Headline Poem 9/30/14 -- He

He 

He wears an old Silver Wood hat,

and looks out of place in the passenger seat with 

two kids in the back. 

  His skin's tan and cracked,

the sprouting whiskers on his upper lip 

emerging from a one-day shave skip,

two Christmas tree air fresheners

dangle from the mirror, while 

his tissue peeks out of his sleeve. 

  He's driven now

by his oldest son 

who's challenged 

and changed him 

more than anyone. 

  He's suspicious, but 

tired. 

  He's proud, but 

knows the limitations 

    of silver eyes 

and

arms that move at half speed, 

and so 

  He waits 

to fulfill his 

new role in their predictable 

routine. 

Headline Poem 9/29/14 -- She

She 

Smooth white face, 

once decayed,

she creeps in to all

hours of the day. 

Her wide nose,

a ladder, 

to a window 

on the perch 

of a reconstructed soul.

She knows. 

Her eyes 

are sparkling and stark. 

In pictures it is clear 

when 

she was with you, 

even if you weren't 

 there. 

Dark, forced smiles,

have started to disappear -- 

this     is the 

clearest she's 

been in years. 

Headline Poem 9/28/14 -- Mindless

Mindless

A vestibule on borrowed land,

a labyrinth of brick and sand, 

stacked and layered, 

sinking, rising, 

and caving in, 

in an attempt 

to grow upright, 

in spite of being stolen 

outright,

a crime committed by moronic, blindfolded fools,

who used 

their brilliant tools 

against them. 

Headline Poem 9/27/14 -- Imperfect me

A birthday poem. Happy birthday to me! 

Imperfect me 

I have a nail on my right hand 

that is dented with 

weird-looking skin. 

My nose is crooked. 

I have two moles on 

my right cheek 

that used to bother me 

so much so 

I'd turn my head for pictures. 

I'm learning to smile 

from both sides. 

I hate being late, but I usually am. 

I get distracted easily 

while cleaning 

or writing 

or dreaming. 

I'll start with a drawer and 

turn to see 

scissors 

lying on the floor, 

a 

reminder of a project 

started 

simultaneously. 

I might finish both, 

but I'm okay 

if I don't. 

I long for freedom and 

adventure, and hold tight 

memories like 

rappelling down 

the Swiss Alps, 

but I'm still the girl who 

stays up all night 

worried 

about edited sentences,

and misspoken words. 

I'm learning to let go. 

But letting go is its own beast. 

What I release today usually 

tries to return the next, 

a 

quiz just after a test, 

unexpected, 

to check 

whether what I know was memorized or really learned. 

I don't love crowds, but 

I'm okay when 

they're where they're 

supposed to be,

like on the streets of 

New York, 

or LA

or Rome, Italy. 

If people are genuine and real, 

I don't mind if 

there are lots of them. 

I'm mellow, but fiery. 

I'm tough, but happy 

when I don't have to be. 

I'm a dichotomy. 

Given the choice, 

I'd choose love

over anonymity, 

but because I'm indecisive, 

just writing that 

kinda scares me. 

I do that a lot though, 

put myself out there. 

I reach. 

I stretch. 

I branch out. 

I might flounder 

before I even out, 

but I'm willing to grow, 

and that makes me proud of me. 

Headline Poem 9/26/14 -- What's Less is More

What's Less is More 

I'll sing to you 

when you're lonely 

and 

I'll take your face 

in the palm of my hands 

when you're blue 

but 

I will never wish for the things 

that someone else has 

as though they are meant 

for me and you. 

This is my enough. 

I will not pretend that love 

is keeping score

because I may have less points

but 

what's less is more. 

Headline Poem 9/25/14 -- A Caterpillar's View

Today I read an article about Caterpillar Inc. They are opening a new laboratory at University of Illinois. This inspired today's headline poem. 

A Caterpillar's View

Open petals fall to make 

a house, 

without the glass and without the stones 

because down here amongst the

weeds that grow without being planted

and the shadows that live alongside the sun 

and the moss which slips but does not always slide,

nostrils flared with anger 

all look the same, 

     and we  

just don't see the point in that. 

Headline Poem 9/24/14 -- Mr. Balloon Man

Mr. Balloon Man 

Well then, 

what happens after 

you've gathered 'round 

the guests, 

and 

twisted the bulging 

pieces 

to create a blue and purple 

mess 

disguised

as a message

in its own disguise?

