|Sunday, January 27th, 2013|
|Thursday, February 28th, 2008|
One hundred and eleven weeks. Still feel gone.
She mused over the broken lifeline
In the palm of her hand
So short, so sharp
Held it close to her face
Listened to it ticking away like a crocodile clock
There in the hollow of her hand
Dangerous, inevitable destiny
Following her lead
Over lagoons of lost boys
Wet and shiny and willing
Tick tick tick
Through deep, dark places
Ivy viney and tanglewood
Fairy glamour over all
(Obscuring the truth for something far prettier)
Treacherous hearts and poison in the bottle
She will take her medicine without a mother’s orders
She will be ready for the springcleaning
Watch and wait for him
At the april window
Rain and leaves
Tick tick tick
Her thimble in the corner of her mouth
Her shadow secured
Her kiss tucked into a pocket
Ready to launch herself back out into the stars
And so she too will be
All the way to the end of days
The broken lifeline counting them out
One by one by one, then none
Tick tick tick
She will never be old
She tells her fortune to her open palm
Never never never
Current Mood: as always
|Friday, January 6th, 2006|
|Back in Black
I fell off the Earth for awhile. But it seemed to spin on without me, mostly for the worst, as all the 24 hour news shows seem to be reporting. I'm awake and paying attention now, here in the winter of my discontent. Current Mood: my stomach sort of hurts
|Sunday, October 2nd, 2005|
|No direction home
I watched the documentary on Dylan last night. The part I liked the best was his obvious and complete disdain of the press, who seemed hellbent to quantify, qualify, and dissect him like an exotic species of beautiful butterfly. Constantly asked if he was trying to send a "message" via his music and lyrics, and what that "message" might be---he responded unfailingly to these inane questions with "No," and "I don't know."
I tend to believe if you have to constantly ask what something means, or be guided by the commentary of others on what it means, you're probably never going to truly understand for yourself what it means. You might as well be trying to question dolphins about politics or tuna recipes. It's all subjective...
|Monday, August 15th, 2005|
This is for my writer-friends who complain that my poetry of late has been too dark and creepy:
Write you sonnets of passion and longing
And read you to sleep in a room lit with a single candle.
Draw down the moon
And hang it over your head,
A lantern, blooming orange and full,
to light your night.
Pluck the stars from heaven
And weave a blanket of light to cover you till morning,
Keep you safe and whole
For your dear sake and mine.
IS THIS BETTER?
|Wednesday, August 3rd, 2005|
I saw a guy on the today show this morning...a completely dedicated teacher who incorporated Shakespeare and music into his curriculum to reach kids who had lagged behind their peers because their parents were immigrants and had yet to master English. He financed some of his special projects with his own money for years until he gained some backing from former students who had succeeded, as well as a famous actor, namely Sir Ian McKellan. Finally the interviewer asked the question I had in the back of my mind the whole time--what was his annual income? The answer? Less than 50,000 a year.
No child left behind? It'a a commitment, not a political stance.
|Friday, July 22nd, 2005|
There are days of turned heads
And days of turned backs.
Being human is hard business.
No wonder hearts break.
We are such brittle creatures
Through and through
That only our souls
Become the beams
That all else leans upon. Current Mood: isolated by choice
|Friday, July 8th, 2005|
I quit my old job, and now I'm teaching yoga full time.
I applied for a writing grant for my poetry, and I started painting again.
That's my news.
I'm all good, except I don't dig this heat.
How's about you? Current Mood: curtains pulled
|Monday, May 30th, 2005|
Last night I dreamt of the Apocalypse. I was escaping an enemy attack on our position, running across country, dodging bullets whizzing through bushes and trees. I had only a few allies, one who buried the heart-shaped locket I had given him for safe-keeping in the mud at the base of a fence post. I found it, broken and irreparable, and it felt like my heart was broken, too. Well, my anam caras? Put on Joseph's coat of many colors and tell me what it means.
|Wednesday, May 25th, 2005|
I quit my day job yesterday.
And yet, my stomach still hurts.
How long does it take before office politic poison works its way out of a person's system?
"True genius can be always be recognized by the confederacy of dunces that assemble to suppress it."
I left that on my scrolling screensaver as my farewell address. Current Mood: partly sunny, chance of rain
|Sunday, May 8th, 2005|
Is a television network entirely devoted to jewelry necessary?
American women are like freaking conquistadors, blindly questing for gold and riches to adorn the outside of their empty selves. Current Mood: sunday lazy
|Friday, May 6th, 2005|
Even in my Italian gypsy sunglasses, I could not manage to look cool walking out of Walmart with cat food and paper towels. Current Mood: amber bock
|Friday, April 29th, 2005|
I was looking out the window thinking the weather was very Scottish this afternoon, rainy and bleakly green in the extreme. Then I saw that my present location and Glasgow are exactly the same temperature today, EXACTLY. The only difference being that the sun might have shone a bit more in the UK today. Figures. Current Mood: chilled
|sort of past the witching hour
I woke up thirsty and wrung out of dreams.
It's cloudy and starless and damp outside.
I wish I had someone to talk to, but waking people up for company is rude.
Plus a phone call late at night always makes you think someone has died
or been in a dreadful accident...
Although sometimes it turns out they're only drunk and want to share that state with you
Over the telephone
Like some weird beery osmosis.
There's your cue:
Raise that imaginary glass you've conjured up...
Down the hatch and goodnight all. Current Mood: lucid in pajamas
|Wednesday, April 27th, 2005|
Why does it feel like Friday and why is it so cold outside? Current Mood: somewhat lofty
|Sunday, April 24th, 2005|
|White smoke and mirrors
So I finally visit Rome and the Pope dies right after I leave. Is there some butterfly effect at work here or am I only feeling guilty? Current Mood: accidentally, like a zealot
|Not exclusively Judeo-Christian anymore
Here's a photo of an angel that I took in Pompeii. It was painted on an interior wall of one of the ruined villas I explored. Curiously enough, it mirrors almost all the Christian models that came hundreds of years after the fact of its creation by some pagan artisan.
I'm beginning to believe that angels observe no religion; they only serve as models and tools of divine intervention in this wide world.
|Thursday, March 17th, 2005|
|keep me warm, let me wear your coat
When I opened my bedroom curtains late this afternoon, they were sun-warmed and crimson out of the west....and they felt like hope in my hands.
|Tuesday, March 15th, 2005|
Turns out March will be my February this year, cold and dark and depressing in the extreme.
If I persist in this course, I'm a couple of years closer to becoming an eccentric agoraphobe with books and cats as my chief company.