The Force of Ice

How quickly the surrounding light dims
when they look you in the eye
to vent, at long last,
their hatred of you,
having first paved your way with
lies and degrading sentiments
to all who would listen
and believe,
flinging the froth
of their rabid madness
in every direction,
teaching all who watch them
to adhere to this very treatment
of you
(o nightmare of nightmares,
by which they maul your heart),
their words like ice picks
and old rusty nails
puncturing flesh,
while their hired hand,
with silence and pursed lips,
presumes to judge,
pushing you out
by force of
closing door.

That Feeling of Forever

Love it when a photo draws you in and makes you feel as though you're living in it, sharing in a moment of time on the earth before you were born -- a mind-bending taste of God's ever-present moment, Eternity. 💫

Bare

You wonder about Hell
and live as though it doesn't exist.
I wonder about Heaven
and live without that inspiration.
You judge me as having a faith I do not have
but merely hope for
on the basis of sunrise and sunset,
the ecstasy of shimmering sound,
nature's palette of colors,
and the miracle of life.
You judge me as feeling saved
when in fact I feel lost,
as feeling found when in fact
I feel annihilated.
You judge me as having sets of beliefs in order
like cups and plates in a cupboard,
when in fact I have neither a consistent set of beliefs
nor a cupboard for dishware.

Outside

When it's all going so wrong

there's just no getting it right,

when family of origin feels like it isn't,

there's no homespun recipe

then.

Lilac Perfume

Lilac perfume, with which to dress this day
of crisp cool favoring snow,
but sky's light favoring Spring ...
for Spring, like the scent of lilacs,
can be carried in the heart
and about one's life,
silent song of love.

Frog-Man

An unrecalled man,
a stranger
(perhaps glimpsed in the woods long, long ago
by a little girl)
of unparalled kinetic energy
who, in attack mode,
might have feigned playing "leap frog";
a maniacal man almost recalled
by the little girl, grown,
in a nightmare;
a crazed being -- perhaps Bundy, himself -- who'd invisibly fueled
her old "look all around you" flashback reactions.

When Words Are the Path

They exhort her to move forward this way or that,

but movement requires spark of light and informed inspiration,
without which no direction can appear.
So when they shut down her "how it looks"
and "how it feels" cascades of words
(flow of inner life interpreting surrounding patterns through reflection),
they cut off oxygen to her brain,
bringing her source of survival to a halt --
demanding that she act, any which way,
dumbly.
She knows too well
that burning questions exist because there are answers to be found
in a world created with order and reason,
and that to lose touch with the emerging pattern
is to fall off the path.