Under a Parasol

“Under a Parasol”


Wishes weigh like pebbles

In a crushing waterfall,

Fears and hopes tumbling,

Burying it all

^

Just words and sometimes a good thought,

To shield me down here,

Flimsy, waving parasol,

Looking for good cheer

^

O, for a wind that could carry me away,

Make this colorful cap strong,

Not mere paper-thin cover-

A thing I can hang on

^

There drops another fabric tear,

Before I scribble another line-

Now it’ll just stay unfinished,

A ? mark of a sign.

^

A question mark without its hook,

All I can do is wonder it,

And wish as hard as wishing can

-That’s it.

^

Just words and sometimes a good thought,

To shield me down here.

Flimsy, waving parasol,

Please keep bobbing near.

“Spinning Straws”

“Spinning Straws”

Afraid my Here’s just a pile of straw,
The flimsiest place of all to hide,
And I see a wolf pacing outside
With dollar-sign eyes and a gaping maw.

Just here spinning dreams of gold,
But can’t know what is real
Or let fears start to heal,
Til the man says one dream’s taken hold.

I entered this space to win more,
Yet what I own is depleted,
And I feel defeated,
So many wisps scatter over the floor.

Maybe I promised my future away,
For what I can’t guess
And now I feel less,
Grasping straws at a name I can’t say.

What name will finally fit?
It seems I have tried-
I know I have sighed,
But still I have failed to find it.

Have I been spinning false gold?
Tossing in my straw bed,
May be losing my head,
I’m not sure I want to be told.

Perhaps there is a one who knows,
Who wants my labors to bear fruit,
And sees the future’s my strong suit,
Where my gold dream is so real it glows…

I’m trying to spin this straw to gold,
As the wolf paces to inspire dread,
And my mind races to ask what’s ahead,
Which name will describe what I hold-

Straw?….Or is it gold?

“Too Human”

“Too Human”

I would just like to get some sleep,
all tossed upon tasks so grimy and deep-
If I could take one step at a time I would,
but I seem to just swish around all this “should.”

It might be safe on this ocean floor,
but there’s a lot of pressure against my door-
If in a palace there’d be room to explore,
or maybe to rest up on the sandy shore…

But life is a witch who makes it a fact
that few can rise without a contract,
and I’m just a girl without much choice,
but to spend days without my true voice.

It’s an awkward sort of life transition,
without a solid stance or position,
Even with someone to hold my hand,
it’s hard to stand firm in this strange land.

“Aurora’s Year”

The swell of newness
Fills like a new dawn
And spirals out and away as life stretches through each day

New rises like an Aurora,
Who may sleep through her dreams
Or puncture them,
Or even face the cold stone face of death,
But even in these fates there is beauty and there may be magic.

Bright and sharp as a briar rose,
The dawn shows ways to care
And ensures us surprises, both royal and small.

For life congregates like a ball, every so often,
And others come together round you, from far and wide
And all we may do is smile or pass the time dreaming,
But we know these friends as we don’t know our fates,
And we taste these magics of games, lights, and fun,
As the colors and shapes of our wishes keep changing.

These storied times when newness meets old,
Keep us spinning round and get our stories told.
We’re free to walk in dreams and know futures that may or may not come to pass,
To put old cares to sleep and reunite our true loves,
To replace the steps and trod no more spindles,
But spin us the wheel and breathe in the life it kindles.

So christen this day, with its precious gift
And let no one deny you any change you can lift,
For any dance in this year can bring you to joy, so long as you step into the dawn and you try.

Serenity and good energy go with you in 2014.

“Dancing Death”

When Dancing Death comes flinging round,

He stomps gaps into the ground.

Inviting you to fill his card,

And learn the steps-so thrilling hard.

 

You’ll dance until you’re tired through,

And holey like the princess’ shoe,

But still you’ll turn and spin and leap,

Because your goodbyes don’t come cheap.

 

Weave within those strongest arms,

That always bruise, but mean no harm,

This is how you leave your past,

You lose its sight as you whirl fast.

 

Dizziness won’t make you forget,

Knocking limbs can’t cause you to fret,

You’re caught up in the steps of Death,

Your world dissipates on His breath,

 

In lovely grays and magic swirls,

That surround you as the dancing whirls,

Softening jabs and pains and pokes,

Across the veil of stinging smoke,

 

It creeps to those you’ll leave, their eyes

Now apart from you, and makes them cry.

