Hazel

for years I simply couldn't see

the colour of hybridity

and, close at hand, the greenest eye

as elemental as a sigh....

Sweet pendulum of rise and fall

responded to the silent call

of amber's strange familiar glow

relying on my heart to know

this grove of wild affinity

both wrecking ball and harmony

this tender ambiguity 

of 

hazel

....the pedigree of honey

a good thief needs a good plan

especially
when 

thieving is the difference

between

food & clothing

or
hungry & cold

a good thief needs a good conscience
so utterly convinced of the justice
of
necessity
she can , without guile or shame, load a space - heater and a mini -fridge
into
a
shopping cart
and, with an industriousness bordering on sincerity,
push that cart
past the checkouts
through
silent
sliding
doors

a good thief needs a good memory
so she doesn't arrive at meetings, conversations
or
work
wearing clothes that other people don't realize they have
lost

a good thief needs a good story

because 

every day life 

is
often

not 

believable

Solstice

.... on the other side of longest night
I wish you all
the gift of deep intimacy
the contentment of a heart at peace with itself
the sweetness of one's own solitude
the joy of friends and colleagues, renegades and rogues, poets and story-tellers

all the best of whatever season you celebrate
thank you for the blessings of your creative energies

Is there anything more absurd.....

November ended with definite rain, heavy enough to sound like slap, feel like lash...
that was the morning of that day, slap & lash, wet, but still preferable to the human versions...
of slap and lash, that is

then, the day itself, beautiful work and raw hope, embarrassing in their earnest intensity
buttressed against bureaucracy & habit, desperate not to succumb
wondering if triumph is nothing but a carrot or maybe a lemon
make lemonade,
there's a noble venture
exhausted, treading water end of day, almost dark a red dusk sky stopped me in my tracks
in the middle of the parking lot, tranquil pink pouring stark and lovely over tree silhouettes
so calm, I am present for my breath
I see it become part of the twilight
remembering a saying about  red sky at night

November. The most bipolar month so far. Not its fault. Warm & cold;
wet & dry;
grass & gravel
wired & tired
cheerful & jaded
sick & tired
good intentions no excuses
nothing but excuses,  rationalizations, really... & deceit
supposedly all that distinguishes humans from animals
there's a noble venture
just admit being swamped even though there's no good reason
as if some awesome judge is taking account of the good reasons
oh, wait,  I guess I'm the judge, the committee in my head, whoa...
pride, my old nemesis, is that it?? But it's not
not the same as in the before time
I've got no trouble owning the darkness
saying I don't know how to do that, help me. My mistakes no longer make me small...
so, WTF with treading water, who's in charge of water, damn, it's me
overcommitted
again
haven't written from my heart in weeks for myself for others who care enough to read
haven't read from others' hearts in weeks for myself for others who care enough to write
yeah, yeah, I know, no sense of obligation, I get it...
but I want to be haunted by what matters
there's a noble venture

sickness asserts itself
something I cannot get over
days pass
puking, urging, shitting, groaning, staggering, stinking, shivering, sweating, pathetic
huddled, sipping screaming hot herbal tea,
savoring cold orange juice & water, as if I had never tasted it before...
soothed by time & gravity
I yield. There's a noble venture.
I move into December, feeling the pull of the long night, realizing that I'm longing for it...
longing for it

thanks to forethought, fore-ordained plans
I head North, where clean cold awaits. I know this cold
delightful
necessarily unhurried
waiting,  I notice simple, silly things
is there anything more absurd than a pigeon running away from a bus?
I feel something give inside
I yield.