books

today the air is so cold but i do not mind it. the sun is beautifully shining. everyday my love for music grows. today i had this happy feeling i can not explain it but i have been happy. even gutsy which usually back fires for me, it did not this time. i felt justified and sure of who  i am. the ironic thing is when i feel happy, i can also feel quizzie but that just lets me know something good happened.

today at the library i saw a man drowning in books i thought to myself how lucky is he.

you handle it badly

driving on a dirt road to hear me crack

underneath a charcoal sky i grip the steering wheel with my bare hands, sometimes i have gloves on but not tonight. the flickering lights, i leave those behind and feel the tires hit the dirt road, yes i go down the the narrow dirt road with it's dangerous curves i like it. mozart, toby or porteus head blaring while i take those curves flanked by giant trees like it is my only vice, i am heading towards you. you will have your hands on my neck, then my lower back and waist, your going to heal remember,  you say. driving i stop at the cafe order my coffee it is quiet at this time, the cafe unrecognizable at this time, i like it this way. back in my car now i have stopped the music,  listening to npr now, they teach me things, they open my eyes. I park my car now in front of me it feels like a paris window and door covered with ivy i think to myself should i open another store, no. I go in now there you are your hands holding a pen soon they will be holding me and i will not like it as much as you like, your the one that gets paid not me, you pull me near then crack. i hate the crack. i hate all of it well maybe not the heated blanket you lay on top of me and the relaxing sounds coming out of the speakers.

i am back in the car now, i am freezing, i mean my teeth are chattering how in ten minutes did i leave new england  for  yukon. i take a sip, adjust the radio, drive thinking how i wish all of it was longer. my tires hit the dirt road again my mind hits the clouds and i go for it as if it is my last ride i drive fast on this dirt road, the one they warned me about, i am always getting warned about something.

crash

you words crashed into me as i was skipping like a school girl
the sun was out did you not see it. i halted, stopped froze. you wanted words, reactions right there and then but all i could think about is the door handle and if i would have the courage to open.
how i wished for silence,  for superman to turn back this moment in time but i swallowed what else was i to do.

really?

hell in a handbag!

a barber

as we sat there pencils in hand

i turned to him and said do you want to be a fireman

no he replied

maybe a fisherman i said

no

what about a barber

to hairy he said

it was good to laugh like that.

it's in the air

when a faint whisper of what i want leaves my lips
i know, with enough time it will come.

tip toes

i found myself on the tip of my toes my arms extended around you, your shoulders happiness, your hands witness to  my existence my movement subtle as it may have seemed had split the mountain of what was then and what is now. my lips a pen that told a story that till that very moment was lost.

.

.

dear tea party please explain

how you plan on cutting billions wait and billions of dollars
just tell us how we will listen, make it specific
HAVE A PLAN DO SHARE IT
YOU want the job show me your plan, your resume, your successes just don't take me to your leader
she is a babbling idiot!

Yeah I thought so!

wood

UMMMMM let see

SO you wanna burn the Koran UMMMM!
let see if someone who did not look like you, or talk like you
decided to burn say a bible no let's make it a truck load would those
people be called terrorist, specially if they decided to say video it as well?

so i am guessing that once you finish burning the Koran and you find yourself in the bathroom
washing all the ashes from you face and you look in the mirror you will do the right thing
and call the police, fbi, cia on the person staring back at you,

you know because your a preacher and all!

ps- media definitely fuelling this fire!

wednesday air

the clouds are that blue gray i love so much. they are moving like floating leaves on a still lake. i am sitting by the table on the porch, with my coffee and toast, honey not jam this morning. the dogs are nestled in the grass, grace would like to be at my feet in case crumbs should make it to the floor and sophie as she often does is staring up past the trees to the sky.

there has been no sleep for a eight days now, not even the two that usually come to me in the early morning. there is a lot to blame, but now i believe the suspect to be my mattress. i would happily lie on a hammock if i only had one. the bush i disliked is almost gone thanks to oar ant tony the goats, some how they are leaving my flower beds alone i am glad because i love how they have come out. the leaves on the trees along with the wind make a noise almost like rain or a tap being turned on. I love how it the wind brushes up on my skin and how wearing jeans and a cardigan is no longer ridiculous for the weather.

i can still taste the honey on my lips along time after my toast is finished and to think that the honey came from a bee that was buzzing around here is sweeter than you think!

and now i must take out a pen and write thank you notes for the shelter.

