plantains and puntang

i have been suckered back into
what was my self once
long ago
when i felt the speakers
pumping good vibes through my veins
and my body capitulated accordingly

i am still sending out smoke signals
still in love with the night
i thought i had lost
still empowered to take numbers
and send them in single file...
but i won't...
can't go there
not yet when the world is so wicked
and i am trying to be ever so good
and a new one woos me with fried plantains
but the taste of my once love still lingers in the air

and on my tongue
i have officially been wowed into silence
where i wait while my heart beats ever louder than
before
and am sure i have made a mistake
before i ever have made a move

and the mystic in me smiles
and curses my libido back to reality...
really
i can survive with much less.

wicked wanderland

am somewhere searching for a hidden meaning
looking out at the urbanity of my life
wishing only for treetops and clearwater
licking icecream on sunshine staircases
journeys to everywhere and then some...
would like to keep up romance
tho it seems too indefinate a must for right now
and i am helplessly lost in each moment
watching the days fly as they so often do
going on four years to nowhere
in abundance of friends and food
lacking time or enough reason and rest
to make the decisions count for...
myself and mon beau are secretly mistified and lovelost
we keep weeping dryly toward a posthumous relationship
which we will never keep up with and not lose our own selves in
Oh how the dark ones do taunt me
and make me long for sojourn and sobriety
and sugar in this here bowl...
alas i have naught for now
as my love reaches ever farther away
whilst we continue holding on to eachother's fingers...
and sucking on our toes
and heaven only knows what this future me holds
but the tease is in me,
and i haven't yet told it to sit down and shut up.

journey down south

Dust devils and delapidation dot this california countryside
where the ground thirsts and moans
as the sky opens up to beat the sun on down
This need for chopped wood and random irrigation,
power lines crisscrossing like umbilical cords,
connecting these less-than-zen szborra
with their abilities to move their god-grown goods.
Waste piles around the salvage lots and fruit packing plants
where the ugliness of mechanism and transport
interrupt my natural appreciations.
Filing past land that looks long worn,
acres well marked and marred for their plantings,
debris and old cars line the hwys where people drive past
to somewhere without looking;
Ugliness the omni-present byproduct of
commerce running wholy amuck with our ecosystem.
This is not the farmland i remember as a child.
There i could go entire days without seeing cars move
and could truthfully commune with the trees and the fauna
who were my only line of sight,
my friends the blissful foresters.
Instead, the industrial wasteland of Fresno,
a once-fine farmer's hellhole,
is where the old homes and monstrous buildings crowd around
like unpersonified overlords of the crops they are eagerly displacing.

ugh and goodnight...postponed

trying and failing for positive reinforcement weighing heavily on mind
this need to regroup and refocus
but to be touched and to communicate my femininity
watching the moon as it slowly turns to full
faces me from these windy empty skies where i am staring in wonderment
at the abandoned reality i once held so dear
from my treepost i sit ready to attack my aggression
and tackle my fits of needy time
i try and fail again to read the book he blessed me with
and swim the laps i promised myself
instead i sink thru the quicksand of denial and depression
call out to any passersby to save me from my own exhausted wandering
wondering still where i am and how i got here
too tired really to go out looking for anything else
too scared to really face that empty bed and go it alone
too aware of my own ineffective transparency
too thin-skinned and beguiled by the light of day
far too long having eaten and bathed with only his blessing
feeling shell-shocked and worn down no good to no one anymore...
but praying still that i can be good for myself

forest universe

Too many of the good things end

I watch and learn the freying tides

hoping to jump ship at the right moment

believing only that all moments are right

if you have warm water around you

The silence of my once heart beats against the sound

of my tears falling

pooling in prisms within my memories

The silence of my classroom echoes back

against my mind's wish to turn back time's hands

and make so many more of these fine things and memories

I am still the wanton hunter

seeking refuge in the treeposts

looking out for a fine young buck... so to speak

of Primal and hungry for more of the same...

But with keener points

and stronger sinuea

meatier man to chew some fat with

or , at least , a more predictable field guide

through this forest universe

licking the wounds so that they heal

i am an aunt again... to a little light in the world named Sonia
who came into this world while her mother
bared down and breathed hard
her mother, my lovely friend who reminds me
of the woman i choose to be
who lives cautiously inside me
the woman i almost am
hers, whose hands give signs of peace and love
a visible love, tangible and almost breathable love....
something that i would love to have
a love that caresses me warmly in the nighttime and whispers sweet nothings to me and actual "i love you's"
wants to persuade my better judgement and make me swelter from the pure delight of it.... is it possible then?
Little Sonia says it is,
she cries "mama mia" and dreams of sucking while she sleeps... she dreams anyway, for her name is reminiscent of "sonio" or "sonyo"... to sleep, perchance to DREAM.

and here is where my heart lies

With these bits of clay and glass so earthen, and animal... they almost call out loud to me.

they struggled into their journey, sure as i did, continue to do so...
And i am blessed to have such lovely things with which to occupy my broken soul To heal me up and make me (almost) whole

Got revived again

the baby who almost came to be within me,

a share little someone, who i prayed and prayed to let go of, whose face i saw in many a dreamy moment, whose skin would have smelled a bit of the blue mediterranian, even if his skin were white as mine...

and the universe opened up the day that God saw fit to have him wait for another moment, in which to be alive... The sun shone ever brighter, and the air breathed oh so easier. And now i live in wonder and i heal and heal some more....

and one day i will be whole
and one day
i will be whole

and one day

i will be whole

and one day i will be whole

and one day i will be whole

and one day i will be whole
and one day i will be whole

and one day i will be whole

recovering chitown and lions

the descent into chicago
came so long after the new year
even the chinese had celebrated
with dragons and fire cracked before then

and patti griffin sang
at the wonderful warfield
melodies ensconced in turmoil
and conditioning to a better mindset

i spoke with Livia
of the north brazilian ever summer
about medicine and politics
green energy, and metaphisics, and
of all things, scrapbooking

i retreated with the folks who pay all of my bills
about business ethics and policy
( as exciting as it sounds )
had damn good meals
Avec my sweet surprise
and time for myself
almost
and welcomed the return home
more than ever,
while it poured down around us
on the tarmack awaiting liftoff
( connecting in LA is a bitch
if you want something other than McD's for dinner
and when you're surrounded by twenty people
all waiting for the seat you hope for
everybody waiting for the same reasons
or for lack of a better idea )

SPRING is now upon us
and time rolled forward yet again
i am checking off my list so slowly

refinement comes with each passing day
my little lion cub made it through the fire safely

and he's no worse for the ware

in fact, he and all of his fine friends made of the earth will one day find cozy homes in appreciative hands and i hope they serve as only the beginning of a mastery over the challenge to mold life from clay and infuse it with my fusion of energy and spitfire; elbow grease & gen mai breakfast breaks. this is only the beginning of the centering of my long wandering soul. these small fragments of me take the precident of my heart and mind these days, and while nothing else suffers for it, long live my days as a ceramicist! Cheers to spring and the long days of summer that so soon lie ahead.

ps: my japanese maple has been reawakened and the little leaves sprouting are a sure reason to rejoice, two years and still kickin'... my jasmine strands winding melancholy through the deck rails all show many blossoms, fragrent and freshly alive to the moonlight.. it is a reminder of the house of Sir Frances, which Tess will remember well, awash in a wall of jasmine overlooking the heart of SF. This is where i left my heart too.. except i haven't left yet. Perhaps i never will, but that seems unlikely.