Though my preschooler isn’t here,
I’m tempted to sing nursery rhymes.
Rain, Rain, Go Away
But even if the sun blared bright through my windows,
I would be low.
Daisy-x
Category Archives: Poetry
Jury Duty
Oh, bastion of jurisprudence
pain in my posterior
I should be honored at the chance
to view the inner working of our judicial system,
to enact fair and honest adherence to our laws
But your summons strikes annoyance in my heart,
dread at undoing my schedule
and fitting into yours.
At your beck and call,
subject to your every whim –
I don’t see the justice in that.
Where do hummingbirds go in winter?
A day of nothing,
that’s what I need to jazz me.
To recharge and kick start the engine.
But there’s always the danger of a day of do-nothing
leading to lethargy,
sad, morose thoughts.
Of not enough energy to do anything productive,
but enough guilt to keep away any enjoyment.
Where do hummingbirds go in winter?
Strip of Summer
A strip of skin
crisp to the touch
kissed by the sun.
An out of context reminder
that summer is falling away.
Flowers bloom
but look sad next
to the heads of wild grass
bowing low
laden with seeds.
Vibrant yellow,
brown edges
creeping closer to the center.
Soon,
all will be dry and brittle
like a strip of sunburned skin.
Memory Loss
We must leave the house at 3:45
No, wait, the bus arrives at 3:45
Aah, rinse the soap out of my hair and showering is done
Wait, did I wash my feet?
When there is a bullet of fog
lodged
in your brain,
it’s very easy for thoughts to get lost in translation.
The tricky part is remembering what the hell they meant in the first place.
Supernatural Help
I’ve been trying to let my heart be light,
let hope buoy it
as it inflates the cavity in my chest
where I think my soul would reside
had it a physical home.
The human mind is a fickle thing.
We think,
thinking we control it,
but it controls us,
foiling every good procedure we know we need to follow.
Our minds psych our selves out –
of our minds.
There must be some outer guidance,
some supplication,
if our insides are not to roil about,
acidly eating away from the core, out.
A gentle hand
A supernatural help
There but for the grace of God, go I
where my heart floats lightly in the center of my soul.
Out of Touch
Slip of a bra strap
Chain tugging at throat
Hair crawling on neck
Sleeves strangling
Cannot bear
for one more minute to wear
these clothes, these shoes, this jewelry, this head of hair
Lack of sleep
Swirl of chemical chimera
Environmental allergies
Sensitivity to touch
It’s just too much
Whatever the cause,
whatever the combination
it’s an assault on my senses
Damn my lack of defenses
City Bird, Country Bird
I flit above the treetops
you hear me chirp as I await the rise of the moon
The hush of evening falls over me
I revel in it before nestling my head under my wing
Yet another part of me
thrills to see the moon float above the streetlamps
another bulb – burning brightest
The cool of dark causing their glow to vibrate all the more
The energy of a people awaking to their culture
To be in two places at once
To fly from one pole to the other
To appreciate the beauty in each
To have a wing in each world
The Center
How self-centered we are
to be governed by our emotions
and not the looks of pain on the faces of those around us.
To expect the world to orbit around our center.
The way we act shows it a thoughtless given in our minds.
To miss the fragile little being in front of us,
the industrious, frenzied flap of hummingbird wings –
the little things that should be front and center
so as not to be crowded out by the hulking beasts oh so eager to rule.
Not the Dimming of the Day
photo: Jennifer Butler Basile
The sunset draws me in.
It pulls me west,
to the continuation of life, light.
If I move toward it,
if I suck the gloaming dry of its marrow,
I gain that much more
hope
possibility
potential.
The day is not yet done.
Chopping Potatoes 