what is it

what is it he said to me
i do not know
as i thought to myself if i only knew
what is it
i have no idea
i guess no one is whistling anymore
or dancing

what is it
nothing
well
nothing i can put into words
i am not good with words
or house work
or love making

the last day of august

i have just let tolstoy out of his paddock, he is free to roam where ever he chooses on the farm, i am nervous. i have for the very first time this summer put on a strapless dress and i am okay about it, even though my arms are redicously large i still manage to feel feminine. i have filled a glass with ice, ginger ale and orange juice and pulled a new book from my shelves to read : the grapes of wrath" by steinbeck. Moments before all this i walked to the pond to check on the ducks and found five huge turkey vultures resting, i clapped my hands and they flew away both magnificent and frightening all at once. the birds they have not stopped singing and someone must have told the cardinals of my love for red for i have counted at least a dozen. I once did a design for a flower show of a flock of red cardinals flying over head as my way of saying this end of the world as we know it, i hope this not the case today. i have wanted september to come, yet i think it more the coolness of the fall that i am waiting for. but for today i will remain in the moment and let the moisture of the humid air rest on my bare arms as i turn the page...

bright star

it is as if the rain knew tears would come
the drops pour unto the pastures as if they were desperate to hide
to seep beneath it all
my heart i fear will remain permantely pinched
no doubt that something from my conscious mind will undo it
but only for a while
my breath now cut off sends the air to my head
that is now pounding along side my undone heart
i lay myself under a cover made of feathers
and wish my sleep heavy.

n

*what i felt after bright star

let go

holding on. that is what i do.
i hold on to my loft because, well i do not know why
i hold on to my book because i do not want it to end
i hold on to king henry the eighth
i hold on to a handkerchief
i hold on to a broken shoe
i hold on and i know longer want too
but i do

or

today you held my hand on several occasions you knew
i need you to know

cheese cloth

i feel

a nap

perhaps it was the smell of the pine needles that lifted my spirits high. reading my book each page was so heavy in thought but
then in wolfboro the best nap i have ever had took place. i dreamt of my horse tolstoy, dreamt
of love, most of all i slept and when i woke the mix of pine needles and you
there awakened every thing that had been sleeping.

aware

i am not sure why it is done. i just do it. regret of course
followed by anger. than i learn who i am and i except.

but i do not like her. she is not in control even though
you think so. we are not. i am not. i am just foolish stuck between
naive and a dreamer.

ache

it was just like that....and it ached.

today i asked a big question the one that keeps me up at night

no answer, just a lump in my throat, butterflies in my belly
fear no i think mostly fear...

wish me well

wish me well for now
i asked in a slow whisper to the nights air
for now will you wish me well
i said as my fingers touched the drops of rain
for now will you wish me well
as my shoes hit the cobblestones in the alley way
i know where my home is and
i will be coming home soon
my love

my outside in

it is deep forests, quiet rivers. it is the birds that sing. the dew that still sits on leaves from this morning rains. it is the way they run up the hill and how i love kissing their cheeks. it is the mix of the early evenings breeze and shubert. they way the sun begins to set it's rays hitting everything just the right way. it is the me in all these things that i want to confide in. no one else. with exception perhaps of the moon, ....

sore feet & blueberries

me on the front porch. sore feet. the breeze keeps me safe from the sun.
toast with marmalade, blueberries and espresso. a book, finally a good book to read.
can i do it, be still enough to relax. for nothing is without discomfort, guilt. i do wish for a cold wet passing rain.
i would stand underneath it. erase, wash away. soak. the breeze did i mention it, it is lovely and not quiet.

bird

move along dear friend. push, pull but do not tug.
i shall become a bird, you will find me by your window.
i will fly when you come near but sing when you are calm.
are you calm, are you still.

whistling

there is something about whistling that speaks to me. i can not whistle and even when i say
i can what i really am saying is i inhale and make a funny sound. When i hear you whistle, for just a split of a second i freeze, nervous stillness but then i relax and listen and even ask for more. more whistling please that is what i need more whistling, more of you whisling.

mirror and memories

the morning came and i drove through thick fog then a clearing. there comes a time in the spring when the color of the buds on the tree resembles the fall. a time when the past is mirrored in the present. my mind traveled back as well
clouds moved fast- i was moving fast in and out of memories like tip toes to water.

eyes at night.

