Dear Morning by Marion

I grew this magnificent being...

Squash blossom

Past year’s flags & new year’s.  Let your freak flags fly!!!!

Dear Morning:

By Marion

I wake with these lyrics

going round and round my head:

"And the days go by

like a strand in the wind

in the web that is my own

I begin again..."  ~Stevie Nicks, 'Edge of Seventeen'

I put the coffee on, then

head out the back sliding

glass doors to the patio.

The morning dew glistens on the 

freshly cut grass and

dragonflies dip and sip

like flying jewels,

wings sparkling

in the new day's sun.

I am present for this moment.

I'm alive and I see.

What more is there?

I water the garden.

The Bush Beans are

leaning, reaching

toward the rising sun.

The Squash blossoms 

vibrate with yellow-ness.

The Tomato leaves 

generously release

their unique fragrance---

The Catalpa tree

drops a blossom at

my dew-covered bare feet.

I look up...there are no blossoms

anywhere on the old tree.

A gift, this little Orchid-like

flower.  Thank you, tree.

Birdsong surrounds me,

a chorus of life and joy.

Thank you, Morning,

for your generous gifts.

April Fades into Nothingness...

Hello, Death!

Be kind.  We are all fighting a hard, losing battle.

Khloé Kale & Moon modeling clown outfits.  Moon is pissed off. :)

Dear Old by Marion

My treasures on my kitchen altar.  I love the fish bone I found on a beach in Galveston shaped like Jesus on the cross.

Dear Old:

I fucking HATE you.

The pain, the dry everything

that once was not,

the gravity, the falling,

the feigning, the lack of,

the emptiness, the clicking

& clacking of my bones,

the no-fucking-hormones,

the ugliness of bare,

the loss, the LOSS, THE LOSS,

the fat, the jowls, the bags,

the feeling like a hag,

the stench of death

where once was life,

the strife,

the longing for an ending,

the end of beginnings,

the day's glued to days,

the pain, the pain, the endless PAIN!

the regret, THE REGRET(!)

the no money, no vacation,

the stagnation,

the _______.

11/4/16

Write a Book a Year by Deborah Digges

Ten years ago Deborah Digges took her life, jumping off the top of a stadium.  I like to think she flew.  Being a poet is a painful occupation—-we feel too much.  

Happy Poetry Month (which is all year at my house).

Write a Book a Year by Deborah Digges

Well the wild ride into the earth was thrilling,
really, scared as I was and torn and sore.
I say what other woman could have managed it?
My life before then
picking flowers against my destiny
what glance, what meeting,
who was watching, what we don’t know we know,
the hour we chose and we are chosen.
And suddenly the dead my mission,
the dark my mission.
He’d find me pounding out the hours.

Spring is for women, spring clawing at our hearts.
We are pulled forward by our hair
to be anointed in the barren garden.

I want the dark back, the bloody well of it,
my face before the fire,
or lie alone on the cold stone and find a way
to sleep awhile, wake clear and wander.

From:  “The Wind Blows Through the Doors of my Heart”

Seizure by Marion

Seizure

By Marion

FLASH!!! 

Lights, lights, lights,

Bright, bright, bright, bright!

FIREWORKS!  BOMBS!!!!!!

     Knocked me off the bed——-

Shocks!  Volts of electrified light

EXPLODING in my head, my head,

MY HEAD IS ON FIRE!!!!!!!!  

Sleep has tossed me into

Hell’s blazing flames!

Am I dying?

(Brain storm)?

CLANG, CLANG, CLANG

CLANG, CLANG, CLANG, CLANGING!!!!!!!!!

CACOPHONY OF SYMBOLS CRASHING!

Can’t move, can’t scream...

Suddenly, abruptly, it’s over.

Only echoes & spasms

jerking my shocked psyche

and body...

I wake, stunned, broken

and

shattered.

3/29/19

Spring - Godlight

Spring has returned. The Earth is like a child that knows poems. ~Rilke