“You and the Park”

I am looking at the bark of a pine tree, wondering if it has always been orange and purple and only now do I notice.

Children’s voices from two yards over giggle across the drive.  At this distance, it sounds as if the youngest is squealing over the inequities of freeze tag:
threatening to go tell Momma:
threatening to quit the game.

You can hear the highway from here if you sit very still and don’t hum.  And there are birds.  Red ones.  Their songs aren’t as pretty as some of the more plain ones, but you can’t have everything

And speaking of everything, I wish you were here.


I feel like Sisyphus right after he noticed that the gods weren't watching anymore and no one was going to make him push that rock around and up that hill.  Calm, peaceful and VERY alone.



I have a LONG road ahead of me.  (barring an accident.)  I'm beginning to think that maybe I should have taken poorer care of myself.


show me no mercy.....OR if you must show me mercy.....show me mercy of swiftness and sure mark.....show me the skill you have at painless fatal wounds. 




Sometimes it isn’t destiny or fate that brings me to such a regretful place. 
Yes there are those I know who disagree with me;
whose minds argue that I find myself in this dark
seemingly forgotten lost place without hope or a deity
so that I can find God and happy possibilities,
learning my lack and needs
and how to “look up” instead of down.
Guru thinking I call it: the view of there not being anywhere I can be
that I’m not supposed to be.  No!  No I tell them:
 
the knowledge deep in my bones
that sometimes I find myself where I am, not because of God and his destiny,
but in spite of God and His plan for me. 
That I am where I am out of no one’s business
but my own foolish choices
one sad one upon another. 



I have been wise and safe. 
I have been the tortoise instead of the hare. 
I have been the ant instead of the grasshopper. 
I have been the voice of reason instead of the music of insanity. 
I want to be out in the open and very unsafe. 
I want to walk into the smoke knowing full well the chance of fire.




I don’t own my words.  They aren’t mine to place into foster care.  They go wherever they will, however they like.


I can’t make the sun stand still, but I can give him a run for his money.



after you look into the mirror of possibilities,
the magic glass of dreams and wishes,
nothing is ever acceptable short of wonderful

If I were to give this day a color, it would be the color of your eyes and how bright they are in contrast to your summer skin. It would be the color of me as I wallow in your gaze all bold and shy at the same time. What hue is our youth? What shade is you and me again?



I need a Deity, if only to not be alone in the dark.  Who do atheists talk to when they are friendless?  When I am anguished, I can't imagine not having a loving ear to listen to me and maybe even answer me.  If one doesn't have a God, exactly to whom do they say "good job on that night sky and all those stars!!"?     




Space stuff won't get out of my head.  I'm thinking about Saturn's rings still.  How can a body span 170,000 miles across and then be only 30 feet tall? (I have jumped into the water from a greater distance than that.)  I guess that form is a "by product" of being caught in orbit at such high speeds: stretched out like the spin cycle. 

Orbit.  Yes.  I'm trapped.  Trapped sounds so negative but I know no other word to describe my predicament.  What if I say "deliciously trapped"?  "Smitten" is a non threatening term but it doesn't accurately describe where I am.  Smitten sounds as if I could put on my shoes and drink a cup of coffee and go about my day as if everything is normal.



Using the scale of the earth's orbit being the outer edge of a dime with our sun being in the center of that dime: the nearest star from us is 8 miles away.  In the light (or dark) of such unfathomable time and space, our distances and zones between us seem so puny.  Surely we are within each other’s reach.  Surely.  Look at all of the ages that we could have been born into, and yet God put us in the same "time" and the same year!  It takes such a small amount of time to throw "off" Love's possibilities.



Any looking back then would simply be a different view, because life is so much like swimming: the water parting and circling, seeking its own level, conforming to the space it is given: never capable of a retracing: only a going through.




August has forgotten that she is supposed to be sweltering.  I can't scold her though.  She seems so proud with all her Crepe Myrtles blooming and the Petunias bushy and flowering. 
Maybe August isn't herself.  Maybe she misses you too.  I know I do.

You deserve only sunshine, but this afternoon I am dark.  I wish I was with you to unfold my darkness on you like a big black blanket of despondency.



“Worship”

The path to becoming a god is so simple, casual,
off handed even. 
Most objects, no matter how common, dish cloths, 
cars, a lover’s eyes (even stone) will grow into a deity
if gazed upon long enough
and with the right amount of ache and desire. 
I stretch out, on your altar
a trembling offering,
waiting for you to accept my sacrifice and consume
with approval my total devotion.
Yes, I don’t realize what I am doing and giving,
what pagan heart I am feeding,
I find myself simply at your feet,
naked and kneeling.



“Where You Are in Alabama 2009”

Along the roadside, goldenrods litter,
spindly optimistic arrows
always yellow and pointing up. 

September can be a crowded place
if you know where to look
and if you aren’t afraid of tall grass and overgrowth.