I Won’t Be Entertained

Just for a moment

I let go

of all my knowing, my ideas,

the preconceptions of you

that I maintain in my mind.

I will be present

right here, right now,

licking the crumbs of my blueberry muffin

from my lips,

my teeth grinding it into mush

to slide down my esophagus.

My friend the film producer says media

is a weapon of mass distraction

to keep the masses entertained.

I want to be with my breath right now

over and over again,

I want to keep watch

while my thoughts churn and bubble

into this container of now-ness

that I am holding.

To keep looking at you

as if I’ve never seen you before,

as if you have come especially to teach me,

holding the space of reverence

for the deep wisdom of your words.

We are all swirling together

like stars in the galaxies,

bright and shining connection in the darkness.

This week I refuse to be entertained.

Instead I will go out

into the darkness

and celebrate the starshine

of your essence

and mine.

Inspired by The Daily Word Prompt: entertain

Coming of age

At 17, power swarming out of my very cells,

I poised on the brink,

toes lined up on the edge, arms overhead

ready to swan dive into womanhood.

My parents tried valiantly

to restrain me,

chain me static to a boulder

in the middle of the raging river.

So I learned to go deeper,

to know that all things pass.

Why are those around us so frightened

when we step to the edge of the high dive,

hearts pounding, energy crackling?

I resented their interference for decades,

caught in what-ifs,

doing exactly what they forbade

in a futile attempt to be free.

How can we become present

to our power, our glory?

It is so evident in hindsight,

and I am lost to today

while I ponder it all.

This, too, will pass.

My energy circles in this moment.

There is nothing to solve

in the past or the future.

There is no problem in the present.

Here is only constant choice:

embrace or deny,

connect or disengage.

Only one path offers

the surprising, adrenaline-filled leap

to tomorrow

and the stunned faces of our loved ones

in reluctant, astonished applause.

Inspired by The Daily Word Prompt: static


I was lucky that you died

when I was thirteen,

able to strum a few chords on my guitar,

to compose lyrics

straight from my gut.

The song I wrote evokes

every angle of the grief

from the emptiness

the moment I woke

wanting to keep my eyes closed,

my heart already sure

that you were gone, but resisting

my mother’s urgent message.

Going through that miserable day,

visiting your dog and sitting with him,

my arms around him,

whispering into his ear

what he already knew, too,

that you were never coming back

as the boy we knew so well.

And my chorus of hope,

that someone would find a cure

for leukemia, that you would be reborn

into a beautiful world,

that you would find the paradise

denied to you here.

And the tears running down my cheeks,

my thoughts that kept returning to you.

Thank you, young poet,

little songwriter,

for this perfect crystal

of grief, of yearning, of hope

that you kept for me

in this song that still can make me cry.

Dink’s Song (1971)

Verse 1

I have this empty feeling inside me

sort of an ache that won’t leave.

Crying don’t help, no, God,

it seems it’s here to stay.

Came here this morning when they told me you’d gone.


I hope your next world will be paradise for you.

This world wasn’t very kind, it’s true.

Still you had love and many friends.

I just hope that you’ll find that love again.

Verse 2

I cried this morning when they told me.

I went to see your family that you left.

I saw your dog, he looked so lonely.

I told him, but I think he knew.


Verse 3

I’m trying to keep my mind blank now.

My thoughts keep coming back to you.

Keep thinking ‘bout the pain that you went through.

I hope they find a cure, I wish it was for you.

I hope your next world will be paradise for you.

This world wasn’t very kind, it’s true.

Still, you had love and many friends.
I just hope that you find that love again.

God, I hope you’ll be happy again.

Inspired by The Daily Word Prompt: evoke

The Groaning Board

Once I was an automaton,

dealing with all the trauma you couldn’t process.

Overwhelmed, inundated,

a sleepwalker in a family nightmare.

When I finally opened my eyes,

it felt like a trap,

the walls closing in,

recycled drama from my great grandmother

determined to seek me out,

demanding reparation.

From the murky past,

skipping stones aimed

directly at my heart.

Now your gifts spread out before me

like a feast,

I burp in your presence.

I raise my glass high

to celebrate all of you:

I have called you here today

to gather in my big open heart.

Pour yourself in

to deepen my compassion.

Every one of you has a place here.

I may not know your name or your story,

even so I take you

as I take

every piece of me:

exactly as we are.

We shine like mysterious stars

from the heavens in my eyes.

Our constellations radiate

through the brilliant galaxies

as we savor this very moment.

Inspired by The Daily Word Prompt: brilliant