my eyes grow heavy yet it is barely night. tears have not come as i thought they might.
life has changed many times over, sharp egdes and hard turns. mixed emotion have me confused
i wonder if i am swiming or drowning. sounds come out but words are not understood. my eyes grow
heavy, heavy and now i say goodnight.

the last station

last evening i went to the cinema with k. and a friend. we went to see the last station a story of Tolstoy's last days. as we sat in the theater and the screen turned dark the words of tolstoy emerged, i had to hold back my tears not to frighten the people around me for the movie had barely begun. i have been in love with tolstoy forever now, whether it has been something that he has written or what was written about him. i understand the struggle within him, yet i am unable to use my own words to explain how much he moves me.

ten minutes into the movie a young man who has been hired to be his secretary sits on the couch that tolsoy was born on and every member before and after of his family. tolstoy asks the young man about his own work, his family- when the man burst into tears overjoyed and in disbelief of tolstoy kindness towards him a "mere nobody". i knew exactly what that man was feeling for it was what i had felt a few minutes before, in awe that i was reading his words and seeing his life played out before me.

a finger grip to a dream

the rain has fallen for three days straight. i have had so many thoughts come and then get washed away.
i almost did the unthinkable, well the unthinkable for me- i almost let a dream fall. i was ready to take an eraser
to my soul, carve it out the dream i carried for so long in my heart. well you see the dream laid dormant, i felt like i no longer walked towards it so i was going to let it go, then i realized that i had confused the stillness of everyday life with not wanting it anymore. i want it so much and i feel as if i should apologize to this dream for it has been a companion since i was very young i, nadia was going to make it disappear without any trace of it ever being there. then like something out of a movie an email came that said this is the way to hold on to your dream- no,it said this is away to carry out your dream.

now the snow dances out my window and a red cardinal calls me out to play

melancholy

melancholy no longer sits on my skin but has set into my flesh.
i have said goodbye to many times. my arms have grown tired
as they wait with open arms to welcome someone new. i have said goodbye too many times
my arms are tired, my throat is raw from singing children's songs. i have opened the treasure chest filled with
little clothes and shoes for little toes one too many times.

melancholy has passed my skin and now my flesh and has found away into my soul..

why is that you have forsaken me this...why

glow

a throat ache and a muffled head, i find myself curled up on the chaise my
face towards the sun. all these years so many more hours than anyone and yet i have never napped
my eyes feel heavy and the sun is caressing my headache and as my eyes close gently, i am in heaven
for the glow in my mind surely must come close.

the tea party -really! sarah palin???

tiny sandwiches for tiny minds!

i love my husband
i love hearing him laugh
i love my husband

in the snow

i feel so alive when snow covers the ground and flakes fall and get caught in my hat i can easily lay on the ground and play out childhood memories. I can wear my black cashmere coat and tall boots and fancy gloves and dream of paris, but for today i will put my wool sweater and play fetch with sophie and grace.

thoughts

i can feel the temperature change. the warm air that blew around here just yesterday is gone. even with the sun piercing through my bones i already feel the cold. i have had all sort of thoughts sometimes it is as if they are not me, mine, but a person i lhave trouble understanding. todays thoughts were hard, i though about how i wish i could paint how even though i sing to myself, i could never really sing to anyone else, i thought about how i know how to make love but not a baby
i though about such things. i feel cold, i have felt cold all winter long. i have felt the coldness of the man that owns the farm, coldness from racist politicians and realtors. the sun watches me as i write this for it makes the keys glow, can you come in i ask it, can you come closer.

the wind

the air is warm, the wind blows with such strength, the rain allows you to stay dry only for a minute, seconds really.
i travel with it at least my heart does and perhaps my mind..

tangerines

behind me i hear the sound of the faucet drip, drip , drip
i tried to fix it but it still drips. on the table is a bowl tangerines, maybe
there is twenty or just twelve. through the window the grass is now visible
and green makes you believe change is coming. the sun comes out from behind grey sheets and tiny snow flakes that will probably never reach the ground dance. i am sitting wanting to know more as i reach for the dial of the radio.

snowflake and sound

i sit at my chair by the window but i am far, far away. the music that played transported me to a place and time that is not here and not now. every once a while i come back and stare out the window as large snowflakes fall from the sky and reach the bottom. was that their destination all along i wonder, is that where the snow flake really wants to go. just like that i am not in my kitchen but on the other side. the only thing i can feel is my lips they are cracked as i float in the land of memories. up above my body against the grey clouds looking down i see that the snow is dancing, it hears it too, the melody and the tone of the voice that sings me home.