A Declaration

Standard

16730535_10207685464485836_7042561046687550896_n

This is a piece I keep coming back to year after year, changing and adding to. I’m getting to the point where I kind of like it now, but who knows, next year I may pick at it again.

Sorry, it’s quite a bit late for the old V.D. I thought I had posted it, but alas, it got stuck in the drafts box.

A DECLARATION

I love you all

Well, okay
Not every single one of you
But….uh you know.

Most of you
Let’s just say
The lion’s share
And leave it at that

Or not

There’s a wee handful of folks that
While I wouldn’t leave them to die in the street
Or throw them into a woodchipper if no one was looking
I might wish for a moment that
I could
Lack compassion and……

But it’s just as well
They are stuck with themselves
What worse punishment could I wish upon them?

So for them,
I will work to give compassion
But not love
Because they aren’t wired that way anyway
And they wouldn’t have the first idea
What to do with love if it curled up in their lap
And started making biscuits

Those born or becoming
Shortly thereafter
Incapable of feeling love
Or empathy
Remorse or gratitude
Mimics
Kabuki Theater played out
In the shallow end of the pool

And while that makes me sad
And sometimes afraid
I won’t waste my love on narcissists
Or psychopaths
Empty children
With incessant appetites

But to the rest of you
I do
Enthusiastically
Give my devotion

I love you all
Even if we haven’t met

Dreamers
Believers
Adventurers

Your bright balloons setting out across the sky

In contrast
The timid
The hopeless

Lovers of falling leaves and moonlit snow

The tender nurturers
The truth seekers
Champions
And guardians

Earthbound angels
Falling through the cracks
Wanderers at will

I can see that not all tricksters are wicked
I can see that mourners are not always sorrowful
I believe that almost all are redeemable

I
Love
You
All

Truly
What’s not to love?

Even if you doubt
Your worth
Challenge me
I will find it

-LM 2015 /2016/2018

Advertisements

Abandoned Ship

Standard

abandoned ship

 

ABANDONED SHIP

I’m not as hollow as I feel
My abandoned shell just off your sandy shore
You mock me with a gentle breeze

Whistling through my rusting plates
Leaving me covetous for the sound
Of life and laughter

Dreams unrequited, memories escape
The integrity of my bones slowly gives way
Falling in upon myself

Emptiness echoes through and down
Lonely passageways once full of light
Becoming a flood of sleeping shadows

A bird occasionally lights
Upon my deck in an animated flurry
To mock me trapped as I am

You wrecked me here
But you won’t take responsibility
Acknowledge all the songs you’ve silenced

And while I slip with time, into the sea
You are within my sight
But too far from the scope of my grasp

Are you afraid
If you took a step closer
My fury would rise up like a wave

Might pull you under with me
And push your bones up to the surface
Exposed, your carcass on parade

You trepidate, the thought of your insides
Stretched out, like some side show fake
Gelatinous sea monster who has lost his venomous sting

Perhaps the enjoyment of the taunt
Has outweighed your concerns
All of your doubts in their nest, little chickens

Clucking to themselves, oblivious
While you play the fox
Sniffing hungrily at the door of your own henhouse

More likely, you are as always
Ambivalent
You don’t know what you want

There is no satisfying conclusion
Standing in the sun, while you feign sitting in the shade
You are not Switzerland when you have an agenda

You can’t decide what leaves you shining
To sink me, to leave me or to try save me
So you just stand there staring from the shore

Gawking at my spreading rust
All my insides floating like an algae bloom
Turning into a suffocating blanket of red

Declaring that you’re helpless
All you can do is look away now
Let things decompose as they do naturally when left alone

LM 2014 – 2018

* A note:

I stumbled across this unfinished piece about a month ago. It’s been sitting open on my desktop begging to be finished. You may notice it has a poem within the poem. That was difficult to hammer out, but sometimes even a free verse poet likes to toy with structure. I actually began this poem several years ago when I was still working through my breakup with The Josh. It was not primarily about him, in fact it was inspired by the photo of a shipwreck.
This is one of those things, that in the old days, I would have posted on Facebook and there would suddenly be a flurry of angry badgers accusing me of it being about something or someone, that it was not. It generally encompasses our experiences of abusive narcissists behavior; spreading destruction and chaos then refusing to take any responsibility and ultimately only being concerned about their image and their needs. This is something many people identify with. It didn’t have to be specific, but I admit, it is ironic and timely. It just isn’t purposefully related to things coming to light, right now that I will probably write about in my personal blog posts.

