m o r n i n g  s t a r


i toss and turn from a fitful sleep
and snores coming from the other side of the bed

i lay thinking of dreams and sleep and things i need to do
and haven't done.

things i've said and didn't say and things i should've said
and things i regret i said.
and did.

regret is what causes gnashing of teeth.
anxiety and sorrow and guilt all rolled into one,

whether it be eating a sweet that will make your tummy ache
or something worse like-
an attitude that makes your heart bitter
or worse;
your pathetic apathy that comes into full view in the night, 
like marley's ghost.

i was going to pray today.
i was going to study today.
i was going to call today.
i was going to stop that today.

the anguish, like a laurel wreath, surrounds my mind
my chest, my hands and feet,
tightening with the ever present grip of the days' deceiving pride.

i attempt in this dark smothering solitude,
     between the sounds of the old refrigerator humming
     and the human steamship next to me,
                              
to repent.

a song comes into my mind over and over and over again. . .
is it jumping jack flash?!

i can't take it anymore!
i groan and throw back the covers of safety and warmth
that tangle me,
and i look out into the cold. black. sky.

and  there  you  are.

in all your innocence and purity,
shining with hope
and mercy for
a brand new day-

and another try.

passage

youth's precocious spontaneity

rushes with fearless joy into

adult severity.

rivalries become serious

speculations produce suspicion

skeptical of sincerity

trudging into middleage desperation

facing weariness of effort

 until at last

 we give up to age.

 and there in lies 

 rest

 hope

 humor

 and a quiet grace

 waiting with open arms to comfort the young.

twitch

soft velour couch faces north

direct view of  the

screen door, porch, petunias,

tomato plant, fence, field

forest, mountain, sky

there's a numbness in my jaw

and my pants are too tight.

my shoes are half on as if i'm going to

go

morning chill is still clinging to my arms

while the sun pours golden through the coleus on the sill.

little rainbows dance on the floor

to a scented breeze

moves the prism in the window.

what is that smell?

grass and roses, flox and marigolds

lavender and beebalm

mingling with the chattering of sparrows.

love is a high. love is a blanket.

love is a knife. love is death.

love is light. love is long dark nights

waiting waiting waiting.

what cannot be shaken?

who's who?

i saw a vulture in the field today.
he walked with a limp.
i could hear him thinking
'i'm a loner and i get all this bovine afterbirth for myself'

my friend came over today.
her sister took all her mother's antiques
and kept them for herself.
her sister must walk with a limp.

the Mercy Seat

i real-ized something this morning!

when i pray, i say 'Lord, your will be done" but
without knowing it, i'm trying to come up with an answer for the person i'm praying for.

unintentionally, i try to assess their situation and when i can't come up with an answer,
i 'give it to the Lord.'

meanwhile, back at the ranch,
i'm still judging who i'm praying for!

i am nOt coming in all humility.

i look at their sins and see what they should and shouldn't
be doing
or saying
or how they are living.

i'm not laying my life down.

now, i don't verbalize all of this while i pray.
i've not even been conscious of it,
until this morning.

the Lord lives in me.
He dwells on the mercy seat of my heart.
but do i acknowledge Him there?

 i seem to be able to stay outside the Holy of Holies,
avoiding the fear and trembling and humility,
by leaning on my own understanding and experience.

i grieve, i cry, i beg for mercy for those i love,
but am i dying for them?

'no greater gift , than that we lay our life down for a friend'

can i get myself out of the way long enough to truly
bring them to the feet of Christ in all humility?

can i,
will i ,
do i ,
say "Lord, but for your grace O God, go i ?"

the truth is,
i am nO better off than aNyone.
the LORD is my righteousness,
but how easily i  fall into my own
web of pride and self righteousness and self-deception.

please,
forgive me.

            james 2:13 ~ Mercy Triumphs  Over Judgement !

happy birthday cindy belle

colorful orbs dance along the ceiling

above streams of salty crepe.

wraps and greetings a-glitter

confettii

crystal pond of fruity sweetness

icy fish and flowers swim

cups and chairs and dolls with lacy

undergarments

shiny shoes, curled hair

coloring books and crayons

blowing bubbles and

paper tubes that go

weeeeeeeeee

soft white cake

buttery pink frosting

tiny flame tipped candles

ribbons of smoke disappearing like

the years

my favorite pet

i was raised and lived

in the midwest

as a child

the nights were hot and sticky

my little sisters and i

stayed out late

past the mosquitos

when the cool came into

the backyard

and the lightning bugs would lift

from their underground dens

magically throbbing

yellow glows of love

all through the night air.

