Oh, oh it’s madness…

Lola Dey:

I have to reblog this for all my friends to read! (Amy, you are such a delight.)

Originally posted on Amy's Place:

The following is an actual conversation that took place in my house.

Admittedly, it has been crazy around here. We’ve bought a house, so we are moving again. It’s back to school time, and I started classes before the kids start back to school. It’s been a long summer with both of my children asserting their superiority to one another with many drawn-out battles of headbutting and pounding of chests accompanied by roars of victory – as brief as they may be – before beginning another round of “who’s the ruler of the toys.”

Setting: Living room littered with half-packed boxes. CJM is focused intently on getting some paperwork filled out on his computer for the realtor. I am on the phone with Grandma (who has just had knee surgery), and looking for the scientific calculator which I will need for my Astronomy class. Son comes bounding the stairs.


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When I’m with friends and family, I sometimes bounce unfinished poems off them, taking note of their answers and reactions. Often, these “sessions” are funny and filled with our laughter, even when the subject is a sobering one like death. The short poem below is the result of one of those sessions, of which the last line is attributed to my cousin Candi. She really nailed the ending.

When you are dead
No one invites you over for a drink
No one speaks to you as someone alive
No one notices the dirt beneath your nails
Or the dust that fills your nose
Or the ghost you have become

When you are dead
Even the stones shut their eyes

Tense Silence

"Tense Silence"

If you follow my blog, you will recognize this poem from Alone, which I posted 10/9/2012, and Alone Again, posted 10/16/2012. Before I married, my life was a venture of seeking relationships and spending time alone. I did both with enthusiasm and delight.

Tense silence in my bedroom but not in my head
Heavenly hymns hum from fingers strumming
Sweet music from songs in mind

Trembling chords of delightful tension certainly make this moment more attractive

I find a new discovery and add it to old ones
But no one sees the babe I’ve become
I have no shivers for you to see
Yet everyone shivers out there within a city in the cold
In a watching darkness that shivers in the night
Where bursts of alley sounds skitter deep in the gutters
Behind old men taking flight with paper bag angels
Far below shivers heaving warm on musicians erupting volcanically in my head
Amidst tense silence in my bedroom where all the doors and windows are closed

My Love

My Love

I wrote this when I was 15, locked away in my secret diary.

My love’s long blonde hair frames a pretty face
A red blouse peaks where no boy ever made mine feel any good

My love knows open mouth
She speaks fluent oral communication
Her lips soft and full taste like silky high life laughs and cries

My love knows skin touching
Sweet kisses down
Claiming me slowly
Taking me to the trembling brink of clinging

I fall in the rush of my sweet release
I cry my passion into a beautiful abyss of songs and light

We laugh and cry

My love nurses me back to the beginning
Kissing me with her lips again
Laughing and crying and hugging and kissing
My love and I in love

Be Human

"Be Wrong Be Human"

Swallow it on down
Deep down inside you

I never implied that pride is never an embarrassing empty taste inside
We learn soon enough that the pain-lump we swallow can be rough
It shows on our faces even while we try to hide the suffering we feel inside
Passions burn strong to find a purpose for deception

Don’t let your soul hollow for a reason to believe in the lies you have swallowed
Show your face well to all who are ashamed to look foolish
Remember to praise the bad end of a deal
You gave it every part of you
Belief and good intentions don’t always win you laughter, love and comfort

To never try again is to die inside fear and fright
I give you warm space in the ice so you can grow
Swallow it up, you, deep warmth inside you
Live again

It is only human to be wrong
Be human

Sketches: Young Love

Sometimes words come to me and create images in my mind so quickly that I cannot record them all. I am left with sketches that are unfinished sentences. But often the sketch is enough to become whole, like the one below.

Sun-kissed golden down
woven sunlight on feet so small

Sundress yellow shines flaxen halo
on cushion grass

Body electric
sitting in the shade

Delighted little girl pounces
kisses lips deeply

Earthly warm scent
is a warm sunbeam

A bed beneath sheets of pure love
as long as rivers run

Fallen Angel

He died before I was born
But still she comes to his picture
Still she comes and weeps to his songs.

She weeps to know he’s at a standstill
Her grief rises from the icy depths of our dying planet
Her tears fall from a broken sky at the threshold of her own dark doorway destination.

And still she comes to his pictures
A sugar child believing all we need is love to put El Dorado back together again
But sugar children, like dreams, dissolve in the global acid hatred raining hard down on us.

But still she comes
And I lie empty and cold in the pouring rain of tomorrow
Listening to the steady rise and cries of her release.