Does it bother you that you 

scare the people 

when the colors 

pop

and collide,

and burst with specks of 

spit and residue, 

and fragments,

leaving them splattered with 

broken clown hearts 

and elephant arms? 

Headline Poem 9/23/14 -- Our Renaissance

Our Renaissance 

We turned struggle into an art, 

an endless obsession, a quest for broken hearts. 

But we grew weary and started 

to sweat. Our hands ached and we were wet, 

in all the wrong ways,

like watercolored paint with a dried out brush, so desperate for water 

in which to intertwine, 

our arms, dead,

machines functioning

without all of the bolts,

crashing and splashing

over and over

with pulsating volts, 

strokes to nowhere, 

  

the   end   result,

    a picture with    no    gold. 

How can I explain this sacred scene

without explaining the hell 

we've traveled 

to give birth to 

what you see? 

Headline Poem 9/22/14 -- still

still

there is still 

too much 

to wrap up

in a 

gift box labeled

cliche, 

   and    give 

away. 

Headline Poem 9/21/14 -- The Fall Equinox

The Fall Equinox 

has been 

wrapping 

itself around my 

thick, fragile skin 

for almost

  thirty-eight years,

smiling as I welcome it in,

blanketing me with 

abundance, balancing me 

with 

fresh fruit from the harvest,

and 

encouraging me 

to 

reap what I sow. 

It is because of Fall 

that I know 

the beauty of devastation 

and pain 

and magic and goodness, 

and what September rain 

feels like 

as it trickles and plummets 

and gorges and sweeps,

nestling itself right where 

it's supposed to be,

in between the yellow heat 

of Summer, and the 

white Winter snow. 

Headline Poem 9/20/14 -- Obsession

Obsession

I've Googled you at least 

    a hundred times, 

giving you the energy      

     I'd rather save as mine, 

each time,      I'm   left    unsatisfied, 

     searching for 

the something I might have missed, 

     digging for the pieces

to help make sense of 

      this shit,

but all I've found 

     through 

all of my looking 

     is that 

your eyes are still green,

     and your hair is still brown. 

Headline Poem 9/19/14 -- Freedom

Freedom 

This whole time 

I thought I 

was releasing you,

but really 

I was 

releasing me. 

Headljne Poem 9/18/14 -- Relief

Relief 

Watching the dog 

bring the stick 

back 

over and over each day 

although you're really 

too tired to play, 

and then realizing 

he's just 

doing the same 

Headline Poem 9/17/14 -- When

When 

When night falls and 

the leprechauns sing, 

I hum along. 

Bravely, I battle 

the distractions 

of him, a former lover who 

stopped biting back,

lonely with leaves 

that fall 

under a tree swept clean 

from the wind, 

(never a chance to gather and sit for fear  

of being noticed and split). 

     When he teetered high 

on a beam in 

a place that once dictated 

my every dream, 

I whispered to him

through 

blades of green grass, 

      I felt the heaviness of your sins, 

     and now I'm unmoved because 

     of them. 

 

Healing and lighter,

I welcome the scars 

of heroes 

and helpers and saints

     because  

for the first time, 

I believe in     such     things. 

Headline Poem 9/16/14 -- There

There 

I was 

pouring my heart out 

to her, 

and although she 

had no intention 

of sharing, 

she couldn't lie. 

Headline Poem 9/15/14 -- Regret

Regret 

On my last flight, 

the man sitting to

my left

drank a Bloody Mary

with such fierceness 

I almost didn't notice his 

oniony smell

until he lifted his arm 

and revealed it to 

me. 

The man on my right

held his phone with 

practiced precision,

his thumbs,

twisted like organic carrots, 

growing the way they were

intended to

without interruption,

clinging to the sides while 

his raspy voice

spoke into it 

to text a woman 

named Holly,

     "Should I come straight home, 

      or 

      can I 

      stop by the office first, 

      question mark" Send. 

I thought long and hard about 

that 

"can," and let it swirl 

around inside 

awhile before I imagined Holly at home

with a baby on her hip, 

and a cat they'd named Majestic 

rubbing on her leg,

hopeful for attention, 

contemplating how many times she'd 

granted 

the "can"

   and    wished    she    hadn't. 

