Jak Traks

Disclaimer

this blog's not meant to be
finished poetry
I just think best in verse
that's semi-grammer free . . .

Creep and Eat Holes

you must creep little creepers
that is what caterpillars do
creep and eat holes in leafy greens
stretch - contract - chew

and so did I until the day
I wove myself a womb
wrapping past attempts to fly
around everything I knew

leaving it all suspended - hanging
a room without a view
wondering why so limited
when wanting the beauty of flight

anxious for a kiss of life
as well understanding wait
struggle and patience bundled tight
no room for insect bliss

until another nondescript day
wiggling to scratch an itch
was aware I'd made a tear
a bit of light slipped in

now I'm ever glad and grateful
my crawling self had learned
there wasn't anywhere to fall
though I knew not yet of wings

Stone Words

language cannot convey
the depth breath beauty or challenge
of poets' felt vision
yet poets persist

it is a mountain to climb
seemingly impossible
but you take the first word and begin
climbing resting struggling
exhilaration - moments when it seems
you'll make the point

then the scaling feels endless
but you keep going for the moment
you can lift yourself up
and plant your signature

on top of the world briefly
knowing the wonder of it is still buried
in stoney words
yet the rock contains a light
never anticipated

If you could bring back a canceled tv series . . .

If you could bring back a canceled tv series, which would you choose?

Submitted by The Good Girl Gone Blog.

 

I'd bring back the original Twilight Zone. I might even keep it in black and white because it adds to the mystery - or not. Who would host it? That will take more thought. Perhaps the host should be digital.

Docks

It is being at the crack of dawn
finding the finger-hold of dusk
the beginning and end at once
that is never seen before its gone,
you know it's there
and that watching for it is futile
but you can be present with it
at the end of a dock with feet dangling,
in your periphery solid and liquid meet,
facing the shore we imagine birth
turning back toward the water
we can walk no further
but if we didn't need a turn,
if we faced both ways,
the edge of the dock would be one thing.

My Service

last night
putting away my stoneware and "silver"
I realized
they'd been in my service
35 years
since my first apartment

a couple chips on plate and bowl
one has a stain
the shape of lips
a missing fork or two
three coffee cups sized for a doll house

think about it
all the times the spoons and forks
in and out of my mouth
bowls crusted with yesterday's oatmeal
times 35 years
one thousand six hundred seventy weeks

such a long relationship
with things appreciated but not loved:
I'm not into kitchen stuff
useful my criteria for utensil beauty

if I loved eating tools
would likely have replaced them all
by now
many times

Some Days

some days
I wake up in the a.m.
already tired of the world

we the people
of all countries
can utilize reason and instead

rationalize insanity
and say
that's the way things are

what we forget
is things are how they are
because we justify them

and I wonder
how much in my own life
is still a rationalization

Prepared for Paperwork

not looking forward the next two weeks
at work so I'm trying
not to look forward or back around

tomorrow the best I can do
I think
to keep my frequency resonant
with the perfume of a warm meadow
dotted with wildflowers
and bees pistol hopping for sweets
dragonflies hovering
darting an dipping
showing off florescent sheen
gold and green in the sun

yes
that will be my happy place
the next two weeks while trying to fill
insanity's bill for mental health

could I have written a sadder poem

June 5

a quintessential late spring day
lucky me
I get to play
no call list or meetings
no memos for reading
just me and the trees
catching some rays

Tree Friends

1
grande dame of the ball
long emerald velvet gown
beaded in brown cones

2
two tall matriarchs
wind tossing their thinning hair
dyed the tint of youth

3
Robert Frost swing set
sleek canoes slicing water
possibilities

4
shoulder to shoulder
five beauties flip their full skirts
dancing the can-can

5
neighborhood triplets
long mops and thin sturdy legs
too young for weeping

6
feigning middle class
impossible in the wind
silver is revealed

7
an aura of zeus
massively girded and armed
the block's guardian

8
on fire with belief
anarchists make their statement
not waiting for Fall

9
junior is tethered
in training for adulthood
stand up straight don't slouch

Poets' Prom

The alphabet mingles
in the warming whirl
bumping elbows
exchanging pleasantries,
sometimes gathering and
making meaning
where none existed before;

if photographed
the group will be synonym-ized,
metaphor-ed and
immortalized
for gigabyte years to come;
or just as easily lost
in the middle of the dance floor
as partners exchange.