 

 

 

Inevitable

Standard

26220171_10209890028718564_4222188293337448309_n

Inevitable

If you happen to be walking around your apartment
In clean socks
The odds are high
That you will unwittingly step
On the only
Three square inches
Of carpet
That have been baptized in cat vomit

And there you will stand
For a moment
Stricken and forlorn
One sock dry
Soft and warm
As an oven fresh bun

While the other
Sends a shock
Of cold misery
Slime seeps through
Coating your skin
And you’re twelve, touching fish guts

You will be too tired
To force
An appropriate curse
Past your lips.
But you will probably sigh

Resigned
And repelled
remembering fish guts
Or comparable grossness
With a vague nostalgic cringe

You will slip off your socks
And toss them
In the laundry bag
On your way
To grab a paper towel

And you will wish that cat
Could hand you
A chilled gin martini
Smooth and wet
And with none of the misery

Instead
She will chirp and rub
Against your legs
Like you’re the best thing
That’s happened to her all day

You will sigh
You will scratch her head
Take the paper towel
Scrub the vile spot until
It’s as dry as your one clean sock

Then
You will take
Your roommate’s shirt
And drape it
Over the empty cubby
She can’t resist

Her little nose will poke out
Past the curtain you made

And even though your toes
Are ice cubes
You will melt
From head to foot
Like butter in a hot pan
And forget all about socks

Queery

Standard

*Not my best poem, but I still like it as a wee bit of verse for starting a new year. (also a not so subtle reminder that you need to send me to Scotland)

 

26219276_10209882980022351_1319969629471160847_n

These are the steps at Pedan’s Cove, River Ayr, Scotland.  Click photo for more about this place

Queery

Where do the steps go
I want to know
Do they go down to the water’s edge
Or do they only rise up

Can you tell me
Where do they stop and start
Are they slick and wet
Or dry and sure

So many questions
To pause and to ponder
When I could just climb them
And see

I wonder
Where do the steps go
Shall I go and discover

Would you like to come with me
Or am I on this journey

Alone?

LM 2017

Azul

Standard

There may be more to this someday, but I think I am pretty happy with just four lines.
Blue is generally something I associate more with happiness than depressions.

maxresdefault

AZULE

Are you blue?
The bluest sky I ever knew, and twice as true
I watch the galaxies go by spinning at your feet
I marvel when the stars bend down to kiss your cheek.
-LM

The Holding

Standard
This little paragraph has been sitting around for awhile as you can see. I wrote along with the previous post for something that inevitably I didn’t use it in. Also, like the previous piece, it feels as if it could work in poem format. I’m not sure I am ready to do that though. It could certainly be read with the cadence of a poem so I think I shall mark it as both, for now, And reserve the right to do something else with it one day. I did like the idea.
final_resting_place_by_Miro_Johannes_Deviant_artholistic-d51nequ

Found on Pintrest. I think this is called, Final Resting Place by Miro Johannes


I sit, not silent as the grave, for I am the grave. I am cavernous earth waiting to cradle your flesh, bones and finally your dust. I have lessons for your soul. I have messages from your ancestors and your ancestors’ ancestors! I prepare to listen to the weeping, the remembering and then, the forgetting. I wait to sing you into the great unknowing with the silent music that only angels, oaks and stone markers dance to in their perfect stillness. I sit waiting to hold you. Waiting to bear witness. Waiting to absorb your story into all the stories that have come before.
 
– LM 2013

Waiting to Become

Standard
10646942_10202752987857003_8029534786848570045_n

Photo I took in Caspar, California 11-13-2013

I wrote this piece, initially as prose and it sat around for a bit because I thought I was going to incorporate it into another piece, but ultimately, it didn’t fit. Looking at it now that I am finally posting it, I realized it might work better as a poem. As I wrote it, I was thinking of describing something abstract, not personal, not a relationship. I don’t think I meant to do it, but it definitely holds pieces of a relationship that had me in limbo, one  where the person I was with very good at mimicking being a good listener. They had honesty problems. And perhaps the most painful bit was that they painted a picture of the person they wanted me to be rather than seeing who I was. I ended the relationship around this time, but it kept resurrecting itself. I didn’t truly end for at least another year. Recently, I found out this person, whom I haven’t spoken to in two years, is still making up stories about me. I don’t ever want to feel like this again,

WAITING TO BECOME

You think
That it’s my voice
You’ve been hearing,
But
I am only silence

I am potential

I fill in the cracks with my darkness
Soft as raven’s breath
The deep maw of quiet
Broken and whole

You dream me
Walking and talking
All the while I sit
Invisibly
Perched
On the very tip of your tongue. Continue reading