Headline Poem 9/14/14 -- The Gathering Place

My mom and her boyfriend, and their families have been eating and laughing and crying at a famous Jewish deli in Culver City, Ca. for at least 50 years. Well, today was the last day of operation. The owner is tired, and must rest, so The Roll n' Rye, popularly referred to as 'The Roll' will soon be Panera, and a cultural icon will be preserved in memory from now on. This inspired "The Gathering Place."  

The Gathering Place

I'm too tired 

to be mad 

at mud that slides

down 

    cliffs,

and gathers in 

puddles 

at the edge of my 

doorstep. 

Headline Poem 9/13/14 -- Its own song

Inspired by Brandi Carlile and The Avett Brothers who were in concert tonight in Berkekey, here is today's poem.  

Its own song

For those who play 

along 

to the 

wicked and the awesome 

of what is an original 

song, 

the reward is not 

in the cup 

or the sup, 

or the ambition or recognition. 

It's in the set and regret, 

acknowledgement of disconnection 

and reconciliation,

and requested forgiveness 

(we're doing just fine,

but it's too early yet). 

Its in its own song 

that brings us to our feet 

and then turns around 

and saves 

us while we're down 

on bended knee,

crying or confessing, 

or leaving things alone. 

How can so many words 

  not be repeated 

  in all songs that 

  strangers write? 

I raise my glass to those 

who

know how

  to do it right,

by cheering and 

toasting 

the lyrics that swerve 

inside 

our brains with lines 

that linger and rhythm 

that stays. 

Say I won't forget you 

and I know you're telling me 

the truth, 

I'm going to collect your attitude 

and blues,

because your words 

hug pretty girls from Texas and Detroit 

and introduce them to 

the Carolinas 

and the California coast, 

   and whisper,

we know you bleed and hurt 

and smoke,

but we love you just the same. 

     

In spite of everything, 

     the trees still know your name. 

Headline Poem 9/12/14 -- Berkeley

Berkeley

I like you 

for what you 

reveal 

and 

for what you 

conceal. 

Headline Poem 9/11/14 -- On that day

Like many of you, I am haunted by the tragic images of September 11, 2001. I've always been particularly haunted by the images of men and women jumping from buildings on that day. I can't imagine the sheer terror that must have been going through their minds as they fell, perhaps hopeful a miracle would happen and they'd live, or perhaps succumbed to the idea that they'd die. This poem hurts to write. I never want to feel what must have been felt. 

I send a prayer to all those who lost their lives, who helped, and who survived on that day. I pay tribute the way I know how. Peace. 💛❤️

On that morning 

I didn't wake up 

this morning 

planning to jump 

from a building. 

I have so much to live for, 

and now

I'm falling. 

In a matter of seconds,

I could be dead. 

I could land on something 

soft, but I'm too high up. 

This is awful. 

Please

  make it quick.  

Please 

  let this not hurt. 

Please 

tell my babies 

I love them with every piece

of my soul, and that I will 

visit them in their dreams 

for the rest of their lives. 

Let my husband and my friends

and my mom and dad also 

know.  

I've had a good life. 

I'm scared. 

What the fuck 

is going on? 

Dear God, 

Please be with me 

when I 

land. 

I love roses and giraffes and spaghetti. 

The end. 

Headline Poem 9/10/14 -- It's our hope

Tonight's poem is a song, based on a combination of headlines -- beheadings, missing people, and survivors reaching out to other survivors in many realms. 💛

It's our hope  

There are times 

when 

I feel myself emerging,

darkness and light singing 

all at once. 

Inside, 

we filter what we challenge, 

we muster 

courage from our 

balance, and 

we abide. 

It's not easy. 

It's not smooth. 

It feels rough 

around the edges,

and in between the queues. 

But it's a life line,

when we feel it. 

When it happens,

it's called hope,

and it matters,

and it listens, 

and it snuggles 

while we mope. 

It's our life line, 

when we feel it. 

When it happens, 

it's our hope. 

It's our hope. 

Headline Poem 9/9/14 -- Harvest Moon

Today's poem is inspired by last night's full harvest moon. 

Harvest Moon 

Colors brilliant 

that shine

like watercolors 

in the valley 

of lilies and cypress

and everything 

  in 

  between. 

Headline Poem 9/8/14 -- It's hard to understand

We're having stormy, humid, rainy weather this week in So Cal. Here is today's headline poem. 

It's hard to understand 

It's hard to understand 

that 

I need you 

for comfort though 

you're the reason 

I hurt 

and gaze

in disbelief

 at how my life 

for the last five years 

chained and drenched 

me as I attempted 

to 

juggle (with one arm) while poison and cobwebs dripped and spun 

         right under my growing nose. 

