Hand over Hand

Despite the best of intentions and efforts, hierarchies and pecking orders can invade the consciousness of even the most fair-minded love slingers. When caught up in the rungs of this type of ladder it is easy to lose sight of the hands that grasp tightly to the rungs in order to both keep the body steady and pull it up to the next level, but they are there. They grip tightly and beg to be attended to with healing salves and comforting massage therapy. They scream out with the effort of the climb and the simple steady leveling that defines their existence.
Though some proclaim their arrival at the highest rung and look upon the view in wonder, those beneath continue to climb. Though the soles of those allowed to pass while hands paused to soak and soften, warm and wash… though those souls may rest upon the rung beside delicate fingers, they haven’t the power to destroy. One cannot crush another. The rung furthest down is just as round and smooth, and the cedar smell of the wood from which it was carved fills the nostrils of all poised upon the ladder. In the light of the day, after the briefest of nights, the ladder becomes a wheel and the soul atop soon climbs again at the turn of the corner. Turning corners is hard work. It requires a loosened grip and a moment of unbalanced dangling, as bare feet find their way amidst many seeking fingers.

New Year's Day

In planning for just past today
the now, the this,
the games to play.

I look upon my velvet box a
dream of more of
something lost...
of sitting still
of being me
of understanding
who I'll be.

Taking hold and singing songs
matching wits
with butterflies
and catching dreams
just flitting by.

Holding back to meet
the sky
making sundaes,
drinking wine.

And I'll resolve for
something new
to clasp my hand
and pull me through
the roughness that might overpower
and knock me down hour
by hour
Rushing on to meet the day
when dust to dust
I've gone away.

Face to Face

Wanting to speak
I find myself wrapped up
in a cocoon of
concern.

If the words are wrong
will they fall on the floor?

Landing on the hardwood,
will they shatter or
will they survive
bruised, broken
but waiting
to be heard.

Still Believe

It takes a lot sometimes to find
the ease of love
the familiar give and take
and breath that comes from
shared memories.

We find that changes confuse
our sight.
Views diverge where they seem
most important.
Voices raise and
blood pressure follows.
Eyeballs roll and words are tough
to swallow, don't wallow in
despair ;
the bond is there.

The breaths we took
before we knew
what breathing meant
were in your arms.

The tears that washed
our softest cheeks
were soothed
with your lips
pressed to our brows.

We know you...
the you beyond the now.

See us now before your gaze
the spawn of flesh
and goodness. You took all
the best
all you had
you shined it bright
and placed it at our feet.

We hold it here for you
in this velvet box
with no real locks
but safely kept, washed freshly now
with tears
we've kept
inside.

Seeing still your grandeur
bent not broken
words not spoken
remain in the room.
Just as you
believe in us
we believe
in you.

Skywatcher

I am a skywatcher.
I lay in wait...
Stepping out from
the night to find
a blanket of lights
outwitting my nightmares

breathing in the
scent of
tiny
gatherings of crabgrass
dancing in the
weeping of the night

I am a skywatcher
just catching the dawn
pink and bursting
gliding forth
delaying my fears

pausing for
the hopes of
one
barn swallow lifted
singing in the
vapor of the dawn

Brilliant gold lifting
along the horizon
I lose the day to
sagging limbs tied
monontonous practice
covered
closed
kept
under and in
whirring and ticking
down and hunched
false brilliance squared
capturing
pieces
holding off
waiting to
be
free to
stretch
each
bony
chunk
of spine
rise
walk
escape

I am a skywatcher
through the glass
fiery splinters
catch me
hold me
breaking free
freshness washes in
face lifted
bottled self
beyond casings
flies up
out
into
cool orange streaks
rising over
tall pines
finding
celestial relief

sour song

Musical lyrics order my brain
follow the rhythm to manage the pain

Lighten the load of bricks in the pile
building on memories, won't reconcile

Haphazardly stacked they rob sanity
ordered and patterned, salvation they'll be

I'll lay them around me in garden-like rows
as they're prancing and dancing and stopping to pose

Lovely arrangements enliven the tune
swirl over sharp corners softened, but soon

The very refrain that first made me grin
blocked out by new layers, it's closing me in

Truth

The thing about the truth is...

I have always had an uncanny ability to see it, and know it, even when I do not want to.

Pretending to believe is...

next to impossible because I can see myself trying.

The thing about the truth is...

that it smacks me in the face...daily

leaving me bruised and aching.

The thing about the truth is...

that even when I think I have eluded its grasp, I cannot escape it.

The truth does not set me free...

it just leaves me with nowhere to hide