with a peanut butter jar we'd run

and jump and catch them

in our pudgy bare feet

we pulled fragrant grass with our little fists

for our new found pets

to make them feel at home

in their  glass houses.

when we caught 4 or 5 or 6 of them

we would sit

on  warm concrete steps

of the stoop

and watch

as they filled the jar with light

and crawled desperately

over the grass

and each other

their wee red heads and

gray striped wings whirring

their little legs trying

to climb the slippery glass

our cold sweaty hands

held over the top

feeling the tickle of their

great attempts to escape

with a piece of granite and a nail

holes would be punched into

the jar's lid

and screwed on tight

for the night

time for bed

in the morning

they were dead

the first time

i cried

but then

 i got used to it.

billy and earl

billy bluejay stellar

and earl squirrel brown

lived in murphy's walnut trees

far above the ground

earl was a workaholic,

gathering night and day

while billy was a lazy cuss 

stealing where he may

                                                              earl squirrel found each nut

and buried them for later

but jay would follow, dig them up

and take them,  leaving craters

jay'd drop the nuts from way  up high

and listen to them crack!
then fly down to the open nut
 and eat them with a grrack!         chkchkchkchkchkchkchk.

                                                      earl squirrel ran in the road

(poor thing was such a clutz)
he died that day and mean old jay

cried 'blast! i'm outta nuts!"

i wish i could fly . . .

           



        

  i miss my mom

w i n d 's s t o r m

i felt a rush in my head as

the barometric pressure

dropped rapidly.

it'd been warm for a few days in

 february.

the groundhog month.

the shortest month.

the love month.

the month of betrayal.

every february i am beguiled

as her cold grey churlish character turns docile and

sunny days move through

beckoning  me to clean garden beds,

plumping buds and forcing bulbs to emerge

from the comfort of their sleepy little burrows.

the  siren song of a warm friendly south wind

changed the tune of the chimes hangin on my porch.

and with rake in one hand and trowel in the other

i stand fighting my urge to make plans,

and get busy.

until this day,

again this day

when february laughs at me,

turns round once more and with a playful BITE

comes rushing back from the
West NorthWest

crashing into the warm south visitor
and pushes 'er OUT!

i heard her comin.

it was dusk when i heard her

blustering through the cedars,

whipping rain and snow in furious spits.

as we went to bed that evening, i opened the sash just a whisp

to hear her moan and whistle as she blasted by

slapping the tin on the roof of the barn

clangin all the chimes and threatening

to push down a tree or knock out the electricity

i snuggled under the down and smiled.

she didn't get me. 

nope.

i got a lot done while she was gone, and now i need a nice little break

to plan for the real spring

comin right behind her.

mulch

yesterday was a perfect  day for working outside. the sky was blue, the breeze was very light, and the robins were doing their canned laughter imitations.

i had had a wonderful valentines day and aside from the flowers and chocolate, he gave me a yard of fine bark mulch.
***the perfect thing for a serious case of spring fever.

so after we had eaten our morning oats (which i hate, but he loves, so i eat them) and i had made his everyday lunch and got him out the door to work, i got on my mudders and florescent green gloves and headed out to the utility trailer where the steaming mulch huddled from the frost.

retrieving the wheel barrow, shovels, rake and broom, i began scooping up the rich black mulch and wheeling it over to blanket my naked gardens. ahhh. it felt so good to use muscles that had been left to sleep, while crochet muscles took over for the winter. it felt so good to feel the fresh air, fart out loud, wipe my nose on my sleeve and feel my hat fall down around my eyes.
the mulch was damp and because there was barely a breeze, it went onto the beds with ease.
every now and then i'd take a break and look into the sky, get the binoculars and check out the neighbors, and let the chickens out who were tangoing by the gate.
they love being free like me.

i had hung sheets on the line and they were so crisp and fragrant!
and after a nice long day in the sun and with aching musckles, i climbed into our bed with sweet memories and the feeling of a job well done.
i slept like a log.

i resolve

i resolve to revolve in revolution to my resolution by

reconstructing reconciliations with reassuring realizations of regenerated redemption.

i am resigned to a reformed refined reflective regiment to rehabilitate, renovate, and repudiate 

the restrictive  result of retentive and repressing replenishment remisses.

with reflux reducing redundancy, i shall refrain rebellious reaction, and republish  reasonable recommpense

with recollections of  recipes recommended to reconcile this receptacle with it's rectum.

if i should regress regretfully and return like a retriever to  it's regurgitation,  i will retaliate with reticence against this recidivism and

refuse to reverberate or revivify the resonance of this resolution, regardless. . .

until
next monday