Dropping Out

i’m dropping out
of all that
useless shit
i used to do
to inflate
my ego
judge me
on my words
they’re all
i am
and all
i have
anyway

a body sags
a job ends
faith wanes
songs falter
and friends
come and go

words stick
like
glue

Chasm

on this side
a heart
a catalogue
of memories
a forest
of flora and fauna

across the divide
a genealogy
of strength
a clean slate
a circling
of the wagons

Reaching for Remarkable: The Woods Are Alive!

This big, beautiful world is busting its seams with surprises…dizzying beauty, curious oddities, power-packed punches, the delicate and the delightful. This is my quest…my search for the unstoppable, insanely charming details of a magnificent planet and a people who never cease to amaze. I call it Reaching for Remarkable.

This is Post #1: The Woods Are Alive. I stumbled on these painted stones on a wooded path along the river, near my home. The river and the stones mated; they made beautiful art together. The art spawned my haikus. Sshh…listen to the swish as they run through the trees…

roots are tucked in bed
rocks nestle snug between them
tiptoe as you pass

sweet treats from the trees
syrup and berries and sap
candy for the bears

the world is a mess
a dizzy hurly burly
watch out for heartburn

branches age and fall
a thrashing, a loud crashing
forest caught off guard

mean alligators
lurk, waiting to eat your feet
lay each step with care

it was so quiet
I stuttered to say a word
the trees got my tongue

i met Mick Jagger
in the most peculiar place
he’s no rolling stone

it must be a sign
vision and passion aligned
we’re on the right path

snowmen are so tough
they can look after themselves
watch out, here one comes

take a stay-cation
beaches and orchards beckon
backyard paradise

houses and castles
dynasties and brave new worlds
building on my dreams

the best kind of food
isn’t in a plastic wrap
that’s why some fruit smiles

green is a buzz word
painted on everything real
but what does it mean

the eye of Sauron
a menace in middle earth
has no power here

Soar 47 Times

…a bird without flight is no bird at all…

these words
these birds
sing my story
before it’s even lived
cavorting canaries
flocking headlong
into my future

impatient, decisive
they flirt and zing
across the calendar
goodbye January blues
so long February love songs
rat a tat, rat a tat tat
to the marching
bands of spring

word on paper
wing on sky
they rush and hush
and flush away
the ambiguous grey
of slow-moving
nonchalant
mediocre days

their gracing arc
their lilting dart
shames the feeble hunch
the sorry slouch
of shoulder over a desk
the dragging down
of me

fly far with faith
their feathers write
climb from your coal mine
unencumbered
and flap your arms
in belief
soar 47 times
around the sun
at least

hear our rustle
our flutter
the swishing sweet
secrets
of your own symphony

Guardian Ninja

…the proof is in the feet…

…luckily I had my blackberry with me the night I met a Ninja…

me: can you guess whose feet these are?
he: the feet of a ninja?
me: ha ha, close…but seriously, what do you think this foot photo means to me?
he: you bumped into a ninja and he let you take a photo of his feet?
me: no…the guy attached to those feet tapped me on the shoulder as i walked away from the bank machine in the train station, and said “ma’am, you forgot your money in the machine” and handed me the $200.00 I had just left behind
he: you don’t have a guardian angel, you have a guardian ninja…
me: yeah, I have to tell the world about him…
he: and so you took a picture of his feet?
me: his feet carried his heart to me…

Shape Shifting

dreams are as untrustworthy as old cars and lovers

In my sleep
I touch your face
And you don’t pull back.
Your skin is stubble-covered
And tickles my fingertips.
I gently trace your jaw
And you lean in.
Our lips touch,
Our tongues meet,
This dream is
About to heat up.

But suddenly I
Have green hair
And I’m riding in a VW Beetle
With my Auntie June
Who doesn’t drive well
In dreams or when I’m awake.
She’s taking us swimming again.
Even though I’m only nine,
I know green hair and
Too much chlorine
Wont get me very far but
I don’t care.
The Beetle flies down
That warm road with
Dust swirling in the window,
And Auntie June
Singing for all she’s worth.

We get to the pool,
Only it looks like a lake
And the lifeguard is my boss.
I feel freaked out
And think maybe he’ll fire me
For the bad hair day
Or leaping in the pool
When I’m suppose to
Be at work.
I can only hope
He appreciates
Family obligations
Or the consequences
Of hiring child labour.

I do hand stands in the water
So he can’t see my face,
When suddenly the
Whistle blows,
The splashing goes quiet
And the sounds of dawn
Eject me from the pool
That is a lake.
The boss is wearing a suit
And stalks off to
Straighten things out
While Auntie June
Wheels down the lane
In her blue mobile
Until she’s just a speck.

I lay there, still
In my bed.
Eyes closed,
Sheets a-rumple
As the morning
Crowds night-time
From the room;
That shape-shifting dream
Is just a hazy blur
But my lips and fingers
Remember the fire
We almost made
And they find your
Unshaven face
And then the rest
Of you.

No Foundation

I did not build this life to last

It doesn’t float
It has no oars
It can’t swim to save itself
It rests on sodden stumps
Soaked to their core

Its waterlogged walls
Barely cling together

Shiplap collapse

It wears a paper hat
With no tassels or trusses
And it has no moral support

This life drowns alone