societal ambiguity

my deep down heart is confused and bruised. the tenuous veil of civility that evidently hid a grinding, mean spirited cancer that weaves its tentacles throughout american society has fallen and we discover the real alien, the one who lives next door, or down the street, or across town, and whose goal has always been the de-struction of the illusive american dream. brotherhood, open, accepting arms, a place where anyone has the opportunity to succeed. illusion. delusion. illusory invention. designed to keep the natives appeased. the veil has fallen. it is exposed, and we of kind heart are gut punched.

Response to Amy Ferris re: suicide

 I feel the pressure of your shoulder, leaning into mine. The gentle heat, the perceived light. The true vibrations. The truth. I sit with eyes closed, limbs tightly wound, head down, mind roiling; and your words, your presence, bring me back to my own truth. My circle reconnects and suddenly I remember sunshine. 

Spirals

Spirals

We are spirals
floating freely
like dust motes
in sunbeams.We are spirals

Breezes flow
surround
the spirals
spinning
some fast,
some slow.

Some sparkle
some drift
out of view.
We are at once
new
and old.

remade
remade

We are all spirals
some drift
some spin

together
yet apart.
some drift,
some spin.

Who walked here once?

Who hears the voice of rock, of tree, of vole?
   Who steps in silence,
through forests damp and dim?
   Who leaves no trace of passage?

Lives once lived,
   In autumn’s dancing color,
Danced as well.
   Now gone,
To sleep in dreamless ether.

But walk through forest paths,
    In footprints left
 beneath the duff and detritus
 of years,
   and wonder
              what remains?
Who trod here once?
   Who left their sigh?
Drifting vague, through treetops
   Sway and shiver?

No fear, but know
   The air is limned,
the line,
The shape
Not gone, but drifting,
   vague, in treetops sway
                                    and shiver.

What the Shadow knows…………

I sense it,
  Treading lightly,
    poised on toes of dust.
Shadowed fingers
  Reaching for my shoulder.
A charcoal sketch,
  Sentient.

It is memory.

A squeeze, a pinch, a caress.
There to remind me, that all life
  Is a ticking clock.
    And each tick
      A still life,
A memory.

A Slightly Scary Story...

   “You’ll need a rain slicker.” said the man behind the counter. “The rain comes every day.”
    Lucinda checked her wallet for money and handed over the correct amount.
    “Now ya’ll be careful out there.” he drawled as she reached for the door.
    “Excuse me? she asked.  “What do you mean?”
    “Well, “ he said, “been some trouble up there in the forest preserve lately.”
    She backed away from the door and looked closer at him.  He would not meet her gaze.
    “Trouble?” she asked.
    “uh, yuh, been a long summer it seems.  Seems some kids have gone missin’.”

    As a rule Lucinda never spoke to strangers, but this man stirred her curiosity.  He was probably in his seventies, paunchy and pale, with watery blue eyes.  She could see the reflection of the overhead lights in his slightly sweaty brow.  But still, he would not look her in the eyes.
    “Missing? You mean ‘never found’?”
    “ …uh, yuh.”  he spoke quietly.  “Never found.”

   A decision needed to be made…

Tiny, sudden sparks that float behind my eyes, periodically slip forward, open their coats and expose themselves to me.

Tissue paper carnations

Third grade…….tissue paper carnations.  I can do this.  I can help.  An island of calm amidst my shattering life.  Shattered and uneasy.  Always uneasy.
    But today I am making tissue paper carnations.  All the children gathered closely around the work table.  Laughter and talking, loud and joyous.  
    But I am quiet; concentrating on my flowers, happy to be in this place. Safe. 
    For several hours there will be no changes, only this thing I can do; tissue paper carnations.