All you need to know about me you will find here in each poem, in a turn of phrase, in a photo. I am a Best Friend and I love one. I am an artist and I am fighting cancer. I'd paint anything that stood still long enough and I have a few cats (no specific number here).
“Be happy for this moment. This moment is your life.” Omar Khayyam
It never takes me 44 minutes to write a poem but sometimes I am writing it in my head for 44 days it just takes that long to grow there to fill in the blank places
I won't change the world in 44 minutes and I suppose it passes in the blink of an eye the same as a year does when you aren't looking when you are just living in the moment and it ticks away the sands falling through time and at the end faster and faster
When I am looking for you 44 minutes seems torture and if you can imagine someone twisting your arm behind your back for 44 minutes a bus hitting you and it taking 44 minutes to realize you wont survive 44 minutes for water to boil 44 minutes to hear you say "Have I told you today I love you?"
I'm sure no one's ever written a sonata in 44 minutes or built a highway but if you string together that burst of time doing what you want what you know is true and good when you are feeding your soul 44 minutes can change a heart it can open a window fill your lungs with air even cause you to smile when someone is being unkind and if you trust love you can fly to perhaps to an ancient city and walk by a river that created time and stroll there
We are remembered not only by the work we do here but how we love The balance comprises the whole In 44 minutes a man can decide he's done fighting and just close his eyes and go under the water and trust that there's a bigger plan for all of us pieces of a cosmic puzzle of love and life and renewal
When I know I am only as valuable as the time I share when I forget I'd rather be alone because being near you is such joy and "being with you is like being alone." when I know you are close and my heart is racing and not because it's shiny new but because it's time tested something you can count on something true and always you
Because it's raining today (its been raining for days) and there is something very magical about a not so gentle summer rain. Like a flower drinking from the pouring rain, the same rain that could wash it away.
And because it's always a favorite of mine on a rainy day
I am weary with love's maladroit dance today and could toss love aside easily for chocolate or a new rose in the garden or any movie with Daniel Craig
Restless summer days like this my father would take us to the lake to go fishing and listen to the radio on a blanket sipping orange soda
I want to stand in the garden and tear up love letters and watch the earth worms eat the pages the idea that those pen marks could be worm shit makes me giggle because every time he makes me cry I plan my exit
I'll write a cryptic note leave it next to a bottle of red wine pack a suit case full of blame and go look for the blue wind boy and the next time not take love so seriously
Keep your hand inside the ride at all times avoid making toast while swimming when you find a boy that could break your heart keep a little piece hidden in your coat pocket for the end of summer and I will show you where to plant it
And Annie's best of all the best:
I used to be a lunatic from the gracious days I used to feel woebegone and so restless nights My aching heart would bleed for you to see
1-Oh, but now
I don't find myself bouncing home Whistling buttonhole tunes to make me cry
No more I love you's The language is leaving me No more i love you's changes are shifting Outside the words
No one ever speaks about the monsters
I used to have demons in my room at night Desire, despair, desire So many monsters (rpt 1)
2-No more i love you's The language is leaving me No more i love you's The language is leaving me in silence No more i love you's Changes are shifting outside the words
And people are being real crazy And you know what mommy? Everybody was being real crazy And the monsters are crazy. There are monsters outside (rpt 2, 2,...)
I planted a pot of morning glories near the front window I wanted to be able to sit there in late summer, listen to the summer bugs sing and have their blue and white blooms crawl up the side of the house on a trellis because a garden feels more like a garden with a trellis
I have been watching them grow those little seedlings into the heart shaped green leaves spilling out of the pot but the miracle in all this talk of the glories of the new day is in the tendril not in the flower Those tendrils curl out from under the plant and they wait and wait they wait for a wind strong enough to blow their sticky fingers onto the trellis so they have something to hold on to somewhere to climb something of strength to compliment that tender twirl of living thing
Without the strength of the wooden earth ladder this pot of leaves would spill out onto the ground and nobody could see them from the street and I couldn't see them from my favorite chair in my favorite window where the kittens like to keep guard for squirrels so the trellis is their spine, unattached but part of it not alive but holding life allowing it to flourish
How do you tell a trellis that it is nothing but wood if it were not for the bravery of that tiny tendril of curled sticky love? How do you point to the blooms and tell him "If it were not for that blossom you'd be kindle" Sometimes strength bears a curious hubris and in nature's child-like soothsayer ability she points out the obvious that beauty will always inspire that strength is only as good as the beauty that leans into it crawls up its leg and rests on it's shoulder, unafraid and ultimately unashamed
I was missing my friend Jay this morning and he introduced me to Nina. When she sings in french it will steal your heart. Today is a quiet summer day and the perfect time for a little Nina in the garden.
