When I first watched The Exorcist, I had to call my sister and keep her on the phone as we each watched from our own house. Later, I put the receiver on the pillow beside me and we stayed connected until I fell asleep. I was in college!!!
The old and unrested return to their beds,
propping their pillows under their heads.
Pulling their blankets up to their ears,
they let up on the gas and go into low gears.
Setting their brandies or porters or gins
on their bedside tables, they settle their chins
upon their chests and watch some TV
on laptops that sit where their boobs used to be.
Life is confusing when you are too near it,
especially ’cause it is so damn hard to hear it.
Then when you’re alone, it’s entirely too loud.
These neighborhood noises should not be allowed!
They turn up the volume to drown out the noise
of the car alarms, weed eaters and screaming boys.
They lie all morning, secure in their beds.
Life is much easier lived in their heads!
Swimming in the Rainy Season
To the end of the pool and back again,
I love swimming in the rain.
The economy of it is such
that though you’re wet two times as much,
it’s clear as day to sage or dunce—
you only have to dry off once!
This poem is so perfect for Matt’s prompt today that I have to run it again.
The Daily Inkling prompt is to choose what song I’d listen to if I could listen to one song before a plane I’m flying in crashes. I think it would be Janis Joplin singing Bobby McGee! Why not go out in style??????
Morning Head Shots
Picture a woman sleeping, words wrapped close around as sheets.
Syllables slipping to the floor, loosed from their midnight feats.
A whole new world evolving as she’s lost away in dream.
All those single actions spilling from the seam
of those reveries she’s wrapped in, meaning more than what they mean.
Picture eyelids opening as light begins to dawn.
See the eyelids close again, her stretching and her yawn.
See the dreams she’s had all night pulled to consciousness–
all tightly wrapped, but wriggling themselves free from all the mess
of what they’ve been bound up in to become what she’ll confess.
See the words all rising from the place where they’ve been sleeping.
See her brow remembering bits it struggles now at keeping.
See her form a paper sheet into a little sack
and use her pen to prod the words back into a pack,
sparring with belligerent phrases that fight back.
See her herding each into its place with little nudges,
overlooking warring words that seek to live their grudges,
making words that don’t belong together somehow fit,
forcing the recalcitrant to want to do their bit
to turn their separate strands into a story finely knit.
Now see the picture on the page where words have come to rest–
stretched out vowel to consonant, best standing next to best.
Brutal words relaxing, flaccid words now showing zest.
Brought recently into the world where they have met the test,
here they stand before you, shaken out and neatly pressed.
Then see the floor around the bed–the words she’s thrown away.
The words that somehow just don’t say what she wants to convey.
See them rising in the air to hover up above.
Words of anger, sadness, envy, honor, lust and love.
They jump, they float, they kiss, they spar, they hug, they joust, they shove.
Tomorrow night they’ll rain back down to form adventures new.
To form themselves into the curious plots that dream parts do.
Picture them assembling into order all their own
or forming groups informally, wherever they are blown.
Ready on the morrow to once more go where they’re sown.
This poem seemed perfect for Matt’s prompt about the influence of remembering dreams, so here it is again. It’s been a long time. Admit it. You’d forgotten it! Even I’d forgotten, at long last, this poem about the effect of remembering dreams. Here’s the prompt URL. Come play along!
When my husband Bob and I bought a house in Mexico in 2001, little did we know I would be moving into it without him. We had our moving sale in the states and packed up our van, but three days before we were due to begin our journey down to our new home, we discovered he had pancreatic cancer. He lived for three weeks. That is how, 2 months later, I came to be lying alone on an air mattress in an empty house in a country where I knew neither a soul nor the language.
I wrote a book based on my first 8 years after his death and originally, I thought this blog would be about grief–how it expresses itself, how I responded to it and how I came to realize that it is a powerful agent for growth and change. Very quickly, however, the scope of what the blog encompasses grew beyond my initial purposes. Rather than a blog to help people deal with death, it seems to have become a blog to enable myself and others to deal with life.
A big part of this change was initially due to my participation in National Poetry Writing Month, wherein I published a poem a day for a month. That led to postings about my life in general, which is why I changed the name of my blog to “Lifelessons.” I have stated before, but I’ll say again that it is mainly myself that I am teaching through my posts. There is a part of me I never communicate with unless I’m writing, and that is a big motivation keeping me going.
After NaPoWriMo in 2013, I decided I wanted to continue to write and post every day and I have done so with only one exception (when I spilled a Coke on my computer and was without internet access for a day or two) since April 1 of 2014. Since then I have also begun daily postings to several photo prompts as well and I’m now in search of a support group for addictive bloggers! (That is mainly a joke.)
Soon I also hope to add a section that shows my sculpture, retablos and other art work. Life changes and changes. So will this blog.
Here’s Matt’s link in case you want to play along: