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.

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Wild Stand

“Wild Stand”

These are my bones, where I stand,
These are my feet, intent as the stones,
This is my breath, my will, my desire,
My hands full of fire, of magic and death

My life, wood, garden-
Alive around my skull,
Surrounds my sense with running,
Culling, cursing, full-

Like all, my teeth have weight,
Sharper than tears, but
Gorging for fears, Trap-
All life’s sap through the gate.

Rip, heave, leave-
These bones yield precious dust,
Thrones for fights and steps-
Watch, thrust, sigh for relief…

Eat, take, wield-
These make all my measures,
Fields of graves, of insides sweet,
Treasures wake us from self slaves,

Nourish me with reapings sharp,
Lock, growl, instincts keeping-
Hiddens flourish, Wantings flock,
Turn eyes in, sweep up the clock:

Life, lust, sate-
These rule within my hut,
My hands and my musts,
Crossing bones against all fools,

Turn, chase, die,
Deny my claws, you’ll never try,
Flaws churn up earths to taste,
Burning haunts win every race,

This is my sun, my moon that beats,
Heart’s a flavor and others a treat,
Lusts are endeavors, all blood flows,
Death, wild, scorn, they my joys sow.

Cackles in the air,
Passion spins upon my toes,
Each one wins without compare,
With one sip of wild Knows.

So welcome in, alone
Mind, heart, soul-
Edges here to hone,
For inside here is where I’m whole.

“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?

Happy National Hobbit Day 2

Happy National Hobbit Day!
(Previous festivities here: https://wheresmytower.wordpress.com/2012/09/22/happy-national-hobbit-day/)

“An Ode to Hobbitiness”

movies_shire

Couldn’t be a Bilbo, and leave it all behind.
Couldn’t be like Frodo, to burden so resigned.
Hardly a Samwise, with smile always on-
Where has all my hobbityness gone?

Not a fan of mushrooms,
My home’s above the ground.
Don’t care much for foot hair,
No garden to be found.

But I love growing things, without the thumb of green-
And rhyme and sing to tell the wheres I’ve been,
Merrily, I’ve stolen time in fields and fireworks-
Could it be my inner hobbit lurks?

Will travel in my time,
Too impatient for the ents.
Won’t worry for the silver,
But electricity and rent-

It’s hard to be a hobbit, without a Party Tree,
Without second breakfast, elevenses, and tea,
Just hosting thoughts of friends too far to see-
Still, I’ll be the best hobbit I can be.

If an apartment can be a homely house,
And savoring meals can make it two-
If I can celebrate simple things,
and friends like me and you

Then a hobbit’s stout heart can face a future scary,
And anything that comes along won’t be too much to carry.
And I’ll survive mistakes as foolish as a Took’s,
And make it there and back again, like hobbits do in books.

So let all hobbit selves appear like burglar Bilbo,
To frolic and indulge as much as they will, though
Real life might return to push the shire away,
Just snack and let it be a Happy Hobbit Day!

1000 Cranes, 1000 Places

1000 Cranes, 1000 Places

1000 Cranes, 1000 Places

“Crane”
Inspired by: http://instagram.com/p/qkauPWO6RY/?modal=true

Quick, bright,
Over here, on edge of sight-
Sweet, subtle,
a hint of hope in life’s tall trouble
Symbolic finding,
What’s always there, but never binding
No need for more
than a bit of art that is in store…

My good friend http://instagram.com/bmmueting, has begun a project of creating 1000 cranes to hide, and hint, and share by leaving them in 1000 places as she goes. So go check her out and remember to keep an eye out for those surprise glints of color or beauty wherever you may be going!

Happy Bastille Day!

“Bastille”

Bastille-day-lady-e1310481946351

It might just be holding seven,
but it feels like ninety-two;
It may just be pieces,
but it overshadows you;
Been living as It pleases-
Tyrannical, it’s true.

Big and heavy and always there,
oppressive through and through.
Always there and never fair,
the discontent grew and grew-
The day has come to overthrow,
with red, with white, with blue!

Doesn’t matter what we liberate,
or how motley runs the crew,
the time has come when I can fight,
cut out the upper-crust few,
For see, the Bastille now will fall;
Now Victory’s for me and you!

“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.

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