Let's talk about Richard Brautigan. He is one of those writers I want to embrace but ultimately would like to strangle. I find one poem of his I love and the next I hate. The Catfish Friend poem I found years ago and made it a study of some altered books I made. I love the images it creates:
The Catfish Friend
If I were to live my life in catfish forms in scaffolds of skin and whiskers at the bottom of a pond and you were to come by one evening when the moon was shining down into my dark home and stand there at the edge of my affection and think, "It's beautiful here by this pond. I wish somebody loved me," I'd love you and be your catfish friend and drive such lonely thoughts from your mind and suddenly you would be at peace, and ask yourself, "I wonder if there are any catfish in this pond? It seems like a perfect place for them."
Some of Brautigan's poetry seems like a child's fairy tale and others as though it was never finished that it wasn't really a poem but more of a thought of a poem. He was the voice of San Francisco and the beat movement of the 70's and 80's. I suggest a little interest in his work and see what you can take away as something you will love.
The Wait
It seemed like years before I picked a bouquet of kisses off her mouth and put them into a dawn-colored vase in my heart.
A trout-colored wind blows through my eyes, through my fingers, and I remember how the trout used to hide from the dinosaurs when they came to drink at the river. The trout hid in subways, castles, and automobiles. They waited patiently for the dinosaurs to go away.
You thought that it could never happen to all the people that you became, your body lost in legend, the beast so very tame. But here, right here, between the birthmark and the stain, between the ocean and your open vein, between the snowman and the rain, once again, once again, love calls you by your name. The women in your scrapbook whom you still praise and blame, you say they chained you to your fingernails and you climb the halls of fame. Oh but here, right here, between the peanuts and the cage, between the darkness and the stage, between the hour and the age, once again, once again, love calls you by your name.
Shouldering your loneliness like a gun that you will not learn to aim, you stumble into this movie house, then you climb, you climb into the frame. Yes, and here, right here between the moonlight and the lane, between the tunnel and the train, between the victim and his stain, once again, once again, love calls you by your name.
I leave the lady meditating on the very love which I, I do not wish to claim, I journey down the hundred steps, but the street is still the very same. And here, right here, between the dancer and his cane, between the sailboat and the drain, between the newsreel and your tiny pain, once again, once again, love calls you by your name.
Where are you, Judy, where are you, Anne? Where are the paths your heroes came? Wondering out loud as the bandage pulls away, was I, was I only limping, was I really lame? Oh here, come over here, between the windmill and the grain, between the sundial and the chain, between the traitor and her pain, once again, once again, love calls you by your name.
Leonard Cohen
Cohen wrote so many wonderful poems/songs. My favorite is Hallelujah
Dance me to the end of love is truly enchanting
Dance me to your beauty with a burning violin Dance me through the panic 'til I'm gathered safely in Lift me like an olive branch and be my homeward dove Dance me to the end of love Dance me to the end of love Oh let me see your beauty when the witnesses are gone Let me feel you moving like they do in Babylon Show me slowly what I only know the limits of Dance me to the end of love Dance me to the end of love
Dance me to the wedding now, dance me on and on Dance me very tenderly and dance me very long We're both of us beneath our love, we're both of us above Dance me to the end of love Dance me to the end of love
Dance me to the children who are asking to be born Dance me through the curtains that our kisses have outworn Raise a tent of shelter now, though every thread is torn Dance me to the end of love
Dance me to your beauty with a burning violin Dance me through the panic till I'm gathered safely in Touch me with your naked hand or touch me with your glove Dance me to the end of love Dance me to the end of love Dance me to the end of love
Suzanne takes you down to a place near the river. Gods I love that song. When I hearda this this morning I had to make some tea from China and eat a very ripe orange.
"In My Secret Life"
I saw you this morning. You were moving so fast. Can’t seem to loosen my grip On the past. And I miss you so much. There’s no one in sight. And we’re still making love In My Secret Life.
I smile when I’m angry. I cheat and I lie. I do what I have to do To get by. But I know what is wrong, And I know what is right. And I’d die for the truth In My Secret Life.
Hold on, hold on, my brother. My sister, hold on tight. I finally got my orders. I’ll be marching through the morning, Marching through the night, Moving cross the borders Of My Secret Life.
Looked through the paper. Makes you want to cry. Nobody cares if the people Live or die. And the dealer wants you thinking That it’s either black or white. Thank G-d it’s not that simple In My Secret Life.
I bite my lip. I buy what I’m told: From the latest hit, To the wisdom of old. But I’m always alone. And my heart is like ice. And it’s crowded and cold In My Secret Life.
