
at all the
pleasantries
we must fake.
All the happy/smiling/pain-staking faces
we must create.
Filed under //
poem
Comments [6]
slip through the cracks
Yesterday somebody stole my umbrella from a hotel lobby. It was a beautiful little blue umbrella with a wooden handle.
Yesterday it was also storming like crazy in New York. That cold, finger-curling kind of storm that requires gloves, heavy coats, an umbrella. After my hotel fiasco, I had none of these. Every awning became my refuge, I puddle-jumped from one to the next trying to keep my wet head warm. Even worms don't like this kind of rain.
This was when my heart began to thump and I knew: it would be time to take out the sweaters from under my bed. Being a Pennsylvania girl, I am used to some brutal winters. Pittsburgh never spares a real Fall or cruel Winter. Many of my childhood memories are filled with seasonal motifs, jumping into piles of leaves, autumnal reds and browns, catching snowflakes on my tongue, trudging uphill with a plastic sled. I know seasons. And while I have had dreams of San Diego's year-round weather, it just doesn't have the same magic. There's something about packing up sandals and pulling out boots that brings a thrill to my heart.
Seasons mark a very tangible change. They allows us to let go of something (bye bye bike rides) and reflect. They're an opportunity to start anew. And while I don't like catching colds or crying through the flu, I do like a bit of cool air to slip through the cracks of my window pane. And that feeling I get when I sit, cocooned in a blanket, while the cold frosts the gravel. Nature making change, marking change, turning like the air in our lungs. Breathing here, here, here, breathing: here!
Comments [4]
they sing.
I want you
to pet the palms
of my hands with your
thumbs. Kiss
the salt off my face.
Want to see
past our
eyelids beating
like butterfly wings
into
the heart of things
where our
dysfunctional
little armies
sing: you,
they sing: you, you,
you, you,
u.
Comments [4]
Comments [2]