Love’s Longing

Today is the anniversary
Of my non-existence.

I yearn today
for the life I should have had,
Though some days I forget.

I forget who I am

And why I was stolen.

Other days I laugh
At the absurdity of their
Machiavellian natures.

Self-aggrandizing,
Bored to treachery.

Tears? Those are mine.

At least they were
At one time,
Back when I could cry –

When I thought tears were of any use at all.

Most days, though,
I yearn for what exists:
The life I’ve given to this world,

And the love I have, never ending, to give.

Some days I think
“I love”,
Then I wonder what,
Exactly,
Is it that I love?

I don’t know, really.
I just love.

I love.

I am love.

My name is Love,

Or so I was told
Once,
By a man unseen by most.

“Tell them your name is love,” he smiled.

Oh what a prankster is my father
Who gave me life
So that I could love.

Elements of a Moment

Motionless, like a painting broken
By a wren’s panic,
The wind watches
And waits

For the Earth to flutter somewhere.

It always does
Flutter
On its wobbling spin through space
And time.

Its fire within, alive
Like us,
Alive.
Devouring itself

As we devour its fare.

Oceans rise and fall
While my teacup sits
Still as the wind.

Grocery Shopping

Which of these
Juices
Is the best?

I ask my pendulum to decide

Swinging it in a circle
Until it triangulates
To the perfect choice.

And it always chooses perfectly.

So many choices
Too little time
Precious few dollars

To waste on the wrong product.

I feel their energies
The people
Wondering

What is that thing she’s playing with?

So, I wait
Ignoring them
Until they’re gone.

Sometimes they ask, and I explain.

I’m psychic.
I use this to make
Simple decisions.

Because I always want the best product.

God will know
The very best,
So, I ask.

 

Finding James

“Where’s James?” They ask.
Every day, at least once,
“Do you know where James went?”
Invades my thought process.

I sit next to him.
James, that is,
In a cramped space
Once housing dinosaurs.

Old copy machines
Generating too much heat
For two
Side by side vents.

One directly over my head.
“Can you tell James I need him?”

“Are you kidding me?” I think,
“Of course,” I smile.
I am a woman, after all,

Sitting in the first desk from the door.

James, the IT guy,
Occupies the back cube.
A managerial impression
That has me viewed

As his God Damned Secretary!

I promptly forget
And move on with thoughts
Of what x and y
Max out to in the scheme of things.

“Have you seen James today?”

FUUUUUCK!
After six months here
Is it not obvious?
I don’t do James!

The Night is For Sleeping

The night is for sleeping,
Yet I lay awake
Sometimes
In the wee hours

Thinking

I must sleep
And wish otherwise.
Not enough time
To sleep at night.

Dear America

Dear America,

You are still beautiful.
Never forget your beauty
Or the glory that once was
in the days when leadership led.

And though we are under seige
By criminals who would fleece us
Of our shirts and our shores,
We can toss out their stupidity.

Let us not be divided,
And thus conquered by their memes.
Let us be as one people
Recalling delinquents in our halls.

Rally, America!
Behind the poor and mediocre
So they, too, can live under roofs
And eat the vegetables.

Together, we can all live.
Love,
Love

On a Mission

That’s me!

Marching
Next to my Lord
The great bear.

He takes on many imaginings

Power!
Larger than life
Itself

My mother walks ahead

Oh, she was
A fox
Indeed!

A thing of rare beauty.

Our mission
Us three
Though I alone am seen

Is beyond all reckoning.

He knows
My dear great
Bear of a savior.

I am just the instrument.

Work in Slow Progress

I have not
The most welcome
Home.

No, it is quite the mess.

Old clothes
Welcome home
My guests

Uninvited most times.

Just a few
More weekends
Welcome

Home this trash of mine

I must
Have a place
To unwind

I sit with a glass of wine

My Rare Wild Feline

She came from the forest.
I don’t know how long she sat
At the edge of my camp,
Staring at me as I wrote in the near dark of dusk.

My computer lit my face.
Must have looked so strange
To a wild cat.

I felt her gaze,
Apparently,
As one feels any creature’s gaze,
Like one soul saying to another,
“Hello”.

We stared
In silence
At one another.

She had the face of a lynx.
Tufted ears,
Relaxed,
Not alert
Not on the hunt.

Then,
Slowly,
She
Crept

Caution.

What was this
strange
new
creature?

Just a head and shoulders lit up.
Floating in mid air.

She stopped,
then crept,
then stopped again.

“is that bird or beast?” she thought.
“Edible?”

My camera lay out of reach
on the picnic table
As I sat
on my phone.

Slowly she crept
Closer

Just as slowly,
I moved
To retrieve my phone.

She was large for a lynx,
with a long, fox like tail
tipped in black.

Her two white front paws
a stark contrast to the mottled orange
her primary colors.

I realized a week later
she was a hybrid
the size of a small mountain lion
obvious lynx heritage.

For some reason I wasn’t afraid.
I was mesmerized,
and so was she.

As if we were old friends,
she laid down in front of my campfire,
licked her paws,
swished her tail
like any old house cat in the company of love

Finally, I had my phone in hand.

Should I raise it up
photograph this amazing moment,
Or enjoy her company
Silent until she must go?

As with any tourist,
I had to get a picture,
and that,
of course,
offended her.

She rose and slowly walked away.

I managed to snap
a handful of shots
as she melted back
into the edge of the Sierra forest.

I will never forget her.

Tricky Dick

Just four years old, I was.
A toddler, still, but a talkative one.

The year was 1963.
A day in history
None would soon forget.

His name was Richard.
A man of many years
And much power,
Apparently.

There was a party at my house –
One that celebrated
The pending death
Of a man.

Richard was jealous
Of the man.

He wanted his job.

I said, “let’s take turns.”
And
To make a long story short,
He slapped me for saying it.
Because girls can’t have jobs.

Then another man said
“Richard, she’s just a kid.”

To which he replied:
“Don’t use my name.”

He turned, looked straight at me
As I cried.
My face stinging and red,
Tears not dried.

“She’s smart. She’ll remember.”

Years later, Richard went down
In tricky flames. Poor Richard.

I’m more than just smart.

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