Glenworkshop East 2013

I threw up on the plane in a 

little blue bag I borrowed from 

my neighbor, who I woke from 

sleep to save my honor and the 

necks and laps and seats 

in my vicinity. 

Brandy's smile greeted each 

and every one of us on the 

stone steps of North Rocky.

This smile greased the hinges 

on the door into the unknown. 

Inside, Tyler, Nicole, and Anna Joy

pointed me to a room where I slept 

until keys and cards and rooms were 

assigned. I left drool on the

blue couch where the light comes 

in the tall paned windows. 

My bas bleu bohémien 

teacher gave Montaigne 

much attention, leaving us

wanting more on every score.

She gave books out like prophetic

prescriptions, saying, "Do you know....?"

or, "You must read....." 

I don't know who midwifed and booked

our hungry hearts and minds better, 

Warren or Patricia. 

I left kisses on the lips of 

the bereft, cranky, recently 

widowed one, and 

the lesbian who came out of a 

long relationship straight. 

I wanted to leave hugs and kisses for 

the other single girls to unpack 

when they too opened their doors 

to an empty house. 

I saw a green shoot growing between 

stones, an impossible, inhospitable place

lacking soil. 

I saw kaleidoscope cracks in the 

sun roof over the library.

My thoughts twirled as I pondered 

them in the quiet octagon room 

set with round windows.  

I saw empty pews in the chapel and 

empty card catalogues in the library. 

I saw myself through the camera 

lens of a pair of loving eyes. 

I heard poetry, learned new words, 

heard words of life, wiped tears, 

and sang with friends old and new. 

I heard broken apologies and saw grace

returned. 

We celebrated new work being published. 

We hovered over silent auction offerings. 

We broke bread together. 

We raised our glasses. 

Tin whistle tunes haunted the halls. 

Songs and plays were pieced together 

like Sedrick's quilts.

Self portraits stared out at the crowd 

well pleased with themselves. 

I learned that I may write bad poetry and

immature essays, take amateur photos,

and piece a beginner's quilt as a starting

place, knowing that I will grow from 

here because I'm willing to be 

easy being imperfect. It's OK 

to try something hard, new, 

and keep on trying to master

 the mess anyways. 

We left with this one last imperative 

wedged inside a song -  

"Leave the edges wild."  

Framed Raw

Carol is in the Glenworkshop East Photography class with Michael Wilson. One of their assignments was to ask a stranger to sit for pictures. My reaction was to say no. But I had promised myself to say yes to opportunities this week - even uncomfortable, scary, disturbing ones.

I am always on the other end of the camera, an amateur who is learning to see. I fall in love with what I frame through the lens's eye. Being on the other end where a strange eye can examine me is uncomfortable. I wasn't sure she would love what she saw.

She didn't spring on me and start snapping. We conversed and learned a little about each other. I started trusting her when she led me to Mt. Holyoke's magestic library. She correctly intuited that it would be a comfortable place to start. The atmosphere soothed and relaxed me.

I wanted to put myself in her hands and let her capture the me that is, not the me that should be. For one shot on the window seat, Carol asked me why I wanted to clasp the pillow to my stomach. Wasn't it obvious that I should try to hide and cover my obesity?  She saw the natural light pouring through the glass roof onto my head.

When the shutter clicked I imagined God's eye winking at me, his beloved, just as I am.

European Starling

I saw a picture of a Europeon Starling on Maureen's Facebook feed. The bird wasn't black, disappointing, or disappointed with it's lot in life as one of the worst nuisances of the world. Every tip of every feather has luminescent tips of green, purple, aqua, pink, and blue. Peacock colors made it look photoshopped. Maybe our starlings have jeweled feathers too, but we don't have eyes to see?

You have luminous feathers too. I see them.

Make Summer Glad

Find wood, gather kindling, strike a match to crumpled paper. 

Toast marshmallows, squish them warm between two graham crackers and chocolate. 