Now Playing

If we knew every thread of us
in and out of time was-is loved
we'd know the tapestry was never tattered,
not a single thread been lost or bled
but in a ten cent movie playing the mind
corner of rent and replay, ever showing
the tapestry that once forgot to laugh.

Fragment

What part of me wants to cry;
the sky is clear of clouds
the sun high and healing
breezes intermittent
bring cool to balance,

I see nothing that smacks
of drizzle or gloom, rather
a dazzling invitation from life
to life, yet

something within cannot partake,
perhaps it's been camouflaged
yellow and red
imitating this season's first
tulips and daffodils;

I will touch this fragment of grief
pretending to be some other beauty
so not to be left out
as it once must have been.

Forked

One way is a life-long pattern
thought processed, over and done,
the other ethereal as yet unformed
or informed as it will be,
should these diverging paths be one
or choose, forget the other.

This fractal in the road I think a test
for which I'm hoping there is code -
before deciding I decipher -
ah . . . no, the crux is this:

do I possess the nerve to portray wholeness:
each day an upper case Self,
not secure as a nested doll
but rather without doubt
live the terror all stops out
as the one I am.

The Crab

did not enjoy my day at work
irritable inside
fillin' my role on the outside

did some breathing and yoga
a little qigong
even meditated briefly
reminded myself how fortunate
to be employed
laughed when I could
. . .  still crabby

a crab day
day of the crab
I like eating crab

Early Spring

I need a sweatshirt in my house
a t-shirt in the yard
typing this with bluish fingers
makes staying in very hard

an extra blanket on the bed
as if thirty below
my toes turn red inside my socks
like when shoveling snow

a pair of shorts hang by the door
for when I venture out
sink my bare feet in the grass
enjoy the tulips sprout

in two months when weather warms
the chill inside be gone
I'll sit here sweaty and complain
then turn the AC on

Uninvited

home today with a headache
which was asked to leave -
its overstayed its welcome

not invited in the first place
but rode the damp april wind
into The Caves of Sinus

some have sensitive souls
I have delicate facial cavities -
a few of us have all the luck

lying down is worse than sitting
so I'm at the computer
putting the guest into words

so far
its not taken the hint

nice quote . . .

In Seven Pillars of Wisdom, T.E. Lawrence says, "There are dreamers, but not all human beings dream equally. Some are dreamers of the night, who in the dusty recesses of their mind dream and wake in the morning to find it was just vanity. But the 'Dreamers of the Day' are dangerous people because they act their dreams into reality with open eyes."

Sip of Summer

the first hot day this spring
though the breeze carries
whispers of winter

bare arms legs and feet
buzz with the same joy
as the bee
flying zig-zag circles
above the evergreen bush

a tree bud
swollen with anticipation
reminds me of being nine
and ten days left
before summer vacation

Domestic Hunter

yesterday I was an intrepid domestic
my vacuuming fantastic
sucked prolific dust bunnies
into dust bunny heaven

a layer
of white and black cat hair
ascended through the tunnel
joining the bunnies and mighty mites
not anchored in the short pile

sweating from exertion
switched off the hoover
and gloating above the wall to wall trophy
knew it would never be
nearly as satisfying
if I hunted every week

Loose Ends

Most everything comes around:
holidays, cleaning the toilet,
dentist visits and taxes,
the moon waxing and waning
though always having a ball.

I like the frayed ends
of my marriage,
the things I never said,
broken and mismatched links
of several quasi careers,
projects quashed
just out the starting gate.

Without those dangling modifiers
living would be a circular file,
a never ending tilt-a-whirl,
perhaps a perfect hum
contained and constrained,
but there'd be nothing
for the unshaped part of me
to love.

Sometimes its good to stop short
of beginning again,
to have threads untied,
a good hit
that doesn't get you home,
discordance without resolution
or Beethoven without motifs.

I love the parts of my life
sans closure
flopping around like live wires
ready to make interesting connections,
or limp ragged ends
touching nothing at all.

With due respect for the circle of life,
Some ends are better left raw.