Chamber for metamorphosis
cells, toes, body, mind
meld, breathe, grow within
seek and find
passage to the world.
Cord nurtured life
cut, but not.
Tether stretches,
sometimes taunt
always there.
Fingers clasp, spirit touches
eyes smile, seek and find.
You were the beginning.
You are the constant star
an infinite circle of love.
Magic shoes! Shiny black with big looped bows
slabs of silver metal screwed on soles.
Best gift ever, when I was oh so young.
And oh how I remember…..
NOISE.
PURE NOISE!!!
Swing a leg. Stomp, march, slap, clang!!
Body all feet. ALL SOUNDS.
EVEN WHen i tiptoed.
Add lessons, Tuesdays at ten.
To learn.
Teacher teaches,
directs, muzzles.
Shu-ffle, shu-ffle.
Shu- no, NO, NO!
SHHHH!!!
Like-this.
Con-trol the-swing,
shor-ter. NOT so big.
Shu-ffle, shu-ffle.
One-two, one-two.
Slow-down. Con-trol the-sound.
Com-press your-space.
And there I was, in the mirrored wall,
shrinking. Like putting reins on little feet.
Learning to be small
while growing big.
Learning to fit in.
I was an Avon lady, in my very early days.
A diehard fan of the Bard that summer,
I fancied myself a Stratford woman.
Today? Well today, here I am.
Lounging in the sun, thirsty and hot
my blue rays turn them green
as I grab a dr. pepper,
antidote to drowsiness.
Stride-rite? But I lean left,
and still seek neverland.
I’ll choose to fly by Wendy’s
every time.
Kate spade dares my counter clubs
and I grimace as victoria’s secret
busts out everywhere.
Target? Not on my back.
The grammatically incorrect hermes
competes with christian dior.
Amen I say to that,
eyes wide shut.
I feel your pain,
branding seared into our hides.
She sits on a faded brocade chair
brown age spots and blue veins
eyes clouded by cataracts
lace curtain pulled back.
Her house is on a cul de sac,
last one on the end curve.
Yard swings, long quiet
moved wistfully in summer winds
now shrouded in new-fallen snow.
Nearby holiday displays
draw a slow parade of cars
like moths drawn to light.
Cold drive-by strangers
slip past the lone dark house.
Her solitary reading lamp
turned off at seven
A Christmas Carol splayed open
on the wood planked floor.
rain
torrents of rain
petals fall
fruit drops
worms appear
on cracked sidewalks
you turn and walk away
my heart drowns
in rivulets of despair
Tall brown spikes on green stalks.
Herd plants, unlike their namesake
stand together, day after day.
Under hot sun, wind and occasional hail
bake into velvet texture
slowly stretch until they burst.
Brown-flecked white fluff stands on end
like the cat, suddenly shocked
sensing threat nearby.
A thresher looms its blades
and they scatter in the wind
seeding their next generation.
Among the quiet
full bloomed beauty seen by all
blushes tints of pink.
Through tiers of life
your spirit
my muse
always.
In response to the Daily Post Weekly Photo Challenge: what (or who) is your Muse?
Consumed by work
pinstripe suit sits hunched
fingers click print, delete
legs walk then fold
break time
crystal vase of carnations
on white draped table
lips sip wine, talk at and smile
phone alarm chimes
legs cross the avenue
and return to work.
Consumed with work
hard hats firmly planted
hands pound, lug, drill
bodies climb, squat, and reach
break time
blue lunch bucket snaps shut
legs dangle from ibeam ledge
mouth gulps thermos coffee
foreman shouts warning
legs stand tall
and return to work.
She stood at the crossroads of dusk
mourning smile upon her lips,
and slowly stepped across.
lillian the home poet 