Wednesday, December 17, 2008

Dead Poet's Society

Monday, December 1, 2008


beyond the predicted growing season
she remains
tall, elegant, reaching
this Annual absorbs
exposing her intrinsic value and the evidence of life coursing through her bared veins
and whom should now be preparing her exit citing the impending, forecasted frosts

but this earth she landed in is unfamiliar to her
full of promise, unaware of expirations or ritual turnings
she acknowledges the uncharted demarcation line
separating her ‘before’ becoming~ and her ‘after’

some lines aren’t as easily recognized
blurring, still blending
so she struggles from this limited viewpoint
wondering where to rest among the remains of them
knowing, naturally, that others took hold in this select soil before her
quietly, rising above, she refrains from judgment
or weepings, as obvious as the willow

she finds it hard to avoid witnessing this final dance of theirs
exposed tendrils, evidence of another gathering
pretending not to notice
the still shared rhythms, synchronized remarkings
phrases she believed unique to him
and, not unaware of this common ground that they shared
her form still embedded in places familiar
now laying claim to items she’d forgotten, or perhaps surrendered, in his presence alone
but deemed of value amongst new beginnings and widening circles
and what of this Annual
only beginning to extend her roots to depths secure?
she remains
embracing the shifting winds encircling her
her resolve deepened
poised for the moment when she becomes an established perennial
purposely remaining planted…


a message to my mother

a message to my mother
in her native tongue

her vessel received
but longings chased deeper
where angst and ritual fears conformed now
the length of her stretching limbs

familiar, too, as the rehearsed holding pattern of her soul
knowing she could solo, to where partnered cups runneth over
escaping ghosts of endings Grimm
if she only could see where to land
instead of waiting for the impact

by lmks, 11/03/04, in the 2 something a.m.

It's Personal

If you're looking for Dr. Seuss, limericks or even haiku, then you'll probably be disappointed. These writings are about what I know to be true. While life near the bottom was... trying, lonely, ironic... it was purged by these writings that have led me back to the surface. And I'll be ever grateful for the journey.