Brushing them with each step you take,

As the dance of Death makes their world quake.

 

It’s a dance for madmen where limbs contort,

Into others, where pain and grief consort.

“Squash” go the hearts and out goes the breath,

These are moves in the dance with Death.

 

But Death, He has no time for rest,

Even when souls have left each breast,

He just moves on, the dancing fool

We mortals have a wiser rule.

 

We have time to rest our feet,

To stop dancing to an outer beat.

We fling all into our turn,

But then we leave the dance to burn

 

We have ourselves another place,

With other friends and love to face,

We’ll learn the steps with Death’s guide,

To reach ourselves to the other side.

 

When Dancing Death comes flinging round,

He stomps gaps into the ground.

Inviting you to follow me,

And dance your way to being free.

 

You’ll dance until you’ve gotten through,

No more steps between us two,

But our joy will still grow as before,

Because our helloes still mean more.

——————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————

Similar Posts:

-https://wheresmytower.wordpress.com/2012/04/10/twelve-dancing-princesses/ (“Disenchanted” poem)

-https://wheresmytower.wordpress.com/2013/03/14/my-patch/

-https://wheresmytower.wordpress.com/2012/05/08/maurice-sendak-is-dead/ (Sendak death poem)

“For Twelve”

Twelve steps, twelve brothers, twelve ones you know,

All are scattered with just one blow.

Blank white rises, with fear and debris,

No emotion is tidy when lives need to flee.

 

The floors of the palace are empty and dull,

Without the extremes you’re in apathy’s lull.
You know pain’s cause isn’t far away

Its threat follows quietly as you pay.

 

In silence, since you’ve lost words to say-

and the ones you could tell them to, anyway.

In work, dragging on, for one sinful blast-

Nothing takes longer than cleaning out the past.

Resentment and love are both nettles that sting,

But comfort is far away and tired to the wing.
So keep on, grind on, use these things to weave.

The world says, “Idle hands are not the way to grieve.”

 

The halls of the palace are grand and echo,

but they offer no clue as to which way to go.
It’s filled with beauty and sights that are new;
It’s that same old place while the work pulls at you.

 

Guilt says, “Stamp the pain, stay up late, you can drag this on.”

Exhausted, alone, you’re not ready for the dawn.

Deadline comes, grabs your labors before the sun.

The world sees relief there and thinks that you have won.

But twelve and twelve are not the same; year and sorrow drained you dry.

Only one wing, pure and blank, warms you from this lie.

Give up, give in, lift loneliness and speak.

Here has sought me, though Death has what I seek.

 

My palace walls are decked and bright

And I’ve learned to rest here through the night.
The feast is for joy, for life, and for me.

I shall say yes…and keep just one wing free.

Maurice Sendak’s 85th Birthday

Today is a tribute to Sendak and a celebration of his works, in spite of the fact that he never reached this birthday.  It’s happening as a Google Doodle, but I wanted to add my personal tribute.

 

“The Wild is Yours”

 

Stomp those feet,

The wild is yours-

The dough will rise

And the fierce roars are beaten

-Let the cakes and sandwiches be eaten.

 

Milk like a sheet,

A party of snores-

The yonder will come

And your new age be reached

-Wherever your personal boat was beached.

 

Baby the old moon,

Feel the soup steam hot-

Comfort food’s best of all

It gives you pop! For when things get higgelty

-For lions, or boys, or a bumbling piggelty.

 

Wild stares end soon,

Chefs stir Night’s pot-

It’s a piece of cake to fall

But nothing escapes the maker’s batter

-Shape up what’s left til nothing’s the matter!

 

There’s more to age

Than when you left it-

Or the rumpus you ruled it

There’s more than nothing when you go

-You still fill us up, we love you so!

 

Lines pop! on page

Dream kitchens stay lit-

The king of the gone things comes for a visit

And stays for a year and a day in one night

-We promise, we swear, you won’t lose in the light!

 

I’m in the gone

And the gone’s in me-

And just as wild as he used to be

There’s more to life than having everything

-There’s also the gone things, the wild, and kings!

 

(My poem on Sendak’s death is here: https://wheresmytower.wordpress.com/2012/05/08/maurice-sendak-is-dead/)

 

Previous Older Entries