A quote…

From Thomas Edison…

 

Many of life’s failures are people who did not realize how close they were to success when they gave up.

I am…

 

I am from candy cigarettes

Fred’s Market on the corner

And my hairless doll

I am from wood and brick

Quiet streets

Sunny days

And a ringing phone

I am from tomato plants growing in Grandpa’s backyard

Carnations

A bird bath

And a skinny stairway leading down to a cold basement

I’m from candlelight Christmas Eve services

And hanging the giant star

From Lois and John

I’m from intelligence, laughter, and secrets,

“Clean your room”

And “can I go to the corner store”

I’m from Foreigner and “Double Vision”

Tether ball

And winter

Cool, inviting,

And exciting

I’m from Burlingame, California

Scotland, Germany, and England

Boiled Raisin Cake

And Great-Grandpa Will who blazed a trail at 19.

Leaving that all behind, I am going to a cabin in the snow

Peaceful, rustic

Beautiful

 Because of my love for writing

With Grandma and Mom

Both honest

And secretive

I am going to “Are you My Mother”

The Lake House

And chicken ceasar salads

 I am going to write novels

Own land

Build a house with secret passageways

Sing

Be with my children, and grandchildren

I bring with me Barbie and Ken

Halloween, caramel apples

Anticipation

 My best friend Cheryl, my best dog Andy

Grandma

I am going to be an actor

An architect

Teacher

 I bring with me the ocean

Grandpa’s treehouse, and Burlingame

I leave behind Mom

Half Moon Bay

The Bible

1000 songs

 Swiss steak

Whining

Longing, loss, and my mom dying

 

 

I am clever, a stone wall

Running, an eagle

 Plums, a rose

Applause and an IQ of 124

I am spring, English 101

Zest soap, See’s Candies

 I am a Wallace

Scottish, German, English

Distraught, and writer

 I am 1000 songs

Cinderfella

Green-eyed, blue

Drums

 Country music

Walnut trees

And Mt. Everest

And I am Grandma

Searching, hardwood

Stubborn, loving

 Youthful, tenacious

Content, and crashing

I am me.

© 2009

My Journey

 

I dive into the dark, stale-smelling pages

That promise me I am someone new

I am a maiden, walking on a green Ireland’s landscape

Or a soldier fighting a war, dressed in blue

 

I am elderly, rocking on my Louisiana front porch

Or a fish market owner on Maine’s salty coast

I’m a witch, casting spells on Thieves and Princes

I’m a writer for the Washington Post

 

I race down German streets in my black jaguar

I’m a mermaid, swimming unafraid in the sea

Whoever I am I feel all emotions

And live through every fantasy

 

Within these bindings, these walls, I see visions

I dream, and cry, and smile

I fall down, and build courage as I stand up

I set aside reality for a while

 

I wonder, I think, and I realize

I tense up, and unwind, relieved

And on these vision-filled, imprinted pages

I live, I die, and I breathe.                    

 

© 2003

Random Sunday Post

What good is hindsight except to stare at one’s own ass?

 

© 2011

An Instantaneous Poem

The Song

I stand under a murky

Frosty green-colored awning

That hangs strong with age

Over the damaged

Creaky

Front porch steps

And I can see from here

Your convoluted

Distant

Pot-holed path

And with the rain falling

I’m not even damp

But your Italian, black-laced hair

Drips with wrath

The charcoal leather jacket

And “Terminator” boots

Once tapped slowly

On worn linoleum floors

Your body violently pressed into

Button-down blue jeans

Pools of deceit linger defiantly

In your gray, overcast eyes

As I glance through mine

Resolvedly green,

Measured, clear

What is it you now feverishly crave

From my young

And tired life

When once you cherished me

Like dry, dieing grass covets the

First Fall rain,

With brittle, trembling hands

Holding on to flesh

Not yet betrayed

When it comes down to simple

Timeless

Antique-yellowed memories

I long ago

Stopped caring

Whatever anti-climatic gifts

Your opaque

Mountain god

Laid in your calloused

Belt-wielding hands for me

Is what we won’t be sharing

So brighten my midnight,

Without lingering long

And smooth out my

Stumbling-on-jagged-rock days

Only then can my silenced lips

Sing my off-key

Untimed

Un-rhymed

Last

Sweet sorrow song.

 

© 2007