If I weren't me, perhaps 

I'd laugh, 

though this is no joke. 

These are 

veins and hearts, 

not empty 

record sleeves and cassette tape dreams. 

This is a real,

tangible thing. 

On display today, and 

everyday,

a second hand find 

I didn't realize 

I needed 

until it unraveled itself

     in my line

like 

a blue velvet picture of smiling 

women 

and their perfect breasts, 

    wrapped in 

 feathers  and    pebbles, 

all wet 

from 

the rain 

that's taken them 

apart 

and brought them 

back together

     again. 

Headline Poem 9/7/14 -- September 7, 2014 9:42 a.m.

Laguna Beach, Ca. 

September 7, 2014 9:42 a.m.

I am interested in being love,

free from agendas 

and rigid time slots

(that are printed in faded ink, 

but not heart).

I am interested in being love,

the butterfly, 

determined to 

transform 

and fulfill 

its destiny. 

I am interested in being love,

the fierce lion,

the magic crow, 

swift spirit animals that 

come and go

on walks, and in dreams, 

returning persistently

until I notice and see.  

I am interested in being love,

breakfast smells 

and morning banjos, 

silhouettes of books 

with enticing covers,

wild weeds 

that bloom in

early September. 

I am interested in being love,

songs I write, 

sometimes tangled 

by the words I sing

because they don't matter 

at first, until 

I listen again and realize 

they are me. 

I am interested in being love, 

when 

I stand on this wooden 

bench, arms stretched out,

with a view of

pretty and ugly

up high mixed with

deep down 

low. 

I am interested in being love,

that meets 

in the middle, 

where sand becomes water, 

running toward clarity,

together,

map optional 

because the treasure 

is the route, 

that we make ourselves. 

Headline Poem 9/6/14 -- I've lived before you

I've lived before you 

I've lived before you. 

It wasn't fun, 

but I didn't quit. 

You helped me see 

beyond me. 

Damn that ain't easy. 

I'm turned all around 

and flipped head to crown,

but I like it. 

Even when I say I don't. 

Because I lied on the first line. 

Headline Poem 9/5/14 -- If you've ever loved a man

If you've ever loved a man

you know that 

they are 

fragile and 

soft but taught 

(usually) to be 

rough 

like a couch 

decorated 

with antlers. 

Headline Poem 9/4/14 -- Tomorrow

Joan Rivers passed away. Her life and death are a reminder to all of us to live each day completely. 

Tomorrow 

Tomorrow is 

the fruit

we assume 

will ripen 

and fall 

from the tree 

naturally. 

But,

just in case, 

I recommend 

enjoying it

a little

early. 

Headline Poem 9/3/14 -- A handsome boy from Oklahoma

I read a story about a man who drowned in an Oklahoma lake. He was in shallow water, it got deep quickly, and he couldn't swim. This reminded me of someone... 

A handsome boy from Oklahoma

They met in words, 

and for two months spoke only

in Hemingway 

quotes. 

He was kind. 

He 

knew the gospel, though 

he didn't believe it. 

In Scotland,

they cooked breakfast before the sun 

     came up

and walked along the isle 

where generations 

of ghosts followed them

and sang chants in 

broken notes. 

 She

left him there,

four hours above Glasgow, 

hundreds from home, 

with no goodbye or hello

because although 

she

fell for him, it wasn't love. 

They were young, and 

idealistic enough to know 

they could create it, 

but too restless to make it so. 

He sent her fruit baskets 

for two Christmases 

with postcards 

written in pencil 

that smelled like caramel, 

but 

   then was gone, 

and she, 

like weathered stones,

in a shallow lake,

remains

permanently shaped 

by him. 

Headline Poem 9/2/14 -- as a girl

as a girl

as a girl 

she 

picked daisies

happily lost 

in magical

landscapes of 

green 

streaked 

with birds 

and 

their worms

     but 

when she 

became a 

woman 

she moved to 

the city 

sprinkled with

skyscrapers and 

mocha dreams

    and

traded in 

her horse for 

an old 

model Porsche 

that

sped her away

     leaving behind 

more than 

dusty corridors 

and 

hay 

Headline Poem 9/1/14 -- September

(Photo credit Google Image)

I love September! 

September 

September moons 

climb 

into the tallest of trees 

to dream.