The Tight Place

The luxury of spinning

words outside of time

a lonely space,

a lovely place.

I’m growing here, pen to paper

sunrise opening up what’s hidden

between the molecules

I say I know.

Curious, delving deeper.

This morning the sky paints me

in pastels easing the way

out of darkness.  We work

together to reach blazes

of color striping the sky

my eyes

invited into the horizon’s

impossible shades.

We certainly can’t keep up

this wild all day.

We settle into

golden sunlight over greening lawns,

brown bark of ancient

grandmothers longing for their

seedlings to be spared

this season, the mowers silenced

for now in their ominous sheds.

Yesterday my screams drove

me, windows tight,

anger arising 

until no thing could please me.

My body a volcanic bursting,

a hurricane of thoughts,

my heart a cyclone

flooding with liquid

lava.  I need new 

curse words.  I refuse

to denigrate birth

and women and lovemaking

and genitalia, the lack

of knowledge

of a father’s name.

Yaaaaaa.  Gaaaaar.

My screams

are wordless power

yet still cordoned by caution.

I don’t care

to bring futher conflict

to my prime relationship,

wheezing and struggling

for breath, wondering if we can

really keep this intimacy

going, so fraught with difficulties.

I imagine we once flowed


like the time spent

in a loving womb —

one so many of us missed,

our mothers in their perilous

lives trying to make it through

our voyage, so fraught

with conflict we come out

gasping, wincing at the bright

cold sterility, the harsh scoring

of the Apgar, screaming

in our outrage, needing

to be soothed.  We carry that

fright of all the mothers

our lineage carved into our cells

like trauma.  Sometimes I long

to breathe

without thought

or feeling,

without this struggle through

the thick physical obstructions.

Like a galaxy, unhindered

in my spin, including all of me,

huge and sacred,

the vastitude teaching me

divine like this fossil,

anything that can jolt

my awareness into

startled knowing

I am more than I seem.

Here is where breath rises

and supports me, when I glimpse

the hidden immensity before a stray

thought tumbles me back to

a cough, and I am bereft,

struggling again to catch

this life, reaching

for something unseen

above me, a force I must

imagine as outside,

moon-fed, star-led,


while this place deep inside

me is pouring out

such a bounteous flow

that I’m amazed

I can ignore it.

I learned well

to look outside

for sustenance, to compete

for the love I so

desperately need.

Even when I go back

and hold that needy child,

whisper in her ear

to look inside

to find the present,

she is stuck in the cold dark

smoky air alone,

gasping, helpless,

pleading for the relief

she glimpses locked behind

her parents’ bedroom door.

Gym Rat

Daily, I build muscle

grab the matchless word

and wrestle it into submission,

quivering in a seething

line.  Yes, I gotta develop pure

strength and power,

the kind of moxie that ignites

with burning intention.

Perfecting a chokehold to make them listen 

to a word-song —

clearly inferior to the tree chorus

whispers of the engrossed elders.  Still,

in all of this chaos, we need

ammunition to plunge

straight to our hearts. Mad skills

and inchoate plans swirling

like fog around my fingers

every morning, as I listen for

that tiny trill

singing a single note

now joined in harmony like

a violin and a piccolo

high in the air.

The nature song dying

and we are locked in

unheeding screens

and unless

one of us can signal

with a song, an image,

a poem that will reach

inside the screen and plead,

how do we save our beloved planet?

Inspired by The Daily Word Prompt: inchoate


Every day my friends and I
like playful dogs on the beach
chase the tossed tidbit.
Some catch it in midair
and return it jouncing.
Others of us leap into the rough waves
and emerge shaking
our whole bodies. Some dig deep
into the earth, sniffing out
treasures. We all view
each returning prize, or
as many as our hearts can hold.
I try to watch from a viewing stand
where I distribute likes and follows,
a comment when my head galvanizes
or my heart is splintered by starshine.
None of us have led a gentle life.
Poets, artists, writers, we have risen
from the flames, unbearably disfigured
yet like magicians we transform
our pain into wonder, white doves
pulled from hats impossibly deep.
Sweeping our capes and bowing grandly
to those who say the kindest words,
I see you.
Inspired by The Daily Word Prompt: wonder