Uninspired by Traffic, A Classic

Uninspired by Traffic

From the album:  “Shoot Out at the Fantasy Factory”, 1973

Sometimes I feel so uninspired
Sometimes I feel like giving up
Sometimes I feel so very tired
Sometimes I feel like I've had enough
Sometimes you feel like you've been hired
Sometimes you feel like you've been bought
Sometimes you feel like your room's been wired
Sometimes you feel like you've been caught

But don't let it get you down, no, no
There is no reason for not failing
You've got to smile and turn the other cheek
So today you might be done
By tomorrow you'll be sailing
And you won't even hear these words I speak

Some people want to be so desired
Some people can't stand the light of day
Someone laughing, while someone is crying
And old folks are watching the close of the day
But sometimes I feel like my head is spinning
The hunger and pain is all I see
I don't know who's losing
And I don't know who's winning
Hardships and trouble are following me

But don't let it get you down
There is every reason for not failing
You've got to smile and turn the other cheek
So today you might be done
By tomorrow you'll be sailing
And you won't even hear these words I speak

Some people want to be so desired
Some people can't stand the light of day
Someone is laughing, while someone is crying
Old folks are watching the close of the day
But sometimes I feel like my head is spinning
Hunger and pain is all I see
I don't know who's losing
And I don't care who's winning
Hardships and trouble are following me

Songwriters: Jim Capaldi / Steve Winwood

Some Funnies & My Beautiful Baby Girl!

Right???  Hilarious!!! 

INSANITY!  Like asking to be kidnapped, raped & murdered!

I adore nouns of assemblage! :-)

My daughter Sarah, with Tennessee Titans Quarterback, Marcus Mariota, at "Rally on the Runway" in Nashville May 2, for Children's Cancer Research, a great cause.

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

The Dolls by John Ciardi

Miss Tee-Joy

Sunny, Tee-Joy’s sister. 

There’s a world of collectors of these unique, beautiful, mesmerizing Blythe dolls.  These two sisters, Tee-Joy and Sunny, were made by a doll customizing artist in Detroit.  My non-customized dolls all come from one place:  The Junie Moon Shop in Tokyo, Japan.  They’re not sold anywhere else except EBay.  A fun, interesting hobby.

The Dolls

BY JOHN CIARDI

Night after night forever the dolls lay stiff

by the children’s dreams. On the goose-feathers of the rich,

on the straw of the poor, on the gypsy ground—

wherever the children slept, dolls have been found

in the subsoil of the small loves stirred again

by the Finders After Everything. Down lay

the children by their hanks and twists. Night after night

grew over imagination. The fuzzies shed, the bright

buttons fell out of the heads, arms ripped, and down

through goose-feathers, straw; and the gypsy ground

the dolls sank, and some—the fuzziest and most loved

changed back to string and dust, and the dust moved

dream-puffs round the Finders’ boots as they dug,

sieved, brushed, and came on a little clay dog,

and a little stone man, and a little bone girl, that had kept

their eyes wide open forever, while all the children slept.

John Ciardi, “The Dolls” from In the Stoneworks (New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press, 1961)

March, Winter’s Death Mask by Marion

Winter Snow, 2015

*+*+*+*+*+*

March, Winter’s Death Mask

By Marion Lawless

The spindly, naked trees are gently swaying—

one warm day, a row of tiny

leaves appear, marching up the branches,

specks of green from dead-looking, dry limbs,

like baby grasshoppers walking slowly in file.

Cold returns for a bleak few weeks,

knocking on the doors and windows, trees bowing in respect,

the jade leaves clinging as if glued to each branch.

Cold rain beating the new emerald-hued grass

sheets of ice, clear, like bits of tiny broken glass

fighting to stay much longer, in spite of time passing,

the sunshine gently molding mud, 

an annual mystical task...preparing

Winter’s death mask.

3/11/19