threading the threads

my mind is a puddle of fluff & fuss

my hands are busy clocks & cords

you tell me, it is not complicated-

it is either this way or that way

this way is to walk with the cat

or that way is go inside the room and wear 

tall crown I made, a Queen's golden crown

or a joker's cone cap

and if I choose a joker's cone cap,

is it going to make me laugh to oblivion

because I know my indecision of things

can really get in the way - see the empty 

table?   you tell me - easy,

walk with the cat, as if it is 

really a quiet walk on the path, out  

out of this churning madness of choices

in my head, a nest of noisy birds

waiting for mother's treat & ultimate goal-

freedom

[walking out & away with the cat]

in my dreamscape, I am a white horse 

bolting out of the frame, towards the moon

but my feet are rooted in threads, deep in silos-

where and when (things past)

Gertrude Abercrombie:  Where or When (Things Past), 1948, Collection of the Madison Museum of Contemporary Art

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - OpenLinkNight - Join us when the pub doors open at 3pm EST.

Choices

 

i close the door

& walk out of the building

& wait 

this can be a beginning

or an ending

or maybe a middle muddled situation

or a detour 

my feet & lungs are anxious

to know of my decision

there are many choices

but by now,

i write my story on sands

and journal my walks on origami paper

these are not set on stones

but built on windy re-takes and mid-

night revisions 

for every decision - this is 

which comes with one big exhale of relief

there is hundred fold sharpness of - this is not

but here is tricky part

you learn to live with this over time

-the fullness & emptiness of it-

& if you are lucky,

you will have your 2nd or 10th time around

the time carousel

and this time, you can make <another> choice-

-witness the first sunrise or sunset- 

with the eyes of a child

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub:   Poetics : Choice by guest host, Christopher Reilley.   Join us when the pub doors open at 3 pm EST.

Having a lark while chasing a dream

Credit:   Andre Ermolaev

The others wagered
    that is a mistake

With a flint of steel
   she said No, I had enough

After a decade of numbers
   & files of business meetings-

This feels right & good
   My mistake will be not to give this a chance-

So she took a one-way ticket
    out of city with a single luggage

There are rivers, mellowed safe      
    from childhood

And there is a river that you
    choose over others

It surges
    twisting deeply
                    you fight 
                    to keep it moving

As it flows to an uncertain distant point-
    size of pinhead or crest of mountain top

Ideas leap in your head
    A jar of fireflies, a box of yellow daisies

Some days, you catch light-patterns shifting
    glowing new, a world only lovers see

Sometimes, you see nothing but sands
    & weight of stillness is deafening

Over a bottle of cheap wine
   in a rented motel room, that night

On a lark, you draw 
    monkeys fallin
                          g    from  t r      
                                              e e                  
                                                    s*  


Posted for D'verse Poets Pub -  Poetics:  Even Monkeys Fall from Trees* - With guest host, CC ~  Thanks for the visit ~