Take the rain flap off the top off the tent to look at the stars. They are waiting for you. 

Sleep naked beside someone you love. 

Make a warm oven under the duvet where cold can't reach. 

Caress flesh and feel the cares of pavement, malls, florescent lights, traffic, and technology flee. 

Pump the coleman lantern. Marvel at the mantles.

Pump the coleman stove. Light the burner. 

Set the tea kettle to whistle time for cocoa, spiced cider, or tea. 

Touch a toe to the freezing water. Go in if you dare, but never skinny dip........alone. 

Stay awake until the coyotes howl and mourning doves coo. 

Listen for owls and wrestling raccoons. 

Stay bundled, cocooned in the morning until your bladder won't let you wait another minute. 

Put layers on. Unzip the day. Fry bacon. Boil coffee. 

Give morning hope and call the sunshine to breakfast.

Lay on your back with wild flowers and blow clouds across the sky. 

Sing to the fire, make it dance. 

Gather a bouquet of violets or willow leaves and dress the table.

Poke the wood surrounded by bruised flames and loose the sparks. 

Look for little people in hollow logs or under mushrooms. 

Listen for the silence to speak.

Let trees embrace your ache.

Let scents of pine and pitch and smoke soothe your anxious thoughts. 

Allow the quiet to cushion your heart. 

Notice the water lapping at the edges. 

Camp unencumbered. Camp uncluttered. Camp unfettered. 

Sweep the dirt if you must and clean your fingernails, but let go of primping and scrimping and limping. 

Swing in a hammock all day and accomplish nothing except daydreams.  

Seedling Volunteers

pop up uninvited. 

They sprout without 

being watered, fertilized,

or planted on purpose.

They don't write letters 

begging for support

or pretend like prayer 

is what they want more 

than money. Volunteers 

sprout because they 

grub stake themselves.

They c'est la vie grow and 

c'est la vie bloom, 
serendipitists with
 a c'est la vie mission 

to sway and wave and add 

color to summer's gold. 

Their bold conception

changes perspective 

leaving fields effectively full 

of perennial potential. 

My garden is bursting with volunteer babies this year. Foxglove, cranesbill, sweat peas, nasturtiums. They delight me with their boldness and tenacity. They appear effortlessly and make me rejoice and be glad. 

My Garden

begs me for a walk along paths
through flower patches
where a driftwood bungalow
houses little people hiding.
Large Marge bosses the Mermaid
and the mama hen with three chicks
under her wings from her
throne under the loggia
which is only a simple
garden room covered
with five finger acebia
and hung with sea foam
green windows rescued
from the discard pile.
Sweet peas clamber up
posts, trees, wattled twigs,
and fences. Nearby plants
are shocked to find
themselves wedded to
these bold extroverts
clinging without permission
in a cozy choke hold. If I stay
still maybe I'll become
a sweat pea obelisk and
bumblebees will argue
about who gets to pollinate
my imagination.

The Fire Eater

wants to swallow
the feeble flame of me
standing alone
neck deep
wicking a puddle
of melted sadness.
I chase him away
with a slap
to his maw
and tell him
to go
straight to hell.
Taking action
fans the flame
that eats the puddle
of melted sadness
and turns pain
into fossil fuel
               again.

Ancient Love in the Safeway Parking Lot

He and his cane
shuffled over to her

side of the car
to open door.

He tucked his cane under

his armpit to use both

hands to straighten her

collar as she straightened

her creaky knees and

and rumpled clothes.

They tottered toward

the door with steps synced,

canes on the outside,

holding hands on the

inside.

I passed quickly,

then slowed my stride

to ask them how long

they had been married.

Sixty seven years he said

as he looked at her like he

must have looked at her

coming down the isle.

Winking, he said they

were thinking of making

it permanent.

Ahhhh. 

The holy permanence

of seasoned love.

She's Going To Be Alright

While I played nanny 

with borrowed kids in the park

 a little girl came to talk as

I nudged two swings into rhythm

with both arms. One held

 a baby boy in a basket.

