Time

Drops and feathers
falling on tongues
wildly swinging
into spring rain.

We did that.  We
drank the rain.

Pollen

I collect you in clumps
of pollen on my car.
My favorite color,
the itch in my eyes.
Never letting me stray
my attentions, look.
I look and look.

Breaks

I've learned to
climb the
hill

before
the roses have
bloomed so the

decent is rainbow
flowered and
fragrant.

Impressions

In light of recent events
At 32 knots the wind
I realize we are still
Trees, trees, they are
Squirrel cheeks, ha!

Level Z

Action
Intersects
Boredom

No
Time
To
Clean

Rambunctious
Wordings
Lips
Jacket

Climb
Tree
To
Escape

A Night

It is as
it was
before;

two
men down,
two men ashore.

I'm sorry

The ivy vine.
Again, again,
again.

That
fucking pattern.
Those tiny tendrils.

Squeeze the life
from all
the

other
sides.  Leave
me be. Leave

me be.  So
many demands
in

so
few hours.
To go with

it.  I go
with it.
I

don't
know what
to say or

how to describe.
This new
way

to
love is
not yet understood.

The Moon

The other day I was told to pretend.
During my adventure I rode a hot air
balloon up through the clouds.  They
twinkle even without the plane window.
Once I was done ooohing at that, I
decided to go higher.  I left the Earth's
atmosphere and landed on the moon.
I felt like a child running down and then
up the giant craters with my arms spread
open like Superman.  I relinquished gravity
when I wanted to do sommersaults like
Charlie in Wonka's chocolate factory. 
Now that I am at my desk looking up
at this tiny glowing sphere through leaves
on my neighbor's tree, I imagine that I
am dancing with a partner.  It's not that
I don't love to adventure alone, it's just
more fun to exchange energetic movements.

:/

Who's the Maypole?  I'm asking because the month is May and I feel like a braid with more than three ribbons.  It's my job and the work is well paid.  The ends though?  Frayed.  Don't mind the rhyme there, it's not forced.  I am in agony for my skip-about friends.  Mama is tired and love drained.  Her heart aches with the best of them.  Her tears fill oceans.  This sprouted grain granola bar only shoves down so much.  Anyway, my toil is accounted for.  Sorry for all the metaphors and cliches...life is rough out there. If I lived in Alabama I wouldn't need to apologize.  The thing is, I live in the unhappiest state in the country.  I should have ended it there but my job is to spread hope.  None of you know how amazing you are.  If you did, you wouldn't be reading this.  Take my word for it and believe it.  Then - act, know, take in the awesomeness that is you.  I want to seeeeeeee it!  Show me.  Then maybe I'll stop writing. 

Indigo

"Indigo.  Indigo."
Is that what she said? Ingido?
I think so.  What is she talking about?
"I just need to feel your mouth.
Please.  I'm being a baby.  I know."
I don't understand her.
"I know."

Good Night

Good night whipped cream
and flour-less chocolate cake;
the cherry in the jar sits
on the counter.

It'll wait for tomorrow
for consumption.  The
sundae on Sunday
made in the cool breeze.

I'll eat it on the porch
in my rocking chair,
with my shoulders back
and my hair down.

Unlike Creeley

down below glass
bubbles left in
steins with clasp
tops.  foam of ocean
shores.  that pollution
that cleansing.  to give
back.

through prism of
crystal all druzy
based and elegant.
that nature, those
floating Devas aligning
seed and soil.

what grows may
be weed or apple
tree, home to
cardinals or egg
stealing jays. we
trust.

watch cloud formations
read i-ching or divine
from letters what not
to follow.  yet with
confusion comes
frustration. with that -
surrender.

to process and innerness-
our true perfection.

That wasn't so bad

I can walk
upon a rock

a boulder gray
and hollow

then arch
my back

along cold curves
and gaze

into tomorrow

I like to eat chocolate and I like to read poetry

Well, it seems I can have my Hazelnuts in Milk Chocolate and and a lil' love poem, too.  Chocolove makes delicious bars in all varieties and prints love poems on the inside wrapper.  I found today's poems to be just lovely.  Here it is:

from Fly Not Yet

Fly not yet! the fount that played,
In times of old, through Ammon's shade,
Though icy cold by day it ran,
Yet still, like sounds of mirth, began
     To burn when night was near;
And thus should woman's heart and looks
At noon be cold as winter brooks,
Nor kindle till the night, returning,
Brings their genial hour for burning.
     O! stay-O! stay-
When did morning ever break
And find such beaming eyes awake
     As those that sparkle here!


Thomas Moore

Hey, I'm at over 1,000 posts and I didn't make any whooplah.....let me find some.