your move

It was never meant to be a game,
but it has become one.
And yet I choose
to continue playing.

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cramped

Once upon a time I had this really sweet thing.

Well, it wasn’t really mine….only borrowed….

but I loved it anyway.

Afraid I would lose it, I kept my hand closed too tightly around it,

and it grew dark.

And I let that darkness spread…

until that sweet thing that I loved grew into something cold.

And the cold froze my hand shut…keeping my sweet thing from ever seeing the sun.

From time to time I would remember what it was that made the thing so sweet.

I would lift one finger and look…

and it would shine like it used to.

If only for a second.

But my hand was so used to the cold by then that I didn’t know how to let it go.

And let it breathe.

And let it become whatever it was meant to become.

To grow, or to fly away.

I’ve built a fire now,

and my hand is opening up….

to let that sweet thing shine…and go…

where it will

where it must.

 

i asked my wall the other day

how it felt about the 4th of july

-and florida

-and flowers from the side of the road

 

it looked back at me

and then at the painting across the room

and grinned

 

it must have known what i was talking about

because it told me

that sometimes the moon turns red

-and pennies do fall from the sky

 

then it showed me a picture

of an angry young man

who was crying out for a lost youth

-and a young girl

who was holding on to him with one arm

while she desperately tried to keep on dancing

 

and then, of course

i knew exactly what he was talking about

-so i smiled

-and i kept on dancing

 

(1988)

 

 

gone

They took my dead groundhog.
He was there last week.
Just resting.
His big round belly,
Flattened against the grass,
Like my dog’s
On a hot summer day.

He didn’t look bad.
He had no scars.
Wasn’t hit by a car,
Or bit by another animal.
He was just dead.

And they came.
And they took him away.

soup

 

The thing about words is
They’re free
You don’t have to buy them at a store
Or download them
from the web.
You just have to think them.
And arrange them.
Mix them around,
And play with them.
A bowl of alphabet soup
Stirring in your head.
Until your spoon
Digs out something
You can share.
And hope,
Somebody tastes them.
And understands.

a glimmer

I think there is so much more to you.
That mask that you wear,
It hides you well.
But I have seen through the cracks.
Peeked,
Around the sides,
And through the holes.
And what I’ve seen
Is fear.
And sadness,
And pain.
But beyond that I have also seen
A glimmer,
A small sequin shining,
Reflecting the tiniest bit
Of hope.

hidden

Maybe we’re not so different,
You and I.
I keep my secrets
just like you kept yours.
I take what I can,
When I can,
Where I can.
My moves controlled by the hand
That I want to feed.
I keep my time open,
Waiting,
Wanting,
The secret little piece of pleasure
That I give up all else for.
My life in limbo.

I am there now,
Where you once were.
And we are not so different
Except that MY secrets…
They never hurt anyone
But myself.

snapshots

What is it about certain pieces of time…flashes of seconds really…that makes them stick? Like the camera that is your brain chose just that moment to snap a shot and save it forever. And you spend some of that forever wondering what about that picture was so important that it needed to be saved? Sometimes you figure it out years later….and sometimes, you go on wondering….waiting for that “a-ha” moment to come…when you’ll finally see that place in the puzzle of your life where that piece was meant to fit all along.