That Look

Some do such a job of creating a look.
She's a dark haired Spanish gypsy
Tendrils of hair escape from her
Ponytail to dangle artlessly.
She looks a poet or a dancer.
Bangles and rings and necklaces
Announce her worth to tribe.
The loosely woven shawl wraps
Protectively and seductively round her hips.
The long skirt under drapes, flows.
The top,  low, revealing, womanly
Made demure by the poetic drape
Of a sweater too large.
And it all looks artless
She has owned it
Made it hers
My heart silently applauds.

Do I Get to Complain?

So sweet.
You touch my heart.
Maybe I'm drunk.
Still.
You touch my arm.
We're near of age.
You admire me.
I like your looks.
You hold my hand.
You admire me.
My heart opens.
I wish I could have you.
Your husband appears.
Your husband appears.
When were you going to tell me?

Better Than TV

Watching a man arrested
On Market at ShowDogs
So sad
Mentally ill
Focus not on the real world
Hoping hoping hoping he's OK
Some asshole
All excited
Says, "Better than TV"

Mock

Fat guy on corner
He is only wearing shorts
Why do we mock that?

Angst

Sometimes I just don't know
Something is wrong.
Is it work?  No, I have none.
Is it unemployment? No.
Is it being alone? No, I choose that.
Such dissatisfaction.
A zen dissatisfaction.
Inchoate.
Undefined.
I sit with it.
I wait to be enlightened.
Nothing.
Everything.
Sorrow.
Today I hurt myself.

Alone Is To Much Zen

I'm lost in a featureless void
All frontier
All now
All I want is to find
Or to be found
To have an anchor in this space
Or maybe better a life line
Throw me your line and
I will follow it hand over hand
Through billows of lost fog
Until I find you
If you too are lost
Then  we will be two
Lost together
And we will call that found

Beside You

Sometimes I just have to let be
To side with the exigencies of life
To flow going from my comfort start
To a place of discomfort, a space beside
A space next to where I can be
At the side, on the side
And let me heart still
Still beside.

Pretty

Sister Katie said
That she thought I was pretty
My day is better.

Strong Now

Your opinion is noted but doesn't affect me
(Not true, I am dying inside)
I am comfortable putting down boundaries against your negativity
(I'm sorry, i'm sorry, please love me.)
Your transparent passive aggression doesn't work on me
(Oh, please, I'm sorry, I'll do anything if  you'll love me again)
Now I am A fully self-actualized adult
(Mommy!)

I'll Burn in Your Fire

We'll never talk of it
But the tension is tormenting
It informs our every breath
Whenever we are near enough
To trigger its tidal pull
Even more, we know you think
Of me I think of you when we're apart
I can hear your breath and feel
The expansion of your ribs.
You look across the room and
Just for a moment study my lips
I know without looking and
I can't help it I look just in time
For our gazes to glance and miss
I shudder inside

We can never acknowledge
The connection so fierce
It is our shouting secret
Hiding in plain sight
No one knows
Or sees
Or feels
What is constant to us
We can't not
I'd better stay away
Married woman
Or I'll burn in your fire.

The Gift

She said that my gaze
Made her want to be better
To match my belief

Manga Obsession

Why do we form relationship
With characters of manga kind
Why cos-play them and obsess
Over characters of the mind?

I don't know, but it is very human
To love those who form our perfect
Example of how we want the other
Or ourselves to be, to select

Just the perfect example that matches
Our heart and makes it race
That inhabits our dreams
With that fictional beautiful face.

Bayoneted Watermelon

Another poet reported that
She had cut a watermelon
With a US civil war bayonet.

My mind whirls.  Did she get
The blade at some junk sale
Or did she pay more instead?

Was it a Union or Confederate?
Had it seen its intended use
In that horrible brotherly struggle?

Then poet, my mind whirls away
To the etymology of the word.
Looks French.  A small bayon?

Oh.  Such sad disappointment.
It is just named for the town of Bayonne.
It just means from Bayonne.

There must have been a blade
Making industry there for a type
Of weapon to be named after them.

Well French was right.  Watermelon is great.
I hear the sound of the blade cutting the melon.
I smell the tang of the rind and taste the juice on my tongue.

Dedicated to the poet +Amanda Rachelle Warren  whose comment on a post of +Bliss Morgan made my brain explode with thinkage.

Battle

I judge judge judge.
Oh! Such shallowness.
Oh their look said that.
Oh, that calf is too thick.
Oh, look, iPhone, so shallow.

It is funny, really.  I crack me up.
It's all illusion and biochemistry
And cultural programming.
It isn't truthy much less truth.

I tell a story about my extraordinary
Perceptiveness.  It isn't a true story.
I really make up stories about others.
They aren't true stories.
When I let them go, I can see.
When I let them go I am surprised.

Being perceptive requires perceiving
Not making up stories.
Be in the moment.

The Story

I have some friends,
Just good working class,
A guy and a gal, both good hearts.
They've been together a long time.
I want them to grow old together.
If that isn't the story's end,
It would be the most horrible
Ending in the world

Meditation Mistake

I've made, perhaps, a terrible mistake.
In my youth, fleeing from trauma,
I embraced thoughtless meditation.
I extended periods of thoughtlessness
From moments to minutes to hours.
Oh, what a great meditator I was.
That was my story.
It may have saved my life.
The respite from pain kept me alive.
It is not mindfulness though.
It is mindlessness, non-becoming.

Instead of equanimity
Imbalance.
Now I am trying to get back to
Awareness in a sit.
All that work to be undone.
Weird.