The other held his sister

who liked the wind

 teasing her hair. 

She wanted to know if 

I was their grandma. 

I said no.

I wanted to know 

if she stopped 

to smell the purple flowers

when she passed the yard

dripping with blossoms 

on the way from preschool

to the park. She knew 

which yard I spoke of

 but said no,

 I always want to 

but we don't have time 

to smell flowers 

because everyone 

needs to hurry 

and stay together

 in line. 

She shrugged 

the tragedy off

 and let it lay in the 

playground chips, then

turned her shining face 

up to me and the sun and said, 

I'm a princess because 

my mama's a queen and 

my daddy's a 

king.

Polyamorous People Practice Polyamory

I just started studying something called polyamory. It's a lifestyle for people who are polyamorous. They love many people. They have open, honest, trusting, and respectful sexual relationships with several people. There is no cheating, sneaking, or lying involved. You get a family, a tribe, friends, and a full social calendar. Sometimes poly people are married, and one partner has one or more partners. There are many variations and different configurations. Vees, quads, etc. It is not the same as polygamy where a patriarch has several wives. Women have equal freedom. Sex can be heterosexual, bisexual, or homosexual and/or a mixture of it all. Short term and long term connections are made, and broken. Really.

Spouses turn into spices (plural for spouses). Spices deal with jealousy by becoming enlightened enough to practice compersion, i.e. an empathetic state of happiness and joy experienced when another individual experiences happiness and joy. If you happen to feel a twinge of jealousy, you haven't arrived at the pure place of true transcendence. Yet. Keep at it, it will come if you try harder. Really?

Poly people speak of monogamy, faithfulness, and fidelity in a condescending and patronizing way. The implication is that monogamous marriage is "numb, boring servitude." Really?

People I know and love have experienced drug abuse - both prescription/street, alcoholism, pornography addictions, infidelity, voyeuristic sex/orgies/prostitution. Really.

Polyamory seems to be a more destructive lifestyle choice than any of the above because it comes packaged as love, light, enlightenment, a better way, the more. If you're hip and sophisticated, cool and avante garde, you'll not only be open minded enough to try it, you'll promote it. It attempts to redefine love. To me, it mocks and insults all four kinds of love -- Philio, Eros, Storge, and Agape. Really.

I feel heartbroken for the young, newly married people who are indulging in this lifestyle. It's like they've been brainwashed by a cult. The Emporer has no clothes, but nobody dares say it, because if you do, you're one of those archaic religious freaks without a brain, liberty or freedom. There is no shame or guilt or stigma attached to this latest craze, this new fad. It's the latest greatest 'spiritual awakening'. Really?

I weep because maybe they haven't experienced the warmth of familial love.  Maybe they don't have the tools for a healthy, growing, nurturing marriage. Perhaps they haven't ever seen one. Maybe they have had spiritual, emotional, or physical trauma with unprocessed, lingering grief. Really.

I weep because I do not believe they've had the privilege of being around older couples who have the loving intimacy of 50+ years of fidelity. The Berry's, The Hoytes, The Goodwin's, The Peterson's, etc. Because they haven't been around these precious people, they have no way to play their own movie forward. Therefore they'll miss the sweetest part, the part that comes later, after years and years of faithfulness, loyalty, and fidelity. Really.

What disturbed me most in the many "Poly" sights I visited was that the writers implied that polyamory is the best way to have friends, family, a tribe, affection, love, friendship, freedom, trust, playfulness, spontaneity, liberty, and healthy families. Really?

I would feel hopeless, like the sacredness of a monogamous marriage bed had been defiled past redemption, except I know older couples who have such ease and companionship, such tenderness and intimacy, that being with them feels like being back in the garden again before fig leaves were needed. Really.

"Love makes all things durable."  ~ Earl Palmer

Thanks Loverby, you wear well, love well, keep well, and make love and fidelity well. Really.