Fine Line(s)

my guardian sits ahorse
glam rock Pendragon hybrid
brings down a cascade of violet
velvet curtain
with a wave of lace-drenched hand
the court knows
what can and cannot
happen
with time space sound sight motion stillness
this is how it works:
simultaneous
inside outside
light dark
frontstage backstage
muse merlin
owls ravens
doves starlings
playful & terrifying
imagine my shock
discovering
others
without guardians
inner twins, sparks, smoke, voices, rivers, explosions
dance & silence
twisty
consolations
misty
constellations
risky
co-existence
beast & bird
awaiting moment (')s
howl
...or murmur
(I) learn
when & how to word

Branding

workplace
commits
treason
rejects
accountability
performs
collegiality
badly
needed: integrity
any takers?
start the fire...

Craft

You are holding a small bird carefully in your hands
its heart pounding and fluttering
madly
its flight willingly contained
intuitively
it feels your immense kindness
& restraint it knows
you
a fellow traveler
we sit on a rock & you tell me a story about the bird
how it came to you
how you waited, surrendering
to learning how to be with ...(it)
your burning neither prison nor sanctuary
& when you open your hands the bird pauses before it soars
not only,
but always
at times like these
I feel privileged to know you

The old skipper.... ( almost a year ago...)

I remember when my dad got old enough and nefarious enough to be called "skipper" ... a Newfoundland honorific reserved for the select few heartless, vicious old bastards who outlasted the others... if ever a hard-ass deserved that title, it was my father.. all these shady old characters running into him out and around, saying " how's she goin', skipper", giving him his due, a rank earned of hard knocks, as bad as the worst of them. We've had our battles, the old skipper and me, and we're calmer now...
These 20 years I've been shipwrecked here on the mainland, and my Sunday night telephone calls thankfully anchor me to the Rock; they are my touchstones, my return to my ground. My phone calls... when I hear the old skipper's gruff voice, that same voice that's told a thousand arseholes to go to hell, his gravel voice and harder hands, never needing to be that way at home because we knew what he was capable of on the street, the old skipper.
And we're calmer now...
years later, we all can talk and laugh and when I call my family every Sunday, 8:00 pm Canada time, 9:30 in Newfoundland, we can say we love each other and know what that means...
So, that was some phone call the Sunday after you found me after all these years. My sister and I have been talking on the phone on a few Mondays and Tuesdays since...
She tells me " Mom and Dad are acting...different"
"what are they up to?" I ask
"they've been hugging each other and smiling and talking about you more than usual" she says
I don't know what to say to that. I've been smiling a lot, too. She says " they're celebrating..."
That's OK with me; I'm fine with celebrating this gift...given

So, this past Sunday I was talking to my dad and he says to me," you know, I never stopped prayin' for that little fella "
"I know, Dad," I said " I never stopped, either"
... and it all came washing over me, all the tears we never cried for you, all the words we never spoke about you, all there, terrible and beautiful, and then, my father's voice...
and I knew that in spite of it all, in spite of all the shite we put each other through, all he ever wanted was for me to be happy, and here we are, the old skipper and me, battles over, and still, that's all he wants for me now.
And that's all I want for you.

...almost six months ago...

One night when I was intoxicated
and didn't know it
I walked through a patio door
I was in that stupid frame of mind where
problem-solving was about moving the obstacle
and not wondering about what the obstacle might be

It took weeks to get over my injuries
my broken face and dislocated shoulder
and I never got the chance to apologize to my friends
who probably aren't my friends anymore
if they ever were

My first named emotion was disappointment
exquisitely beige
after years of torment with mad and sad
I can do nuance
lovely repertoires of melt...
annoyed, irritated, frustrated
pleased, satisfied
accomplices
on a mission of sanity
buffers like these staunch the bleeding
and keep the clean-up out of harm's way
without denying the gut
reality of hope

One day when I was mindful
and didn't know it
I drove along a roadway
and noticed the broken remnants of branches
scattered in the grass alongside...
skeletal remains of unyielding to a recent storm
and a willow swaying to a gentle breeze of denouement...
her embrace a heart of softness

It took days to get that moment
into these words
but love is patient
and yielding is the hardest work
of hope and craft

such was not my prayer

Many pray to lose the desire
such was not my prayer
desire being the least of my crimes
it would have been a deceit...
or a worse deceit, a token...
or a worse deceit, the slippery slope of lovespeak

perhaps this affinity for crime was borne
under the watchful gaze of the sistersofmercy
the fluttering ministrations of their bodiless hands and faces
t(w)here I first felt the lash of teacher-care
its lasting impression
one of sharp-edged irony
in spite of their best efforts
neither bitterness nor hopelessness has taken root
I trust the tree
sustaining
sway & creak
branches, barbs & brambles
as delicate
and resilient
as rain

an easy place to make a killing *

voice loosed
hearts pound
women swoon
so glad that's settled

hook shimmering
just up ahead
universe unfolding
as it should

attribution undefendable
abjection unavoidable
attunement epiphenomenal
affinity undeniable

open arms
sadly mistaken
mistakes are oftentimes mistakes
transparency
left for gulls

twilight shivers
tranquility quivers
monkey howls
if you have any poo
fling it now