Growing Legs

How is it that inanimate objects can disappear with lightening speed? From the time you sit them down to the moment you decide they are once again useful, these possessions have scampered off into the abyss.

Where is it that they go? There are only so many places they can hide. A desk drawer. Behind the headboard. Under the bed. Between the cushions on the couch. Yet...somehow, they manage to find a new hiding spot each time.

It is also a strange phenomenon that an object which has hidden, been given up for lost, and replace, will reveal its sacred sanctuary, but only when you are on the hunt for another object.

Lost... a strange word which can mean either:
-"I forget where I put it"
-"Someone moved it"
-or, my favorite "It grew legs and walked away".

march 06

Fantasy

my green eyes are glowing
burning through
your stories

tales of first kisses
of newly lit flames
future plans

lazar stares bore holes
in the phone you hold
early morning wishes

why my eyes?
why this hateful hue?
Is it the confidante lost?
confidantes?
love of both
now
lost in love of each other?

thoughts of coming nights
knowing he'll hold you
my arms
my embrace
my fingers touch


but no
not mine
forbidden
a love not shared
infatuation
stolen
never to come to fruition
all hope
dreams
squelched
embers so carefully tended
drowned in your exuberance

my fantasy
become
your reality

may 06

Pruning

tangled fingers reach
sunlight
rain
soil
grasping life

futile attempts at growth
as the finger falls to the dirt
a single tear
down my nose

may 06

philosophy on sinatra

you're nobody til somebody loves you
old Blue Eyes imparts wisdom
gems in crooning lyrics?

what of the unlovable?
doomed to wander through life
in a state of
nonexistence?
searching for that one
anyone
to create
mold
their existence

what then?
two creatures forever entwined

forever...?

is existence gained and lost
more painful
than searched for thru eternity?

no

two seperately whole people
once united
create more than a single whole

rich
full
complex couls
melding experience
personalities
desires

you're nobody til somebody loves
you

may 06

Monthly Madness

pain
misery
sorrow
an otherwise innocent comment
to a usually confident woman
resulting in a heap of
sobbing flesh on the floor

what did I say?
with a look mixing concern
and skepticism

inside my head
my thoughts scream
berating words
that this breakdown
proves my unworthiness
of you

pity
me
someone!

summer 06

Miss-Application

Nothing

the most misunderstood
word in the english language
or perhaps misused

The sexes employ words in different ways
assigning them the meaning
they choose for the moment
humpty dumpty in looking-glass land
could never compete
with the female sex

Nothing
not a thing
man's interpretation

Nothing
pry me open
care enough to ask again
know me and discover
you won't care
I hate when you trivialize my problems
the same things as always
you
and (most importantly)
everything

female usage of this pregnant word

summer 06

peeking through the cupboard doors

It's been nearly eight months (four of which Scott has been away). In many ways, it was as if we were married before we actually held the ceremony. We had been togather for six and a ahlf years by then. In many other ways we are still finding those little annoying habits that the other one kept hidden all that time or never had opportunity to present. A case in point. Scott has a really anal obsession with having the cupboard doors closed. The cupboard doors in our apartment are old. They do not close tightly easily. So I often do not bother to close them all the way. It is now driving him so crazy that any time I inadvertently forget to close a cupboard door he thinks I am doing it to provoke him...like I have time to think of that! And Scott snores. I've been sleeping alone over the four months he was gone. When he returned we both had adjustments to make in the sleeping area. (he was used to the rolling of a ship rocking him to sleep each night...stable quarters made for sleepless nights). I became so frustrated with A) the fact that he had been able to fall asleep and I was still struggling with insomnia and B) that he was snoring, adding to my sleeplessness, that one night, in an attempt to rouse him from his deep sleep in order to stop the racket, I kicked him in the shin, not lightly. He rolled over and stopped snoring...the plan had worked! But I felt so guilty I didn't immediately sleep as I had anticipated. I confessed my sins to my husband in the morning, who feigned deep hurt by threatening to put me up on charges of abuse for his sore shins. I realized I had not hurt him so badly later that day when he spent the afternoon playing baseball with his nieces and nephews at the beach. So much for sore shins.
I guess marriage is all about the closed doors and bruised shins. If everything was perfect, how would you know the difference between a good day and a bad one? The joy of a perfectly cooked dinner (chicken, rice, and all) is only made sweeter by the burned blueberry grunt for dessert. The six o clock alarm clock makes sleeping in until nine a delightful indulgence. It's all a matter of comparison. You just need to choose your starting off point. You could compare your mediocre housekeeping with the spotless house of your childless mother-in-law or to the cluttered home of your mother, who happenes to raising five foster children. Making a wise choise on where to begin can adjust your entire attitude.

opening lines

As I sit and create the first of these "blogs" I wonder who will actual read this? My family and friends? people I do not know? It's hard to decide what to post due to that specific detail. I have a few poems and random thoughts that I have written down that I would love to have on the web for others to see and respond to so please feel free to give me feedback one and all. As my time here is limited, I must close with a single thought for the day...is knowing all the details, characterstics, nuances, pieces of something in order to sell it to another without ever partaking in it oneself hypocracy?