Nov 27

Short Stories (first chapter)

Hi y'all, I'm working on a collection of short stories here and I'm probably going to be posting them on here for awhile. All of the short stories revolve around a hotel in VT, the stories take place in different people's eyes who are visiting the hotel for various reasons. All of them will encounter a Presence. "A Presence is a bit like a ghost, it is a shapeless, invisible "being", that helps kindred souls. The Presence residing in the hotel calls "herself" Jane. Jane can be felt and heard but not seen. If Jane were to touch you, you might feel a wind-like feeling on your skin, warm or cold depending on her mood." The stories will take place all in one night and into that next day. All will learn the importance of resilience and passion. Hope you enjoy! P.S. if you read this and think you've got a good idea for the title of the book, let me know. PLEASE!

Chapter One: Intro, Jane

Nov 24

Some Sugar

So another man asks me if I'd give him "some sugar",
and I say, "I'm fresh out of 'sugar' but there's a store right down the block,
and hey, why don't you get some palm oil too, you know it would be a win-win,
screw women AND the environment in one blow."
But no... I don't. Instead I bite my tongue and walk away.

And another man asks if I'd give him "some sugar",
and I say, "I don't have any 'sugar', in fact I'm sugar free,
(mostly) vegetarian and gluten free too." but no... I don't.
I swing my body the other way and don't look back.

And so another man asks me if I'd give him "some sugar",
and I almost say, "don't you know? I'm a Vermont girl, all we have is maple syrup.
and don't you know- syrup comes from trees and trees have accompanied
the ground for longer then you have been breathing, longer then your parents
and grandparents are walked this earth. Trees are the roots of peace and justice
Nov 24

To Hold Light (AKA that baby poem I promised you guys)

I have held light, like rain on my chest,
soft breathing, eyes like new birds
stretching their living wings.
Warmth dripping down my heart.
I melted into this light.
Fragile head, too big to support
without a third hand.
Blurry rooms, for both of us.
Tears and simply newness
blinding everything ugly if for only a moment.
To hold light is to love unconditionally the water.
To hold light is to travel the world in a capsule of breath.
To hold light is to love unconditionally the air.
To hold light is to be present with something
so innocent it literally shines.
To hold light is to love unconditionally the fire.
To hold light is to count every passing cloud into notice.
To hold light is to love unconditionally the earth.
To hold light is to feel every ray of sun on your face every second.
To hold light is to love unconditionally the self.
Nov 22

When You Try To Explain Poetry To A Poet

If you try to explain poetry to a poet,
they will snicker and disappear back into their book.
If you try to explain poetry to a poet,
they'll probably say something like,
“Damn, looks like I'm not doing my job right.”
and then you'll say something like,
“it's not a poet's job to teach poetry, just write it.”
and then they'll look at you and say “but isn't it?”.
If you try to explain poetry to a poet,
they'll stop you and inform you that,
“it's all wrong, I don't use a feather quill
or a freaking typewriter, and no I don't carry a dictionary
around wherever I go and I don't like rhyming either”.
And you'll say, “then how the hell can you call yourself a poet?”,
and they'll look at you and say “'cause I play with words like
a child twists Play-Doh, I bend language until I 'm satisfied
with it's rugged shape, I plant the seeds of peace in the soil of hate.
Nov 21

Miracle (in) Winter

Well, it was Tuesday. I think... It was one of those days you didn't check the calender because you didn't care. November is supposed to be snowy, right? I mean, if you live in Vermont... I woke up that morning and everything began like a CD on replay... everyday was exactly the same. Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday etc. I didn't eat breakfast that morning, woke up too late I guess and I was grumpy all afternoon. The whole day was cloudy and it didn't help that god, it was 10 degrees out or that heck, I forgot my coat when we went to town or that whatever, I had a cold so my nose was dripping snot the whole dang time. OK, OK, OK... it was a bad day, I know... except for the end of it.
Nov 19

If God Were A Poet

If God were a poet, the grass would sprout flowers and sing,
if God were a poet, there would be neither hell nor heaven,
if God were a poet, the wolves would howl at every moon, even the hungry ones.

God did not make our problems our problems made God,
an explanation for things we could not explain.
If God were a poet, he would be harder on us, because he knew
that suffering makes you stronger and pain builds you up.

If God were a poet, we would not kill things for our own pleasure and amusement,
if God were a poet, all children would be able to access equal education,
if God were a poet, love would not be confused with hate so often.

God did not create us for nothing, if you believe in God,
you must sometimes wonder, does God believe in you?
If God were a poet, he would've taught love in spite of a world infused
with injustice and put on a pedestal curiosity instead of silence.
Nov 18

They Tell You

They tell you...
don't squirm, don't wriggle, your only allowed to smile and giggle.
Don't scowl, don't frown, all those thoughts bubbling up? make them stay down.
They tell you...
don't cry, don't weep, virginity's not for you to keep.
Don't struggle, don't resist, let men rule with the iron fist.
They tell you...
don't whip tongue, don't be smart, remember your an object, a piece of art.
Don't talk, don't care, no one wants to listen to your prayers.
They tell you...
don't breathe, don't eat, your life is secretly death with reinforced concrete.
Don't exist, don't thrive, stay out at the clubs till it's 12:45.
They tell you...
your worthless, your nothing, shut your big mouth, quit all that fussing.
Your silly, your stupid, but wait don't just stand and
watch your freedoms be executed.
Tell yourself...
your worth it, your special, there's no sense in speaking with that devil.
Nov 08

Essential Oil 4 Small Dreams

Breath is a catapult
for love

You will break
the glassy heart I keep
you in

You give too much
for people who are vessels for death

Become a breathing boat
between an ocean of unbreathing

Broken at the smallest

I am not a phrase
Some are
not me

Some things need bigger vessels
they are not death

Nov 08

Broken Clocks Say "Bring That Girl Home"

The picture frame of her life
is a hut of wooden structure.
Fragile in its ways of humble.
Abstract light washes her face in mo(u)rning.
Hoping like all others to cleanse it of her past.,
so filth might not encounter
her in this next journey.

Miracles do not fall down from the sky,
except for rain and maybe dead birds.
Grass does not grow for nothing,
trees do not bend at will to tell you that you might perhaps steal
pair of shoes for the ones your feet adorn now are of earth's surface.

Homes are not built with impatience.
Only hope and something ten times
stronger which name eludes me.
Still, sun glow races rain clouds across
the new morning bird screams and dew dainties.
Home is something you find pieces of everywhere
and fit together like puzzle cuts.

Homes take time.
They take time you need
and waste it on getting to know your deep sorrows and hurts.
Nov 05

Page Embellish

Briefly, before you close your eyes,
take a moment from the moment box of forgotten items.
listen to your moment, adopt it.
moments need home, we all need homes.
moments breathe inhales and swallow exhales.
sometimes you will forget moments...
try not to, try to embellish moments, make them a hand to hold.
encircle them in your forgiveness.
all can be hurt, but not all can be put back together.
sometimes things will break so badly they can never be found again.
instead, we replace them ignoring the black hole where they used to be.
it's OK to feel ashamed, this is a shameful thing...
moments can hurt you, and you can hurt them. moments are also painful,
sometimes they will spill their misery onto your back,
forcing you to carry a burden you might not wish to uplift...
it is OK not to take this cargo of hurt. your moments can learn to carry their strength.