why i write sad poems / triple tanka {napowrimo '11, #9}

in self defense, a
broken 16 year old sought
meaning in her pain;
a struggle to become whole
after the splitting apart.

later, rebelling
against misplaced love and rage,
poems became condensed
emotion; ways to speak my
soul in small, unsafe spaces.

as healing flows, the
habit remains. poems, my blue
train; slow burn jazz riffs
contrasted with life's joy. sad
poet with a blissful heart.

the brokenhearted qadishtu* {napowrimo '11, #8}

who heals the healer when she breaks?

they say the wives
envy us.

well, i envy the wives.

all this sacrifice.
morphing our bodies into shrines,
enduring the glares of the so called civilized...
for what?
we appease a spirit we never see.

well...no...
i have seen Her.
once, the radiance of Her smile
saturated my dreams,
granting gifts many never realize.

but now
i'm not so sure
this isn't just an elaborate farce.

i believed...
before he came.

a beautiful man with Her sweet smile
and sad eyes
he begged for help,
weeping on the hem of my skirt.

my heart filled
as it always did with sincere seekers.

for months,
i cradled and taught him;
raised his energy,
fed his soul...
all so he could plant a seed
in his wife's womb.

he spoke of her often.
(the only words of his i ignored)
i used every trick i knew--
and some i said i never would--
to make him mine,
but his heart stayed with her,
no matter what his body said to me.

and when it was time,
he left,
shining.

i was fine
in my anticipatory denial
until the day his woman entered the sanctuary,
resplendent with new life,
daring...to give...thanks.

i promptly destroyed my rooms.
i would have gone for the altar,
but i wasn't completely mad...yet.
so i contented myself
with demolishing the last alabaster jar.

why was my love only meant
for the intangible,
the unseen?

what is my reward?
where is my solace?

in desperation,
i ran to the sea
and wept in it.

She pulsed,
but remained silent.

where were Her abundant arms?

in Her infinite mercy,
why didn't She come
and swallow me up?

there
was
no
answer.

that's when my heart shattered
and my magic turned against me...
i lost all my senses;
the light of Her love went out.

my prayers became empty ministrations;
my blessings vapid.

i will remain faithless
the rest of my days.

{*definition}

spin cycle {napowrimo '11, #7}

once again i find myself
scattered to the 50-11 winds
wanting to be 5 places and
do 10 things
at once...

but, for now,
i have hours when i'm relegated to work
and hours that i'm not.
keeping them straight
is a(n) (arbitrary) priority.

i struggle to keep up with calendars
and other piscean torture devices
smushing food and (real) life
somewhere in the middle.

wild ideas
crash into walls
and deadlines...
even my dreams are rambling.

the being overwhelmed
leads to blame and shame:
"you know this is what happens
when you let yourself out to play!
it's altogether too confusing, too consuming!
grow up. focus.
get yourself together, girl.
stop dreaming all the time!
where's it gonna get you?"

that nasty voice
the constant fight
between soul-work
and what needs to happen
to put food on the table.

then, oblivious to my confusion and dissonance,
a cycle shifts
and sense is made.
pieces fall into place
with a word
an image
or flash of inspiration.

and so, i begin again,
laser-focused,
until the next time...

melancholy herb garden musings {napowrimo '11, #6}

watching seedlings emerge from dark soil
i wonder what their growth
will say about my own.

do my flowers lean because i'm unsure?
does the basil droop when i'm sad?

i know they need more heat and sunshine than i can offer.
but i can't rush the cool, reluctant spring.

even as trees bloom and daffodils wave outside,
it's a harder year for those
relegated to the hands of amateur, indoor gardeners.

i remain open to their teachings
as they reveal themselves to me
praying for a patio
overflowing with expressions of my care
not the forlorn corner of misfit pots
i left in my old apartment.


{i really don't know why this came out sounding so forlorn. lol. actually, most of my nascent plants are doing fairly well. just this morning i saw a chamomile seedling starting to emerge...}

overdrawn {napowrimo '11, #5}

i go insane / crazy sometimes / tryin to keep you from losin your mind...

my love
has never saved you
from yourself.

i gave up the saving
but never the loving.

open your eyes / see what's in front of your face / save me my...

save me...
just save...me.
forget about the tears.

i've already shed
an ocean's worth,
and i'm not done.

i shoulda
been bought stock
in kleenex
foolin wit yo ass...

was i a fool?

will we ever
get this right,
or are we destined
to silently scream
into magic mirrors,
praying one day
we won't hear each other

...knowing
we always will?

save me my...


{*italicized lyrics from maxwell's "fistful of tears"}

untitled / stream of consciousness #1 {napowrimo '11, #4}

grateful for challenge,
expansion.

new eyes
guiding new hands
into
soul journeys.

feeding purpose,
gathering strength.

listening for messages
in ordinary rhythms.

haiku {napowrimo '11, #3}

sleeping my way through
weekends, bracing for the week.
fair exchange? not sure.

bembe {napowrimo '11, #2}

bare altars
rivers of yellow and blue cloth
topped with elaborate soperas
stare back at me, beckoning.

i reach for them when no one is looking.

the sink is full of dishes
i say i intend to wash
a sheetcake awaits decoration
i can already see finished.

this will be an interesting party.

i keep falling asleep in a small room
where at least three other people
are waking up.
why did i think i was alone?

spain lilts on their tongues
but i am still myself.
who invited me here?

the last time i struggle to wake
my eyes don't work
i know the dream is ending.

my gratitude for the message
is nearly eclipsed by my confusion.

the ever winding path
my ancestors walked
gets longer with each vision.

beginning {napowrimo '11, #1}

the opening
is difficult.

the violent but necessary splitting
pushes me into the world

i want to say stop
but cannot.

this is mother's wisdom.

it is time.
i have to let it be time.

doing it again...

the facebook peer pressure got to me, so i'm going to try to do napowrimo again this year.

found some good tips...and there's always the random haiku to get through the slow days.

so here we go!